Hong Kong

During the few days we had in Hong Kong, Dad, Kathy & I saw as much as we possibly could.

A trip to central Hong Kong and up to Victoria Peak , walking through the night markets, seeing the bird market and a walled city, visiting a tea ware museum and aviary, and returning to our hotels happily tired every night.

Of course, I stood head and shoulders above most of the locals! It was always easy for me to find the others in a crowd, or to see where we were going.

On the way to the walled city in Kowloon, Kathy and I were separated. I was sprinting for the train as its doors were closing. Thinking Kathy was close behind, I triumphantly stepped aboard and turned around, only to see the doors close in Kathy's face - while she was still on the platform! Through the doors I yelled 'I'll wait at the next station!' (to the amusement of many of the other passengers).

I waited for three trains at the next station, and then was afraid I had missed her (though the blond hair is pretty easy to pick out in Hong Kong!). Fortunately, I remembered the destination station we had agreed on, so I god on the next train and off at the right station. She arrived on the next train - which was the 5th one! However, it had been only one train for her.

We walked to the walled city in Kowloon. This area was a true walled city ruled by an emperor before the British occupation. When the British arrived, control of the area was disputed, and as a result, neither British nor Chinese law was enforced. The small area became a neighborhood of criminals and poor Chinese, where no building codes were enforced and no policing was done.

In the late 1990s, the government decided to demolish the slum housing, and erect a park. Amazingly, in the midst of all the slums, part of the original walled city still stood. The rest was rebuilt, and the area is now peaceful and green.

On the return from the walled city, we stopped at the bird market - where hundreds of birds of many different types were for sale. It was noisy! However, had I lived in Hong Kong, I would have purchased a little song bird.

The Asian Adventure, Part I

1:00 AM, September 19th, Dad and I boarded the Cathay 747 in San Francisco with sleepy steps but excited minds. We were embarking on a great adventure in a land thousands of miles away.

We received a taste - literally - of what was to come on the flight: Dad ordered seafood congee, a rice porridge, for breakfast. He was braver than his daughter!

15 hours on the plane dampened our enthusiasm for air travel, but not our eagerness as we arrived at 6 AM on the 20th. Hong Kong - the Pearl of the Orient.

My first impression? High rises. No, not your regular, 15 story, single block high rise, which bravely stands in the middle of other low rise apartments. Rows upon rows of 30 story blocks, endless numbers of apartments, humanity squashed into cinder blocks.

Amazing!

We took a taxi to our hotel, Booth Lodge, just off Nathan Lane on the Kowloon side. Now wide awake, we walked out of the hotel and saw Hong Kong as it awoke: children in uniforms going to school, merchants opening their shop doors, workers sweeping sidewalks. The heat, humidity and pollution didn't deter us from exploring our neighborhood. In a park we saw elderly people stretching and excercising. Busses and taxis roared down Nathan Lane.

We returned to the hotel for another breakfast - doesn't eating help overcome jet lag? My theory, anyway. The body needs fuel! We then decided to wait for Kathy, who joined us from Singapore in the early afternoon, and while waiting we enjoyed a buffet lunch at the hotel.

The Legend of Thirsty Horse

Brother Horse lived in solitude near a small village nestled in the crook of the Sleeping Maiden, Mount Tamalpais. Although Brother Horse was a tall, well-built man, he was shy and quiet, and always seemed small and almost invisible. When he attended village councils, he stood in shadow at the edge of the ring of light cast by the fire. When he gathered with the warriors to dance and sing, he seemed to blend into the background. When he crept into the village to share in the spoils of the hunt, the others laughed at him and called him Little Mouse.

One day, when Brother Horse was creeping silently through the village, he saw a beautiful young maiden, Malila. Her hair shone black as a raven, her eyes sparkled like fast flowing water, and her movements were graceful and lively as a bird. Brother Horse stood still, gazing at Malila, forgetting his shyness in her beauty.

‘I must marry that beautiful Maiden’, thought Brother Horse. But as Malila glanced over to Brother Horse and smiled, his old shyness overcame him and he melted away into the woods. ‘I am just a tiny mouse,’ he told himself. ‘Only a great man could marry a maiden so beautiful.’

As the days progressed, Brother Horse could think of nothing but Malila and how to win her as a bride. ‘But how?’. Brother Horse left his home to fast alone in the woods, and to seek the spirits and their counsel.

Five days and five nights Brother Horse fasted, wandering through the woods. On the fifth day he came upon a calm stream that sparkled and shone in the sun. ‘How like Malila’s eyes that stream is! Certainly it is a magic stream,’ said Brother Horse, and he crept out of the protection of the trees to drink.

As Brother Horse knelt over the stream, he saw a mighty, proud, warrior staring fiercely at him. His heart raced and he fled into the woods to hide. Yet he longed to drink the magic water, and decided to wait until the mighty warrior was gone to try again.

For three days Brother Horse approached the stream, only to be scared off by the mighty warrior who protected the clear stream. On the fourth day, Brother Horse stayed hidden in the woods, so thirsty that he could hardly speak. ‘When will the mighty warrior leave? If only I could drink the water!’

‘Brother Horse,’ a voice said, ‘why are you lying here thirsty when a stream runs close by?’

Brother Horse looked around, astonished. ‘Who is talking to me?’

‘Brother Horse, it is me, your Aunt Raven.’ Brother Horse looked up into the tree that he was hiding under. In it a delicate Raven rested, with sleek black feathers and shining eyes.

‘Aunt Raven,’ said Brother Horse, ‘I would drink from the magic stream but the mighty warrior who protects it is always there when I approach. If I could only drink the water – it would give me the courage to ask Malila to be my bride!’

‘Brother Horse, approach the stream,’ said Aunt Raven. The Raven flew down to the ground beside Brother Horse’s feet. ‘Let us see this mighty warrior who protects it.’

Together Brother Horse and Aunt Raven approached the stream, Aunt Raven hopping, and Brother Horse crawling in trepidation. As Brother Horse leaned over the stream to drink, the face of the Mighty Warrior stared back at him.

‘Aunt Raven!’ he cried as he scrambled away from the stream. ‘See – the mighty warrior who protects this magic stream is there!’ he cried in terror. Aunt Raven cocked her head and eyed Brother Horse.

‘Brother Horse, there is no need for you to be thirsty!’ she laughed. ‘The mighty warrior that you see protecting the stream is only a reflection of your own image! Kneel and drink!’

Brother Horse looked at Aunt Raven in astonishment. ‘Can it be true?’ he wondered. ‘Have I let my own fears prevent me from drinking at the magic stream?’ He gathered his courage and crept to the edge of the stream, and looked into the water. As he looked, he saw a mighty warrior reflected in the water. As he turned, the warrior turned. As he smiled, the warrior smiled.

‘Aunt Raven,’ laughed Brother Horse, ‘You were right! There is nothing to be afraid of in this stream. From now on I will be called Thirsty Horse to remind me of the day I overcame the fear of my own reflection.’

Thirsty Horse leaned into the magic stream and took a long, satisfying drink. As he raised his head to smile at Aunt Raven, to his amazement, Aunt Raven began to change. Her black feathers became a thick black braid of hair; her sparkling eyes deepened to a warm, shining brown; her form lengthened into that of young woman. In a flash, the young maiden Malila stood where Aunt Raven had been. Malila smiled and her face glowed. ‘Thirsty Horse,’ she laughed, ‘you have proved yourself worthy to be my husband. Come back to the village and feast with me’. Malila took Thirsty Horse by the hand, and together they walked back to the village.

All Plants Are Not Our Friends

Admire the green and lovely plant,
waving in the gentle breeze.
It grows upright as is its wont,
it seeks only Gaea to please.

The leaves look soft, the stem so proud,
the buds are bursting forth to show
white, tiny petals, who in the sun
will into bounteous flowers grow.

Beware the soft and velvet leaves!
Beware the innocent budding blooms!
Beware the graceful stem, for there
you, Gardner, will meet your doom.

Hid 'midst velvet innocence
a sting like torrid death awaits,
'til Flora-love, aroused by buds,
draws naive Gardner to her fate!

For lo! The leaves that were thought soft
reach out with poisonous feint,
and sting the hands that lovingly touch
the once-thought gentle plant.

Editor's note: The author recently encountered stinging nettles in a planter, and unwittingly brushed up against them.

Rising from the ashes

In my mind, I climbed up the ladder, over the wall, and into the main compound. As I ascended to the top level of the two story structure, I was awed at the surrounding scene.

Fertile farmland strectched as far as I could see in every direction. Crops of every sort - beans, corn, herbs, tobacco, squash - grew in fertile swathes that swayed gently in the breeze. An amazing irrigation system brought life-giving water to endless fields of green.

I saw smaller villages and family compounds dotted throughout the landscape; men working in the fields or resting under a ramada, shaded from the sun. Women and their daughters grinding corn, weaving, and tending small infants. Children playing with dogs and with each other, running in the morning sun.

Around me, in the Pueblo Grande, the signs of a wealthy society were everywhere. Engineers and astronomers discussed science; newly arrived immigrants begged for sanctuary within the compound walls; men trained for games in the ball courts; traders bartered for carved jewelry and pottery. The chief listened to disputes and dispensed fair judgement, his royal robes glowing red and gold. The priest noted the alignment of the sun, seeing the rays line up precisely from his hall to the lookout on the mountain a mile distant.

I opened my eyes to see the bustling modern housing developments; airplanes landing one after another; freeways and highways stretching into the horizon; the outline of downtown.

I saw Phoenix, the city built on the ashes of a former civilization.

The battle is won, but the war?

As the haze cleared, I gazed out over the battlefield.

Thousands of bodies littered the urban jungle in the aftermath of a cataclysmic event. This was no random act of nature, no small skirmish in a civil war. This was genocide.

A few brave souls scoured the massacre, searching for life among the dead. They stumbled in confusion, in horror, at the acres of bodies, piled dead on dead. Some lay in orderly, soldierly rows, some stacked like dry cords of wood.

And yet, though the battle is over, the war has only started.

This was not the first battle, far from it. The enemy was bent on a systematic destruction of all these poor souls held dear. Battles had been fought, and lost; brave warriors falling in their tracks; scouts and supply depots vanished in puffs of smoke.

Yet still they returned. For them, it was not a matter of territory. It was survival. Winter conditions so harsh forced them from their homes. Years of drought and massive overpopulation pushed society past the breaking point. They had no other option but to force their way into a land where they did not belong.

And so they met with me.

I've won this battle - but the war?

Editor's note: The Pierce household has been suffering from an ant infestation in kitchen, bathroom, and hallway.

Musings of a World Traveler

Paris….Milan….Vladivostok…

Night after night it’s the same….caviar, champagne…trips to the opera, the symphony…feted and lauded at events held in my honor…personal chauffeurs to escort me….attendants to see to my every need…

When will it end?

I know what you’re thinking – who would want to give up this lavish lifestyle? What kind of crazed individual would trade the high life for the simple one? Can one ever have too much caviar?

Yes, I long to trade the life of a billionaire jet-setter for the life of a lowly housewife. Oh, to pay my own bills and vacuum a small 1100 square foot house. Oh, to fight with traffic on my way to a 9-5:30 job. Oh, to purchase mundane articles at supermarkets and shopping malls!

You, with your plebian lifestyle and common needs – I long to be like you!

Editors Note: The author of the article recently traveled to L.A. (marching in the Rose Bowl Parade), Denver (playing in concert with The Salvation Army Western Territorial Band), and Chicago (a 1 day trip for a business conference).

Sarah! It's all your fault!

Sarah! It's all your fault! Now I have a blog of my own!

All I wanted was to post a comment for you...but it couldn't be that simple....now you've created a blogmonster! It's alive!

arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...........


to be continued...