Dr Jon
Jon Pearce Joined: November 6th 2004
Logged in: February 9th 2012
Logged in: February 9th 2012
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Campeche: To Dream Awake, that's what it said on the brochure handed to us at the Campeche Tourist Information Office. Our stay in Campeche had one dream-like feature: our hotel had 500 rooms and we were the only guests! Maybe there was a Legionnaire's outbreak the week before. Other than the brochure, the Information Office had no maps to help us prepare for our drive across the Yucatan peninsula on less-traveled roads. The fellow managing the desk tried to warn us not to take our proposed route. As near as I could translate he seemed to be saying that the roads were very bad. I got the idea that he had never been on these roads himself. Given the lack of maps in Campeche, maybe no one had. Trip Advisor also warned about shakedowns by rural ... read more
Merida I
Busses, cars, and trucks squeeze through the narrow streets of Merida. Fumes and dust turn my clothes gray. Narrow sidewalks are crowded with pedestrians playing chicken: who will be the one to give way by stepping off of the curb into the street? Ear splitting mariachi music blares out of cantinas, sometimes wafting into the doors of an opposing cathedral, where it blends with choir music creating an unholy cacophony. Jerry and I step into the courtyard of Dolores Alba, our colonial-era hotel, and with one step we pass from chaos to serenity. Although partially covered, birds fly in and out. Reproductions of some of Frida Khola's more disturbing paintings hang on the walls. Everyone gathers in a cluster of rocking chairs in one corner of the courtyard where wifi is available. Over skype a woman ... read more
The road North
How far north can you drive? Where does the road end? At what point do you have to bust out dog sleds and snow shoes? One possible answer might be Inuvik. At the top of Canada's Northwest Territory, it's two degrees above the Arctic Circle and Canada's northernmost town. (Alaska has four towns further north. Barrow is the northernmost.) My friend Jerry and I once planned a fantasy trip to Inuvik. We were going to take our fathers (who, not surprisingly, didn't think it would be such a great idea.) The trip had the added advantage of traversing the storied Yukon. As a kid I followed the adventures of Sergeant Preston of the Royal Canadian Mounties. The gold rush brought a lot of seedy characters to the Yukon. Only Sergeant Preston stood between them and the ... read more
Bears can climb trees!
Night three; my first night in a real bed; my first night on dry land. Three giant cruise ships pulled out of Skagway as our humble ferry pulled in. I could almost hear the citizens of Skagway collectively groan: You again? It must be like having your poor relatives show up while you're still counting the loot your rich uncle left behind. I had to tramp through town in the dark to get to my hostel. Skagway looks charming: wooden sidewalks, noisy saloons, assaying offices. I can't imagine what it's like with 9000 tourists wearing I've been to Disneyland T-shirts crowding its streets. I rented a little cabin behind the hostel for a couple of nights. Over the phone it sounded cool. Just before she hung up, though, Janylin, the proprietress referred to it as the ... read more
Sleeping Beauty
Night two aboard the Alaskan ferry Taku. Last night, sleeping out on the deck, the frigid air knifed through my pathetic sleeping bag, so I've decided to sleep on the observation lounge floor tonight. Anyone else on board who is my age (and white) is sleeping in a bed in a state room. At 61 I'm trying to live the adventures I should have lived when I was 21. Back then, when I had my head buried in a book, I had friends who came to Alaska. They earned big money working 36 hour shifts gutting fish. Some stayed and became the crusty windbags I see sitting in corner of the bar in Sitka, swapping fish stories and complaining about Democrats. Some now own the fishing operations they once worked for and would scoff at my ... read more
James Michael Jewell
When I returned from Vietnam I found a strange text message on my phone saying that my cousin had died. Mike was a kind of Big Lobowski character who lived in Venice Beach. He didn't allow ambition to run his life, and I admired that. I learned that he had become pathologically withdrawn over the past few years. Although we were once close, I hadn't spoken to him in years. He died alone in his apartment. Apparently his heart just stopped. Determined to have one last reunion, I'm in Venice for Mike's memorial service. +++++ I came down a few days early to catch Robin Mitchell's opening at the Craig Krull Gallery. Robin is a well-established LA artist who happens to be my ex-wife's cousin. She introduces me as her cousin, then explains that we are ... read more
Easy Rider
Happy New Year It's Friday night, Tet has unofficially begun and Saigon is hot, sweaty, and pulsing. Beer halls and discos have sprouted out of nowhere and overflow with people and music. Exotic women with long hair and slit dresses are cruising the boulevards on their motor cycles. Cay and I are returning from a pre-Tet party at his university. I stare out the window of the taxi as it inches through the Bacchanal. I want to freeze everything so I can take it all in. I want to be 20 again. Return to Ho Barry and I returned from the North earlier this week, but we returned to a home in crisis. One of Chi's cats has been in labor for days. One kitten is already born, but two more won't come out. Meanwhile, the ... read more
You buy from me?
Sapa An impatient rapping at the door followed by a screeching "Lao Cai! Lao Cai!" wakes me from a sad dream. It takes a minute to piece together where I am. Empty wine bottles are rolling over pistachio shells that litter the floor. I am in a bunk bed. Barry and Cay are sleeping in a bunk bed next to mine. We are moving. We are on a train. But where are we going? Lao Cai, apparently. Then it all comes back. Lao Cai, end of the line for the train from Hanoi to the Chinese border. We were put on the train the night before by Pete Wilkes, an Australian artist/entrepreneur who has devoted his life to improving the lives of the ethnic minorities who inhabit the mountains of northwest Vietnam. Several years ago he ... read more
Freezing and choking
Saigon Stoplights in Saigon tend to organize traffic into bunches, creating the impression that it is a city of crisscrossing motorcycle races. I already learned the technique for crossing the street from reading Cay Horstmann's blog. One simply wades into the stream of rushing vehicles like Mr. Magoo. The trick is to neither hesitate nor run. Any unpredictable movement will result in being run over. I must have faith that the traffic will just flow around me. What Cay neglected to mention is the feeling of exhilaration one experiences upon reaching the relative safety of the distant curb. It's the feeling of surviving a close shave with death. I immediately notice the absence of the here-today-gone-tomorrow drone of my usual depression. Instead, it's "Praise Jesus, I'm alive!" Saigon is a city of sidewalk cafes and well-used ... read more
UFOs
Hiking & Fondue Every year our hosts take the students (and me) on a hike to the top of a mountain in a place called Moléson-sur-Gruyères, which is near (above?) where the famous cheese comes from. Actually, most of us (myself included) hike half way up the mountain. From there we ride a gondola the rest of the way. We freeze for a while, then ride the gondola back to the half way point. There's a restaurant there where a fondue feast awaits us. (If you don't already know, click on the video above to hear what hiking in Switzerland sounds like.) The Lötsch Valley My last free day in Switzerland and the weather map was covered with angry clouds shooting lightening bolts. Then I read about the Lõtsch Valley on MySwitzerland.com: Lötsch Valley lies embedded ... read more
