L'adventure de henrico d'napoli - 5 Feb 2017

In memory of Henry Solowiejczyk 1926-2013

L Avventura D’Henricco di Napoli

CHINA _ _ 1999

Where The Journey Starts...

The Adventure Begins.

Sitting now in a Singapore lounge and reflecting on my life. I realize it’s coming to an end, certainly sooner than later. How fortunate for me to embark on such venture. How fortunate to still have this desire to tackle the challenge.

So here I am, reminiscing from Antwerp to Cuba, from Washington Heights to Long Beach. How fast it all happened, 59 years seems like seconds.

How proud I feel about my 4 sons (the “arba banim”), each a master in his own environment a complete success in their own field. How fortunate to have met my wife when I did, no doubt my luckiest day and after so many years to still respect and love her. Not too many of my friends were as lucky or can feel the same way.

I guess in life when you see the opportunity you grab it and don’t let it escape.

Went all the way up to the Great Wall; many, many steps, steps here, steps there, steps everywhere and in between very, very steep uphill walks. I made it without too much effort. Chinese wisdom says:

“He who climbs GREAT WALL is a GREAT HERO”

Continued on to the Ming’s tomb where thirteen emperors out sixteen are buried. Again, steps, steps, steps. In order to see the tombs one needs to go down about 100 steps. On my way down I hoped there would be an elevator to go back no such luck.

The Forbidden City; what Splendor, what pomp, what glory, residence of the Emperors. It occupies 775,000 square feet, there are allegedly 9999 rooms (nine is a favorable number in China), surrounded by a moat and a 33 feet high wall. Walked for 3 hours, saw only part of the Forbidden Palace.

Time seemed to have stopped for hundreds of years, at an area called Hutong (narrow street), where some homes date back 700 years.

Between narrow and winding streets; incredible to be there and walk around it, what history transpired there. Two more hours of walking. These alleyways are the soul of Beijing.

It’s crystal clear to visit China, one must have a guide. In Beijing no one speaks English, the taxi drivers do not, the desk at Shangri-La Hotel, a 5 stars hotel in Beijing speak very very few words, the waitresses nothing.

Met Mr. Qu Youyi, President of “Hohhot Machine Tool”, biggest factory in inner Mongolia, making

tracks for tractors and valves, at a restaurant where he had reserved a private room, upon opening the door he was there with six other people from the company around a large round table with an enormous selection of different dishes on a lazy susan.

Not a word of English was spoken by anyone. Mr. Qu Youyi was very hospitable and lots of drinking of rice and barley wine, something like Slivovitz except sweeter and also red wine. I call it Mongolian Slivovitz/Pear Brandy. In Mongolian customary eating is called “Hot Pot�. Each one of us had a metal bowl with steaming water being heated at all times by a fire underneath.

All Meats and Fish dishes raw picked up slices and dumped into very hot water.

Waitress at all times adding new water to the bowls.

Finished two bottles of Mongolian Slivovitz.

In Dazhao Temple, some Buddhist priest were meditating and praying, very fortunate to be there at that time, got some very interesting shots even though not allowed to take.

Vendors selling spicy dishes, fruits shoes, etc, was the main action around the temple.

Next lunch stop, eating another Hot Pot style, large black bowl this time. Bowl in the middle of the table heated by gas tank under table. Thrown into that pot were as follows: Large sliced Carrots, large Bean Pods, Potatoes, pieces of Chicken and large Noodles. Every single part of chicken is in there, Legs, Stomach, Liver, etc, some broth (chicken) added plus water. The whole mix boils for about a half hour.

When the lid is opened, you could see the chicken legs with its claws + the head sticking out of this broth.

I only had the potatoes, carrot and noodles; I must say the broth tasted quite good.

At dinner, the same kind of Hot Pot with a lot, a lot of drinking on the table. In China, when you drink it’s done at the table by lifting glasses and saying “Kampei”, you never drink alone. At the beginning of the meal a cart containing, this time, different bottle of booze selected

by Mr. Tzang who came together with Mr. Gue and Cheng Wey. It tasted like plum brandy, powerful stuff, (a Yiddish Slivovitz). The bottle is emptied into four large tea

glasses and then you pour a little each time into a liquor glass and toast all night. Every time they said “Kampei� and bottoms up the liquor glass. I kept thinking of what this will to my heart burn, but I was alright. When we finished with this Chinese Slivovitz a bottle of red wine was opened and

finished, again many Kampei’s. A lunch at some recommended local restaurant, 3 giant bowls of noodles and 3 of vegetables; these bowls were big enough to satisfy an elephant.

Taxi drivers by far the best in the world. When you see the swarm of bicycles, tricycles coming in every which way from the side streets and melt into 4 lane streets, its miraculous there are no accident or collision and yet the drivers always not within one inch but a tenth of an inch to the car up front or the side be it bicycles.

A flee market in Chengdu, streets with a radius 20 blocks, a steady stream of bicycles, motorcycles and peddlers pushing their carts every which way.

Workers loaded with enormous packages (some 3 sizes bigger than their own) and somehow managing to move in this dense crowd.

You really have to push your way and held my camera close to my chest. You can’t visualize the shoving, the pushing, the yelling of some of these workers loaded up to get through this mass and believe it or not every once a while a car comes through this crowd, actually moving only one inch at a time and creating total chaos and a total complete standstill.

Why someone would attempt to get into this pandemonium with a car is mind bobbling.

The honking of motorcycles, the bells of bicycles, the loud voices shouting.

To be in the middle of this frenzy and absorbing it all is like being in a spell.

Rough landing at Kashgar Airport, tiny, dimly lit. Chaos

at the airport - a wall of bodies blocked us from entering, had to push our way through this crowd. Baggage went to one room as big as our den, No conveyer belt, you can imagine the tumult trying to get our bags.

Everybody was pushing every which way.

Checked into the International Hotel, not exactly the International of London, reminds me more

of The Empire Hotel in e lamp, lights disappear. Lamp lights still Tungsten filament, however, room large and bed clean.

So far, 25th day of the trip and did not lose one pair of glasses.

Mao Fe has now nicknamed me not “The Explorer” but

“THE GREAT EXPLORER”

ĂœrĂźmqi; driving in, from the airport and checking in at hotel the city made a bad impression, seems to be Dirty, Drab, Desolate and Dark at night. Lighting in the city is very, very poor and thus streets pretty dark. Also the traffic very antiquated system, it’s really a free for all, from all sides. In the daytime the city has about a dozen high risers on main streets, however, the balance of the city has a pretty poor look.

First stop Bezeklik, Thousand Buddha Caves Remains.

Of these Buddhist temples inside of mountain are all caves which are in dreadful condition, most having been devastated by Moslems. The faces of Buddhas ornamenting the walls have been scrapped or completely gouged out by them. This area is adjacent to the Gobi Desert is quite a picture as you see these enormous sand dunes mixed with some camels in the foreground.

Second stop, “Grape Valley”, a small paradise. Grapes smaller than ours but very sweet and delicious, a thick maze of vines and grape trellises. The vineyard extends five miles long and two miles wide. Next stop, Bazaar with all types of Spices, Nuts, Very Colorful Fabrics, Brightly Decorated, Knives and Rug sellers.

Eating at 2nd class restaurant, while you are eating you spit out the bones on the table. Every once in a while the waitress comes around to clean up. It’s inconceivable how Mao Fe (the guide) knocks down plate after plate of food and so skinny -Not Fair-

We travelled today for 8 hrs. Breathtaking, Spectacular Scenery, all the time Blue Skies and Blazing Sun. Kept driving higher and higher up. We drove through snow peak mountains that seemed as they were right next to us, the altitude here, 3000 feet higher than Lhassa which makes it 19.000 feet. No problem with my breathing. The drive on that gravel road had many, many 180 degree turns and without any guard rails. You cannot imagine how we were bouncing all through the day was like riding a wild stallion.

Staying at The Qumolang Ma Hotel . This is where we get primitive, Hotel rooms are Freezing, lobby Barely Lit rooms, fair but cold also Poor Lighting.

However, bed and sheets nice and clean.

Here I am, writing in this dimly lit-cold room,

I’m amazed at my discipline regarding this diary.

Checked into the hotel in Lhatse going more primitive again.

Room contains a basin with a pail of water next to it. I have a door that’s locked, it must be some sort of toilet but not in use but at night it’s open. Toilet at the end of long hall which is also locked and need someone to open it. Not a good system if you have the runs.

Having the day travelling on this gravel road to add more hardship to the driver with oncoming cars and trucks (which are few) envelope the road with a thick blanket of dust blinding the driver from seeing for a few seconds and requiring him to stop as he’s doing at very numerous holes. I

cannot complain about the basin as on the wall above it, there is a red plastic pan to fill it. And no towels in the room only the basin and water, but I had the foresight to steal one from the last hotel knowing I was getting into something smaller than Shegar. A mirror, placed so low, in the room fit to midget. Thank God hung on nails and can move it. Lights in the hotel only work from 8:00 pm to 10:00 pm. After that it’s total blackness. How I managed to go twice that night is quite an accomplishment, actually inching myself step by step.

Once outside probably 20 degrees.

At night used the quilt that they had and was ok except going to that outside toilet was a misery. All throughout the night you could hear a symphony of barking dogs and the wind howling on and off.

Looked at the sky never have I seen so many bright and large stars. Actually stood there hypnotized in the 20 degrees.

VIETNAM _ _ 2004

A Journey into Continuous Discoveries

As seen through the eyes of a 77 old traveler still full of energy, vim and that get up and go attitude.

A Trip, a Journey, a Voyage of constant daily happening, always the sadness of leaving today’s adventure but always mixed with the excitement with this interacting thrill of what the new tomorrow will bring.

Writing this diary was a very exciting part of the trip where discipline was necessary all the time to enter the daily experiences. Entered only late at night in very Spartan

accommodation, sometimes by candle light.

Extraordinary the excitement of the penetration into these unknown places, lots of preparation reading and researching into the area so that by time I left, I knew what I wanted to see, where I wanted to go.

A Journey into continuous discoveries, the thrill, the delirium, the excitement of escaping modern civilization.

So on to the journey of enchantment, the magic of the unknown. So off the world unseen treasures, the colorful hill tribe villages, the wondrous boat rides of the Mekong river, the new thrilling experiences women scrubbing their laundry on the riverbanks, children frolicking in the water valleys framed by enormous rugged mountains explore the remote areas of the golden triangle, the secluded beaches with their few footprints, watching the pelicans swoop down into the water to catch their daily meals, hiking that steep trail to catch that magnificent ridge top view at its sunset, and of course to try to capture all this with the camera.

Looking at my pictures make me want to go back, to return to see it all again. The fishing village along the river’s edge with the golden pagoda’s melting into it. The Buddhist monks in their saffron colored robes are holding their dark black begging bowls to be filled with rice. Rice paddies growing in tiered steps that climb and climb to the sky, to meet with the various people and mingle converse with them. To experience their culture, their religion and their tradition hypnotized by their smell and color.

Beauty unspoiled, unsullied way of life that has not changed much with time. Festivals so rich in traditions where you feel the joy of life is mixed with their religions, passing through small ancient villages whose residents still adhere to the rhythms to the ways of yesterday quitter life.

To linger and absorb as much of this atmosphere where one can imagine oneself in a 50 year old photograph, Evenings wandering the market places filled with their cooked food stalls and the faces so friendly that I find myself wishing I could speak their language and speak to these friendly smiling faces.

Voyaging through dense forest with its dense foliage gliding through rivers watching beautiful sunsets with its special magic

colors, sometimes so exceptional that they seem unreal, watching the oxen pulling its carts with its huge wide wheels. It’s about being here, it’s about experimenting, feeling it. It’s about smelling it.

The idea of making this trip at 77 which goes deep into my serene and yellow leaf time of my life is certainly most exciting, how wonderful to still possess this, desire this wish this passion, this want for adventure.

Life at this stage of time seemed to have passed by me so fast, that all that’s left is a bag of memories and names, slowly even these seem to slowly fade away and become unreliable as to their authenticity.

At best what remains is yourself with your experiences and your photos. They asked Albert Einstein in his 90’s, how he feels; “I am still a fire spewing Vesuvius; was the reply”.

Well, let me tell you this time traveler (not that I’m trying to compare myself with Albert Einstein) still has some fire spewing left in him! I categorically refuse to give in into

the ravages of old age. So here I am at 77 again attempting to fight the curse of old age and refusing to give in into all the infirmities associated with it.

Landed in Hanoi, choose the mid-range Classic Street Hotel.

My room is situated on the 4th floor, by climbing steep circular staircase; the mighty Gods are continuously testing my strength. By the time I reached the 4th floor, I was ready to call my cardiologist (but actually had no strength left to dial!). Mind you, my big bag is still downstairs in the tiny lobby! Still to be carried up by me, no bell boys here.

Buddhist temples tucked away into every side street in this old quarter-narrow street leading to winding cobblestone walkways with it’s round moon shaped gates. After climbing

those circular stairs plopped into bed totally fatigued and wished for the room to be air conditioned (but no such luck).

Got into a tricycle called “Cyclos� for about 1 hr, and got some great photos. As I was riding the cycle through the old quarter and plunging into the sounds and smells of the city I thought of the rickshaws only 60 years ago commanding these same streets. Walking through the streets of Hanoi requires nerve of steel or the need of a very stiff drink before attempting it.

Standing at a major noisy intersection with its scooters, bicycles, cars, cyclos, weaving in and out, creaky packed busses filled to capacity ready explode, and with all this confusion, bedlam racket, disorder and chaos somehow traffic moves without any accidents. Alongside it all add this mass of flesh of thousands moving every which way, so much, so much

movement everywhere. Bustling maze of shops selling gold, jewelry, pastries, antiques, sneakers, hardware, fruits, nuts, vegetables etc. etc.

Vibrant city with its tree lined Blvds, villas going back to the days of the French, a sense of romance seem to hover over this old part of Hanoi; walking through these small cobble streets and your walking through a thousand years of history; women carrying and balancing their baskets of vegetables or fruits at the end of their shoulder poles or on their heads, motor scooters logging live pigs, caged dogs headed for the butcher as in this part of the world they are considered a delicacy.

Here and there a large mattress being carried on someone’s shoulder, a city clustered with many alleyways where its shops cafÊ’s are packed tightly, with vendors cooking in

front of their homes. With its streets that are so crowded they are almost impassable, market places always packed in the early morning, women with their conical hats to protect them against the blistering sun buying all sorts of products, flowers, fruits, vegetable. Everyone is busy sewing, welding, lugging, selling, cooking, repairing, yelling, pushing, and shoving every which way. Shops stocked floor to ceiling with TV’s and electronic appliances.

Hanoi’s old quarter with over a thousand years of history certainly remains one of Vietnam most lively, most vivacious, most unusual places. Exploring this maze of back streets with its old cobble stones is always, an intoxicating experience. Walking through the “Lenin Park” is where you find the Hanoi’ans at their most relaxed pace.

Bodies of all ages doing their gymnastics, young men playing football, kids flying their kites; some are in a state of meditation as they sit cross legged motionless for many minutes. The path around the lake’s edge is jam packed with runners and walkers, people bicycling by the hundreds.

Elderly couples enjoying each other’s company and the morning breeze.

Somehow, my driver made a good impression on me, very little English spoken by him, very little English spoken by all in Hanoi!!! Communication with driver mostly done by Pantomime or notes handed to him as where I wanted to be driven, so here we are on our way to “Ha Long Bay 200km (125 miles) east of the city. Already very hot (close to 100 degrees) and very humid.

As we left Hanoi, both sides of the road I could see there Lush bright green rice fields as far as the eye could see. Farmers with their oxen working the land. Picturesque towns along the way with some lovely villas silhouetting the country side, driver had to accommodate every once in a while for the farmers with their cattle who would not move off the road.

Passing through the towns with so much congestion, so crowded, so jammed 90% motor scooters, motor cycles and bicycles 10% only car, these motorcycles weaving in and out

of these packed intersections without any signals lights and somehow no accidents. Add to this chaotic traffic a continuous symphony of honking shouting pushing, the rule of the game is “Macho�

Also, on our way out to the area passed through towns with houses and villas with their special architectures, villas framed with their windows and shutters of all difference, terracotta colors, light green, light blue, beige, peach, light brown and light mauve. Each villa with a different color, with different facades and shutters.

These tourist getting out of these mega monstrous busses and the women immediately opening their umbrella to protect themselves from the sun, even the children had their own small umbrellas.

Unbelievable how little English spoken even here.

However established a great bond by eyes and my pantomime.

The Pagodas were interesting, climbing up the 150 steps to the top, while the second one was 250 steps, and somehow in both, made to the top.

Traveling mostly through small dirt roads, lots of rice fields with farmers with their oxen tilling their land. Lovely quaint small villages full of villagers, with their smiling faces, and all this while listening to enchanting Vietnamese music making it also more special, so magical.

While having lunch with the driver and guide only smiles exchange as no English was spoken. Took a taste of my broth, it was so spicy that it would awaken the pharaoh’s. Managed to scoop with the fork only the noodle, my tongue was still burning when I went to sleep that night.

You know what they say about old wine getting better with age, And so with this photographer getting better with age!!!

Being wiser this time for meal,

asked for the mango salad not to be spicy.

Took one small bite and had to be rescued with a full bottle of water immediately. This, awakened not only the pharaoh’s, but also the Buddha. I have NEVER but NEVER tasted anything so sharp and so spicy I actually needed an additional bottle of water.

After breakfast, went to a small decorative reception area filled with ceramic nick knacks and continued my journal. Amazingly!!

Amazingly!! The chap sitting at the small front desk kept mumbling: Hemingway!! Hemingway!!

You write! You write!

Now into the 3rd day, as I step out into the street I am being recognized and

greeted by them with a great big wide smiles as I seem to have been accepted as part of the family, as part of the scene.

Returned to the old quarter and returned to enjoy more of the magical scenery. The old lady vendor with the pineapple came over to me again to offer a slice of peeled pineapple for free as I’m part of the family by now. Do I look so worn out? Do I look in such need of help? Sat on these steps for about 2 hours and watched life unfold in front of me. Got back to my room by walking up these steep circular steps and again upon opening my door to my room, a SAUNA!!!

Someone shut down the air conditioner.

Constantly, while I walk through the old quarter little boys and girls would approach me with the same 3 questions (ALWAYS the same questions) : What’s your name? Where are you from? Would you like to come and

see my Auntie’s shop? The little girls especially are so cute, so delightful, and so charming, making it so difficult to say “No”.

In the old town, visited what is known as The “Japanese Covered Bridge” arch shaped and built in 1590. There’s a delightful legend to this bridge: There once lived an enormous monster called “Cu” who had its head in India, its tail in Japan, and its body in Vietnam.

Whenever the monster moved, a terrible disasters such as floods and earthquakes would occur in Vietnam. This bridge was built on the monster’s weakest point where it was killed.

The people of Hoi-An took pity on the slain monster and built this temple to pray for its soul.

Driving thru the narrow, punctured, twisted, small, dirt roads by the lovely river’s edge with its picturesque fishing villages, enchanting magical rice paddies, exquisite farm areas with its cattle grazing, such lovely pastoral sceneries; villages with its small children laughing and running totally free of any anxieties or worries greeting me with their warm :“Hello! Hello!

Certainly these Aussies tourist will not be privy to what I have seen and captured, as I left Hoi, the entire staff (all seven of them) stood at attention and bowed as I entered the taxi to my next destination, making me feel like that important dignitary.

Left Hoi-An with that good feeling of accomplishment: I saw, I came, I conquered. Little did I know what wonders were awaiting me.

Landed in Nha-Trang Airport, which is no bigger than our living room in Long beach (reminded

me of the Ziuatanejo in Mexico when we traveled in the 60s).

The taxi ride to Mui Ne actually took longer (4 hrs). Let me tell you this taxi with its ride was not one of my highlights of my trip. The dilapidated, decrepit, broken-down, tiny taxi thin tires (reminding me of a bicycle’s). The windows had to be pushed down manually and once down, cannot close them. Letting the rain in when it rained and it rained heavily most of the trip.

At times the road trip was difficult, with big pot holes where the driver almost had to come to a stop to maneuver through them. The air conditioner seemed to be on the verge of exploding, when not raining.

Very, very hot and very humid out there. The windshield wipers not working, making visibility even more difficult at night when the glares of headlights from oncoming traffic blind us.

ARE MY GODS DESERTING ME? The village along this palm lined road running alongside the

beach for about 15 miles has a series of mini resorts. That’s stretches one next to the other. There are no white tourist in this hotel except for Marco Polo. Unfortunately, by noon the sun turned into a torrential rainstorm.

Made arrangements to leave the next day to go further south to Cantho, which is in the middle of the Mekong, Delta. The trip takes about 8 hours by car. There are no flights from here.

Hopefully, the taxi windows will work.

Hopefully, the air conditioning will work better. Hopefully, there will be better windshield wipers.

Hopefully, the driver will speak some English.

Did manage to take some pictures in between the heavy downpours, showered and had dinner at this small open dining room facing the tiny pool and ocean.

Ordered my noodle soup and shrimp rolls from that pretty little waitress with that delicious smile who did not speak a word of English. Of course, my noodle soup came and it was not what I had ordered.

Needed help to explain why this dish was the wrong dish. After a frustrating 20 minutes, the noodle soup finally arrived.

Next to my table, a large Vietnamese family of about 30 stretched out on this long, rectangular table, 3 generations mixed with a lot of small children making lots of noise.

Drinking and eating, the little one busy exploding firecrackers.

Whenever we stopped for pictures and needed to cross the road. Invoked the Doctrine of “MACHO”, and not hesitate to cross the road. Every once in a while cattle or sometimes a flock of geese with their little ones totally oblivious to all the traffic would cross at their leisure.

Here’s one for the books, at one of the stops that we made, a vendor approached me trying to sell Vietnamese books written in Vietnamese! This vendor either thinks that he’s the great salesman of all times or by now I look Vietnamese!!!

Stopped at an outdoor type of a restaurant with many, many tables catering to a horde of Vietnamese tourists.

Following delicacies offered on the menu : Deep Fried Elephant Ear Grilled Snake Grilled Turtle Dog Meat in Boiling Water

Stuck to my noodle soup and shrimp balls! Came prepared this time with my little notebook with what to order - lovely fish dishes prepared, roasted and served vertically on the plate rather than the usually flat presentation, lots of waitresses, all very attractive in their early 20s. They don’t walk by; they glide by like swans between the tables.

Got to Cantho at around 5:30 pm and checked into the CantHo Hotel. It turned out to be a major, major disaster!

Was shown to a small dungeon, to a hole in the wall without windows, room 7 ft by 7 ft. had no river view and no balcony.

Got up at 5:00 AM to be in the cruise trip 6:15 AM; A sunrise breakfast cruise to the floating markets of CantHo boarded a beautiful Saipan type of boat. A lavish breakfast buffet on the top deck awaited us with 4 large beautiful round tables with white linen tablecloths and napkins and exquisite silverware.

After what seemed like an hour into the morning, we were transferred into a smaller canoe-type of boat to mingle into this maze, into congested and crowded mass of hundreds of floating canoes, selling their vegetable and fruit. This floating markets not the same as the one Annie and I experienced in Thailand where small wooden boats thread the narrow canals.

Here they are on the banks of wide stretches of the wide river.

To get to the Stork Sanctuary with literally thousands of them nesting, needed to take a small elongated motorized boat with room for only 3. We navigated through narrow canals to see the wonders of how these people live at the edge of the river.

Children were swimming and yelling as we cruised by, women washing their laundry and men were washing themselves. Every once in a while a throng of ducks waddling in the water.

Nothing here has changed for a very long time.

Eventually we had to disembark and walk for half an hour through some very narrow pathways and tiny broken-down bamboo arched bridges which seemed to be on the verge of

falling apart. From there we climbed a very steep, narrow, circular, steel staircase (about 60 steps) and from there a very small, frail, dilapidated, wooden platform. No more than 6 of us were allowed on the platform at a time due to fear that if more, the platform would collapse.

Here, way above the tree tops, we saw thousands of white storks nesting on the green tree tops and flying in every direction. Looking at the sight of these thousands of white objects nesting on the green tree tops one could envision that you were in the midst of a cotton field.

This river boat mooring on the Mekong River and alongside a very lovely palm tree lined promenade lit up in a soft peach color and stretched for about a mile with benches

in between to provide the elderly with some quiet togethertime with their grandchildren. There were lots and lots activities going alongside, the road hugging these Palm trees with motorcycles going back and forth. However, by 10:30 PM all of this activity came to stop!

Little did I know that this 3 decker boat would take off for a 3 and a half hour night cruise. No one! Nobody spoke English except for my translator, who only spoke some (very little).

Little did I know that I would be privy to 3.5 hours session of screaming, drunk Korean tourists; screaming, shrieking metropolitan mezzo soprano singer, accompanied by an unbelievable loud, noisy guitarist.

Another floating market to see, this one called CaiRang�. Again, left in early morning to avoid the blistering heat in midday, took another small motorized boat and navigated through labyrinth of small crafts selling their wares. 2.5 hours cruise, amazing how you can come to these floating markets again and again and always see something different.

Went through the numerous narrow canals with its timeless scenery and small villages bordering the river’s edge where little mischievous children were frolicking in the water with no worries on their mind.

How little they knew of what lies ahead in life for them!!!

What difficulties! What hardships! What uphill work! What Herculean burdens because of their poverty!

On our way back, there was a fascinating sight to see along the road. You see numerous Small, Rickety, Wobbly andTottering Bridges connecting the villagers to the villages.

This sight was so familiar along the entire MeKong Delta. The local calls them “Monkey Bridges”, and were always located on these narrow canals. What a balancing act is necessary to cross that bridge. You truly have to be a monkey to cross it. How well they do it and with such ease?!?!?! Actually, these bridges consist of narrow bamboo foot ledge somehow connected to another uneven, twisted bamboo railing about which you hold onto. At first glance these bridges look more like scaffoldings than a bridge!!! It is amazing to see these villagers traverse these bridges with heavy loads and the kids moving with such speed and agility.

Enjoyed a great massage at the pool area for 20DLS! (It’s good to be King) The Mekong River is, at certain spots, very wide, kept hugging the shore line. We crossed the rivers from side to side with a constant change of scenery making the trip very exciting, it was very breathtaking, very stirring and made it goes by fast.

Watching life unfold from my comfort chair; tiny villages with its bamboo stilt houses, the cattle grazing on farmlands, floating houses whose floats consist of empty metal drums are both a place to live and a livelihood for their residents. Under each house, fishes are raised in suspended metal nets. The small mosques on the river banks are not to be entered in during the calls to prayers unless you are Moslem, all domed and arched. Just enjoyed these beautiful, priceless tableaus along the way, lucked out with no sudden tropical squalls.

Upon arriving in the afternoon at the “Chau Doc Hotel”, another crème de la crème, got an exquisite suite with its magnificent wooden parquet floor and large balcony with this incredibly unbelievable spectacular view of the river with all its

activities. Very lucky that I was able to postpone my trip by one day and leave a morning later. This suite is a precious jewel going regularly for 170DLS. My cost is 60 DLS!!! HANK! HANK! HANK! How are you going to adjust to your 20DLS rooms?!?!?!?

Dropped my gear and went straight out the hotel across the road and clicked away to my heart’s content.

The looks the locals gave me as they cycled by me (no cars), the stares, the bewilderment, the perplexed glancing, as they looked me over was truly dumbfounding. As I stood there on the road in between 2 tropical squalls where I was lucky to take refuge under an enormous tree, couldn’t get over how beautiful the women were as they passed me by.

How magnificent, how royal, how splendid, how superb, how regal they were.

Now remembered that at one of the small airports waiting for my flight I was talking to this American Vietnamese telling me that in “Chau Doc, I will meet the most beautiful women in the world. Truer words were never spoken!!!

Made arrangement last night to take a small boat and visit some small fishing villages. Got back by 8:30 AM. The river is so magical early in the morning. From just before sunrise the lights change every minute. You can’t help but admire, respect, toast nature at its best. People were getting ready on their way to the vibrant floating markets.

The Energy, the Bang, the Activity is so visible. A new day fills the air!!! In the distance, the sky and water merge perfectly in the horizon.

Thumbing through photography book and getting lost in the pictures in an intimate sensational experience especially to the one responsible for the photos as well as the viewer.

Don’t forget! Photography assumes a state of performance preserved for the ages. It is a moment preserved.

How well I shall remember forever the places I traveled and have seen, to experience the glorious sunsets with its magical change of colors; The bright orange, red ball disappearing in the horizon, making it a celestial experience and engraving the marvel of nature forever. Deserted white, sandy crescent shape beaches with its blue waters that in midday sparkle like diamonds. The pagodas with bulbous shaped gilded roofs glittering in the sun meeting with this aged farmer in a blue chairman Mao coat bringing his one and only animal back to the stable.

Always the sun, relentless in midday and punishingly hot and relieved by the welcoming cool breeze late in the afternoon.

The morning rituals at the crack of dawn, watching a procession

of saffron robed monks holding their dark brass begging bowls and walking the Queue to get it filled with rice.

The constant sight of these minibuses cluttered bursting with passengers clinging on bravely from all sides. Journeyed into roads which took me high above the mist where mountain peaks rose above it, only to be reminded of the many traditional Vietnamese landscape paintings.

The lovely pictorial picture of the elegant colonial villas with its terraces where one could see the occasional elegant lady with

its colorful print dress sipping tea under the shade of a colorful paper umbrella.

How well I remember the fatigue that overtook me sometimes and only the passion, the enthusiasm, and willpower that kept me going the rest of the day. Those rare evenings when only the sound of the wind cracks the stillness. How well I remember entering villages completely shut out from outside world; gliding through the still waters on canoes through rivers; gilded with the reflection of the countless golden pagodas along its banks.

How well I remember some mornings the sounds of hens crackling together with temple bells ringing in the distance that egret basking of the buffalo’s shoulders, both of them strolling like two old friends and how well I remember missing that shot!!! How fortunate for me to have captured so many events and to record the faces. How fortunate for to have been such a prolific photos aficionado.

So here we are at the end of my travels in Vietnam certainly very enriching, very bewitching, very satisfying, very gratifying.

MEXICO _ _ JULY 2006

In Memory of Annie A Tribute to her Free Beautiful Spirit

Zihuatanejo - Reflection of Memories, recorded as they enter my hidden computer of the magical past.

The Forgotten Hidden Treasure of The 50’s And 60’s.

What I remember best, the village waterfront right out of a Sommerset Maughan’s tropic mood. With its row of low thatched guest houses and tiny cafés facing a beach fringed with Coconut palms and Pelicans from high in the sky diving into the bay to catch that small fish. Out on the beach you can still see the man with his machete the woman with tall straw basket of vegetables on her head and their burro’s dragging piles of bamboo, leaving their hoof prints on the virgin, untouched sand.

Yes! The Charm, The Magic, The Splendor, The Past of Zihuatenejo is still here. Seeing the fisherman come

back around 1:00 pm on their large boats, which are now mechanized instead of their small canoes of yesteryears, bringing home their catch.

How well I remember that small six seats which flew from Mexico city into Zihuatenejo once a week and took one hour and forty minutes.

How well I remember late in the afternoon, the fishermen returning in their small Canoe’s with their catch and unloading it on the beach. And in the background of this tableau two or three dozen pelicans swooping down from high in the sky to catch their meal.

How well I remember us bagging five Sail fishes in one day, we returned four to the waters. We kept one and had it stuffed. The fishing was always incredibly exciting, sensational.

We always came back with loads of yellow tails Tuna’s, Red Snappers, Rooster, Fish Mackerel, Dolphins, and averaging 20 lbs to 50 lbs.

How well I remember the small naked children, five to eight years old, awaiting us on the pier that they could bring some of the fish to their families. Always two of them were needed to carry one fish as it was too heavy for one child. So there they were, one holding the fish by the head and other by the tail, waddling down the pier down to their shacks with food for the evening.

Truly a small paradise unspoiled and undiscovered, a Shangri La. Zihua, where on the beaches more often you would meet only a Mexican family plodding with their burro’s to market than that of the tourist. Zihua, where you rest and comb the beaches.

Zihua, where on Sunday’s a mariachi trio plays for local families who come over by water-taxi to spend the day with their naked little kids, usually found splashing happy in the shallow water.

Zihua where six telephones were available, on each hotel, where

you could shelter underneath a giant palapa, that covered both the restaurant and bar and most likely hear Beethoven or Mozart, where a single dusty unpaved dirt road, ran from the water front the village (and that was it). There or four souvenirs shops. One tailor shop blessed with windows.

Zihua where father and son tossed their circular net heaving it out and bringing it

back filled with small tiny fish.

The wife removes them one by one and packs them carefully in a box lined with yesteryear’s newspaper and all the time, the Pelicans swooping from high in the sky to catch their own meal.

Zihua, how well I remember that

little girl with that innocent smile, selling tinted star fish and sea shells.

Things that brought back memories - sounds of the waves breaking, pounding on the beach repeatedly. That distinct taste of the strawberry jam on that too toasted bread, watching from the breakfast restaurant, once and awhile, the flying silvery needle fish breaking water, glistening and sparkling in the sunshine. They are still here. I just can’t accept that I am here without Annie.

It’s like being in the twilight zone and having that bad, bad dream repeating itself. Hoping and hoping that I will wake up and that it was just a bad dream….just a nightmare, but, I wake up and I’m alone.

I decided to go to La Ropa beach. As I’m sitting on that white wooden chair facing the waves, I see us all walloping the water. All of us facing head on in the water and meeting these waves, and for a moment, for a slight moment, she’s here with me.

She’s here with us in the water, but it’s only a momentary wishful thoughts that quickly disappears to the sad reality that she’s gone while I’m sitting contemplating on that white wooden chair.

This Pelican from high about the sky swoops down and lands a few feet away from me and starts waddling towards me and parks himself right

next to me - strange as graceful as they are in the sky, they are so clumsy on land. For the next hour he keeps me company as I’m writing, all one can see on this beach are Mexican families and here he is, the Pelican, next to me, grooming himself with his beak.

WILL I EVER BE AT PEACE WITH MYSELF THE GRIEF IS SO DEEP THE PAIN IS SO GREAT THE PANG IS SO HARD. So here we are a half hour later and my new found friend is still right next to me. Could it be that he came to pay his respect and sympathize with me in my grief and for my loss. Like a Mexican Shiva call in Zihuatanejo.

How special to be here at this beach and how with a heavy heart I reflect, I remember, I recall the past. The weather was slightly overcast but very hot and humid, with a cool breeze caressing my face from time to time, and my friend the Pelican still here eyeing me after one hour. It was actually I who bid him goodbye as he was in squatting position right next to my chair with his eyes piercing at me as if understanding and saying: I know what you’re going through.

A dip of fried shrimps and a corona beer served without the cap but a slice of lemon squeezed through the opening bottle, my lunch. How some things never changed! The reception room, slightly larger, followed by red rectangular brick red pillars on either side instead of walls leading to the restaurant with its spectacular view of the Zihua Bay with its superb Tahitian sunsets.

What a privilege to have been there at its infancy.

Raining hard all night. The morning sky, over the bay, still purple/gray mass of clouds and the humidity and temperature in the mid 90’s. Such sadness overtakes me constantly. I cannot imagine that she’s no more. I always had that image of the house of death as a silent place and so it was when Annie died on July 1, 2006 at 4:41 Am. Just me and the nurse’s Aide, Dellis. I was so unprepared despite those days and nights of vigil. And so she died and the room was finally still. She looked beautiful and nobble sadly and tenderly I touched her hands and kissed her forehead and said Goodbye.

On my way to breakfast, with that beautiful view of the Zihua Bay. By now the weather has changed to bright sunshine.

Fishing boats trolling already in the bay back and forth. The flying silvery needle fish still breaking water and sparkling in the

sunlight. A school of sea porpoises gracefully take to the air and plunge back into water. According to my waiter, they had not seen sea porpoises in the last three months.

Have they all come to pay their respects and share in my grief and sadness? The sea porpoises, the white silvery needle fish, the Pelican.

For those who have not tasted Zihua at its birth, this must be magical. I still find it enchanting, alluring still full of charm.

To sit at one of the small cafĂŠs with the plastic table on the sand where, unless you get up and look for waiter, you will never be served.

Sitting there and listening to that familiar sound of yesteryears, the continuous sound of the pounding of the waves breaking up on the beach. Hardly any English spoken anywhere.

So, here I am at La Ropa Playa remembering the past.

Remembering those exceptional times of togetherness we shared

and enjoyed as family. How sad, how terribly sad that while I enter this journal daily, she is not here to share it with me. Hoping, wishing, hoping, and wishing that dreadful nightmare would end and she would reappear, but she never does.

Sitting here in this picturesque café amidst all the Mexican families. It’s still Enchanting, Charming, and Special.

You can still enjoy sitting at that plastic table on the sand at the café, enjoying a BLT sandwich with two coffees and two cervesas for the day.

Another time at La Ropa Playa, sitting on my small green plastic chair facing the ocean and being welcomed by the waiter who recognizes me, so here I am pushing the past into the present. What a great days of old.

What a great togetherness the Solow’s experienced in this small Mexican fishing village.

So here he is still after forty eight years, the occasional hat vendor balancing his twenty hats on his head and juggling the dozen straws bags and here comes that small corpulent fleshy lady vendor with her assortment of multi-colored bracelets and necklaces.

I went into town to get myself a hat to protect myself from the blistering sun - a lovely serpentine walk along along the beach from the Irma hotel to the beach. Here and there one can see Mexican families with their many children lounging on blankets beneath the shades of the palm trees.

Got back to my room at 7:30, the sun was still blazing and strong. How I yearn each afternoon when I’m through with my shower that Annie would be there under the cover relaxing from the beach and sun and we would converse about the day’s doings and of course, I would tell her what great pictures I took...But all I see is an empty bed.

And so we left the pier and were leaving the bay and entering the ocean to fish; how well I remembered the first time, in 1960, as we left for the ocean, Annie catching this 30 lbs Dorado (dolphin) still in the bay, with its beautiful green/ yellow/gray colors and that was the beginning of unending fantastic fishing. I started crying and crying until we passed the light house and entered the ocean.

Slowly, as we left shoreline and got deeper and deeper into the ocean, the mountainous shorelines blended with the gray clouds and formed a homogenous picture and from time to time we could see lightning in the horizon. This gray cloudy day actually turned out to be a blessing and protected us from the blistering sun as we left coastline, it eventually became nothing but a haze. The dark gray/blue clouds mixing with the white puffy clouds kept giving us a different portrait every half hour.

What I was privy to see, was the preparation of the bait. The ritual of the preparation, how to string the bait, how to place that hook inside the fish so that while in the water, the tail wiggles and moves from side to side as if it was alive.

A small café called Lylly’s restaurant, dating back to the 60’s and the original owner still alive. As we sat and had a cervesa, the owner started talking to us. She could not get over the fact that I was here in the late 50’s and 60’s and absolutely no change except in the 60’s there were 5 tables, now there are nine.

She could not get over the postcards dated back from the late 60’s. As we sat, we

watched many activities on the pier, not from fishing but all the movement coming from Mexicans who had spent the day at Las Gatas or adjacent islands.

So here we are enjoying our drink and listening to a broken down radio listening to the classic Mexican Music. A lady vocalist with guitarist and trumpets in the background. Next to our table four Mexican playing cards and at another table three of them playing dominoes and always with that Mexican music blasting away in the background.

Being there, watching it all happens is like a time wrap and winding up at the “Madera” in the afternoon, and just being there, recollecting, remembering the superb times we enjoyed.

The excellent times we relished and as I wander from place to place, many flashbacks dash through my head.

Actually this is the first time that I am taking photos in Zihua.

I do not have one picture of Zihua. It was always all movies and how I wish that she would be here to see them. These photos will do justice to Zihua and capture the flavor, the charm, the magic of Zihua’s yesteryears.

Out on Mandera beach you can see the aficionados already swimming in the ocean. You see the graceful Pelicans gliding a few inches above the water looking for their meal.

And as I sit and meditate, there is Annie telling me today I’d like to relax under a Palapa and do nothing and not rush anywhere. Go do your thing go to the village, go to the pier go to La Ropa, go shoot to your heart’s content and let me be, and as I turn around the room empty, sadness overcome me.

I look to the bay with the hills boarding the beaches, impregnated with small family casitas, almost reaching the peak. These hills, which upon a time, were filled with only green vegetation with one or two casitas sticking out the green. At night, these hills flickering with hundreds of lights, where once upon a time, there were none except for the six lights on Playa Principal.

Somehow I always turn up at the Irma for supper and a wondrous sunset, it is still the best spot for that Magical Sunset.

Stationed myself at this tiny cafĂŠ with three tables where the fishermen bring their catch and just watched and watched the scenes. Still overcast and slightly windy but I know the sun will come out later. And, all the time you hear that surf pounding and pounding.

I see the locals already lined up waiting for the fishermen and soon the bargaining will start, all over again, for the sale of their fish. And as I’m sitting families keep on passing me by, headed for the pier with their kids and their rubber tubes and colorful floats to what will probably be an enjoyable outing. And these Mexicans families keep on passing without a stop, some carrying big cameras, some carrying snorkeling equipment, some fishing rods, and some carrying heavy coolers, carried by two for their drinks. Some of these coolers so big that they were being wheeled. All of them in their multi-colored outfits, but one thing they have in common, they all carry heavy bolsas, stuffed with food for the day, some so heavy, enough for the week, all headed for

an outing at Las Gatas, a beach on the other side of the bay.

I’m missing her, I’m sad for her, I’m hurting for her.

Now I wonder when we go fishing for that big one tomorrow.

Will Annie be there with us and guide us to the right place for that strike. Why oh Why did she leave me so soon? Why did she punish me so?

I wonder if that pain will ever diminish. I know it will never leave me, but will it diminish? So I make my way back to the hotel and return to my big room, and return to that large and empty bed.

Not a patch of blue anywhere in the sky. A day to reflect. A day to contemplate. A day to be pensive. How well I remember when I finished shaving and let the warm water run, she would say “Henry, Henry! Don’t waste their water!”.

But, today, there is no one here to remind me and such heaviness overtakes me, and all the time I hear that continuous pounding of the surf. One hour later and still pouring. Are the skies crying with me? ***** No boats out, not a single soul anywhere on the beach. It’s just me alone with my thoughts, it’s just me alone remembering, it’s just me – reminiscing.

How I wish! How I wish that she would be here to tell me, “Henry, don’t waste the water!” Henry, go do your thing! Go shoot to your heart’s content and let me be!

How fast, how fast these 54 years whizzed by and why, why have I been left alone? I started to cry for just a moment, a young couple approached me to see if I was all right. The hot

piercing sun seeping through the clouds and I can hear the breaking waves in front of me.

How well I remember that series of three to four extra strong and extra powerful waves hitting the beach with full force and smashing into the bathers forcing them to lose their balance and stumble every which way. Here and there a mother screaming for her little boy to come back from the water Couldn’t help but notice that family with their two kids around nine and ten enjoy their day at the beach next to me. The husband with his two boys went to the ocean. Couldn’t help but see his wife looking constantly into that little mirror. Was she beginning to see the first traces of age creeping into that face? Was she beginning to see some changes in that face? Was she wondering where her years have passed by?

Had a Plata de Frutas, watermelon, papaya, mango, melon, banana and pineapple and washed it down with a glass of coconut juice, my lunch for the next six days.

And that bee! Constantly buzzing in front of me and finally resting on the bottle of Salsa Picante, a true Mexican bee. Why that Salsa Picante was served with a Plata de Frutas is a big riddle. And all the time listening to the pounding of the waves on the beach.

Took a little stroll through the little dirt street of Zihua before going to the beach. Some small streets swarmed with stalls, selling caps, t-shirts, floats, little shovel with their little pails for the kids, bathing suits, sarongs, men’s shirt, ladies shirts displayed all over the place. Stalls selling every imaginable bracelets, necklaces, mostly made of shells, hanging all over the

place in the thousands. It’s this air that has lots of charms of that little fishing village of yesteryear.

Low and behold as I’m wandering, I came upon the movie house named “Cinema Paraiso” located near the beach which probably holds about 200. A far cry from opened building with its twelve rows of wooden benches holding probably, three dozen or so, in the 60’s. Stumbling upon that small Cinema was another time wrap.

10:00 am and I’ m sitting on that green plastic chair watching the beach boy arranging his few worn out colorful surf boards, polishing up his one and the only water-jet ski and dragging out his little sail boat with its colorful sail to the water. I wonder in disbelief, that I went to Annie’s funeral just two weeks ago. That she left me. That she’s no more. But I know why I am here. Something compelled me to be here and write this journal about Zihua. It’s like a mission that had to be done. It’s like history that had to be written. It’s like a past that had to be registered. And so, when I get back, it will be typed out and placed together with pictures of Zihua in a folder.

Who knows maybe this diary will pass on from generation to generation to generation and they will be aware that there once was a special lady called Annie who left her husband too soon, whose husband loved her very much and whose husband is hurting as he keeps entering this journal, daily.

And, as I lie on that chaise meditate, I contemplate, I reflect as to what awaits me when I get back to New York. Certainly not great memories at my apartment. At least in Long

Beach we had some great recollections of the Saturday’s and Sunday’s at our pool with our friends. Enjoying that dip into the pool just the two of us either early in the morning or late in the afternoon. Always enjoying that great view in the back.

There is a story that has been told over and over again that in 1960 when in all of Zihua there was only one taxi. There were two private cars in Zihua and somehow, so the story is told, they banged into each other and got into this accident.

I knew that these two weeks would be hard on me and tough on me. But I had to do it and had to come back here and be by myself and remember when she was alive. But, what I’m afraid of is what awaits me in New York. Will I ever function? She is constantly on my mind. This two week fiesta would have been so perfect for the two of us.

Slightly overcast sheltering the brutal sun. By now out deep into the ocean, for another fishing attempt. All we hear is the sound of the motor and the sound of the water splashing against the boat. We hear the screech of the occasional sea gull. The swells of the ocean gently lifting the boat up and down. However no luck again. We did have one strike from a sail fish but he spit the bait out. We did see a blue marlin a few hundred feet from us being caught. How pretty, how exciting to see it burst out of the water. How thrilling to see that fish explode out of the ocean.

Just one more look, just one more look. One more peek at my Shangri-La, to those magical times of yesteryears of forty years ago (1958), when Annie and I came for the first time and returned four more times. Where nothing ever went wrong but everything went right. To that bewitching fishing village called Zihuatanejo. That time, that period of time; Where everything was fine, where everything was perfect when our hearts were young and gay and innocent.

And so that artificial world that I created and so satisfied me. In my made believed world I created. I shifted. I journeyed to the past and I willed it had she would be here. A fantasy world of my own making.

So that when I was shooting the photos to my heart’s content she was taking a nap. So that when I entered that empty room she would be taking a shower. So when I would enter late in the afternoon and find that bed empty. She was getting in the bathroom, for the evening.

And that funeral was just a bad, bad dream. That the cemetery scene never took place. That this eulogy I gave was just a nightmare.

And that what was real, was that she was still with me. That she never left me. That she was alert, vibrant, alive and smiling.

And How Pleasant and Delightful, How Happy those few moments of many made believes were only to be shattered and destroyed by reality. Somehow in these two weeks she did not vanish completely for me. That somehow in the background, at times, She was here, she was resting, she was relaxing, she was alive - she was with me. What I dread the most is the coming back to face the stark reality that she’s left me. To come back to that apartment where she laid speechless and motionless for so many months. To that place she died slowly.

Where she died daily. I’m so thankful for these two weeks of fantasy where I always expected her to come out of from somewhere.

So, tonight, I bid adieu to that enchanting, bewitching, charming and delightful little Mexican “Camelot”.

Where the magic still exist in the air - where the strumming guitarist still can be heard. We certainly were lucky to capture all this at its infancy, at its birth. That undiscovered tiny little Mexican fishing village of two thousand.

That Mexican kingdom called CAMELOTEE. I’m hurting so much inside.

I know that Annie was not immortal. I just did not expect that she would leave me so soon.

That girl with that forever smile. That girl with that contagious smile. I shall miss her so terribly. I shall miss her sadly. I shall miss her deeply. She was my life’s reward.

I bring back Zihuatanejo to New York with my photos.

GREECE _ _ AUGUST 2007 Traveling to Greece Capture the moments

What pleasurable moments to capture it all and not losing it forever, to be able to freeze it with a picture. These places with its fast disappearing old quarters drip with charm and history. The lifestyle which is about to disappear. Things are moving so fast, the old world is disappearing. Hopefully, hopefully as you just watch it all, and hope it will outlive us all.

And yet, I wonder how they will cope with the wreckage and transformation of modernity.

Athens is a huge sprawling city, very congested, with many tiny narrow streets.

Flea market consists of shops selling goods running from high quality to trash. There is everything to be found from clocks, binoculars to condoms!!!

Breakfast while looking at a spectacular view of the Acropolis while listening to classical music, I think, I reflect how she belongs to be next to me.

How she belongs to be in the midst of all this magic.

In the amidst all the delicate small tables and small delicate chairs, as I sit here among the other Greek guest at this inn : I’m watching - observing them studying them.

Like the very old man with his young lovely lady who seems to be taking such a good care of him. Or the fellow, that resemblance, that look and stare into somewhere so remindful of Marcello Mastrioni in his movies.

Or that heavy Greek savoring that

very large dish of sausages, bacon, eggs and potatoes. How well “Peter Ustinove” would have portrayed him. All these characters straight out a mystery novel with “Hercule Poirot”, its detective.

I make mental notes of these colorful events in an effort to prevent them from getting lost under an avalanche of memories.

The walk-ups with their inner courtyards and endless alleyways, losing myself in them for hours at a time. I stepped into a time machine and strapped myself in for a special journey. As I walk through these narrow winding cobbled streets, capturing it all in, this and my camera becoming my photographic world.

The world up here is glorious. The world is as close to perfection as it can get. There is champagne fizz in the air everywhere. Narrow alleyways - ancient houses-bars with its

cowhide benches. There are plenty of hidden nooks. A labyrinth with its crowded and noisy streets and its many peddlers who never leave you alone.

ALL OF THIS MESMERIZE YOU HYPNOTIZE YOU Seashells of all sizes and colorful necklaces bracelets rings of all different colors. All those mixed sacks of olives, almonds and sacks of all sort of nuts.

Visited village called Ano Syros, a small village with tiny sleepy cobblestoned streets wooden doors and balconies. Small courtyard filled with colorful flowers pots of all color against the whitewashed houses. No change here in the past 100 years. The surrounding took my breath away.

As you stroll, total quietness, as if no one lives in this village, sleepy but spectacular. Found myself back at that little bewitching harbor and had lunch in this quaint opened restaurant facing the blue water. Packed with men playing cards and chain smoking, and as I watched fishing boats

returning, seagulls congregating the boats entering the harbor, gobbling up any scraps that fishermen discarded off their boats.

Always traveling - always touring.

Riding through very zigzagging small roads between hilly countryside.

Terrain very similar to the Sfad area in Israel.

What one sees constantly and everywhere so many travelers dragging their luggage every which way with the handles up and rolling them from behind, all over the island, all over the harbor area, and all over the roads.

All these poor souls in search of a room. Not realizing how hopeless their situation is.

Some of the Greek women have such manly faces, some revealing bikinis round, deliciously little bronze kids and well-built Zorbas, some elders barely managing to get their chairs.

Goodbye - to Ano Syros, to that small village with its stone walls, narrow streets, many wooden balconies and many arches. To its many little and numerous whitewashed steps.

Goodbye - to Poseidonia where the wealthy class have their mansions full of gardens with their tall pine trees.

Megas Ycalos Finikas Vari Kari Each possessing their own distinctive charm Goodbye - to Ermoupolis with its marble paved streets, with its dazzling churches, white-washed with their blue golden domes glaring noon time from bright sun.

Goodbye - to my little harbor bussing with its many sail boats, yachts, café’s and restaurant, with its night life which is rather sedate, with many small streets, shops and cafés tucked away.

No question that the pace in Paros much slower than Syros. You have choice, you adjust to it. Lovely Parikia with its white-washed houses and blue windows stretched out from the top of the hills to the sea. Paved narrow cobbled streets going every which way. The pond with its bustle, its movement, its buzz with ferries coming in and leaving.

This area is known as Kastro�, which kept its picturesque and traditional ways and did not succumb to modern times.

Wandered around for about 2 hours and could easily have wandered for another 2 hours, lost into the enchanting old town area with its magical alleyways, archways and washed out steps.

Lefkes, a small village with its tiny alleyways twisting and at a steep down slant. How easy to walk down but now difficult to walk up.

All the time, everywhere but everywhere Greek and Italian music can be heard.

Going back to Naoussa for few hours. To that most relaxing small port with its many little fishing boats, to its charming cafĂŠs bordering the waterfront, to its glaring little white-washed square homes with its blue windows creeping up the hill and glistening in the bright sunlight. So relaxing and just sipping a coffee and watching the Greeks pass by, and always

that Greek music in the background.

Back to town on the motorcycle and holding on for dear life. Road to town very tiny - zigzagging and up and down all the way. It’s very frustrating how little English is spoken. Most of them hardly speak a word of English.

Took a bus tour to look into some of the ethnic villages of Naxos, wandering through their hamlets they don’t take notice as you stroll through and invade their privacy. These inhabitants truly remain unaffected by the busy outside world. They just follow their old ways and old customs with that occasional farmer and his mule wandering through the village. There is certainly a touch of a much older Greece as you stroll through.

There is an eerie peace and quiet that envelopes this place as you stroll, and, as

you get to the small square, dominated by a huge tree, where you can eat in a peaceful terrace garden overlooking into the valley.

As soon as you step ashore on Anti Paros, you feel the pace of life slowing down. A very bright and friendly place.

A miracle of miracles finding this room so near the port.

Looks like my bagel still with me, and I actually have laundry service right next door.

Let me tell you the height of luxury is to walk around, enjoy the peace and quietness and see some of the visitors looking for that impossible quest of finding a “room�.

Having that room, my friend, is the height of luxury.

Here and there a Greek sipping his coffee, about five cafĂŠs/ restaurants alongside the water. So here I am sipping my ice coffee and looking at the tiny harbor filled with moored fishing boats with their enormous fishing nets almost as big as the boats themselves. Shopping area of the village very picturesque with its small long only alley, with its uneven pavement (whitewashed rocky design), with the tiny shops doing such a good job of displaying their wares so well and so cleverly. Each shop a jewel itself. Every night at around 6:00 pm I parked myself at my cafĂŠ and work on my diary for an hour or so.

Just imagine this picture with Greek melodies in the

background. Definitely an “Endroit� to hang on longer.

Landed in Pounda, nothing there except for that magnificent restaurant, sort of hidden when you land. A must, to be seen and to eat there, according to the Lonely Planet book. What you see upon landing is a rundown Greek tavern empty with two waiters, with no knowledge of English.

No sign of that beautiful restaurant. Being told I would need a taxi to get there and from previous experience it would be difficult task just to get a taxi on the island, out of nowhere a taxi appears into this completely deserted area.

Found Thea!!! As I enter it, I enter into elegance.

I enter into luxurious surrounding of 8 tables located every which way, adorned with lovely white linen and beautiful silverware. And as you enter, you can hear a Bolero by Ravel.

All these tables facing the

water to what will be the making of glorious sunset.

These tables resting on uneven white-washed rocky floor design. All located in open air between small palm trees on slight mount.

As I entered I could see all the tables were already reserved.

Beautiful classy menu, with the following inscription “The more we love what we do, the more we take care of it” Had a potato salad, which consisted of boiled potatoes-eggsthin lettuce and delicious house mayonnaise. Followed by braised corned beef with spectacular sautéed mushroom and mashed potatoes. A superb dish.

Lovely selection of classical music. Little by little these reserved tables were filled up by very elegant group of people. As the bright sun was sinking into

the horizon with all its miraculous colors, you could now hear a Tchaikovsky violin concerto. Eating there was like being at a Greek “Luttece�. You would expect Onassis with Jacqueline dining here. It is such a moment that she is so missed.

As I watched it all, I was

wondering what was installed for some of them. For some of those youngsters, some unforeseen tragedies in the making and for others just perfection till their final years. Just the luck of the Draw.

Watching these young Greek Gods and Goddesses as they sat and as they spoke. So sure of themselves. That look of complete confidence. The way they sit. They sit like conquerors!

How positive youth can be! All at the start of their lives. All at the entrance of a long corridor - of unknown. For some, greatness. For some, nothing but disappointments. Anyway, it sort of reminds me of my youth where once upon a time I too was a God! I too was a Greek God!

It was as usual, a beautiful cloudless morning and yet the crossing was very rough, very bumpy and very choppy, this ride on the small boat heading to Paros. This woman, probably in her 50’s, next to me dressed all in black, kept mumbling and crossing herself continuously during the crossing. As the swells would get big, she would grab my hand and hold on to it from time to time. Spitting image to Anna Magnani from the Italian black and white movies in the 60’s. Not a word of English, by the time we reached Paros the water eased up and we parted.

Back in Paros and already known by a few people.

Just about the time that my ferry was leaving there were four big ones leaving at the same time which created a little confusion as to which was mine. The more times I asked as to where I should go, the more confused I got.

After schlepping and dragging my valise into one of these monsters only to be told not here. It was only at the third ferry that I hit it right.

Naxos, more fertile than the other islands produces olives, grapes, figs, corn, potatoes and citrus fruits. Capital Hora with its pretty little churches with their blue domes scattered all over the island, among the white-washed cubic houses draped in Bougainville and hibiscus in their narrow streets.

This port of Naxos has a resort atmosphere because of its largeness with great beautiful sunsets to be taken from these cafĂŠs. Quite an enjoyable Greek spectacle to be seen from these waterfront cafĂŠs. Here one can see the old time typical fishing boats alongside the major yachts bobbing in the water and see the occasional fisherman mending his net. Many ancient foot-paths that wander through these foothills on the island of small white churches and ancient ruins.

I visited many beaches around the island packed with its young people of every shape and from every country on this planet and perhaps from some unknown planets.

Lots of sea sport activities being offered, wind surfing, Scuba Diving, Sky Flying, Pedal Boats, Canoes, Waterskiing, Sailboat, Jet Skis, and Giant Shaped Floating Bananas that

accommodate eight people. Some of the beaches shaded by trees that grow along the beaches. The port is the place to eat. Some of the fish are so fresh it is still flapping when served! A pleasant relaxed way of life in these islands.

Traveling with my old ten year Olympus camera that served me well, I was able to lose myself for hours at a time with camera in hand to capture the special forever. And as I walked down these narrow winding cobbled streets capturing it all in.

This and my camera became my photographic world.

A fisherman chopping up his catch - a poultry dealer depluming his chickens and the cry of fresh fruit and

vegetables ladies. How easily you get caught up into the rhythm of this place, into the time wrap. To be able to freeze it with a picture, this camera, which provides a ticket into a secret world. Like capturing these old people with leather skinned faces from so much sun for so long.

How well I remember that one day when the wind blew strong and the waves cracked over the fishermen’s boat - huge breakers thundered on the rocks.

How well I remember walking on the empty beach early in the morning listening to the sound of waves, roosters crowing to one another, and for a moment a fierce ocean wind whipped my hair around. And out of nowhere a bunch of seagulls appeared on the beach creating such pandemonium and just as they came they

just disappeared and the silence set in again upon the beach.

Suddenly, I would be enveloped with thoughts of Annie and remember all of our trips all over the world. How deeply she is missed. At low tide, the receding waters produce these ripples on the wet sand and, further into the ocean the occasional sandbar would emerge like a mirage shimmering from the sun. The water all the time a solid turquoise color that might have been poured directly from a can of paint!

I sure enjoyed my trip with all that marching, all the climbing, all the hiking I did every single day, I rose to the challenge.

So, goodbye to the time machine that I strapped myself into for the journey. So, goodbye to

the two story walk-ups. To the endless alleyways. To the village with its ethnic villagers. To the ferries with its backpackers. To the fishermen with their daily catch. To the vendors who set up their crates of fruits and vegetables. To the many shopkeepers and merchants who have come to peddle their goods. To the worshippers of the sun.

Here and there a pair of women flouting their cultural norms by sunbathing topless.

A transgression made by some, worse by lying sunny side up. Goodbye to my beautiful sunsets. To the flocks of sheep drudging through the while sandy beaches with its mules alongside clinging to their bells. To that boy who created his own toy - by kicking around a wooden ring.

So I leave this all, worried that tomorrow I will not find anything to take its place.

A taste of the real Greece untouched by mass tourism. Goodbye to my windmills and blue domes churches. A way of life which seems hardly to have changed in certain places.

Goodbye to the people whose lives I touched so briefly but so deeply and who are still very present to me.

So here I am at the ripe old age of 80 in my sunset years.

My mind in turmoil from knowing so much So many factoids.

So many memories.

So many dates.

So much sadness.

Hoping that this will not be my last hurrah!!!

EGYPT _ _ JANUARY 2008

INDONESIA _ _ JUNE 2008 & MARCH 2011

CZECH REPUBLIC _ _ SEPTEMBER 2008

Josefov contains the remains of the once - thriving quarter - Prague’s former Jewish Ghetto where half a dozen old synagogues with the powerfully melancholy old Jewish cemetery still exists. The Nazis preserved these places as part of a planned “Museum of An Extinct Race”.

Instead they have survived as a memorial to seven centuries of oppression. Some 12.000 crumbling stones are heaped together but beneath them are perhaps 100.000 graves piled in layers because of the space.

The most prominent grave that of Rabbi Low who according to legend created the “Golem” to alleviate plight of the Jews in 1600.

Crucifix with an invocation saying “HOLY HOLY HOLY LORD” funded by the fine of a Jew who had mocked it in 1696

Golden Lane is a picturesque cobblestone alley also the place where Franz Kafka lived and died in house No. 22.

POLAND _ _ SEPTEMBER 2008

WARSAW STARE MIASTO OLD TOWN 85% of the city was razed to the ground The old town had been hit with particular Nazi efficiency and what was left was little more than a shouldering heap of bricks to their credit.

The Polish Court chose to rebuild the historic centre, a painstaking process that would last until 1962.

Using prewar sketches, paintings and photographs the old town was carefully rebuild in its entity.

The old Warsaw’s history quarter is an architectural miracle.

BAZAR NA KOLE This huge and fascinating antiques and Bric-a-rac market located 15 miles north of Warsaw offers everything from old furniture to WWII relics such as rusted German Helmets Brass plates engraved with the Polish Eagle.

Lovely lamps dating back to the 1930’s. Old clocks - Jewelry - Broken dolls and lots of Bad Art!!! Interesting types of people wandering around this market and capture with my camera some piquant faces.

UMSCHLAGHPLATZ

Had the good fortune to discover the taste of Jewish cuisine and listen for 2 hrs to the charm of Klesmer music at the “Ariel Restaurant�.

The combo consisted of 4.

Accordion - Bass Clarinet - Violin.

Pure magic to listen and being transported to the yesteryears of Jewish culture.

One of the Synagogues in Warsaw Open only for the High Holidays

CHOPIN CONCERT A UNIQUE ATMOSPHERE Played by a lovely Japanese Pianist inside the cottage where Chopin was born.

The crowd sat outside in a charming meticulous garden. The group did not see the artist playing but just listened to the performance which consisted of 3 nocturnes, which Annie played so well. It ripped my heart.

OLD AGE The Beginning of the End

YOUTH Springtime of Life The Start The Dawn The Beginning of Entertainment The Pure Delight of Being Alive

JEWISH CEMETERY In spite of sporadic disrepair and neglect, this remains a beautiful and poignant place to visit. Currently houses around 250,000 tombs.

TODAY’S NEW WARSAW A pile of rectangular concrete cement blocks of apartment houses with very little warmth.

KAZIMIER One of Krakow inner suburbs largely Jewish neighborhood although by this time only the poorest Jews remained. Nazis herded the Jews into a ghetto called Podgorze before transporting them to Aushwitz.

Today only two of Kazimierz’s synagogues are still in use

by Krakow’s tiny Jewish population, all together 100.

The Orthodox - Remuh Synagogue The Reform - Temple Synagogue The others now function as museums.

Of the 65.000 Jews in Krakow in 1939, only 6000 survived the war.

LODZ An estimated 300.00 Jews perished in what become known as the “Litzmann Stadt� Ghetto. When the Red Army Liberated Lodz in 1945 fewer than 900 Jewish Survivors remained.

Picture of the Umschlagplatz deportation place where Jews were loaded with such ferocity and such speed on cattle wagons bound for Treblinka.

On May 27, 1942 “Reinhard Heydrich� acting protector of Bohemian and Moravia, the main master mind of the Holocaust, was assassinated on his regular way from the castle to Prague.

The village of Lidice was razed all adult men were shot 173; all children if suitable for Germanizing were placed in 55-Families. Orders to burn and obliterate the village. In Prague 1500 were killed (adult meant anyone 15 years old and older). All women and children were shipped to the Ravensbruck concentration camp.

The site is now a green field, eloquent in its silence.

TEREZIN THERESIENSTADT A town that was billed as a kind of Jewish “Refuge”. With a Jewish Administration - Banks - Shops - Cafe - School and a thriving cultural life, it even had a jazz band.

In a charade that twice completely fooled international observers and the Red Cross, 3,500 died from starvation, disease or suicide. The balance were shipped regularly by trains for the gas chambers of Auschwitz.

SCHINDLER’S FACTORY A hard drinking profiteering playboy, Schindler does not fit the standard mold for a hero, though neither was he the typical Nazi. Credited with saving 1200 Jews. Buried in Jerusalem for his act of courage. Has been honored by Yad Vashem.

TYKOCIN Located 60 miles N.E. from Warsaw, 30 miles West from Bialystok. During WW II it lost all its Jews, 200 were slaughtered within 49 hours. It remains a small, sleepy place where not goes on. Tykocin is 17th century Synanogue is one of the best preserved of its kind in Poland.

There is restaurant Tejsza in the basemen of the Talmudic House, where we had the best inexpensive Kosher Meal, Barley Soup, Meat Pyrogens. The best meal we had in Poland.

TREBLINKA Upon orders of Himmler the Death Camp was completely demolished and the area ploughed over.

Beneath the grass mingled with the sand lie the ashes of some 800.000 human beings.

All you can see today is the peaceful Mazovian Pine Forest.

A huge Granite monument stands on the site where the Gas Chambers were located with the inscription “NEVER AGAIN” Around it is a vast symbolic cemetery in the form of a forest of Granite Stones representing the towns and villages where the camp’s victims came from.

ISRAEL _ _ JULY 2009

BRAZIL _ _ AUGUST 2009 Trip to The Amazon Another Adventure begins again

The passion of adventure is still active and burning.

So, here we go again, another adventure begins all over again a Trip / Journey / Voyage of constant daily happenings.

One thing is certain, I refuse, at my respectable age of 83 to give into all the infirmities associated with old age. But, also I do accept that fragile times are upon me. I have learned to pace myself as I begin to feel some damage done to my body, I am encouraged that in my sunset years my body is still in fairly good shape.

As I’m lounging in this comfortable armchair, these thoughts that are flashing at such great speed, racing me by so fast that I really cannot focus on any one of them at any great length.

I suddenly see myself as a small boy of seven collecting sea shells at the beach.

I suddenly see myself in the midst of the chaotic conditions at Dunkirk”in the middle of the evacuation of British troops crossing the channel with all the bombing and blitz as the English withdrew. At the age of eighteen, I suddenly see myself on a convoy bound for the Philippines eventually to be part of greatly costly invasion of Japan.

I suddenly see myself walking down the aisle of my wedding at the Aston hotel with my future wife, Annie. I see myself at the birth of my great youngsters, each one a winner in his own right.

So many events have taken place mixed with en expose of dark secrets that lurk beneath the placid surface of our lives. I’ve made mistakes and I don’t believe that you can go through life without making them.

Losing her so suddenly, left me So Bruised / So Empty / So Damaged, that I never recovered. She’s always there and by now only imagination from time to time brings her back. One only loves once and I had the love of a

lifetime and now it is gone.

She’s become a distant memory with time and sadly, so sadly with time her image is blurring, her face is clouding and what is left is a mere mist/ a disorderly fog of just memories and the jolly face that I learned to wear daily only hides the sadness of the real mask that one learns to wear daily.

Memory is one of life’s burdens that we can do nothing about it, never disappear, it’s always there.

And as I reflect as I ponder I cannot help but think mortality is around the corner realizing all too well that death at my age is rushing down toward me, like an express train I only hope that it doesn’t enter the station yet.

And as I reflect as I ponder I realize soon I will be just a picture in the family album that all families possess.

And how well I remembered glancing at these photos of our family albums, I observed how

these people whole framed untroubled poised faces stare at us. And seem to be crying out as if they are pleading to be recognized and remembered.

I recognize that I enjoy less and less contact with my old gray friends, simply because they are disappearing on me.

And as I’m looking back on my past, from even a greater distance I am now looking through a telescope and not a magnifying glass.

So at the end, dreams vanish, dust settles and we long for a perfect ending at the right time and have no choice but to accept mortality. And as I continue reflecting, so many recollections of my life continue to whiz through my mind, so many events, some sad, some sweet, some unforgettable, some so incredible, some fireworks mixed in our marriage.

Who could have imagined that

she would be the first to go so soon, there are no doors to hide my sadness.

How well I remember taking her to that jazz club on West 52nd St. to listen to the legendary Satchmo”play his golden trumpet in the early 50’s before our wedding.

How special how rich that night was and how well we enjoyed each other.

Manaus, frontier town where an opera house was built in the 1900’s during the crazy times of rubber discovery, with the best Italian Marble/Bohemian Glass/ Gilded Balconies /Crystal Chandeliers and Victorian

Murals. It didn’t matter that almost no one from “Manaus” had ever heard of Puccini or that more than half of members of a visiting opera troupe eventually died of yellow fever. During the day when we took the speed boat earlier, decided to go fishing for Piranhas and so we drifted towards small tributaries of the Amazon River and chose a small peaceful area and as we fished and watched the surrounding / it seemed I was thousands of miles of civilization. Not a sound could be heard except for a few monkeys flying from branch to branch /a few lovely graceful white Egrets flying from their brush and racing toward the blue sky like small jets. Yes! We actually caught eight Piranhas within hour with very primitive Bamboo poles. So close to civilization and yet so far away from it.

Visiting the fishing area three times was so exceptional. The Tumult, The Bustle, The Chaos, The Yelling, men carrying heavy loads everywhere and here and there a but trying to make his way through by car.

Everywhere stalls of Clams, Sea Urchins, Oysters lined the break water, where fishermen smacked dead octopuses on the rock to tenderize them. Peddlers wheeled their barrows through the serpentine alleys selling amulets against the evil eye while handcars swept the gutter of all the garbage.

Strange, further down many stalls selling only Palmolive soap and Hershey Bars. What a weird combo!!!

Totally exhausted from last three days! So one day merges into another while time is measured only by what surprise awaits me tomorrow.

The 5 days / 4 night River Boat Cruise turned out to be a marvel, a rarity, accommodation spacious, my cabin had two large rectangular windows, two beds, a large enough bathroom with shower and sightseeing spectacular, food was a gourmet quality. Woke up every morning at 5:00 am.

And as the small boat started entering and navigating the small narrow Tributaries, we could hear the call of thousands of birds and the cry of monkeys, actually seeing them fly from branch to branch with such agility.

Navigated for about two hours when we stopped and got out of the boat into this dense thick heavy region visibility only four feet and proceeded for a hour gruelling walk.

Two guides up in front hacking away a small path for us with their Machetes. A divine act that I lasted at all !!! On that walk one of the guides found hideous ugly giant red/ black tarantula the size of his hand .

I almost fainted. I was so exhausted at the end of the walk that I needed assistance to get back into the canoe.

A dolphin breached the still waters and a pair of green parrots with rapid wings beating and flying over the boat, I was starting to get excited. Clearly, I could not sleep the first night but just listened to the magic sounds of the sleeping forest. It was indeed a world away from Manhattan. And so as we continued navigating the secluded back waters, I spied in quick succession blue and yellow Macaws, a pair of red billed Toucans through the binoculars that I took along from NY. I could track down a number of playful monkeys.

And as the night comes to complete the silence so it comes alive in a mix of competing sounds, every cricket, frog, monkey, bird seems to be in the mood to be heard.

Entering The Rain Forest Visibility 3ft.

Group Accompanied by Two Guides One From The Area One Bilingual Capture of This Ferocious Cayman

by Our Guide Age - 2 Months Weight - 5Lbs

Hacking Away A Path With His Machete Into the Rain Forest

Manaus Hotel Tropical

Manaus premier luxury hotel Built in a sprawling Hacienda style that never rises more than three stories. Tropical has 600 rooms and very streched out - in order to get to my room need to take a rest. This became my oasis - my watering place after my 5 day trip in the

Amazon.

Manaus - Grand Opera How bizarre that in this frontier town “Manaus” an opera was built in the 1900’s / during the crazy times of Rubber Discovery/ with the best Italian Marble/ Bohemian Glass/ Gilded Balconies/ crystal chandeliers/ Victorian Murals - it didn’t matter that almost no one from Manaus had ever heard of “Puccini”or that more than half of the members of a visiting

opera troupe eventually died of yellow fever.

And so as we coast the coastline and watch the fisherman push into the waters and swirl his net into the water with the hope of catching enough for his family for tonight’s meal.

And as the night progressed the silence became even greater and from time to time you could see puffs of clouds drifting to the edge of the moon and eventually block it out completely. As we navigate through these secluded areas at night, we proceed to hunt for Amazon Caimon known as the“Jacare, but instead of carrying guns or spears the guide is armed with a powerful spotlight which instantly freezes the reptile. The small inlets startled by the sound of the small tributaries it reminds me so much of the bayou country in New Orleans. The ferocity of the Piranhas were greatly exaggerated. In less than one hour, caught 20, brought back to the River Boat and the chef made them into a delicious soup.

Travelling the river is getting to know a different world.

Travelling in a beautiful world of water, a scenery of the unusual, always calm, sometimes repetitive, but offering you the full mood of its immensity.

How deeply you experience a different world, the trip turned out to be a wonder of nature.

It’s interesting that on such a river trip you connect with each other and how at the end of the voyage you embrace each other, you kiss each other goodbye and never see each other again and yet, the glue was strong.

So for few days the link with this Vietnamese family, the young Kentucky honeymooners, the delightful young Serbian Family, the old Jewish couple in their 80’s from Austria, the ones from Luxembourg and of course my young Norwegian girl.

After 4 days, I am so dark that I can be easily taken for Brazilian. Manaus that will be so ingrained in my mind.

In Belem, visited the famous “Mercado Ver O Peso.” The display of fruits and animals not to mention the people, is fascinating. The best time of course is early in the morning.

Shops selling medicinal plants, shoes, clothes, food, you name it and its here. Of course you have to so watch yourself as you walk because of the many cracks on the pavement and also hold on to dear life so nothing would happen to my camera.

A lot shoving and pushing from every which way. Pick pocketing is a persistent problem, believe it or not, I was pick pocketed for 20 dls, Realized the loss only about one hour later.

Proceeded to the old town with its beautiful colorful ancient buildings dating from the 1870’ when the Portuguese reigned in these areas. Beads of heavy perspiration overwhelmed me, my shirt soaking wet, outside was 1030

Dinner at this outdoor café, humidity very oppressive. And as I reflect I weighted by the many memories and stories that are so meaningful to me but no one else. I reflect to our home in Long Beach called “Bay House” on the water, the house, designed by Annie to perfection. Never thinking that I would have to sell because of her cursed tumor, but rather a house that would unify the families on different occasions, a house that would cement, a house that would glue the many gettogethers of the clan.

How much I wanted things to stay as they were, but with life

comes the unexpected changes.

Here I am in “Belem�, romantic cobblestone lanes, lazy patio faces, inexpensive food and drink. How charming the narrow and irregular streets with its historical churches in the old town.

Lovely square park areas where you can see old and young couples parading in their Sunday best, strolling arm to arm, the men in suits with their freshly ironed handkerchief’s popping out of their breast pockets, some of their jackets too tight, and the women with their best brightly colorful dresses.

And as I approach, one of these lovely squares, the gravel crouching under my steps, the hot sun hitting my face, I chose a bench to sit down and watch it all. And as I sit and watch

it all with delight I also watch it with loneliness.

Off to another small village, started on the highway for the first 20 minutes into a twisting narrow dirt clay road with large pot holes loaded with water from last night’s rain for another hour.

Reached this isolated remote village where we were served with some beer, 15 families all together. A true time wraps, well worth the gruelling hour on that clay road.

As we walked through the narrow streets, tripping over cobblestones but not falling, he seemed to know the old timers with their curious faces making it so easy to capture it with my camera. And of course very, very hilly. How I managed to walk for 2 hours is truly a miracle. But at the end rather than walk back to the car, I asked my guide to get it and I would wait for him here.

Salvador has such an energy not equal to any other city in Brazil. There’s no other city in the world where decedents of African salves have preserved their heritage as well as in Salvador; in their music, religion, food, dance and tradition.

Proceeded to Praia Porto Da Berra, small picturesque crowded and loaded beach with vendors selling everything imaginable.

This is the beach that Annie and I dropped into 20 years ago, just pure luck that I found this spot and parked myself at the exact spot of 20 yrs. ago and meditated with sadness.

So here I am at this powdery beach, the Brazilian sun at full force and as this relentless sun beats down turning the sea from early in the morning from wine dark to silver white at noon. Bahia De Salvador, a jewel box this old colonial town,

CATCHING THE 200LB

ACTUALLY IT WAS SMALLER

gilded churches, cobblestone streets, music and dance that seem to be everywhere. The small cobblestone alley’s too narrow for the passage of anything wider than a scooter, horse or donkey.

Each turn brought another sweeping tableau.

The sudden Greek Orthodox Patriarch walking by, so majestic in his black robe and high black hat with the long grayish beard reminding me for a moment of being in Mykonos.

The incident of entering this overloaded bus filled with chicken coops and with the rolled up rug lying dangerously on top plus so many bulky bundles plus the so many sweaty smelly bodies one thing for sure, my money was up front and not in the back; all they could grab were my testicles.

How well I remember having sandwich at one of the open stalls on the beach surrounded by these bewitching lovely firm “derriers” everywhere.

How well I remember strolling one evening in that main square surrounded by gilded churches watching these young couples holding hands, embracing themselves and some sitting on these stone benches holding on tight to each other.

Further down the scene is totally changed and you can see old men arguing as they play checkers. What a contrast between the two; one of eternal youth, or so they would think, the other Life Passé satisfied with just playing checkers.

Had delicious fish laced with pasta and the catch of the day was not a disappointment, so fresh, so tasty, the fish is so fresh from the nearby market that it could leap out of my plate.

A silver moon has appeared, the sky turned from red-orange to state blue and the only sound from my balcony was that of a dog barking. And so as I’m set to retire there appears - So real - so natural - so physical - and I grieve, I fret, I hurt and try

to sleep.

The last few days I noticed this delightful park alongside a lake, filled with people, going there at 4 pm was perfect timing. The sun at the right angle, families picnicking on the grass, hundreds of children fishing with small fishing rods supplied by the city, young boys manoeuvring their kites still higher into the blue sky, free of clouds, young couples rowing on the lake and the colors of this multitude, so rich; so splendid.

These blacks here, with their faces so chiseled, both men and women so

splendid, so elegant. Had lunch at this small charming cafĂŠ/ restaurant with its few tables and chairs balancing on these cobblestones, served by this waitress wearing black shorts and a loose deep yellow blouse slightly open revealing some of her better voluptuous features. Felt like having her for lunch! But no luck could not make myself understood.

It is hard to understand that this Salvador, so well-known for so many years by so many tourist that so little English is spoken. Five tourist bureaus and not a word of English, restaurants, not a word. At this 4 stars hotel at the front desk, only one speaks a little. When he’s not around no communication.

How well I remember listening and watching a five piece band that threw everything into the blender : Samba, Bossa Nova, Afro Brazilian percussion with its dancers dancing in this frenzy maddening fever pitch without even tiring. Watched them for 20 minutes and as I left it only accelerated to a greater pitch.

Buzios, found my dream this enchanting Pousada facing the bay with its small boats and three schooners, and this lovely beach, Prahia Des Osos, about one mile along with its colorful beach chairs and umbrellas.

(6 Days) by now, I am darker than most Brazilians.

Zihuatanejo, at its finest, at its start, it begins with the cry of a rooster in the morning and endures with the slow place of the village. The Mediterranean touch without worldliness. Time has remained untouched.

There is such an intoxicating mixture of relaxation at this village, tranquil, low keyed, unspoiled, gentle, this best describe Buzios.

Constantly as I’m relaxing on my giant terrace listening to the cry of the rooster, the chirping of the birds, this terrace with its superb view of the three schooners and small boats, as I am strolling through that small exquisite beach. I am so reminded of being in Zihua and not Brazil. Of course when the delightful small Derrieres pass me by I realize that I am in Brazil, that country with its perfect bodies and very few fatsos. And as they days pass on and I’m enveloped in this peaceful constant calm I think of her. I imagine that she will show up and that we will be together, but rapidly realize that it cannot be.

Not for a moment do I deceive myself but accept the fact that this is probably my last hurrah. But what a great hurrah it was!!!

I’m glad to see that somehow at 83, I managed to do all the travelling without too much discomfort.

As I look into the mirror, daily while shaving the multiplying of white hairs is visible - the extra wrinkles are there the shortness of breath after climbing the inclines in there the stiffness after sitting too long in a chair is there, BUT I Succeeded And Triumphed.

For a few days I hop-scotched from back roads to small beach towns and tiny hilltop villages and falling under the spell of countryside. Seeing farmers passing with their donkeys, carrying packs of wire, wood or baskets heaped with green onions.

Small beaches having small shacks, selling cold beer and fried

fish. How well I remember arriving at this field of sunflowers for kilometers on end, these sunflowers raised to the sky and some isolated rows of sunflowers with their heads down to the ground as if they had given up and ready to leave this planet with all its cruelty.

How well I remember reaching a certain section on the road where I could see neither trees or hills and see only the regularly spaced of telegraphic lines and their geometric picture that they formed alongside field of ripe corn ; a Van Gogh passage.

How well I remember whizzing through this vast stretch of red poppies bobbing amid the deep green grass.

How colorful this field looked under the blazing overhead sun.

How this reminded me of incident with Annie while I was still courting her as we had lunch she ordered a tuna sandwich and how she was struggling with that sandwich with pieces falling all over her plate.

How delicious she looked in the exquisite dark green flowery silk dress and with that pretty ponytail.

And again sadness overtook me and with mortality being my constant companion, she at that time presented such a picture of immortality.

Attempted fishing few times. Little did I know the agility required in doing so, to climb into the fishing boat from the pier and later on to get out of the boat to the pier. This required the nimble fitness of a Young teenager.

Somehow I managed, triumphed 4 hours, of fishing; adventurous, thrilling, full of action.

How well I remember reaching a certain section on the road where I could see neither trees or hills and see only the regularly spaced of telegraphic lines and their geometric picture that

they formed alongside field of ripe corn ; a Van Gogh passage.

How well I remember whizzing through this vast stretch of red poppies bobbing amid the deep green grass. How colorful this field looked under the blazing overhead sun.

How this reminded me of incident with Annie while I was still courting her as we had lunch she ordered a tuna sandwich and how she was struggling with that sandwich with pieces falling all over her plate.

How delicious she looked in the exquisite dark green flowery silk dress and with that pretty ponytail.

And again sadness overtook me and with mortality being my constant companion, she at that time presented such a picture of immortality.

Attempted fishing few times. Little did I know the agility required in doing so, to climb into the fishing boat from the pier and later on to get out of the boat to the pier. This required the nimble fitness of a Young teenager.

Somehow I managed, triumphed 4 hours, of fishing; adventurous, thrilling, full of action.

Fishing boat certainly not a Ft. Lauderdale model fishing boat the looks of belonging to an old mariner. Motor in the middle of boat, railing around the boat only ankle high and nowhere to hold onto something except by the motor.

How well I remember the dinghies moored offshore bobbing in the light breeze mixed with the occasional ring of their bells punctuating the silence.

GOOD BYE!!!

To the squares filled with locals of all sort relaxing at the bard nibbling away at their olives/nuts and enjoying that glass of wine; To the processions of dancers through the Salvador streets beating away with such energy at their drums, forever.

To the nameless footprints over the dunes and across the shifting sands of time; to the men rowing their outriggers and majestically riding the waves against the current with bead of sweat rolling down their cheeks.

To the silvery flying fish jumping out the water / pelicans sweeping down to catch their meals and the blazing sun piercing through long rows of white puffy clouds across the blue sky.

Goodbye, to that white sandy beach with its salty breeze coming from the ocean, little waves licking the strip of sand and the cry of seagulls resounding as if to welcome me to their world.

Goodbye to that pretty picture of different colored laundry flopping from these iron shaky balconies and red geraniums spilling over from their windowsill pots.

It turned out to be a well planned trip by making Buzios the last port of call, 10 days unwinding, relaxing, and enjoying that scent of that village lost in time.

Enjoyed eating at this particular restaurant a few times, by far the most splendid and finest looking one in Buzios, Its ornate Mediterranean motif, with its round cream colored marble tables with its ornate light cream iron chairs complimented by its light cream-green flowery cushions, beautiful light brown marble floor, with a small running fountain shooting out of one corner of the wall, without a question a splendid look, lovely paintings displayed in the restaurant, later found out belonging to the mother who display her work in one of the galleries in Rio. If you are looking for yesterday’s charm If you are looking for yesterday’s spell If you are looking for yesterday’s magic This is the place with that feeling of a village lost in time One could easily see a Aristotle Onassis with Jacqueline Kennedy dining here, the restaurant with its lovely picture facing towards the ocean with the small boats bobbing on the water, and while eating there always such lovely medleys of Glenn Millier, Tommy Dorsey, and Satchmo in the background.

Always making me think of her and wishing so that the 50’s and she were here.

How well I remember navigating through the teeming markets and each morning the vendors unrolling bundles of wares; their cries piercing all day long trying to sell them ending in late afternoon; hoping that the next day will be more fruitful.

And so I begin to enter my last entries, there’s some melancholy that this incredible vista from my giant terrace will vanish.

No more listening to the cry of rooster.

No more listening to the chirping of the so many birds but knowing that it will be forever buried in my mind.

I realize that the time is running out and my troublesome time will come shortly. I too will feel the pain, the malaise of old age; and so I kept this daily diary to record every day’s happening.

To record my joy my disappointment. My first rain shower The glorious morning sun.

The beautiful faces I encountered the lovely children playing with their wooden hoops and with their incredible innocence, children who steal your heart .

The countless cafés and restaurants, the charming beaches with its crowded mass of human flesh.

Exploring all these lovely winding cobblestone streets; capturing the urban music of the Samba and Bossa Nova Goodbye to the rain forest and listening to the screech of the Macaws, Parrots and Monkeys disturbing the silence of the forest.

Goodbye to wandering through the rustic fishing hamlets in their splendid settings.

Goodbye to the twisting streets with its colorful old houses, red-tiled roofs, lovely colonial churches.

So goodbye to all the lovely derrieres” So goodbye to that village called Buzios” with its spell of sorcerers’ magic, with its donkeys wandering through the cobblestone narrow streets With its tranquil boutiques selling their wares in such an unworldly way So goodbye to the small sandy beaches with its few beach

chairs and umbrellas and the turquoise water And how fortunate to have seen the place still packed with so much charm and still feeling the scent of that village lost in time So I bid goodbye to Buzios ; So well enjoyed So well visited.

And all the knickknacks, vases, crystal, and silver in my apartment, so special to me, so meaningful to me, each with its own history attached.

And as I enter my last entry into this Journal I accept the fact that I too eventually will become that picture in the family album pleading to be recognized hopefully later than sooner -Henry Solowiejczyk-