Rear view volume II
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We ultimately reached a remote area in an edge of town, and Haroun stopped on a short street with ramshackle buildings on one side and a sidewalk flanked by a high wall on the other in which there were gate-like doors at intervals, with what I assumed were street numbers on them. Haroun pointed to one. “You go in there. Follow path to house. Abdul in house.” We were the only car on the street and only two or three people loafing in doorways were visible. I began to feel a bit uncomfortable as I began considering the possibility that I’d been suckered into a situation that might result in the disappearance of my wallet,--and maybe me. “Haroun, --how will I get back to the hotel? I haven’t seen any taxis lately.” “No problem. I wait you here. Go see Abdul.” With considerable trepidation I entered the door in the wall, proceeded down a short path to a rock-walled building, and knocked on the heavy looking unpainted wood door. After a moment it creaked open to reveal a large bearded and ominous looking fellow who might have resembled one of the legendary Ali Baba’s forty thieves. He said nothing and when I said, “Is this Abdul’s office?”, he simply gestured for me to follow him. I did so, down a dark hallway at the end of which he opened a door and motioned me into a room which apparently was Abdul’s office. A swarthy man in shirt and trousers seated at a desk proved to be Abdul, and he was in intense conversation (in Arabic) with a tall white-robed Arabian standing in front of the desk. Abdul briefly looked at me, and waved me to one of the office chairs, saying only “Wait”, as he resumed his discussion. After about ten minutes Abdul finally opened a desk drawer, pulled out a handful of what appeared to be gold coins, counted them, and handed a number to the Arabian who put them in a small bag and left. Abdul then turned to me and politely and in fair English asked what he could do for me. I explained that I was considering buying some harem rings. He rang a desk bell, a young man appeared, and Abdul gave him some instruction in Arabic. The man left and, after Abdul conversed with me a few minutes, reappeared with a tray covered with rings. Abdul said, “Look at these please and make a choice if any you like. I must leave for a moment but I be back soon.” So there I was, alone in the office with a tray load of at least two dozen valuable gem- stone rings of a wide variety. I was at first rather amazed to be trusted with such an expensive assortment, but on reflection realized I would have very little chance to purloin any, had I been so inclined, and depart with the loss undetected. Abdul returned in about ten minutes. “Find any you like?” I had and pointed them out. “Yes, I’ll take these. How much?” He told me the price, which as far as I could tell was reasonable, and I started to pick them up “No,” said Abdul. “these are display only. We make you perfect copies. Where I send them?” “Oh, gosh!” I sighed. “I’m leaving tomorrow. Can’t I buy these?” “No.” he replied, “but we make copies quick. You pay now. We deliver.” I couldn’t believe he was expecting me to hand over money for rings I might never get. “But I’m due out tomorrow noon.” I stood up to leave. Abdul waved me back into my seat, asked where I was staying, and said he’d have his jeweler work tonight, and the rings would be delivered at the hotel no later than 11:00 a.m. That didn’t sound possible, but I really wanted the rings and didn’t have any option but to agree . So I paid him, left, and found Haroun dutifully waiting for me. He returned me in good time to the hotel, I tipped him well, and wondered through dinner at the hotel if I’d been a remarkably foolish sucker. At about 10:30 the next morning, the desk clerk told me a package had been left for me, from Abdul;--the rings had arrived! And, I should add, were much appreciated by the ultimate recipients, especially when I told them the story of their purchase. After my stopover in Lebanon, I had scheduled a few days each in Iraq and Iran. One of Carol’s numerous civic projects during our early Houston days was being a prominent member of a women’s organization that arranged home visits and entertainment activities for wives of couples from foreign countries who were in the U.S. on some government or educational training programs. We frequently hosted such couples, and two of those with whom we most socialized were from Iraq and Iran. The name of the husband from Iraq was Rashid Al-Rifai, who had been in Houston for studies in government related affairs at U.H., and the Iran man, Kamal Khonsari, was a medical intern at one of the hospitals. Both couples, when they had finished their training and were heading home, insisted that if we ever came to their countries we would be their welcome guests. So prior to starting on this trip I had contacted both and was reassured of their pleasure in my impending visit,--although they expressed disappointment that Carol would not be with me, since she had been their primary Houston hostess. The flight to Bagdad was a short hop, where I was greeted at the airport by Rashid’s wife Sadia (since I had arrived on a workday for Rashid). Their house was rather small by U.S. standards, but I was given the one extra bedroom,--which I was embarrassed to later find was the room of Sadia’s father who had been assigned a cot in a rather crowded store room. He didn’t speak English, but to all appearance had no objection to the move, and in fact, according to Sadia, was rather proud to have an American using his room. I was well hosted and entertained by the Al-Rifais, who served me some delicious dinners of Iraqian delicacies (of which I can’t remember any of the names or ingredients). The following day Rashid took a holiday and gave me an impressive tour of Bagdad, with special attention to the many old Arabian residential settlements with architectural styles of ancient vintage that made me feel like we were driving through movie sets. After two days in Bagdad I headed out on a 400-mile flight to Tehran, Iran. As we were were approaching the airport my English seat mate began fumbling in his brief case, looking a bit disturbed. Finally he found what he apparently was searching for. “Ah, here it is!”, he exclaimed, “I thought for a bit I’d lost it.” When he saw I was interested he added, “My visa. Really need one here, you know.” No, I didn’t know. I hadn’t needed one for Iraq (back then!), since I knew either Rashid or Sadia would meet and vouch for me. I said to my seat partner, “I didn’t think one was needed here, since there will be someone meeting me and my passport will be sufficient identification.” “You may have some problems,” he replied. “My visa always had a rigid inspection on my previous trips, even though I was always met by someone from our company.” Good grief! I could visualize being not allowed to disembark and being returned to the plane, bound for ---where? After the plane landed and we arrived at the exit gate, I remained in my seat while the rest of the passengers filed out, wondering what in hell I should do. But when the plane was empty except for me I could hear someone outside with a megaphone yelling “Meester Kee-lay, Meester Kee-lay!” It suddenly dawned on me that it was the mispronunciation of Kyle! I hurriedly left, expecting one or both of the Khonsaris, but neither were there. But there was an attractive young lady and handsome young man standing near the exit gate waving at someone,--at me, as it turned out. They motioned for me to come through the gate (and the gatekeeper official smiled at me and also beckoned me through), then introduced themselves as the employees of Kamal Khonsari’s mother, who was in an official position in the Iranian government (which neither Kamal nor his wife Houri had ever mentioned when they were in Houston, nor in their subsequent letters to me) When I explained the reason for my tardiness in leaving the plane, they assured.me that no visa would be necessary in my case, since I was listed as the official guest of Madame Khonsari. And I could easily believe that when they escorted me to their government vehicle,--a sleek chauffeur-driven black limousine with a small Iranian flag on each front fender. (I should mention here that my visit occurred when Iran was still ruled as a kingdom by the Shah,-- his royal highness Mohammed Riza Pahlevi, who was a staunch friend of the U.S. and gladly welcomed American visitors.)
The hotel was one of the city’s prime hostelries, and I have never before or since been in a hotel room of such comfort and convenience. It was a good indication of the official hospitality I was to receive the next two days. I was disappointed to never have the opportunity to meet Madame Khonsari, but my greeters transmitted her apologies and performed in splendid fashion as my host and hostess. I was thoroughly toured through Tehran at intervals, and I was shown through many impressive government buildings, of which the most classic example was the palace where the Shah hosted representatives of other countrys’ governments. The art displays, furniture, beautiful panelled walls, and magnificent huge-area Persian carpets were breathtaking examples of the Shah’s lifestyle and wealth that finally inspired his overthrow by revolting Moslem leaders. I have often since wondered whether those subsequent governments have preserved any examples of such elegance, or destroyed them as being heretical to their rigid religious beliefs.
I have ever experienced. Bangkok, the largest city and capital of Thailand, is barely above the sea level of the Gulf of Siam, about 15 miles to the south. As a result the city has many canals used extensively by boat traffic, and a major river flows through it on which many people live on houseboats. It’s a railway and industrial center so the central downtown portion is occupied by modern offices and stores, and adjoining sections have many primitive dwelling areas flanked by exotic tropical vegetation. One of the many tourist attractions I saw (but didn’t try) was elephant riding. Boarding locations were inside the city, but the rides would include trips into the nearby jungle terrain. Bangkok is an interesting and exotic city, and I would like to visit it again. Singapore is located on the south end of an island at the southern tip of the Malay Peninsula, and is one of the major seaports and commercial centers of the world, serving ships sailing from Indian Ocean ports to Asian areas and Australia. The central city area has numerous modern office buildings in which companies from many foreign countries conduct business operations in the Asian areas. The island, 26 miles long and 14 miles wide, has a population of about two million, of which nearly half are Chinese, the balance being Malays and some Indians. I was impressed with the cleanliness and orderliness that was so apparent in many sections of the downtown city. When I commented on this to one of the hotel clerks he told me the mayor had been elected with one of his campaign promises being to clean up the city, and that he was accomplishing this by radically high fines for even such a minor trash discard in the street as an empty cigarette package. The hotel in which I was able to get reservations for a couple nights was on the edge of the business section, and catered primarily to foreign office workers, including a few Americans. One nearby street that intrigued me had about two blocks of nothing but sidewalk food vendors, with most of them having one specialty,--many of which were exotic concoctions of ingredients I couldn’t identify, but which tasted delicious. Several of my meals were on that street. I joined the numerous epicureans who strolled up and down it, buying small portions from various sellers and eating them there, then passing on to another vendor whose produce looked good and sampling that one. It was much like a cafeteria but instead of first collecting a plate full, the eating was done as one strolled by. Under those arrangements, my street meals usually had about six or eight items on my menu, and I enjoyed them more than I did the hotel restaurant meals. Next stop was Sydney, Australia, and I was graciously welcomed by the exploration personnel with whom I spent a day and a half discussing satellite studies and my assess- ment techniques, and another day and a half being toured by them about that attractive city. I was interested to hear that Sydney had been founded in 1788 as a penal colony, and is now the oldest and largest city in Australia. The city is on the southeastern coast of Australia. It adjoins a large 22-square-mile harbor that has more than 180 miles of shoreline, and is extensively used by the largest ships in the world. An impressive sight is the great Harbor Bridge which connects the city’s downtown business section with suburbs on the harbor’s north shore. The bridge, which dominates the skyline from anywhere in the city, is a huge single arch l650 feet in length and tall enough to allow large ships to pass underneath it.
very appropriately the “Southern Alps”. I’ve always wanted to return and complete my New Zealand experience in that half of the country. So, to make the most of my time I rented an auto for a 2 ½ day tour of North Island. New Zealand, like Great Britain, is a drive-on-the-left country, which took some getting used to. Also, to complicate things, the auto rental man apologized for not having any U.S.-make cars available so I got a British brand in which the controls are all reversed: steering wheel on the right; gear shift on steering wheel column is on the left; and turn signal on the right. And I had to get used to all these system reversals in a remarkably awkward sitation. The rental agency was on a street which was one of another five that all entered and revolved around a large circular intersection center. My intended route involved leaving the car rental street, proceeding about halfway around the center inter- section and exiting on one of the other streets. What a workout that was! Until I got used to it I did a lot of “shifting” with the turn signal , and vice versa. I had to circle the inter- section twice before I could get out on the street I needed, amid much honking and hand waving by many other drivers. But I soon got used to it, and my tour was a delight. The countryside is beautiful, with an abundance of green pasture land for an abundance of sheep.(Farmers raise livestock on 9/10’s of their land.) Streams were fast, clear, and looked like good fishing locations. Unusual scenery included occasional forests of giant 12-foot high tree-like ferns; a region of thermal activity like Wyoming’s Yellowstone, with geysers, boiling mud pools, and hot springs; and a view of millions of tiny glowworms in some caves at Waitomo whose light shining on rock formations in the dark created a fascinating fairyland effect. The original North Island natives were the Maoris,-- Polynesians related to other Pacific natives like Hawaiians, Samoans, etc. They are currently about 6% of the total country’s population; the remaining 94% are mostly descendants of settlers from England and European countries. Maoris are famous for skill in wood carving, and much of their work appears in churches, meeting houses, homes, and public buildings. On one over- night stop in a town with a Maori community I lucked into attending a dancing and music performance by them in a Maori meeting house, which was unusual and enjoyable. After my return to Auckland I headed east the following day on another long airline trip across the Pacific to Tahiti, (known as the Paradise of the Pacific), about 2800 miles as the crow flies (if any crow could fly that far). It’s one of 14 of the Society Islands (an odd name which no one there could explain to me), and its scenery is stunningly exotic. The interior is rugged and mountainous, with numerous waterfalls and rushing mountain streams surrounded by beautiful beaches, and the whole island is completely surrounded by a coral reef. After some back-and-forth switching by English and French explorers, France finally gained permanent control in 1842, and French is now spoken by many of the inhabitants. One of the most notable residents for some years was the famous French artist, Paul Gauguin. We landed in Papeete, Tahiti’s capital. At another tourist’s recommendation I was able to obtain a motel room adjoining a lovely beach a short distance outside the city. It was a very unusual experience for me. I was given the option of staying in the main building with the usual motel facilities, or in one of the separate huts favored by hippy type offbeat young travelers. They were cheaper than rooms in the main building (for some obvious reasons, as it turned out), but I made that choice for the experience, not the cost. These were well-ventilated thatch-roofed shacks of native-type construction. Mine, reached by an extensive footpath through a pretty garden of tropical flowers and bushes, had for illumination only one lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, a crude wooden chair and table, and a rack for hanging clothes,--- and, of course, no television, radio, or air conditioning. That night, after several toddies in the motel bar and a late, late supper, I had no problem falling asleep on what felt like a straw-stuffed mattress. But when I awakened for some reason around midnight, I wondered what small objects I was feeling that kept dropping occasionally on the sheet I was sleeping under. I finally got up, turned on the light, and was stunned to find they were some kind of bugs,--looked much like cockroaches only bigger. Apparently they resided in the thatched ceiling, and were out for late night strolls. I had no option but to pull the sheet nearly over my head and try to get back to sleep,--which I did, more or less, but I was an early riser in the morning!
ian Sea portion of the Atlantic Ocean. It is Norway's second largest city, with a populat- ion in the metropolitan area of well over 200,000. Much of the downtown area fronts on part of the harbor area, and the numerous outdoor floral and vegetable markets there are colorful attractions for sidewalk strollers. One of the special tourist attractions is a chairlift ride to the top of a high hill on the edge of town. It provides a scenic sight of Bergen, the harbor and nearby ocean, and is a very popular site for photographers. One attractive feature of Bergen (and of most urban sites anywhere in Norway) is the fact that a large percentage of Norwegians of our age group and younger (especially younger!) speak English to some degree. I suppose that ability to speak Norwegian is quite limited among non-Norwegians.
travelers and freight loads along the coast for the small towns where land transportation is largely lacking. We embarked at Bergen on what became about a week's fascinating excursion. Throughout the trip the ship traveled within sight of the rocky scenic shore, and made numerous stops near docks of the towns for unloading and loading both freight and passengers. The weather cooled off noticeably as we progressed north, and we crossed the Arctic Circle roughly 500 crow-fly miles from Bergen. The boat's last port stop before rounding the North Cape (Norway's northernmost point in the Barents Sea portion of the Arctic Ocean) was Hammerfest, where the famous Norwegian explorer Nansen left on an Arctic expedition in 1893 in his famous but unsuccessful effort to reach the North Pole. Download 0.54 Mb. Share with your friends:
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