May 9, 1983 to June 22, 1983

Foreword

The trek through the interior of the world’s second largest island, New Guinea, herein described, had its first beginnings when a sea captain entered my father’s place of business in March 1982 in the San Francisco Bay Area, where I happened to be sitting in front of a computer terminal. He began describing his proposed venture in November. Just before he left, I asked if he needed any crew. He said, “Maybe.” I went to visit him, got on as an alternate, and eventually became crew, totally inexperienced as I was. I worked weekends for six months getting the boat ready. On October 31, Halloween, there was a party in the evening, and we set sail at 9 pm in a 41-foot Morgan Out Island. Forty-two days of actual sailing brought us to Honiara, the capital of the Solomon Islands.

A Kwaio woman of Malaita in the Soloman Islands blackens her teeth to enhance her beauty

On January 24, 1983, we came to our first port in Papua New Guinea, 800 miles off the coast of “the dark island,” on the island protectorate of Bougainville. From there we sailed to Rabaul on the island of New Britain to the north.

We sailed this 41-foot Morgan Out Island 42 days, not including breaks in Hawaii and Kiribati, out of San Francisco’s Golden Gate to Honiara, Guadalcanal in the Soloman Islands. We had a four or five person crew depending on the leg of the journey.

In an effort to see the big island (New Guinea proper), Kelly and I caught a coastal boat west to Lae, PNG’s (Papua New Guinea’s) major shipping port on the island mainland of New Guinea.

From there, our New Guinea adventure began. First we went to Madang on the coast, where the most remarkable things were the thousands of flying foxes (fruit bats) hanging in trees in broad daylight and making a clamour. (I found an octopus on nearby Siar Island.)

“Flying foxes”, or fruit bats, are sold in the market as food for consumption

We continued to Kundiawa (along “Highland Highway”), our first stop in the Highlands. We stayed with the Gera villagers, about ten miles out of town, just off the main road. They dressed up in traditional garb, sang village songs, played their long flutes, castrated a goat and fed us their traditional food. We exchanged gifts, coming away with man-arrows (i.e., arrows used to kill men: the man who gave them to us — the ‘big man’ or chief — had used them just a few years previously), a necklace, a bilum of possum hair, and a lot of friends.

We went from there to Keglsugl, at 9000 feet, the end of the road for people wanting to climb Mt. Wilhelm, PNG’s highest mountain at 4509 metres (14,750 feet). Kelly stayed behind, while our host, Phil, hiked me to the Pindaunde Lakes, where he left me to spend the night in a house built by university students. I awoke at 12:00 a.m. and began hiking by moonlight at 12:30 a.m. in an effort to take photos of the sunrise on top. After getting lost in the darkness, I still managed to scramble to the top as dawn came – I was lucky, it was clear in a 30 mile radius. I shot a few rolls of films from my spectacular, cold perch. I started down at 7:30 a.m., and I reached Keglsugl in the afternoon after a few hours rest at the University house.

I climbed Mt. Wilhelm at night so that I could be on top for the dawn. I got lost on the way, but managed to reach the summit as the sun rose above the horizon. The sensation of being on the summit instilled in me a love of mountain climbing.

We next went to Mt. Hagen, travelling west. After a rest, we went further west on the Highlands Highway to Mendi. We’d been given the address of a doctor there, who welcomed us into his home. On a tip from him, we left next day and hiked to Lake Kutubu.

 

I eat sago that has been cooked into a gel and stuffed into bamboo for storage. I found sago was prepared in many forms, including cooked like a pancake. It has virtually no flavor. Sago comes from the pith of the sago palm.

 

Exhausted during a long day on my first bush hike, on the way to Lake Kutubu

A week later, we returned to Mendi. The doctor, Ed, described a hike from Lake Kopiago to the Frieda River as an excellent way to exit the country if you wished to walk. Ed was an expert on many facets of New Guinea life, and we picked up on his enthusiasm for bush walking. We determined to try this route.

 

I cross a stream on the way to Lake Kutubu

We returned to Mt. Hagen to pick up some of the gear we had left there, then returned to Ed’s house in Mendi. We gleaned as much information as we could from him and set off after a day’s rest to the West.

I have chosen this portion of the trip to write about here. From the day we left Mendi, we experienced a 50-day continuous trek aimed at arriving in Pagwi, which is linked by road to Wewak on the north coast of the island. The following story describes what we (I) saw, felt, experienced. Is it sufficient to say that I know of no one, nor talked to any nationals who heard of anyone, going this whole route as we did?

 

Map detailing the route of my travels in PNG

The loop at the bottom center shows the hike to Lake Kutubu. To the left center, there is a hash mark, indicating Lake Kopiago. From there I travelled twenty-nine days on foot to Ok Esai, a tributary to the Frieda River. This is shown on the upper left by a another hash mark. From there, I rode on a bush raft made of logs and tied together with jungle vine, or ‘canta’, down the Frieda River to the Sepik, and down the Sepik to the village of Ambunti—another ten days. The straight line at the top left of the map going north indicates the road to Wewak.

Day A1 Mendi to Tari

Monday May 9, 1983

We went on last minute shopping before leaving town. Kelly bought a green pack for K12.50 (K= Kina, the unit of currency, which is based on the kina shell, traditionally used for trading) – not very nice but it would provide us with an extra carrying bag. We bought chocolate and powdered milk and Milo to supplement our other purchases.

We waited at the intersection leading to Nipa. While waiting, local men came by wearing kina shells. I traded a roll of bilum string and a (bed) sheet for one of the kina shells.

We caught a ride on the bed of a big flat bed truck. The driver was going all the way to Tari, and the ride was free. We shared the back with a man and an old woman who spent most of her time underneath the tarp.

During the ride, rain occasionally fell, during which times I would have to spread my rain tarp over Kelly’s legs and mine, with my head poking through the hood. The old lady was entirely blanketed by the big tarp in the back of the truck.

We raced along. We stopped for a break at a village, and I ascertained that the man driving the truck was a mission person. He spoke perfect Pidgin. He was well-groomed and clothed. He asked us our plans. When we spoke to him about our plans to hike beyond Lake Kopiago and raft down the river, he expressed his fears that such activities were dangerous. These places were remote. You could not be certain about what to expect from people.

 

Mendi Widow

This woman, following the tradition of her Mendi people, put on 365 strands of kunai beads when her husband died. Each day she would remove one strand. Thus, her mourning would last one year, after which she would be free to marry again.

He noticed our Granose cereal that we’d bought that morning in Mendi. He said it was good stuff. He also said that kaukau (sweet potato) was energy food, that if we got tired out in the bush that we could just eat some, and it would revive us.

When we continued on, Kelly noted what the man had said. It had reinforced her fears a bit. I said that it could be true that it was dangerous, but that people often feared what they didn’t know, and this man had obviously never gone where we were going. I argued it was very unlikely and he seemed unsure because to him the places seemed so obscure.

We had already passed the part of the road with which we were familiar — we had travelled out on the Nipa road once before on our way to Wagi Aid Post (on our Lake Kutubu hike). The road took on a misty atmosphere as we passed Nipa and then Magarima, a row of trailer houses on a now almost mystical misty foggy road. On we sped. The sky cleared as we gently climbed towards the Tari Gap, the road’s highest point at 7800 feet. The alpine land became quite beautiful. As Ed had told us, we began to see tree ferns dotting the dull gold alpine grassland. The tree ferns are one of my favorite plants. They look so prehistoric!! I would have taken a picture, but it was growing dark and we were moving along in the truck. It was unusual scenery, gold alpine grass, rolling fields, patches of green forest and the wide open fields dotted with tree ferns, some in groups and some solitary. When we got to the summit of the road, the truck stopped. We got out, observed a small elevation sign saying Tari Gap, answered nature’s call, and got back in and sped off into the darkness downhill. The driver had said that it was all downhill from there. We arrived in Tari before we knew it, and we drove on down the dirt road until we were out of town. We had an inkling that the SDA man would invite us to spend the night when he pulled into the mission road. Children gathered all around the truck and gave the driver a celebrity’s greeting. We stayed on the back of the truck, and the man went and had a few words with a woman at the front door of a house. We were invited to stay. We got our bags and were shown to our room in a nice, very clean house. We were told we could take hot showers before supper. We were very happy for their hospitality. We took our showers in turn and were then called to the table. The driver, who had never properly introduced himself, and another man, joined Kelly and I. The meal was really a masterpiece in wholesome vegetarian cooking – a fine soup, fresh baked buns, fresh baked raisin swirl pastries, butter, passion fruit jam, bananas. During the meal, we were informed that the SDA church runs the Samaritan Foods Company, which produces a variety of health foods including the Granose cereal we’d bought. I asked the man about the financial aspects of a church-operated company – for example, were they taxed? This question was sidestepped. (Perhaps he didn’t know the answer). The man said that they used the money they made for “improving Papua New Guinea – schools, roads,” but we didn’t feel fooled, for it was obvious that all the improvements they made strengthened the church’s infrastructure here. In short, our opinion was that the church was self-serving and that indeed it was not a non-profit organisation. The man also began giving the age-old pitch about how ‘isn’t it funny that’ there are so many earthquakes lately and generally setting a mood of how calamity was impending on mankind, none of which either of us believe a particle of, even through we nodded politely, for after all, these folks were extending us a great kindness with their invitation into their home.

The other man at the table was a pilot who was married to the woman of the house. The two men were planning, along with a third in the house, to take their mission plane to Kuinga in the morning and from there motor a boat upriver to a remote mission station. After dinner, Kelly, the pilot and I examined an aeronautical chart of northern PNG (Papua New Guinea). The mountain range comprising the New Guinea highlands, which continue right into Irian Jaya (which boasts higher peaks than PNG) looked impressive. We asked ourselves how difficult the trek to the Frieda would be – it certainly looked like a long way! Oksapmin to Telefomin looked like way more than the three-day hike Ed had mentioned!! We had topographical maps of part of the area, which we had picked up in Mt. Hagen, that ran from Lake Kopiago to Telefomin. The third map needed to cover us to Frieda Strip was the Stolle topo map, which we expected to pick up in Lake Kopiago, as it had to be sent from the main mapping office in Port Moresby.

After our goodnight, Kelly and I retired to our room and fell fast asleep.

 

Tree Kangaroo

Among the many surprising sights that I saw in New Guinea was the tree kangaroo. Here, one wrestles with a dog, while children look on delighted. I didn’t even know that such a creature existed. I suppose in truth it is a form of possum.

Day A2 Tari to Koroba

Tuesday May 10, 1983

In the morning we had a wonderful health breakfast. Our host talked to us about the bible, and suggested different revisions and what each offered. He gave us a copy of a book foretelling the calamity to come, documented through history, written by the female prophet of the SDA church. We graciously accepted it, and I almost even believed that I would read it! The breakfast was delicious, and we were encouraged to eat our full – which is to the SDA’s credit, as they believe in a wholesome diet – on the other hand, they have restrictions against eating many sea foods, pork, coffee, etc., which I find intolerable. These people were fanatics, but they were nice fanatics.

We loaded our things in a truck with the men’s gear, and we all went to the airstrip. Of note, their people had their own private plane, which was courtesy of mission funds. Kelly and I walked to the nearby stores, and had our first viewing of the fantastic wigmen, each with his own distinct style of wig. One of the first we saw had a very long feather sticking out the back of his wig. His dress looked spectacular. I inquired if I could take a picture and was immediately turned down with a direct No Gat! (No!) I lamented not having a telephoto lens. We walked around and found out that there were no government trucks to Koroba that day. We went to the market. All through town, wigmen walked about. They were not dressed up for any special occasion. This was their daily dress. They looked incredible. Many wigs boasted bird of paradise feathers. In addition to their wigs they carried cassowary bone daggers and wore ornaments around their necks with pig-tusks and a hornbill beak in back. Many men had a bright red marking on their faces – one man’s eyes were painted this eerie red, and if ever a man looked like an evil warlock/sorcerer, it was he! There were so many forms of other ornamentation. Many men wore belts with arse grass in the back, and grass and cloth in front. All in all, the market area and town in general formed an amazing spectacle. Shopping in the market, I asked one particularly “well-dressed” wigman if I could take his photo. He said he wanted 10 kina for a photo. I couldn’t afford it, so I was unable to catch a picture. Without a telephoto lens I was reduced to sneaking pictures out in the open. I stood just outside the market fence and when it seemed no one was looking, I lifted my camera over the short fence and snapped a photo.

I went back into the market area and took a few photos surreptitiously by snapping the shutter with my thumb, the camera slung around my neck, hanging against my belly, pointed at he subject. Again outside the compound, I took a few more photos in this manner of a group of old wigmen sitting on a bench. We met up again with the SDA wife, who was going to give us a lift back out to their mission place on the road to Koroba. Just before we left, the man who had wanted 10 kina for his picture was walking by at a distance and I snapped a photo of him surreptitiously!

We caught a ride back to the mission place. Once there, we slung our bags over our shoulders and walked down the road (to Koroba) apiece and fixed some sandwiches by the roadside, waiting for a truck. During our lunch, a few trucks went by going back towards town. I stopped one of them, whose driver said that they would be returning to Koroba later. Just after our last cheese, lettuce and tomato sandwich, the truck returned, and we hopped on and sped off to Koroba. We enjoyed the scenery as the dirt road and local women and children flashed by. Occasionally, something worthy of a photo would be on the road, and I would snap a picture.

It began to rain, and we huddled under the tarp. Occasionally I would peek outside and lament what wasn’t able to take a picture of. The countryside had a flat rolling appearance, almost like the foothills of California, bordered in parts by sharp peaks and an occasional cultivated area. Sooner than we expected, we drove by a windsock denoting the Koroba airstrip. We drove up through various small housing areas, past some new alpine-looking dwellings and up to a dull, aqua-green building that housed the post office and district officials. We were helped down out of the truck and gained protection of the roof, as the rain came down. To our immediate delight and amazement, huddled under the eaves lining the buildings, in the entrance way and even inside the small building were perhaps one hundred villagers, many wigmen, all differently dressed, and apparently delighted to see us. “Look at this, Kelly, awesome!!” We began talking to a local lad who spoke English. Hesitant from our experience with the photo-shy Tarians, I politely inquired of the young man what the situation here was regarding pictures. He said I would be able to take photos if I liked. He asked whom I wanted a picture of. We approached a bent-up old man who had a beautiful headdress on. It was agreed that we could take a photo of him without paying. This sparked off a photo session with the whole group of villagers that was unbelievable! We took close-ups, group shots, shots of two and three men and/or women at a time, photos of Kelly and I with them. One old man who looked ludicrous was especially eager to have his photo taken. As he also had on a beautiful wig, we took a few pictures of him.

At the end of a half an hour, we’d collected an incredible collection of photos, and we were thankful to Providence for the opportunity!

 

The Red Wigman

We began to ask around for places to stay, and, as the people in PNG are very good about inviting you to their houses or huts, we immediately had a few suggestions and then an invitation from a man. The invitation fell through a few minutes later, and then a pleasant young woman walked by said that we could stay at her place. She was walking home and we joined her.

Her house was a short distance away. We were given a small room. We deposited our things there; we went back out and as this Mrs. Barabia Kulu was also going back out, we left a few small children to guard the house and our possessions. A young man walked with us back to the OIC (Officer-in-Charge) headquarters. On the way, we saw other wigmen and got some posed shots.

 

Koroba Wigman

On the far right of his wig, there are red and yellow candy wrappers. The wigmen seemed to accept any items that were to them beautiful, without regard to new or old, synthetic or natural. They were both artists and living art. They were creative. It seemed that they were trying to emulate the bird of paradise. The male bird of paradise is the one with the spectacular plumage, which is used to attract the female. My conception of adorning the body as being primarily a female trait was smashed. There were many conceptions that I held previously that were dramatically altered as a result of being in contact with these exceptional people.

We were taken past district headquarters down a road. Accompanying Kelly and I the young man from headquarters was the first old bent up man that I had taken a photo of earlier. He had been wounded in a fight long ago, which was why he was bent up. We passed his garden patch. This hobbling man made it up the steep bank (from the road) to his garden and he broke off some fresh corn for us – I shot his picture holding up the corn. As a gesture of friendliness, he gave us the ears of corn. He was a lovable old fellow with a smile on his face. Kelly gave him the remainder of her Benson & Hedges in return. We walked on, leaving the old man at his place. Past a bridge, we went through a doorway in a fence to where village men sat around inside and outside of a hut where a man sold artefacts. On the dirt porch, a man fried fritters on a stove made from the bottom of an oil drum. Everyone gave us a welcoming greeting, and we were led inside. Inside, pinned to the walls were various local ornaments, some fairly nice, others broken and dilapidated. Off in the corner was a relatively un-ornate wig. I was prompted to try it on! I put the wig on and went outside, which prompted an expected response of surprise and delight. Kelly took a photo of me with the wig on. Back inside, there was another cap made of cassowary hair that was like a beanie, with an appropriate spring and propeller on top! This was quite a novelty. I donned this and walked outside again, to the amusement of the people there. A few men borrowed it from me and put it on themselves. Each in turn would shake his head causing the spring to shake from side to side in a comic display!

 

I put on a Cassowary hair wig with a spring and a propeller on top to other’s delight!

Two old men put on a little show for us while we were there. They dressed up in some traditional bilas and paint and staged a mock tribal fight. Each had his bow and arrow. They chased each other through the garden of kaukau and corn, shooting arrows and deliberately missing. Kelly, a group of onlookers and I took delight in this show!

We considered buying different pieces of bilas, but we hesitated buying each article due to one defect or another or too high a price. The men sitting around smoked their traditional tobacco, bruis, out of two-foot long bamboo pipes, most of which had simple engraving on them and some of which were yellowed with age. I bought a pipe and so did Kelly, each very used, yellowed and nice looking.

The men in turn demonstrated playing a flute made of individual sticks of ½“ bamboo, each cut to a different length and each having a distinct pitch. The flute had a rare sound, exotic and beautiful. I watched them play it and then I played it myself, which brought forth a reaction of glee from the on-looking men. They explained that this flute was used to attract girls! In addition, a man would play the flute when he walked in the bush in order to keep his mind off his fatigue. The flute sounded wonderful, and I determined to export a couple of them. I bought two nice ones but mistakenly, I was handed a cruddy one when I left, so unknowingly, I left with one nice one and one cruddy one. They cost only 25t. The pipes cost one kina and two kina for Kelly’s.

 

Koroba Flute

The man on the left plays the Koroba Flute. They said it was used to attract girls. They also used it to amuse themselves while they walked, to avoid boredom. These men are examples of how fit most of the men are. Only the very elderly seemed debilitated. Most men were very strong as a result of constantly walking up and down the incredibly difficult topography of the Highlands of New Guinea. Their toes are splayed out. I discovered that my feet were weird as a result of wearing shoes, while theirs were naturally how feet are supposed to be.

After this very fun interlude, we left to go back to the Kulu’s house, promising the keeper of the artefacts hut that we would return the next day.

By the time we returned, it was growing dark. I took a nap when we got back, after a snack of milo and cookies. Later, I awoke and Kelly napped. I met Barabia Kulu, the man of the house. I talked to him about this land and the people. We talked about the way it was before the white men came. The land was not as crowded then.

He told me that before white men came, the people here (in Huli country) lived well, there was little disease, people got along well, it was peaceful, the young followed their elders and respected them. He said that a young man was obliged then to strictly obey his elders. For example, young men were forbidden to smoke — smoking was only for elder men. (Women were likewise, forbidden to smoke.) When a young man was going to marry a woman, the young man and woman were brought to a remote place with two other men and two other women. There, this group would fast together for eight days during which time the elders would instruct the young man and woman in the knowledge they would need in keeping a house and raising children, i.e., specifically, for example, in sex, building a house, traditional secrets, etc. At the end of this time, this party would return to the village, and the young man would wed the girl. Now, said Barabia, the young children were disobedient to their elders. Women and children smoke. The young people don’t learn the traditional ways. The art of making of traditional bilas (jewelry) was being lost. The young folks just didn’t care to learn. Barabia was helping the government to save some of the art by going around villages and buying some of the good pieces. (Was this to encourage manufacture?) During this conversation, dinner was served. It was a typical Melanesian plate of boiled kaukau, pumpkin, tin fish and greens. At first, I ate only to be polite, but I ended up enjoying it. After I finished eating, Kelly came out to join the conversation. To orient her, Barabia reiterated some of what he’d said, and I filled her in as well.

Barabia said that he had bought about K700 worth of bilas and turned it over to a government friend (and other friends), but the government had never reimbursed him! He still had some of it left, and now he took a few pieces to show us. He had three different bones daggers of different ages – one was a freshly cut cassowary bone that was still unfinished and had a bit of organic residue in places. The next oldest was smooth and yellowed and looked old, but Barabia said that it was only about five years old. The third was grey white and appeared mottled with surface cracks, but the feel was super-smooth and the shine lustrous. He didn’t know how old it was, but just that it was the oldest by far. He asked me to take the one that I liked most. After much deliberation, I opted for the oldest. He then brought out a hornbill and pig-tusk necklace — the sort that the wigmen wear, with the hornbill beak center pointed down the back of their necks — they look really awesome.

 

Barabia Kulu’s daughter

He gave this to me as a gift. He also brought out about five small stone axe heads. He said that he found the axe heads while working in the garden. He offered Kelly and I each to keep one for ourselves. We made our choice. He offered Kelly a second one since she seemed interested in another. I was very pleased, needless to say. I was happy i) because the hornbill necklace was much nicer than the one we’d seen earlier in the day which were selling for K5 and ii) I was thrilled to have a real stone axe head — not an axe head made especially for tourists, but an axe head that was made and used before white men came with their steel axes.

Kelly was a bit disappointed that I had received so much and she so little, but I reminded her of the time in Gera when she received so much more than me.

We didn’t know how to repay them, for we really didn’t have much to give. I gave Barabia one of the Koroba flutes I’d brought that day, as he seemed to want it.

Before we went to bed, we discussed our plans to go to Kopiago. They quoted us various prices for hiring a DMV, but they were all too high. We decided that we would try our luck getting a ride in the morning. We retired, thanking them for their hospitality.

Day A3 Koroba – a day of waiting

Wednesday May 11, 1983

We took our time in the morning and consequently didn’t get a ride and figured we’d try to get an earlier start tomorrow. Perhaps we weren’t in too much of a rush to leave such an interesting place.

We went to the market. They were selling cooked pig at 10t a slice. Bananas, sugar cane, tomatoes and many greens were in the market place. The people stared at us, as tourists are somewhat of a novelty there.

Later, we went back to the hut where artefacts were being sold yesterday, but no one was there. We were told that everyone was off at a funeral. We could hear sounds coming from the funeral a mile a way – the wailing of women.

We wanted to mail a package and kept returning to the post office but it was closed all day even though it was supposed to be open.

The people were usually willing to have their picture taken, and I added many photos to my collection. I promised the subjects that when I returned home I would forward copies of the pictures to the individuals care of the OIC or care of Barabia.

Again we saw the dapper wigman, a handsome man of about 30 years of age who dressed in immaculate traditional style. He looked quite regal.

Later in the afternoon, we left two young boys that were in Barabia’s care to watch our possessions (we gave them some sugar cane as “payment”) and we went back to the artefacts hut. The door was unlocked and I went in. Eventually, the man who ran the place came back. We were sitting around and he took out a bamboo stick about 2½ feet long. He took wadded paper out from one end and he withdrew two bird of paradise tails – each identical to the other, white at the tips, yellow in the middle and brown at the base. They were very beautiful. Kelly and I didn’t really know what to do – they’re illegal to export, but we wanted them. I broke the ice saying, “How much?” The man said “ten kina.” I immediately withdrew ten kina and paid him, taking the feathers. (I was to find out later a few facts: i) you can buy them much cheaper — even less than a kina!, and ii) the two tails were from either side of the same bird, which was why they were identical.) Perhaps it was a rash move, but I’d never seen them for sale before and I really wanted to have some at home. As far as the price went, the only price I’d ever heard quoted was $30–$40 per bird in Biak, Irian Jaya — I read that in the Indonesian handbook by Bill Dalton. I figured I had a real bargain! Kelly immediately offered to buy one tail, but I refused her offer, and she became noticeably perturbed. I argued that we should wait and see – perhaps we would find better and cheaper ones out in the bush!

Before we left the artefacts hut, I bought another used pipe and Kelly bought an all-natural material bilum. I also bought a broken pair of sunglasses that the man had on the wall for 50t. The owner said he’d bought them in 1962 in Port Moresby!

We walked back to Barabia’s house. When we returned we noticed that one of the jars of peanut butter that the SDA missionaries in Tari had sold us (they sold us some peanut butter and wheat crackers at cost) was half gone. Earlier, Kelly had complained that I’d eaten too much of it last night. I had thought that it seemed like a lot was missing when she said that, since I’d only had one and a half small sandwiches. Now I was certain someone had taken some of it. Obviously, it was the little kids we’d left to watch our things. We didn’t really care that they’d taken it, but we figured we’d better get more to replace what was missing if we could. We didn’t want the young kids to get in trouble, but we thought Mrs. Kulu should know about it.

I went and asked if she knew where we could buy some more. I mentioned that we figured that the little boys had taken a bit of it. She said that her husband sold some at the store. She walked me there. He had some, but it wasn’t crunchy so I only bought two small jars.

I asked them if they knew where I could get some fresh bread. Mrs. Kulu then walked me up to the catholic mission, which was run by some elderly German ladies. An older German lady answered the door. She said she didn’t have any bread left though they’d baked it that day. She seemed surprised when I asked if she had any peanut butter, and replied that they didn’t. When Mrs. Kulu and I had walked half way back to her husband’s store, I thought to inquire of the German ladies if they were going to bake early next morning. When I knocked on the door I could see through the window a lady come through a kitchen door, see me, turn back into the kitchen and say to another lady – “it’s that man again!” in a shocked and perturbed voice! “What does he want this time?” No, they weren’t going to bake next morning! On my walk back to Barabia’s store I thought to myself: “Typical missionaries, what hypocrites they are! All this preaching about brotherhood, but in their daily lives they insult their very God with their petty ways and mean attitude!”

In the evening, we talked again with Barabia. He talked about the problems of his business. Kelly and I offered him ideas on how he might stimulate business and make profits. I promised to have my father send him a basic book on business with which he could increase business skills.

During our talk, two men entered the house. One of them was the “dapper wigman.” True to his style, each time we saw him, he was dressed differently and each time immaculately. We talked as best we could. The two men were very friendly.

Before we retired for the night, we gave Barabia and his wife what we had left in the way of bags and clothes – not much, but an effort to say thank you for all they had given us and for their hospitality. They were very nice, warm people.

Note: When Barabia had come home from the store in the evening, he had questioned the two young boys. His son had admitted taking some peanut butter, and he went unpunished. The other boy, whom Barabia was just watching for a friend, denied taking it, and true to PNG style, Barabia gave the boy a whopping. It made us sorry we’d said anything.

Day A4 Koroba to Lake Kopiago

Thursday May 12, 1983

We woke determined to hit the road early. Before we left Barabia’s house, they gave us each a necklace as final gift – they’re really generous people!

Kelly and I went out on the road by the market. Soon, we got a lift out to one of the two routes to Kopiago (as Koroba is off the Highland Highway about 20 minutes by truck).

When we got to the turnoff for Lake Kopiago we were surprised at how unused and narrow the road looked. It was like two bush paths side by side with a strip of two-foot tall grass between them stretching off in the distance!! This is really the end of the road!!

We put our bags down and determined to wait! It wasn’t as if there was any traffic!!

We were sitting there on our bags. An old, old man came walking by. He had nothing on except arse grass – no jewellery or anything – and he was carrying nothing but about five 5-foot stalks of sugar cane. He looked poor. He stopped when he got to us and shook our hands. (I don’t speak much Pidgin – I just borrowed Untangled New Guinea Pidgin from Ed when we left Mendi, and I’m just starting to learn after being in PNG all this time!) The old man untied one of his stalks of sugar cane and he gave it to us as a gift. Kelly and I were sort of overcome that this old man with so little would give us a gift. We thought of what we could give to him. I remembered that I had a little amulet from Costa Rica that my mother had given me. I searched through my things and found it. I presented it to him as a gift. His eyes got wide and he looked incredulous! Kelly and I made the connection!! The amulet was a shiny gold, and to someone like this old man who’d probably only seen gold a few times, if ever, it probably appeased to be genuine gold!

As he fondled it, we thought perhaps he didn’t know that it was for wearing on a chain around the neck. (I’d long ago thrown away the chain!) We thought to put it on a string and put it around his neck. I got out my string, got the amulet back from him, put it on the string and I tied it around his neck. I took a few picture of him standing proud with his gold amulet! When others tried to touch his gift, he picked up his sugar cane and waved it at them, chasing them away!

Soon it became apparent that there was a market today at this cross roads. Across the way, people began gathering. Soon there were a hundred people or more. The old man had come to sell his sugar cane.

As Kelly and I sat there, crowds gathered around us. We were quite an attraction. Every one of our actions was watched as if incredible by dumb onlookers. Eventually, I thought to walk over to the market. There was a large throng of women all with their bilums tied in the same manner, the large knots resting on top of their heads. I wanted to take a picture of them, but they shied away when I took out my camera. There were a few people selling pig, slicing it with greasy hands using a knife that was just a piece of bamboo. The people would toss their coins on the surrounding banana leaves and the seller would slice off as many pieces as the buyer threw 10t pieces.

Other men sold “Highlands coconuts” – a nut about 1¾” long and ¼”+ wide, this nut grows as part of a cluster of nuts that stick with their points forming the surface of an ellipsoid about one foot long and seven inches in diameter. The nuts are picked apart separately and put into a closed container — I think the container is made of bark — that is opened when brought to the market. The men selling little clusters of these delicious nuts (vaguely reminiscent of the flavor of a coconut, thus the name) for 10t had many stacks of shiny coins on their ground cloth of bark or banana leaves.

Men and women crowded the market. There were many photos to be taken, as the wigmen were about. One wigman looked comical as he had a big pair of sunglasses on with one lens missing to accompany his traditional wig. I snapped a photo of him at a distance.

 

Huli Wigman with Sunglasses, Koroba

The “dapper wigman” showed up too, again wearing a new costume, adorned with a white cuscus (possum) fur with tan-brown spots. I took (another) photo of him. (Later, I got out my sunglasses that I’d bought yesterday, to show the wigman with sunglasses with one lens missing. I took a close-up of him and gave him some bruis (tobacco), which I’d brought from the Solomon Islands, for letting me take a free photo.)

 

The Dapper Wigman, rear view showing Hornbill beak necklace, as worn on the back of the neck, dotted cuscus fur (possum) headband, Red Plumed Bird of Paradise feathers on top, arse grass, leg bands, and, of course, an umbrella.

I asked around for bilums. One lady (women are called Meris, a woman = meri in Pidgin) had a new, nice looking bilum made almost entirely of natural materials. She wanted K6 for it, but I bought it for K4.

A government truck came from the Lake Kopiago road and was headed to Tari. I stopped them and asked if they were going back to Kopiago. At first, they said that they would return tomorrow but then they said they would be back at about 6 p.m. this evening to return to Lake Kopiago. They said they would give us a ride if we are still there. It was the only truck we’d seen the whole morning either going to or coming from Lake Kopiago, or for that matter the only truck using the road at all.

As the day wore on the market dispersed. Kelly and I still waited. A man, who said he was Barabia’s brother, told us if we didn’t get a ride that we should go to the nearby village where we’d be allowed to sleep.

There were only a few young boys, and a few girls hanging around in the afternoon. The boys smoked their bruis, and I got out the pipe I bought yesterday and I smoked a bit with them. The smoke made me dizzy.

Another truck came by going to Kopiago, but no matter how I begged they just didn’t have room for us.

At about 4:25 p.m., the yellow government truck returned early. We threw our bags in the back and the truck took off. The road was incredibly narrow, rocky and exciting. Sometimes we’d slow to a near–stop in order to cross over some bad bumps. The driver, one of the other two men in the cab and the man who was riding in the back of the truck bed with us were drinking beer. As soon as the man in the truck bed with us ran out of beer, the guys in the cab would hand him another. The scenery along the road was beautiful. I felt very excited looking west through the valley ahead, almost as if I could see the mountains descending to the Sepik. The whole scene spread before me – I could visualize it. The narrow road lined with yellow flowers had the appearance of the last stretch of the Highlands Highway.

 

The last stretch of the Highlands Highway was nothing more than two ruts in the road

 

My journal details that we took a second route to Kopiago

We bounced along. A part of our river bag fell through missing board in the truck bed, and they stopped while I fetched it. We began to climb up a mountainside and the view really opened up. I wanted to get a photo so I knocked on the hood and made an arrangement that when I knocked on the hood again, they would stop. We passed a village of some size. Just after it, I knocked on the hood, got out, and took a picture. We were high up and the view continued to be tremendous. Dusk came and that beautiful glow of fading sunlight permeated the atmosphere. The guy in back with us told us his life story as we rolled along. There was so much grease and dirt in the back that I was standing up the whole time. As night came so did the usual (cool) bush Highlands air. We rolled on. We stopped at a village and picked up a boy. We counted minutes, now descending, descending into Lake Kopiago. We made a pit stop every now and then. At one stop, we found out that the passenger with the window seat was the Officer In Charge (OIC) of Lake Kopiago and that there was going to be a sing-sing there on Saturday. (It was now Thursday night). During a later stop, the OIC wanted us to stay with him since we had no place to stay there. Kelly and I were ecstatic with the thought of being able to see our first sing-sing!

Eventually, we came to a flat stretch of land that signified the region around Lake Kopiago. We rolled on down the road passing an occasional building. Finally, we came to the main part of the station where everyone got out except Kelly, I, and the OIC. We drove up the hill to the Officer-In-Charge’s house. It was very dark – there’s no electricity here. We went into his home. His wife lit a candle.

We sat around in the living room while Pius, the OIC, lit a lantern he had bought in Tari this morning – one of those super-bright Coleman lanterns. We sat around and talked. His wife made some coffee, which was great after our cold ride. We got to know each other a little. Pius showed us our room. The room smelled really weird – the windows were closed because the screens were busted. The smell was really awful. Pius just moved in here about three weeks ago. Kelly and I opened the window and bedded down for the night.

Day A5 Lake Kopiago

Friday May 13, 1983

Morning revealed a view of the lake, which was very small. It was larger at other times of the year, depending on the rainfall.

Kelly and I walked down the hill to the trade stores, three of which lined the road. We bought some coconut kina cookies and some peanut butter and a few supplies for our walk, which we hoped to begin Sunday. There was a market across the road. The goods for sale were fairly sparse. A few men walked around in wigs and bird of paradise feathers. I decided I’d wait until tomorrow to take pictures of them. There were rows of counters in the market crudely made from slats of wood, about 3½ feet high and 3 feet wide running the length of the market. The sellers stood on one side and the buyers walked along the other. On top of the “counter” one man had some bird of paradise feathers of the same type I’d bought yesterday but not as lustrous in color as mine. He said he wanted K8 for them. I asked Kelly if she wanted to buy them. She said they weren’t as pretty as mine and declined. Maybe the man would have come down in price, but I felt happy with the ones I had, and hoped to find some very cheap out in the bush.

The people around Kopiago supply vegetables to the OK Tedi mine across the mountains. At the airstrip is a building where the fruits and vegetables are weighed and then sent via plane to OK Tedi. I went in and used the scale to weigh two packages containing the bilas we’d picked up since Mt. Hagen: a kina shell, the hornbill necklace, the bone daggers, etc. The young men in the weighing place gave me a few free limes. When I came outside, Kelly was speaking with a young couple of American missionaries. The man’s name was Randy Benscoter. They were in Lake Kopiago for a conference and were looking forward to the sing-sing in the morning.

Kelly and I walked back to Pius Pape’s house. We ate a lunch of cheese sandwiches and coconut kina cookies topped with peanut butter, a favorite snack. We had to hand pump water so Kelly could take a bath. While Kelly took a bath, I examined the map we had picked up at the Kopiago post office on our way to the market in the morning – it had been send successfully from Port Moresby since we’d left Mt. Hagen – it was the Stolle Quad which adjoined the other maps we already had – Telefomin and Kopiago. After Kelly’s bath, we made love on the bed.

Later in the afternoon, we set out for the Lutheran Mission to seek out Randy Benscoter and wife. At our meeting earlier in the day, they had agreed to send my packages for me when they returned to Wabag (near where they were stationed), since the Lake Kopiago post office didn’t have any stamps and didn’t have a scale and even didn’t have a schedule of the postal rates!! We brought the packages with us.

We walked along the road by the airstrip and got a ride to the Lutheran Mission. Randy and his wife weren’t there, but on our ride back we saw them. We got out of the truck we were in and walked back with them to the Lutheran Mission. There, we gave them K15 to mail the packages. I gave them details of how to insure the packages and forward the insurance receipt to us in Vanimo. Randy agreed.

Business completed, Kelly and I decided to walk back. We had a discussion comparing “how WILD” I looked compared to Randy Benscoter. We deemed that Kelly didn’t look WILD because she was a lady, but I looked WILD, sort of. I was proud that I looked WILD in Kelly’s eyes. I guess that sounds pretty silly.

The sun was going down as we walked. The sky looked awesome. The arrangement of clouds shades of white and pink. I cut across the fence and walked on the airstrip, but Kelly was “too chicken” and remained on the road. By the time we got back, it was dark.

Pius bought some beef today and we enjoyed a delicious meal of rice topped with beef and greens. I ate like a horse – it was so good to “pig out” on beef! Maybe I even made a spectacle of myself because I ate so rapidly and heartily – but then that’s nothing unusual.

After dinner, Pius told me about the trek that he did for his previous job. He was called upon to count votes in the last national election. He had to go on a two-week hike with twenty-five porters in the Mt. Bosavi area in order to visit all the villagers there and collect votes. I thought it was really neat that the PNG government went through so much trouble to get each vote – a real democracy! He said that sometimes when people go to the Mt. Bosavi area, they don’t come back because they still practice cannibalism there sometimes. I said how much I would like to go there. He said that perhaps someday I could come back and we could hike there together as he himself would like to go back. He said that he saw many birds of paradise flying around there. He also said that just outside his house here sometimes birds of paradise just sit in the trees and that you can often hear them.

Pius also talked about his career. He had attended the university in Moresby and gotten his degree. As a student, he spent many hours in rhetorical discussions with expatriate professors and other students. Pius was thus well-versed in the attitudes and philosophy of Westerners. Kelly and I thought it must be frustrating for a man so much more educated than his peers to live in PNG. As a man with a degree in PNG, Pius moved up rapidly in his government positions. He had been made an OIC after only a few years. He talked about his job, the things he wanted to do (for example, get a generator — i.e., electricity for Lake Kopiago), the upcoming sing-sing in the morning, which was to celebrate the opening of a beer club. He said it was a problem in PNG that people blew what little money they had on beer. He said that he did like it here though. Kopiago is a beautiful and fairly virgin place. Pius wanted to keep it that way as much as possible.

Kelly and I said goodnight after our talk and we retired by candlelight.

A6 Lake Kopiago (Sing-Sing day)

Saturday May 14, 1983

The morning was beautiful. The house has an excellent view of the Lake, surrounded by gold and lime-colored rushes. We understood that the sing-sing was to begin at 10 a.m., so we went to the market and looked around first. We were going to go home to drop off some of our things but decided to swing by the grounds where the sing-sing was to take place, for we heard sounds coming from that direction. When we arrived, we were surprised to see that the dancing had already begun! It was wonderful. We placed our bags on the ground, cancelled our trip to go back to Pius’ house, determined to not miss a minute of this!! There were two groups dancing; one group was composed of Wigmen much as we had seen in Koroba, only these men were a little more decorated. How fantastic they are!! What imaginations they have! Some of the men had colored their beards blue! They were in a circle and, sort of hopping up and down, they conveyed themselves counter-clockwise. Some beat on drums and they all chanted. After they hopped for five minutes or so they would stop for a while, and then they would resume their dancing. The circle was comprised of perhaps twenty men. During the passage of time, new men would join the group, while others would leave the group, the number of dancers thus fluctuating.

The other group dancing when we got there were the Hewas. These people come from an area to the east. The terrain of their land is extremely rugged. They were rather odd actually. Some of them had enormous headdresses that looked rather junky – white and black feathers and other ornamentation including twentieth century candy wrappers! (? Is this really true? I must review the pictures!) Others of the Hewas group wore only a long hat made of bush material.

 

I made a crude sketch of the Hewa Hat in my journal

The Hewas in the huge headdresses were themselves invisible, dwarfed by the feathers and pomp they wore. The Hewas were more “into it” than the Wigmen – they seldom took a break and when they did, it was a short one. They too just sort of hopped up and down to their chants.

Kelly and I took a number of photos – there certainly were plenty of interesting shots – all the colors of bird of paradise feathers and outlandish nationals!

 

In this photo there are King of Saxony Bird of Paradise and Red Plumed Bird of Paradise feathers, cockatoo, parrot and several other species

I stood on a rock and got some photos. Kelly took a couple of pictures of Huli girls – they too were dressed up for the occasion. The young girls seemed a little self-conscious of our presence, as they shyly folded their arms over their breasts.

 

Girls, normally comfortable bare-breasted, covered themselves in our presence

The Wigmen stopped dancing for a while, they regrouped in a different spot and resumed dancing.

We decided we would go back to the house and return since we were under the impression that the sing-sing was going to last all day. As we headed out, we heard a big commotion from across the road. We followed the running children. Heading towards us was the most amazing group yet!!! It was two lines of young men with wigs on, but very different from the other Wigmen in that their faces were painted red and yellow and their bodies were smeared with oil, glistening in the sun. They looked awesome. They were dancing much livelier than the other groups. They were led by a man whose skin was colored coal black (with charcoal). This man waved a spear, threatening all those who barred the path of his group of dancers. He wore a Halloween mask – the rubber kind that kids wear back at home!

This group (of Hulis) danced their way into the sing-sing grounds. I snapped photos running around trying to get the best vantage point. Kelly wanted to go home and return. She left. I stayed and followed this new group of the red-and-yellow-faced men. They danced all over the sing-sing grounds, causing quite a clamour.

 

This group of intense Huli dancers caused quite a commotion

Of the hundreds of spectators, the only white people were Kelly, me, a man who worked and lived there shipping produce to OK Tedi, his wife and two children. One young boy ran by me who was smeared with grey mud and cloaked in ferns. I failed to get a photo.

As much as I tried, I could not get the right vantage point for the new Hulis, they were moving around so quickly, and they attracted people who kept getting in my way.

After I’d gotten a few good shots, I decided to go back to the house and change the batteries in my camera. I’d also found out that only these three groups would be dancing. I went back to the house. Kelly had cut her finger badly while making a sandwich. We tended to her wound. I changed the batteries in my camera. We ate a bite and walked back to the sing-sing. The dancing had stopped! We should have just stayed there. Apparently, the best dancers were to receive a prize and the judges were now judging. Later, there was to be a distribution of prizes, then some ceremonial speeches to commemorate the opening of the club, which was the event the sing-sing was celebrating. Kelly and I walked about snapping pictures of each other with awesome Wigmen and taking photos of pretty girls and babies dressed in traditional costume.

 

I, Jeff Shea, stand with a Huli “Bik Man” (Big Man on left!)

When the speeches began it was comic. One by one, the speakers stood up and rattled something off in Pidgin English. Then an interpreter would say it Huli. Each speaker would cause the microphone to feed back for between half a minute and one minute until he got the hang of it. (I was yelling to point it away from the speaker.) The speakers were obnoxious except for the one who said only a few words. There was a beautiful young girl who’s mother said she was from Manus – I reflected on what Ed the doctor had said about how beautiful the women were in Manus.

 

Girl from the island of Manus

The ceremony was tremendously boring. Kelly and I left long before they were through. Pius spoke before we left, and I took a picture so I could send it to him. Kelly and I walked to the trade stores. On our way back we split up. She went home and I returned to the sing-sing grounds to see if the club had opened, for they were supposed to start selling beer. When I got back, the ceremony was over. People were mulling around inside the club but no beer was being sold. On the walls were various feathers and things for sale. Parrot pelts were selling for 75t and K1.00 and 50t. I bought two pelts, though they weren’t very good as the good ones had already been taken. Pius walked around with me to look at things on the wall. We passed a set of red birds-of-paradise feathers which had a sticky next to them saying K4.00. I wasn’t exactly sure if they were for sale. Pius works for the government, so I didn’t want to belie my real interest in them. I asked casually and apparently they were for sale. Pius said that it wasn’t a good idea to buy them because it was illegal to send them. I played his game. He asked to walk with me home. I waited until we were starting up the hill to his house and excused myself, saying that I wanted to pick up something at the trade store. I walked back to the sing-sing grounds. The feathers were still there. I asked how much they were and was told K4.00. I asked if they would accept less and I was told that the man who owned them wasn’t there. I asked if they could find him. They found the owner of the feathers. I said that I’d pay K2.00 for them!! Reluctantly, he sold them to me!!! I couldn’t believe it!! The locals buy newspaper for use in rolling cigarettes. Kelly and I forgot to bring old newspapers from Mt. Hagen! I used the “nius pepa” to wrap the feathers. I walked to Pius’ house and I snuck the feathers into our room. I showed them to Kelly. They were in absolutely perfect condition! Kelly could scarcely believe I’d only paid K2.00 for them!!!

Pius left the house. Kelly and I were getting our things prepared for tomorrow when four boys came to the door. They said they were from Yokana, which is towards Oksapmin. They said that they would take us to Yokana tomorrow. I could scarcely understand them. Apparently, Pius had spoken to them and prompted them to come to speak with us. They left with a vague agreement between us that they would be at the house at 7 a.m. tomorrow. As they walked down the road, I decided to try to get them to talk to Pius so there wouldn’t be any questions as to arrangements. I ran after them. We all went to see Pius, who had gone back to the sing-sing grounds. When we got there, we came upon the tail end of a big feast that was going on. Some pigs and cow meat and kaukau (large sweet potatoes with a white inside) had been mumu’d.

 

Mumu, the traditional form of cooking, is prepared. Rocks are made hot in a fire then laid in a hole. A bed of banana leaves is placed over the rocks. Pork and vegetables are placed on top of the leaves. Then more leaves are placed on top, covering the food. Here, coconut milk is poured over the top leaves. Earth is placed on top of the leaves. The food is thereby steamed by the action of the heated coconut milk.

 

Here, a man tends to the pork in the mumu with his hand

All the meat was laid out and most of it had already been eaten. I grabbed some pork and kaukau and orange drink. When I finished eating, Pius came outside and served as a liaison between the boys and me. I said we only needed two boys, but they wanted to share the carrying amongst four. I said we’d pay 3 kina a day each to two men, i.e., 6 kina altogether. It was not enough it seemed. I then said we’d add two kina and so it would be 8 kina we’d pay – if they wanted to each take 2 kina a day, that was O.K. by us. We went over the proposition to make sure it was understood. A few minutes later a crowd had gathered around the boys, and I was called upon to make myself clear – was it 8 kina a day? I made it clear – if it was two days, 16 kina total, 3 days, 24 kina, etc. We parted saying we’d see each other in the morning.

Back at the house, it soon grew dark. Again we had a beef, rice and greens dish. Pius wasn’t hungry for he’d eaten at the sing-sing. I ate a bit less than I did last night – there wasn’t as much meat in it tonight.

After supper, we talked with Pius for a while. Pius offered to give me a gift of an axe head he’d found. This one was beautiful. It was made of green slate, about five inches long and 2 inches wide at the head, sloping to 1½ inch. It was shiny and obviously a real axe-head, used in “prehistoric” times (pre 1950s). I could not think of what to give him in return, so for the time being I declined.

We talked for a while. Kelly and I retired fairly early, for we needed the rest for tomorrow’s hike. Kelly had burned her foot during cooking – as ember had fallen from the stove and she’d stepped on it. We were wondering if her foot and finger injuries hadn’t been subconsciously induced, because she “really didn’t want to go!” But although she’d been considering flying to Oksapmin, by the time we went to bed, she was determined to hike with me in the morning.

Tomorrow signifies the first day of a great trek from the New Guinea Highlands at 5,000 feet and to Ambunti on the Sepik River near sea level.

Day 1 Lake Kopiago to Yokana

Sunday May 15, 1983

The boys were waiting outside for us when we awoke, so we hurriedly packed. I really wanted the axe head that Pius had offered to me, so I decided to give him the string of white shell necklace that I’d gotten in the Solomons. (The shell beads had cost me about $3 or so.) He and I exchanged gifts. We all said our goodbyes. The boys divided the bags among themselves: one took my big heavy blue pack, one Kelly’s medium-sized green pack, another the small tan day pack; one carried a bilum carrying food such as kaukau in case they got hungry. Kelly and I were unburdened as we set off down the road.

We passed the sing-sing grounds and proceeded along the road that led out from Lake Kopiago. It was, the boys told us, an old road that had been used many years ago by the Australians. As we walked along, the road became more and more overgrown until it would be nearly impossible to take even a 4-wheel drive over it.

The morning was cool, dew-filled. It was about 7:30 a.m. The road was surrounded by lush green growth. Occasionally, we would pass a cleared patch of ground that someone was making a garden on.

After awhile, we left what was once a road and we cut off to the right, now beginning a journey through bush paths towards Oksapmin. I was able to be nimble since I wasn’t burdened with baggage. We walked down a steep path and came to a river. Here I submerged myself – invigorating! We crossed this large stream and hiked through the forest. I’m in pretty good shape and thus didn’t have any problem keeping ahead of the group – I raced along while Kelly and the others came behind. We came upon a large clearing in the forest. When the trees have been felled, it obscures the trail and forces one to pick their way through the logs, out the other side of the clearing and through to the trail again. For us, the clearings were made by nameless workers, never seen.

Past the clearing, we walked on the sides of sloping forest trails. How you place your feet is important. I stopped to wait up for the rest of the group. They came up and sat down on the rocks around me. As we caught our breath, we heard noises coming up from behind. Soon, a party of men, women and young women came up the trail. They too were on their way back from the sing-sing. They were walking to Oksapmin and were planning on arriving tomorrow. We all walked on, but soon this group was ahead of us. I could have kept up but I had to wait for Kelly. We would catch glimpses of them ahead and we would hear them as they chattered incessantly in Oksapmin. (The areas are often distinguished by the language groups.) It could certainly be said that a characteristic of these people is that they chatter when they walk in groups. (Here come the Americans, puffing and catching their breath, while the Melanesians cruise along yelling, calling out to each other, making shrill imitations of birds.) By and by, we came upon a woman who had lagged behind with a child. I was surprised to see a male cassowary (“muruk” in Pidgin) by the side of the road. At first, I was mistaken into thinking it was wild! I produced my camera rapidly and took photos, thinking that it would flee in no time! I thought it was odd that as I approached it, it would back off, but it still did not run away into the forest. I finished taking photos, and when the woman began walking again and the cassowary followed, I realised that the cassowary was a pet!

 

When this cassowary followed the woman, I realized it was a pet!

The language barrier didn’t prevent me from learning that this cassowary was taken as an egg and brought up by the villagers and was thus entirely domesticated. As the woman walked it stayed right to the trail just behind her. (I wonder if it thought it was human!) The woman had walked it two days to the sing-sing to see if she could sell it for K20.00. When I write that it was a baby cassowary, perhaps I should make the size clear. This cassowary stood about 3 feet high at the top of its head. It was a dirty brown color. Cassowaries are amongst the world’s biggest bird – it looks much like an ostrich, and like an ostrich it doesn’t fly. They grow to over six feet tall.

 

The adult cassowary has a ‘killer’ horn. I say ‘killer’, because every year, the cassowary is responsible for at least several deaths of humans in northern Australia who get too close!

We continued walking. At about 10:30 a.m., we came to a place that was a resting area, evidenced by old fire pits. There, the four boys, Kelly, myself and another group of men sat and rested. The men quickly built a fire. (Using matches they customarily create a blazing fire in a minute.) The group of men had also come from the sing-sing, and they had brought with them some pig meat, which they produced from their wrappings in banana leaves. Kelly sat a distance away and I sat close by as they place the pig meat, skin and fat directly in and around the fire. Soon the meat and fat were sizzling away, enough to make my mouth water. It was with typical Melanesian big-heartedness that I was given a few chunks of sizzling pig. Being from America, I have a natural fear of eating beef and, especially, pig that is not store-bought from a reliable merchant. But I tried it, and it was so delicious that I took some to Kelly to try, ignoring her refusal when the men had offered some to her. She tried it and had to agree it was delicious. At the time I didn’t know it, but it is a fact that there is no trichinosis in Papua New Guinean pigs, which alleviates the major reason for not eating pork here. I note that it is probably rather typically Western of me to consider their pork as diseased because it comes from such a primitive country, when in fact it is pork from my “advanced” country which has a higher probability of being diseased, and the pork here is generally fine to eat. It is a clear-cut case of common ethnocentricity that it would not occur to me that these people are very intelligent (especially in regards to food and survival) and can distinguish a healthy pig from a sick one, and also, they would never use a sick one for feasting!! In short, the pig was scrumptious. I not only enjoyed the meat, but I also enjoyed the fat. When we’d stopped there, I was feeling a little exhausted, but after eating (and resting), I felt very invigorated. I don’t know if it was the pig, but I wouldn’t be surprised if such wholesome sustenance was able to revive one immediately!

After this petite repast, we set out again. Now, I raced off ahead and the young man who had the small pack followed me step for step. We raced through the forest. I really love the feeling of going swiftly on bush tracks. We continued for twenty minutes or half hour until we figured we should wait for the others who were probably by now far behind. We came up to the top of one of the countless hillock summits to where the woman with the cassowary was resting. We sat down and waited. During this rest, I had the pleasure of observing the woman feeding the cassowary. She cut up a kaukau and the bird would pick up the individual pieces with its beak and then throw its head back let the piece go flying backwards and catch it and swallow it whole through its opened mouth!! This process continued on and on while I watched, amused.

 

I drew a sketch of the area leading to the Strickland Gorge from Lake Kopiago

After a long wait, an unfittingly long wait at that, the rest of the group came tromping up. They explained the reason for their delay: The young boy (of cassowary woman) was leading the way and Kelly following. The boy jumped over a log and then Kelly did. Just as the others were about to follow, a cream-colored snake, about six feet long darted across the trail, having emerged from the log. The men jumped back and everyone was afraid to get too close. Being the superb naturalists that they were, they immediately recognised it for what it was – deadly poisonous. A person bitten by this snake would die within seconds. Some place, I read that there are not many snakes in the Solomons and New Guinea. But this snake made just one more run-in to add to the list. (To wit, 1. On the road at night in Honiara, Kelly and I came upon a death adder. 2. A water snake near Banika Island, Solomons. 3. Another water snake near the entrance to Morovo Lagoon, Solomons. 4. An orange and blue snake in the Japanese Cave, Rabaul vicinity, East New Britain, PNG. 5. A six-foot thin brown (non-poisonous) snake jumped from a log on Vulcan crater’s ridge, Rabaul vicinity. Now, this snake made #6.)

We resumed our walk. Now I raced ahead by myself. No one could keep up with me. I went on and on, now the trail curving a bit to the north around the contour of the mountain. Eventually I came to our outcropping of rock that presented a view of the surrounding land. Up till now, our views were limited by the surrounding and enclosing rain forest. The scenery was very magnificent. From having carefully studied the topographical map beforehand, I could place the relative positions of the mountains and estimate where Oksapmin was. All along the left was an escarpment of sheer limestone cliff with deep green patches of rain forest clinging to its walls. (It is surprising how tenacious the rain forest is – it seems to grow on vertical cliffs!) Below the ridge, though the water was not visible, a river ran away into the distance where it joined the Strickland River.

Down the chasm of the valley, way off in the distance, I could see another more spectacular ridge perpendicular to the one on my left. A light green grass carpeted its slopes, advancing to the vertical white cliffs that were topped by green forest. This ridge was about five miles away. Running below this ridge in the valley bottom was the Strickland, heading off to the left (south).

 

The Strickland Gorge amazed me with its beauty

Just beyond, along the contour of the mountainside, was a village marked by dwellings and hillside gardens. I knew that it could not be Yokana because it was too soon upon us. I produced my camera and took a few shots. I called out with a whoop, in imitation of the natives, to ascertain if anyone from my party was behind me. I heard an answer, and soon was joined by one boy. Using broken Pidgin and English, I confirmed my idea of where we were in relation to Oksapmin and also that the land beyond us was indeed the Strickland Gorge. Soon followed the rest of the group.

I went on ahead, galloping along the trial like a madman, enjoying the treachery of the trail, which necessitated putting my feet in the right place with celerity (i.e., swiftness). The trail here was more open, not immediately encroached upon by rain forest, and thus drier. I lost sight of the village and stopped to guess whether I had bypassed our agreed-upon resting place. I retraced 100 yards and seeing two young men of my party, ascertained that I was going the right way and thus galloped off again. Just as I arrived at the village, the Oksapmin people we’d seen on the trail earlier were leaving. The others in my group arrived. Kelly was thirsty. This village had a galvanized water rank that had most likely been dropped there by a helicopter. I filled up our water bottles. Kelly and I drank our fill of water. It was only about 12:30 p.m., but the boys with us asked if we wanted to go on or whether we desired to sleep there. We had no desire to stay in this village, which didn’t seem to have any particular attraction. Before we left, I asked if anyone had any bird of paradise feathers, but no one said they had any. Our guides said we should be able to reach Yokana in five hours.

We set off somewhat refreshed and pounded through the woods, up down, up down, over roots and rocks, through patches of mud, walking on logs. Again, I raced off and left the others behind, which didn’t please Kelly. Before I began bush walking, I would have thought that it would be dangerous to leave Kelly among “Savages,” but thoughts of this nature were deduced with the utmost ignorance!! Indeed, it was quite safe for Kelly to be by herself with members of our party! Being by myself, I sometimes wondered if I was correctly following the trail, but I invariably continued without waiting for confirmation from a guide.

I came upon a river, where I found the Oksapmin people, who had stopped for lunch. On a sandy bank they roasted sweet potatoes in a fire. Before this trek was finished my initial acceptance of eating sweet potatoes grew into the utmost fondness – their crunchy skin, the hot, soft, sweet middle – it was like eating a baked English potato with butter and salt already incorporated into it!!! I removed my shirt and shoes and socks and retired to a nearby pool in which I luxuriously bathed and revitalized my tired muscles underneath a heavy but short waterfall. The water crashed into this larger stream from an adjoining streamlet into the pool in which I bathed. After a satiation of my desire to cool off and get a massage from the falling water, Kelly came along with the remainder of the group. While the others helped themselves to potatoes, Kelly and I prepared (Kraft processed cheddar) cheese sandwiches on wheat crackers, adorned with tomatoes and green onions and accompanied with a bottle of Tang made with the sweet river water. A note on the mountain water: Most Europeans have an aversion to drinking water from streams, themselves coming from lands of rife pollution. In fact, I never became sick from drinking water from virtually every stream that presented itself when thirst was upon me. The mountains of New Guinea are overflowing with abundant pristine waters in rivers, streams, trickles, springs, etc.

After our lunch respite, we trudged on. We came to a very wet section of rainforest where bothersome little forest flies seem to be attracted to human sweat, with which I was invariably covered. Particularly bothersome was that being as though there was sweat on my eyelids, the little flies would fly into my eyes, blocking my vision and causing me to hesitate from walking. The bush trails have definite signs which one uses to find the way. Many times a log is used as part of the trail. If the log has strong moss on it, it can be pleasant to traverse. However, many of the logs are old, rotten and slippery as hell; even this is tolerable if one is careful. But, as often happens, when a log with these characteristics is sloping up or down, it can become treacherous for people wearing shoes, which by the way is an infinitely inferior apparatus for conveying a human body through the bush compared to bare feet. Bare feet develop calluses that afford a human to walk in comfort over most natural terrain. The habit of wearing shoes is ridiculous unless we accept the concept that in an industrial society, man made materials cause peculiarly nasty hazards – glass, sharp aluminium cans, etc.

The butterflies formed a pleasant contrast to the bothersome forest flies. One particularly striking specimen is a white butterfly with two outer and two inner wings, the inner wing bearing each one spot of black encircled by yellow. (Later note: In 1983, I had the mistaken notion that normally butterflies have two wings, whereas in actuality they have four. Normally, however, the bottom wings and top wings have an appearance of forming one wing. The difference in these butterflies was that the ‘bottom wings’ were not situated on the bottom, but rather interior to the main wings. I have since studied books on Lepidoptera and have been unable to identify this species.)

Again, now trudging uphill, we stopped to rest. Kelly seemed particularly uncomfortable with the effort of hiking, and she voiced her lament at having to continue. But as is her way, her pride overpowers her aversion to continue and once she has aggravated me with incessant lamentations she evolves into a state of stoic perseverance manifesting her tremendous spirit. We hiked, it seemed, now forever upward. I myself was a little anxious to reach the summit, if indeed the trail had one. We stopped at the base of what looked like as near a vertical trail (if you think that looks vertical, wait until tomorrow!) as can be “walked” upon. I asked one of our guides how much longer we had to climb upwards. His reply, “two hours,” not only was averse to my liking, it also seemed incorrect, as it was wearing late in the day. We tackled the hill, rested in the middle of the ascent, where Kelly caught up with us. We also met up again with one of the boys we’d been missing for the last hour. We continued upwards and soon reached a summit where other people were resting (from the other group). We rested. I tried to ascertain if we’d still be hiking upwards, but I was told that we’d reached the summit. It was curious that what I’d been told would take two hours actually took half an hour, but I was glad for that – and it reinforced the conventional wisdom: never rely on a Melanesian’s accounting of time.

After a short rest, we were told that we’d better get going because we needed to get to Yokana before dark. We were also notified that from here to Yokana was downhill, and nothing could have pleased us more, save if it was already upon us. As we descended, the trail was lined with a luscious moss hugging the sloping ground. Then the trail took on a more “civilized” aspect, with logs thrown perpendicular to the path to effect a staircase for descending/ascending. I snapped a photo of one of the guides ahead of me as he stood next to a banana leaf twice the length and width of his body.

 

Rain Forest

So, our trek began to Yokana. On some legs of this hike, we were to walk underneath the forest canopy virtually all day without getting a view of the surrounding land. The Yokana man is scarcely visible I the lower right center of the photograph.

I walked with two guides ahead of me now, and Kelly was somewhere behind with the other two. We came to a garden. An old woman there gave us some cooked vegetables. Apparently there had been more, but the people from Oksapmin had devoured most of them. (Later note: I was touched that this old woman, it seemed, had prepared vegetables for us to eat, seemingly knowing we were coming. I still do not know to this day if that was true. In any event, this type of generosity, found all over the Highlands, was typical of the Melanesian spirit. This spirit inspired in me a great respect and changed my perception of the world.) We again headed off. The trail now became quite wide which signified that we were coming close to the village. In a short while, we came to a dwelling. From this dwelling you could see the mountains above the Strickland Gorge. I was told that this dwelling was part of Yokana! I was surprised because I had foreseen that it was going to take much longer to get there. The main part of the village was only a few minutes away. I ran the last part into Yokana. Kelly arrived shortly afterward. When she came we discussed what sort of vegetables we wanted and then we “placed our order” with a man who ran off to a garden to procure what we needed. While we waited for the vegetables, we shook hands with some of the villagers. We took delight in watching two baby cassowaries, each less than a foot high, feeding on kaukau. They were very cute.

We looked in the “store,” but not surprisingly, they had virtually nothing to sell: just a few razor blades, a few bars of soap, etc. We read a notice on a small round hut that warned people not to look at the sun during the coming eclipse on June 11^th. The village central had perhaps ten dwellings, not too big and not too small. We were shown where we could put our bags and brought them into a hut. This hut had a fire pit in the middle front, a dirt floor in the front half of the building, and a raised wood floor one foot off the ground in the back part. As is the case with most bush huts, there were no windows for ventilation, and the roof was black from smoke constantly rising from the fire. I asked if there were any bird feathers for sale, and one parrot pelt was produced, which I bought for K0.75.

By and by, a woman came to the doorway with vegetables, as we’d requested. She had about twenty ears of corn, six English potatoes, one 7” papaya, about thirty small tomatoes and four feet of sugarcane. We gave her K1.10 for the delivery. One of the guides ripped off some of our tomatoes, as I heard Kelly say “tomato snitcher” playfully – we didn’t say anything more. A fire was now in progress inside and it was getting dark outside. We threw some ears of corn on the fire to cook. Inevitably, smoke often blew in my direction from the fire, and my eyes would water terribly (and burn too!). As the ears of corn were finished, we began eating them. It’s delicious cooked directly on a fire like that. For dinner, Kelly fixed up some canned hot dogs and a can of beans, along with potatoes, corn, tomatoes and a hot Milo to settle our stuffed stomachs. We shared our corn with anyone who happened to be sitting inside the house. We were a bit surprised on two counts: i) that our guide had stolen some of our tomatoes, being that he was in his own village, and ii) that all four of our guides slept in the same house with us, being as though we thought that they would have houses of their own to sleep in. The question about this was never resolved.

While Kelly prepared the meal, I set up the mosquito net in the back right corner of the 20’ x 20’ dwelling. We were very pleased that we’d gotten this net in Mount Hagen. It was the first time we used it. It looked like a sanctuary of luxury amidst the dirt.

Our guides, although from this village, were required according to our arrangement, to walk beyond to Oksapmin, 1–1½ days to the west-northwest. I talked with the one who’d stolen our tomatoes. He explained that we’d have to sleep in Gaua near Oksapmin tomorrow night. I was feeling arrogant about my ability to bush walk quickly, and I fairly insisted that we could reach Oksapmin, just north across one range of cliffs from Gaua. Phillip, this guide, fairly insisted that we couldn’t make it and suggested that they could all (with Kelly) sleep in Gaua, but I’d probably get on to Oksapmin and wait for Kelly there. (There is a sign on the road to Mt. Wilhelm from Keglsugl. This sign lists rules that climbers should use while climbing Mt. Wilhelm. One of the rules is: The pace of the hiking party should be that of its slowest member. But this rule apparently hadn’t sunk in [to my head] yet. It is a wise rule. If you can’t live by it, it means you’ve chosen to wrong hiking partners.) Phillip and I went over the money situation also. Again, it was reiterated that if it took us two days more to reach Oksapmin, we would be obliged to pay the total of K24.00 (3×8.00) to the 4 young men as a group. Kelly and I requested this: that if we reached Oksapmin before noon the third day, we would be obliged to pay only for ½ day, 2½ total days, or K20.00 total. Phillip discussed this with his friends and subsequently told us that it was agreed to.

We had had a long, long day. We had tired our bodies and satiated the consequent ravenous appetites. Sleep came naturally.

Day 2 Yokana to Gaua (through The Strickland Gorge!)

Monday May 16, 1983

Today we were to enjoy the most exquisite scenery an inhabitant of earth can ever expect to enjoy. (Yosemite, California has a rival in the Strickland Gorge.)

Kelly and I had an altercation before we left the village. I had gotten angry over a comment she’d made. Then, in an effort to apologize, I said, “Sorry Kelly, I guess I was acting un-god-like,” Kelly replied “Maybe that proves a point!” The point she was trying to prove was that I wasn’t a “god.” She had tried to convince me that I wasn’t “a god” a few days back. It was really all so ridiculous because I had been using the term god very loosely and applying it to myself. (Roman emperors used to have that title transferred to them upon their death!) I’m a man, plain and simply, and it is only in jovial fun that we use the term amongst my friends and I. Kelly’s harping on this point was merely to aggravate me, and she got her wish! I, who had violently cracked a stick across a tree trunk before my apology, now grabbed my pack and raced off ahead totally ignoring Kelly’s existence! I felt, probably correctly, that Kelly’s deviation from her usual sweet self was in most part prompted by her reluctance and rebellion to expose her body to the extremes of exertion which surely awaited us today and in future days. Her decision to come along was probably in part a desire to be with me rather than a 100% devotion to a love of bush walking, which for the unfit can be a mild form of masochism.

The guides followed with Kelly. I tromped westward through the light forest and tall grasses. As I hesitated at a trail fork, one of my guides came along and subsequently led the way. We marched on. Another one of the guides joined up with us. In a fairly short time, we deserted towering trees to come upon open grassland, now opening up to partly reveal the magnificence of the Strickland Gorge. The grassland was immense, leading west between two ranges of cliffs. The further we walked, the more evident the vastness of the Strickland Gorge became. The trail worked to the left until it hugged the base of a cliff. We stopped while I got out my camera and began to snap photos. Another of the four came up with us. He said something to the effect that Kelly (whom I had hastily left behind) was returning to Yokana. A fear ran through my mind that she was planning on returning to Kopiago. Looking back, I could see Kelly at the verge of the grassland, now walking back towards Yokana. Now the guides said that she was looking for something she’d lost. We waited a few minutes.

We were scarcely forty minutes walking from Yokana. The sun was not yet shining upon much of the dew-filled forest clinging along the face of the cliffs to my right. The Gorge was opened before me, a spectacular, magnificent spectacle. Facing away from the cliff rock at my back, to my immediate right, was the grassland we’d walked through, a bright lime-green. Looking counter-clockwise was a vast rainforest that grew in the shadow and along the base of (and even on!) a ridge of white and black limestone cliffs. To the left of this, the gorge stretched eight miles or so in a V-shaped valley, carpeted on both sides by lush grasslands meeting at the Strickland River. Away and beyond the gorge itself rose mountain after mountain as far as the eye could see, creating flowing picturesque infinity. To the left of the Strickland River, and the grasslands on its west bank which sloped upward, was a magnificent range of limestone cliff stretching from almost the center of my view along my whole left side and beyond and behind the cliff to my back. Studded in and around the cliff was forest greenery. To add to the magnificence was a second promontory of limestone cliff towering above and somewhat behind the first!

Behind the second range of cliffs to my left lies Oksapmin, perhaps five or ten miles as the crow flies. The sun was rising. The valley was half in shadow; on the west the mountain ridge glistened in the sun. In all the thousands of acres spread before us, there was not one habitation or sign of human life! This was a small wonder to me, as the place would provide a fabulous environment for living. Again, upwards from the valley bottom through which the river ran on both sides was a gorgeous carpet of four to five-foot high bright lime-colored grass. In short, it was awesome scenery! The Strickland River which flowed down the valley towards me to the south eventually runs westward where it joins the Fly River, PNG’s largest river. The proposed hike was to go across the Strickland and later to pass the OK Oma, a tributary running to the east to the Strickland. The Ok Oma was to be crossed and then the proposed route would take us from the Fly watershed over a ridge to the Sepik watershed, PNG’s second largest river being the Sepik (“Sea-pik”).

We walked west for a short while. The scene opened up even more. The cliff on my left, as I was walking, receded south, and we came upon a 1000-foot terrace that revealed the southern part of the gorge.

In the same amazing fashion, the gorge spread to the south, immense. We stopped here to wait for Kelly and the other lad. To the south, white limestone cliffs, dark green trees and forests and lime grasslands cascaded downward to the bottom of the gorge. We stood a promontory which would be impossible to walk down on three sides except to the far left along and down the ridge hugging the mountainside. I stationed him some distance from the edge and then I climbed up on a limestone rock near the “cliff’s” edge. With a corny smile on my face, I placed one foot in mid-air as if I was unknowingly about to walk off of the rock. Phillip snapped a picture. The background was an awesome spectacle ¾ mile across thin air.

Kelly came along. I asked her what happened. She said she had lost her neckerchief, had looked for it, but couldn’t find it. Things were tense between us, for God knows what reason.

We descended along a steep rocky path that required careful footing. Below the initial descent as a small patch of forest with, though still steep, a trail more gradually sloping down. We rested at a stream just before the trail exited the forest. Kelly came along. Although, things were really tense between us, to bother her, I jokingly started calling her Katie, in reference to David and Katie, the ultra-strange Peace Corp couple we met in Ngarrinarsuru in the Solomon Islands’ Malaita! We were both being defensive. Kelly was hinting that she thought it was a drag the way I hiked ahead all the time.

We emerged from the patch of forest and hiked in beautiful sloping grassland bordered on our left (south) by cliff. The guides went ahead while Kelly and I took turns taking pictures. As we continued walking I screamed out in jubilation time after time, hearing my outbursts resound from the cliffs. The guides ahead of us let out their marching cries. These consisted of one man letting out one type of yell followed by a three-man chorus yelling a retort. They continued this, varying the responses slightly, for a minute or two followed by intervals of silence from between fifteen seconds to hours. Again Kelly dropped behind as I traced my way through grasses up to my shoulders. A patch of forest bordered an unseen stream to our right, and the guides disappeared from my view as the trail ahead turned into the greenery. I eventually reached the stream, where, slightly upstream from where our guides rested, I removed my clothes and plunged myself into an ice-cold pristine pool of stream water. When I finished bathing, Kelly came along.

We all headed on down; now the river was in sight. We crossed limestone boulders interspersed with shrubs and trees and dead wood. We could now make out a bridge traversing the treacherous Strickland, and the trail led toward this. We came down to the river and walked along it to a resting place near the base of the bridge. The resting place was beneath some huge rocks grouped together, providing a cool shade. I found a pipe on the ground – a single stick of bamboo 5/8” thick and 7½” long with some light engraving on it. It was nice, so I stuffed it in my pack. As we rested, Kelly noticed an amazing small insect on a rock. This was neither the first nor last time we were to be amazed by insect life in New Guinea. Every so often you see an insect that bears no resemblance to anything you’ve ever seen! I got out my camera and tripod and spent a good deal of time setting it up. I cut up a papaya. She ate her half. I ate mine after giving each of our guides a piece of it.

The bridge crossing the Strickland was a modern bridge made of steel and wire. Perhaps they flew materials in by helicopter or walked them in. The Strickland is a rushing torrent of muddy clay-colored water that would be impossible to walk across here. The bridge was fairly new, well constructed and quite safe. It was suspended by wire cables from each side, had cable handrails and steel grating to walk upon.

I took a photo from the middle of the river. We each crossed the bridge one at a time. On the other side, the Oksapmin men were fishing, and the rest of their party had hiked on to wait for them on a mountaintop.

Still things were really tense between Kelly and I. I like to think that the main reason is because she was in a state of irritation because she was uncomfortable in the hot sun with so much walking to do.

The trail now headed straight, up across the immense grasses of the west bank of the Strickland gorge. The sun beat down mercilessly, and there was no place to hide. The slope upwards was fairly steep and it took about two hours of straight walking to reach the forest where some respite from the sun was available. I lead the way up the grassland. I stopped to change film and I took a few more photos. Looking back down the trail, I could see the others coming up individually. The boys worked parasols of ferns or whatever they could find on the riverbank to guard themselves from the heat of the sun. I could make out Kelly below working her way up painfully.

I raced on, desirous to finish at once the exposed grassland climb. I reached the forest and kept walking. I came to a pool of water, which was the end of a stream that stopped there and disappeared; I startled a lizard that bathed in a stream of sunlight that filtered through the tree canopy. The lizard was about 3½’ long. It was motionless when I first saw it, and then it tore off into the thicket. I found a place where the water looked good to drink and quenched my thirst. I tried to continue up the trail but the trail disappeared and I could not make out where it went. Besides, I didn’t want to search too hard lest I come across the wrong trail. I returned back to the water spot and waited. Soon, the boy carrying my pack came, and then another with the food pack. I was quite hungry, so I proceeded to dine on crackers and cheese, chocolate and hard candy. Kelly came along. She wasted no time in making insinuating comments, blasting me for eating and for walking ahead. She said things like, “You ate my tomato!” The Gorge had depleted her strength. The amount of flies hovering about was incredible!! With one slap of a hand, fifty of them would drop! I realized that sounds like an exaggeration, but it was not. The flies hovered whenever there was sweat, and I was covered with it!!

After lunch, we continued upwards along the streamlet and up, up through forest. I stopped to let Kelly go ahead but she said I didn’t have to and was indignant. I became irate and began following her badgering her saying things like: “Katie, how are you doing, huh. Are you enjoying the walk, Katie?” I had begun calling her Katie, as aforementioned, on the other side of the gorge. I repeated it over and over. I was acting like a raving madman! This is sometimes known as “going TROPPO (tropical).” Kelly said I wasn’t bothering her so I took the liberty of continuing. She turned around and said that she never really liked me but she was just using me to enable her to take this hike. It was really comical! I raced on ahead then, alone, where I could enjoy myself. We seemed to hike on indefinitely. Finally, we began ascending a steep escarpment of rain-forest-covered limestone cliff. Kelly was with me now. Kelly fell down and started whimpering. I felt sorry for her – I realised how difficult this walk is for her – for me it was a breeze without a pack. I gave her my hand and helped her the whole way up, hand in hand, resting with her. Of course, the ascent seems to take longer than it really does. The mood changed as I helped her – I guess it was all she wanted: to hike with me instead of alone, somewhere behind me.

A note of gladness struck when we reached the top of the cliff!! The view was super-tremendous. Immediately north was another range of limestone ridge; to the right of this was the Gorge extending all the way to the south. We could see the course of the Strickland River as it turned west behind a mountain range directly south of us. The Oksapmin women were waiting here, chattering away, laughing. Our party stopped and rested here for a while. My mood had now changed to one of gallantry, and I faked drinking a sip of water so that Kelly could have more, as we were almost out. The wind blew on this summit. Limestone boulders scattered the grass and forest came right up the edge of the cliff we’d just traversed. Kelly had complained a few weeks ago that I haven’t been taking enough pictures of her. I snapped a close-up of her and then we took turns posing for each other. I took a picture of her against the southern backdrop. Giving the camera to her, I walked over to a limestone rock, giving a northeast backdrop relative to where the photographer, Kelly, was. Placing my hands firmly on the rock, with everyone watching me, I performed a handstand on top of this limestone rock, and Kelly snapped a picture.

 

In jubilation, having reached the eastern crest of the Strickland Gorge, I do a handstand!

To our west was a bowl of a beautiful alpine valley, bordered on the left by the ridge upon which we stood, and on the right was another ridge. We were told that Gaua lied beyond the ridge to the right. We set off with the Oksapmin women. I walked slowly with Kelly like a Southern Gentleman. It is so beautiful here!! We walked slow, really enjoying the scenery. We gazed across the Strickland Gorge to the mountains at the other side. The contours and colors are exciting! We progressed over the ridge and beheld another valley backed by another limestone ridge. Over this ridge was Oksapmin amidst checkerboards of cultivation sloping upwards to the base of the cliff. Clouds were impending, lending a misty and mystical atmosphere combined with the sun and the wind. Kelly was lamenting how tired she was and hoping that the place we were going to sleep was one of the closer structures rather than one of the ones way up the valley. I didn’t mind walking slow with her, but it bothered me to listen to her complain. We descended following after our guides. We walked across a thin log, crossing a pool of stagnant water, to a house, but we were directed further up the hill. The trail was muddy and as we passed an extremely muddy spot, Kelly exclaimed, “Yuk. Do we have to walk through that??” In an effort to see if I could lead her through it without her getting muddy, I jumped to the extreme left of the path of mud and nearly poked my eyes out on a protruding dry reed sticking horizontally from the thicket! My eye was bleeding. Kelly started crying, partially because she felt it was her fault and the other part because of concern. We stopped and I used a Q-tip to apply some black antiseptic to my eyelid. I was lucky – had the reed hit my eye even ¼ inch to the left, it would have struck my eyeball instead of the corner of my eye closest to my nose. Mostly, I was concerned that it could get infected.

We finished walking up a hill to a cluster of houses, one of many on the valley slopes. Our guides did some talking and found a house for us to stay in. I took out my map and reviewed where we’d gone with Phillip. The Gaua man who was letting us use this traveller’s house suggested we move to another house adjacent to it, as it was better protection against wind and rain. We moved to go to the house next door and this man went to procure some vegetables for us. Our guides had a place of their own to stay in somewhere in the valley and they left except one of the boys who started the fire for us and then left. The Gaua man came back with a bunch of greens. We gave him a kina. I set up the mosquito net and Kelly began preparing dinner. Darkness encroached. There we were: firelight, the grass straw on the floor, Kelly and I alone in the 20’x20’ dwelling with a high roof. Occasionally the boy who started the fire for us would come back and check that everything was all right. He would light his pipe and smoke – these people are very avid smokers of their garden grown tobacco. We offered him some soup. We ate well and then slept.

Day 3 Gaua to Tekin via Oksapmin

Tuesday May 17, 1983

 

The hike to Oksapmin led us up to the foot of a steep ridge and up. I walked with Kelly. It was a misty morning. Our guides walked ahead. I held Kelly’s hand as we made our way up the slopes. Traversing ridges like this, and often during bush walking in New Guinea, it is necessary to place your toes in a stronghold and stand up like climbing a ladder, foot after foot. Every five steps there’s a place where you can catch your balance. I walked Kelly very slowly up the cliff. Often I would stop and stand and talk to her until I heard her breathing resume to normal, at which time I’d continue taking her up. She told m later that she thought that I stopped often because I was tired! She commented on the way up, just as she had yesterday how “amazing” our guides were, able to swiftly ascend even with our packs. I was quickly indignant at these times, as I too could swiftly ascend with a pack on; by being her escort I was forced not only to go slower than was comfortable for me, but I also had to be thought of as somewhat less amazing, fit and strong than our guides, which I felt was incorrect on all three counts. But I held my tongue because I felt that if I said anything to this effect, Kelly would think I was insinuating that she was a burden and she’d become indignant!

When we were almost near the top, we all stopped, rested and talked. By the way, the typical ascent up to a summit was invariably accompanied by a number of moments when we would think that we were “just about there.” Then, we would climb up to what we thought was the summit only to discover that the trail continued upwards indefinitely from there. During this rest stop, Kelly and I told the four young men how we had come to Papua New Guinea on a sailboat. We asked them what they did every day in their village Yokana. They said that they would often work around the village, either building houses (huts) or work in the garden. Sometimes they would go hunting for birds or wild pigs. They briefly described a pig hunt. It is noticeable that these people have a heritage as hunters, for when they spy a bird or the signs of a cuscus (possum or tree kangaroo), they immediately jump into action with their bow and arrow, or, if nothing else is available, a stone. Kelly and I described the size of the American Elk and Moose, but Kelly laughed as I described their antlers being nine feet across, and I don’t think they believed me either.

Soon, we came to the summit of the ridge and we were looking down into a large valley surrounded on all sides by mountains. In the western portion of the valley were a number of tin-roofed dwellings and an airstrip. Oksapmin! Not exactly a city. Not a town either really. We carefully made a 3-shot panorama of the valley below. In the right frame Phillip stood – wearing the sunglasses he looked pretty funny. In the middle frame stood Kelly (with Oksapmin in the background) who had gotten the sunglasses from Phillip. Then in the left frame, I, who had given explicit instructions to Kelly about where to border the picture when giving her the camera, stood I with the same sunglasses on! So we effected a 3-frame shot that hopefully will look a little ridiculous. [Unfortunately, Phillip lost one of the pieces of broken lens of the sunglasses. When I bought them, they were cracked, and yesterday, on my way down to the Strickland I had them in the bottom of my camera bag and I fell and cracked them completely. (Better them than my camera!) I pieced them together for the photos.]

The trail went at one angle down the mountain towards the West. Some of the guides went ahead. As the trail did not seem treacherous, dried dirt winding with some switchbacks, I took the liberty of going ahead. Have you ever galloped down a mountain? Well, I galloped at high speed, jumping, leaping, placing my feet rapidly with expert timing! I’ve never figured why that works out but it is a lot of fun to run like a madman down a mountain and never twist an ankle. Down trail, I waited for Kelly and we walked slowly as the trail became fore difficult – I helped her down the difficult parts in the hot sun. Our guides waited for us in the shade of the tree in the valley.

It was noon now. We walked past some Western-style dwellings, outside of which a bunch of people were hanging out. Inside the store they had Coca-Cola and Coconut Kina (cookies) for sale. We contemplated splurging and buying some. First, we thought we should pay our guides. Outside, I called Phillip over and began to hand him K20.00 for all four boys. He said, “For me?” and I tried to explain to him that as agreed, we would pay K8.00 a day for all of them, total. It soon became obvious that he was trying to pull a scam that they had previously decided upon. With a number Papua New Guineans about and no white people, it seemed likely that they would have the sympathy of their countrymen. However, they blew it by being too greedy. What he asked for was K20.00 each which made K80.00 in guide fees for 2½ days walking – bear in mind that we’d only needed 2 guides (they always travel in pairs) and that the going rate is K4.00 per day, which is considered good pay. I immediately saw through his plan, and rather than allow him to gain the sympathy of his countrymen, I took action. Stepping over to where some men stood, I immediately began to explain what had been agreed upon. The men I spoke with spoke some English, so they could clearly understand me. I told them that if they didn’t believe me, we could radio the OIC in Kopiago who had arranged the agreement. Further, I pointed out to them that these boys were claiming that we should pay each of them K8.00 a day, which was obviously incorrect. At first there was some cross-questioning insinuating that I was trying to renege on the payment, but I felt mad and the tenor in my voice and righteousness of my speech lent credence to my story. The other boys stood in the background. Now Phillip changed his story. He said that he and another boy would be willing to accept K5.00 each but the other two wanted K20.00. He feebly tried to rationalize that the other boys had not understood the agreement, but I pointed out that it was hard to believe in light of the fact that they all spoke the same language. Further, it was Phillip’s duty to explain it to them.

They finally went up to the OIC’s office. Kelly and I sat in the shade of the store, disgusted by the dishonesty and stupidity of the boys. We were summoned to the OIC’s office. The OIC was gone but his second-in-command welcomed Kelly and I into his office. He heard our story, wrote down the information and said he would contact the OIC in Kopiago about this. When we’d crossed the Strickland, we had entered the West Sepik province and this matter was Pius’ jurisdiction since these boys were from Yokana in the Southern Highlands. The second-in-command called Phillip and the other boys in. He observed us as we paid each of them K8.00 for their troubles. They left indignantly.

Kelly and I walked with our packs up to the OIC’s house. We asked him if someone was going to go up to Tekin in a truck, but he said no. In the midst of this isolated country, a road had been built between Oksapmin and Tekap, of which the portion to Tekin was still in use. There were two trucks and one tractor using the road, the tractor belonging to the Baptist mission at Tekin. The Baptist mission collected vegetables from the surrounding countryside at 25t a kilo and brought them down by tractor to Oksapmin where they were flown to Ok Tedi, PNG’s future biggest mining operation (copper and gold). The local people have begun a market at Tekap that may put the “white” mission at Tekin out of business as they offer 50t a kilo. The OIC suggested we get a ride on the mission tractor, which was on its way from the airstrip. We explained that the driver had said that we couldn’t have a ride. I saw the tractor coming and it stopped down by the offices. I ran down to it. The driver seemed friendlier this time. He said we could have a ride but that he was afraid that the keops (police) wouldn’t allow us to ride in the back. I asked if he’d let us if the OIC said it was O.K. That was fine by him. I went back to the OIC’s house. When the tractor came by, the OIC told him it was O.K. Kelly and I hopped on the trailer and away the tractor went. It was about a two-hour ride, about eight miles by road. The tractor went about as fast as we could walk, but we were thankful for the rest. We climbed upwards on the west mountain bordering the bowl of Oksapmin. Rain clouds formed and we experienced an occasional sprinkling. Once over the mountain, we descended slightly into a flat valley. Kelly and I were hungry, so we spread out a lunch for ourselves in the back – cheese, crackers, tomatoes, cookies, corned beef and Tang. Beside the driver, there was another man who dozed off occasionally.

We passed some gardens and a cluster of huts. The driver threw a bag of money to a lady on the other side of the fence. We arrived at Tekin; there was a store with a small loading dock. The proprietor of the store asked us for 50t for the ride on the tractor. We didn’t have the change, so we said we could pay him tomorrow (prick!!) An old man stood nearby wearing nothing but a penis gourd.

We asked directions to the missionary’s house. We were led up to a house on the hill. (Note: the airstrip was built on a steep incline.) An Australian woman named Carol came to the back door. Her openness and friendliness dissipated our apprehensions about Baptist missionaries, whom we’d never before been in contact with. She fixed us each a cup of Milo and gave us a cookie. She explained that they had a guesthouse that was K10.00 a night. Her husband, Ian, came inside and met us. We showed some reluctance to spending K10.00 a night, so they offered to let us stay in their house with meals for K2.00 each. There was no contest. We moved our bags into the back room where there were two single beds. We introduced ourselves as man and wife, which was our usual habit, as PNG is a Christian country.

I laid out the maps on the ground and showed Ian my proposed route to Telefomin, then to Frieda Top Camp. I wondered about the possibility of riding on the Sepik from Telefomin through Irian Jaya and back to PNG, but I dispelled this idea when Ian summoned a man who knew about the river who said it was not navigable that far up.

Dinner was quite good. We had a view of the Tekin valley stretching west in the cloudy sunsets. As is customary, grace was said before we commenced eating. They didn’t ask us if we were Christians, which was refreshing, and they drink coffee, which was pleasing. I tried my first tamarillo, or tree tomato. They said that this fruit was marketed in Australia as a tree tomato but didn’t sell well until they began marketing it as a tamarillo. It is sort of sweet and a bit tart, vaguely reminiscent of a tomato, though more oblong with a red-maroon skin that is thicker than that of a tomato.

After dinner, we each took a shower. To take a shower here, one had to fill a bucket with water heated on the stove. The bucket was hoisted above your head and tied off (it might break your neck if it fell). We also went for a look in their trade store. Things were very expensive except for a litre bottle of locally produced honey for only K1.10!! They sold us some of their Milo and powdered milk, weighing it on their kitchen table.

When we’d reached Tekin, Kelly said that she wanted to fly to Wewak, that she was sick of walking. I was determined to continue at all costs. It looked like I’d be leaving alone in the morning. We went to bed and slept a deep, long, invigorating sleep!

Day 4 Tekin to Tekap

Wednesday May 18, 1983

We woke up late. Carol had gone off to administer patients, as she was a registered nurse. Ian was out too taking care of the running of the mission. Kelly and I were able to help ourselves to Milo and toast and cereal for breakfast. During the course of the morning I did a variety of things. I inquired about finding guides to Telefomin. One man told me (through a girl that spoke English) that if I went to his village at the end of the valley, he could arrange for a guide for me for Telefomin. I took a photo of a mission plane taking off the peculiar airstrip. I began packing a box containing our Koroba pipes and the stone axe heads we’d collected. Kelly determined to meet me at Frieda Strip. Ian and Carol offered to let her stay there for K2.00 a day, which was a great deal – food and a room, showers, electricity!! I packed my bags, leaving a lot of my stuff behind for Kelly to take care of. Things had been really tense between us for the last couple of days. After a nice lunch, I finished packing. Kelly boiled some eggs for me to take along. (Tekin had fresh eggs.) The tension between us came to a head, words past between us, and then, after hurting each other’s feelings, we embraced and for the first time, I said, “I love you,” and she replied in hind. All the tension dissipated and harmony seemed restored between us. Kelly was really exhausted from all the effort of the last few days, and it was really best that she stayed behind.

When I’d gotten all my things ready it was about 4 p.m. I was only planning to go to Tekap at the end of the old road. Carol says that it was a three-hour walk for her, so I figured I should be able to make it in less time than that. I said goodbye to Carol and then Ian, both kind people. They told me just to walk down the road until I got to Divanap, where lived Marshall Lawrence, an expatriate linguist who was the only outsider who had ever mastered the Oksapmin language. They said that I might arrive there just for dinner and spend the night as well. I donned my 50-pound pack. Kelly wished to walk me down the road for a while, so we set off together.

She walked with me for about forty minutes and then we decided that she’d better turn back. We embraced and kissed and said I Love You. It was a tender parting.

I felt wonderful walking down this beautiful road. I passed some women – one old woman was carrying a fifty-pound sack of rice in the bilum hanging from the top of her head. The road was bordered by grasses, moss and trees.

I came upon an old man wearing only a penis gourd. I took a photo of him posing with a few children who wanted also to be in the picture. From there on, I was accompanied by a young lad. He said he’d walk with me to Marshall Lawrence’s place. We arrived before dark. I introduced myself to Marshall Lawrence, who in turn introduced me to his wife and children and invited me to dinner. I washed up. We had a nice but frugal dinner with lamb chops, peas, and salad.

After dinner, Helen, his wife, served chocolate pudding topped with whipped cream. It was really divine – I never would have expected such a treat out there!!! During our meal, occasionally a local would knock on the door and engage in a rally of words with Marshall Lawrence in Oksapmin. It was truly amazing to see a white man speaking a Stone Age tongue!! Marshall gave me a calendar that he had had printed – it was small. He explains that he had come here through SIL –Sumner Institute of Linguistics (it was founded by a man from the Baptist church). Lawrence’s goal is to come to places around the world and learn obscure languages and translate the Bible into these languages. (As we were told by Neal at Ambunti (another SIL man), at the end of our trek, this program has largely been a failure, at least here in New Guinea, because the languages were never written in the first place, thus the people don’t know how to read their own language.)

I declined Marshall’s invitation to spend the night because I wanted to try to get an early start in the morning from Tekap. Marshall said he’d walk me up there, as it was now dark outside. His oldest boy, about 11 years old, he, and I walked along the road. This road is filled with pig shit strewn all over – ugh!

During our walk, we talked about fairy tales. He recommended some excellent authors I’d never head of. He told me a little about Oksapmin fairy tales – that they were more racy than Western tales – more explicit sex and murder! He told me one traditional fairy tale:

A young man went out to hunt. He came upon an old man. The old man said that a possum was up in a tree and convinced the young man to climb the tree. When the young man was aloft, the old man shot him and killed him, then he ate him, and placed his skull on his doorstep.

When the young man did not return home, his brothers became concerned. One of his brothers went to look for him and came upon the old man, who tricked him in the same manner. A succession of brothers went out to look for the dead brothers, each succumbing to the wiles of the old cannibal.

The last and oldest brother went out to look for his lost brothers. Coming upon the old man, he noticed the skulls adorning the front of the old man’s hut and guessed correctly the fate befallen his other six brothers. He killed the old man and then made a fire. Using a special pig’s grease, he threw the skulls into the fire, thus bringing his brothers back to life.

Our conversation wasn’t finished when we got to Tekap. Marshall summoned some locals. He introduced me to an old woman that was widely known and revered locally. The people had a house that I could stay at. From talking with Marshall I had decided to blow off going to Telefomin, but rather I would go straight to Duranmin.

Marshall had told me a story about an Israeli man who had been through here a few months ago. He had unsuccessfully tried three times to hike through to Telefomin by himself. Apparently, he had not been able to find guides. The local people had just directed him which way to go and each time (not surprisingly) he got lost and had to retrace his steps back to Tekap. Marshall said that there were no villages on the way to Telefomin, which contradicted the information on the map, but seemed nevertheless as a deterrent to go that way. Marshall promised he’d tell Kelly that I was probably going to go directly to Duranmin. He took his leave.

I put my bags in the house. A fire was built; I laid out my mat and went to sleep. A couple of men came in and slept on the floor on the other side of the fire.

Day 5 Tekap to Wapa (Wava)

Thursday May 19, 1983

In the corner of the house was a bunch of penis gourds. I took them outside and had a man hold them while I snapped a picture. I bought one of them for 40t.

I went to the market, but I couldn’t find anyone to take me to Duranmin. I tried to take a picture of an old man in traditional dress, but he refused. Another man with beetle scarabs in his nostrils posed comically with his pipe while I shot a profile.

 

Oksapmin Man wearing Rhinoceros beetle scarabs through two of the five holes in his nose

Every time I asked a potential guide how much money they wanted it seemed to cause great embarrassment, for they would answer me. Finally, a young boy agreed to carry my small day pack – I’d divided my stuff up into my big pack and the day pack – to Wapa (later, I learned that the actual name was Wava) for 40t an hour, a village three hours away by foot. In Wapa, I was told, I would be able to find a man to take me to Duranmin. Just as we began to walk, I was able to get another photo of one man with cassowary quills (7” long) and another with beetle scarabs in each nostril.

 

In my journal, I mistakenly described these as Cassowary quills in his nose. I now believe they are actually quills from one of over forty species of bird of paradise.

The boy was joined by a friend. We took off at lightning speed north across Tekap valley. We climbed a ridge that left me breathless with my now forty-pound pack! I don’t think I’ve ever been so out of breath. We hiked through limestone country on some of the most difficult track I’ve yet encountered. The trail in part was lined with a spectacular one-inch high orchid with petals of yellow and red, each individual petal bearing both colors.

 

A spectacular red and yellow miniature orchid, only one-inch high, lines the trail across Tekap valley. Ed, the American doctor in Mendi, taught me to appreciate the barely perceptible nuances of the bush. Miniature orchids sometimes hid under overhanging moss in small creeks.

I feel a little crazy for doing this; like: am I trying to be a macho man or something. I’m sitting in this village, Futiwapa (later, I learned that the area was called Futiwava, but this particular village was Wava), and virtually unable to communicate with anyone. I tried to get out of here today, but upon cross-examination (of twelve children, one old man, two men, one woman), I could see that the boys I was going to have as guides didn’t really know which way to take me. The people usually either laughed at my questions or said they didn’t know. Girls peeked at me from behind canvas, and little kids and women backed away at my approach. I determined after one hundred attempts that I’d just sleep here. The girls and children were trying to convince me to stay here anyway.

Besides the fact that they’re shy, they’ve been very helpful. I asked for a fire and they brought me to a house and the children built a fire. I pointed to my shoes and asked if I could remove them, and they took this to mean ‘would they wash them?’ so they took my mud covered shoes and socks and washed them.

I made a determination that I’d sleep here tonight and that I’d just stay put until I found someone who could help me – preferably someone who knew the way to Duranmin.

 

A Different Type of Red and Yellow Flowering Plant on the Way to Wava

So, just now, as I sit here and write, (back by the fire after a false start in which I had repacked my bags and gone outside) a man enters. His name is Tilot Non. He asks me where I’m going. I draw a map. The he says he will take me to Wapubuta, over half the way to Duranmin. Not only does he speak English, but he is willing to take me. As Kelly says, “Providence provides.” Tilot talks to the people in Oksapmin and he translates facts concerning where I’m going and what I’m doing. He arranges firewood for me. The people bring me two free cabbages. Tilot chops me some extra firewood. I fix him some Milo.

I cut up half a cabbage, put it in hot water, add half an onion and two bouillon cubes, then later a cup of rice. Tilot leaves saying he’ll return at 6 a.m.

As I’m eating cabbage soup and passing it around (it’s quite good), three men come in. I ask one if it’s his house and he says yes. He just told one that he’ll go to Wapubuta whether Tilot comes or not. He says he’ll “go nating,” that he’s going to visit wantok (one talk = family). I haven’t asked anyone about money. I’m going to try to be mellower about money and food: what I mean is that it seems to cause more trouble than it’s worth. If they try to ask too much at trip’s end, I’ll just refuse.

Now, the head of the household is beating on his drum and I’m writing by his lantern’s light.

It’s a strange thing about these parts. I was feeling maybe crazy a while ago, but I also suspected someone would come along to help, as it always seems to happen.

 

The village of Wava just northwest of Tekap

The houses here have square floor areas, and they are raised about a foot or two off the ground. They have a square fireplace in the middle, and four poles in the corners, supporting a rack about five feet above the floor. The walkway into the house runs along one side of the house and has a roof over it. Something of note is that the roof is made like one half over hanging the other half by a foot or so, which provides ventilation, something most traditional housing lacks. (The man of the house just went outside with his drum and began to sing – it sounds real good.)

 

A House in Wava, New Guinea Interior

The men of the house tells me its two and a half days to Wapubuta and two full day from there to Duranmin and probably, though he’s not sure, another four days or so to Frieda River.

In bush houses, I’m always surrounded by lots of people. Earlier, the count was sixteen, now, “only” seven. Mind you, the house itself is about eight to nine feet square, and the fire pit itself takes over the middle 3½ x 3½ foot part.

The men smoke pipes that are in strange shapes – hollowed out pieces of wood.

One old man walking around here was only wearing a walnut shell over his dick and his balls were hanging out.

I’m pleased that I’ll be on my way tomorrow. I don’t mind the walking, especially when I’m not carrying a pack. The trip out here was only 3½ hours (Tekap to Futiwava), but the first part was gruelling with a 40-pound pack. I’ve got plenty of white skin food, and I’m looking forward to travelling through parts seldom seen by white-skins. Tilot told me that last year an Israeli man walked the same path from Futiwava to Duranmin and then flew out. I feel fortunate to have the opportunity to go through these parts. I hope to meet Kelly in Frieda River. Godspeed!

Day 6 Wava to Mahosha

Friday May 20, 1983

Wow! What a walk we did today, about eleven kilometres as the crow flies through bush tracks. Dear Kelly: You should be glad to know you didn’t come, even if it was beautiful, ever so beautiful, to get to the Ogona River. This hike would be bad enough even if you were in shape and were hiking without a pack, let alone carrying a 40-pound one!

We saw an interesting electric-blue beetle today. One of the guys with us brought it up to me. I took two shots of it.

 

Electric Blue Weevil

How do I know this is a weevil? When I returned from my 26-month journey around the world, Boysie Day, who was a professor of World Agriculture at UC Berkeley saw my slide show and told me

On the way today, Tilot was telling me that the village Futi had hundreds of people ten years ago, but now all there is is one family – everyone else died from malaria.

I am in the heart of New Guinea. Few Niuginians, let alone white men, even get out here.

The two boys who came with us found some birds eggs. They found six eggs, each about 4” long and very fat! When we were done with soup tonight, we cooked the eggs up with a can of curried mutton that I had. It was delicious. My only complaint was that I declined the large portion from Tilot, saying he had given me too much. What I meant was that I thought he should split it evenly. However, he took the bowl and put about one-third full of eggs and mutton in my cup. I was finished long before the other three. And I had to lick my chops while the others continued to devour their portions.

I call this place Mahosha, because they do. But it is only a shelter from rain – it has no walls, only a roof, and covers an area about 15 feet x 15 feet. Running right next to it is a streamlet from which you can get drinking water. Only a minute away is the Ogona River.

By the way, when we left Wava (the village I now find is called Wava, the other village Futi and the area Futiwava), Tilot came with two friends, but the guy who said he was coming “nating” didn’t.

I set up my mosquito net and slept comfortably.

Other news.

The other two boys also dug up some taro at another hunting shelter an hour before Mahosha. They had nothing else, but they shared some with me.

We saw a shelter of a strange kind today, an area within a close clump of trees that was blocked off by ferns. Tilot said someone must have built it because a bird’s nest was close by.

I saw a bird of paradise today (according to Tilot). It was red and flew back and forth between the trees. Unfortunately, this one did not have the fantastic plumage – it was either a female or, Tilot said, it was a male, but would grow its feathers in another year or so.

The flowers our here are really beauties! Besides the orchids, there is one shaped like a clamshell, but pink in color. It blossoms to reveal a yellow ball inside.

We descended about 1200 meters today! Luckily (we descended rather than ascended), since it was a hard walk even at that.

The last forty meters was spent walking down, or north on, the Ogona River. It was a joy to walk along the river after being in the muddy, tree-entangled bush. The river is beautiful, not even near full, as is evidenced by the wide areas of dry rock bordering the river and forming islands at some points. When we got to Mahosha (while the other two boys were searching for eggs, Tilot and I arrived alone), we dropped off our bags, and I went swimming in the river. Actually, it was more like dipping as, at that point, there weren’t room enough to swim!

I made some cabbage soup with half a cabbage, two bouillon cubes and some onions and three-quarters of a cup rice. I passed it around – it was very good.

I spent a restful night in my mosquito net, while the others were bitten by mosquitoes. I was thoroughly exhausted.

I note that last night I was given two cabbages by a man in Wapa, ½ of one I used, and the other 1½ I brought along. Tilot tells me that there is a shortage of sweet potatoes now in Wapa. This is evidenced because by the way they eat, I can see that these guys are half-starving.

What do I think about on the trail? Everything from A to Z to nothing. Sometimes my mind wanders to paranoia – thinking almost feverishly about ridiculous situations I could get in or got in back in the States. Sometimes I look at the bushes and note all the curiosities. Other times, I think ahead of what we will do. Sometimes, I wonder how to get food out without my guides seeing, for I feel embarrassed to eat my food without offering them some – but I have to conserve on it. (Note: I usually share part of what I eat – if I have a cup of coffee, I’ll let the three of them share a second cup.) Sometimes my mind dreams of how I will record these exploits – or I think of what I am accomplishing, if anything; sometimes I dream of what I will do next to further my list of accomplishments. (Sometimes I check myself by downplaying them.) Other times I just push myself – I think of how I am walking, how I’m placing my feet. Sometimes, I think of my friends and family. I think good thoughts. I think how good they are, and I wonder how they are doing. And sometimes I feel exhausted, and sometimes, exalted, and I concentrate on these feelings. Other times, I just reflect on the past and, if possible, to the future.

My friends slept huddled near the fire. Occasionally, in the middle of the night, someone stirs up the fire to ward off the night cold – it is relatively warm here.

 

A View Somewhere Between Wava and the Hunting Hut of Mahosha

Day 7 Mahosha to Wapubuta

Saturday May 20, 1983

I was exhausted when I went to sleep last night. I went to sleep at perhaps, 9 p.m., but I slept until 8 a.m. this morning. My friends said they didn’t sleep well because of mosquitoes, and they were waiting for me when I awoke.

I was still groggy. Without breakfast or any sustenance, we departed, late, at 8:30 a.m.

One minute later, I snapped a picture of the three on the river, and, as it was the last of the roll, I endeavoured to change it. Unfortunately, I forgot to rewind the film, and I opened the camera slightly, then shut it quickly, remembering. I only hope I didn’t expose too many pictures.

 

Tilot, Hapom and Teleng (on left) on the shores of the Ok Oma River, New Guinea interior

A few minutes walking downriver, I saw they were waiting for me. With shirt, shoes, shorts and hat, I walked in the water for a morning ‘refresho’, grabbing my hat as it came off. (I’d forgot about it.) I don’t think my friends appreciated my love for the water, as they looked on with stone countenances.

I followed them downriver, barely keeping up, I, the one with the heaviest load. I was still exhausted from yesterday – “I should have eaten breakfast,” thought I.

We began to cut through the bush to the left, and came out on the larger Ok Oma River, which was flowing opposite the direction we were going. (It flowed to the east). The Ogona flows into the Ok Oma, and the Ok Oma is one of the rivers that comprise the Strickland, which we crossed last week.

After we had walked in and out of the bush and along the Ok Oma’s banks for an hour or so, we stopped to fix some kaikai (food), as they were as hungry as I. They built a fire on the sandy rocky shore and I prepared some cabbage soup. They began the fire using the dry resin, which they chipped off a big tree yesterday. It burns quite readily, and makes fire building simple.

We ate lunch, I took a short nap and we set off again, I with my large pack, Tilot with the daypack, and the other two with their bows and arrows and bilum. I drank an unshared cup of coffee, and I set off, thus, burning with energy. It is surprising what sustenance can do.

One of the first things I noticed about the Ok Oma were the beautiful butterflies decorating the shore. One type was particularly abundant. About 1-1½ “ high, the little fellow was everywhere, sometime sitting in groups of five or eight, its little wings a sparkling aqua blue with yellow. I took a photograph of one of these groups. Shortly afterward, a particularly beautiful red and blue butterfly hovered near me. I got my camera out. (Meanwhile, my friends were continuing upstream.) The butterfly settled on a rock in the sun, and displayed his wings. I crawled to within two feet of him and snapped a picture! Then I inched closer and he flew away. I was ecstatic to have taken the photo at just the right time – as close as I could have gotten.

Eventually, we left the river, walking at an acute angle from it, the sounds of the rushing water dying way. Sometimes, the boys trotted on ahead – one time, I called out for Tilot because I lost the bush track. Usually, I can follow the track. The track is evidenced by broken stems and cut saplings, which are destroyed purposefully by trail walkers to make the trail evident for those who follow. A description of bush-walking here would not be complete without noting that there is one particularly unpleasant type of overhanging thorny vine. Its small trailer will catch you or your pack and scratch you, or most often, if you haven’t avoided it, it will hold you up, and you must stop and remove it. How many times have I cried out in pain or exasperation!!

Shortly thereafter, Tilot stepped on a thorn. I spent fifteen minutes getting the little bugger out of his foot, driven deep therein. We met up with the boys who were waiting on the banks of a crystal clear stream. As I often like to do, I submerged myself at the base of a small overflow into a pool.

We continued uphill, then the ground evened out and we walked in a flat, relatively sparse forest. Soon it began to rain. We trudged quickly through the forest. It was not too long before I could see a clearing. Soon, we crossed a garden fence, and there was evidence of corn, taro and sweet potatoes. There was a raised house. As if was raining, we quickly sought shelter. Inside, there were two fireplaces (like in Lake Kotuku). They went out for sweet potatoes and water. We cooked the sweet potatoes. I fixed a Milo for me and one for them. It was really great. Feeling refreshed, we determined, though it was 5:30 p.m., to set out for the other house about half a kilometer away. Tilot said that the people of Wapubuta must be there. We were presently at Wapubuta’s only other dwelling.

After a short trek through the forest, we arrived at what I will call a sinister-looking bush hut of the same raised construction as the other house. This house was bigger. On the outside hung a few pots. There were bushes overgrown on the logs serving as steps. The roof had evidently caught fire but had been put out. I went up to the door and removed the planks that barred the entrance. I then noticed that there were vines growing on the door bark, evidence that no one had entered this house in, perhaps, months. We went in.

It was like a museum inside! There were drums hanging all over. (The type of drum here is shaped like a double cone, with red, white and black designs on one end, almost four feet long.) There were pigtails, pig jawbones, cuscus jawbones, a plethora of beautifully carved pig arrows, and all sorts of other artefacts, as well as junk, hanging on the walls. Tilot told me that the inhabitants had gone off to plant sago. I thought the house had an eerie feeling to it.

Outside, you could hear a river, which Tilot pointed out was the Ok Oma again. I studied the map and tried to ascertain where we were. It was now growing dark and mist clung on all precipices, making it difficult to see the terrain.

Furthermore, the fact that we were in the bush, hadn’t seen anymore since we’d left except one family close to Wapa, and the fact that no one was in Wapubuta made me ask Tilot if that meant I was in trouble, to which he replied, “You might be in trouble, yes.”

We went inside, and we didn’t cook as we had eaten at the first house. I set up my mosquito net; after writing a bit, I was prepared for sleep. At some point before turning in, Tilot mentioned that one of the boys we were with said he knew the path to Duranmin, but they didn’t say if they’d take me or not.

I took a bit of chocolate and a candy, a habit I’d gotten into as a means of comfort before bedtime. I fell into a deep sleep, full of the strangest, yet seemingly significant dreams.

Day 8 Wapubuta to Sheaville!

Sunday May 22, 1983

I awoke before the others and packed. They awoke and I decided, from my conclusions from interaction with PNG-ers, that I would just play it cool. Eventually, Tilot came out, as I suspected might happen, and he said that the other two boys would take me to Duranmin if I paid them. They asked for K7 each, and I said it was too much, that I only had K22. They settled for K2.5 each. I told Tilot I owed him K6 for taking me this far (40t an hour for carrying my small pack – they go on the principle they only get paid for carrying bags, not for showing you the way). That meant I would pay a total of K11.00 when we got to Duranmin. I had them sign a contract saying so, and the two boys, who I now found out were named Hapom and Teleng, put a deliberate X in place of signing their names. They agreed to put part of my load in their bilums. I got the idea for the contract from the history of guides demanding more money at the end of the hike than at the beginning. So, agreed as we were, we set out later, at 8:30 a.m. realizing, as Tilot said, that we’d have to spend a night in the bush since we were starting out so late.

We walked down the steep trail and along the Ok Oma, sometimes straying from it. After awhile, we came to the Bi River, which flows into the Ok Oma. We walked down the Bi a short way to the Ok Oma, and there we tried to cross the Ok Oma, but they thought it was too deep. We walked through the bush on the side of the river, and then tried to cross it. When I was waist deep in the rushing water, trying to keep my balance, for if I fell in, so did my camera (which would destroy it), I threw my pack way up on my head and shoulders and forded the river. The other three turned way and stayed on the opposite bank. I could not hear them for the sound of the river, so I had to rely on their hand signals, which directed me upriver. I clung to the steep sides of the bank, and for twenty minutes pushed trees aside to make my way to the sandy shore upriver. Finally I was clear and walked along easily, my companions on the other side. Three-quarters of a kilometer or so upriver I called out if they would like me to come across to them or vice versa. Tilot signalled me over, so I crossed again. I was beginning to wonder what we were doing, and I apologized because I thought I’d been too gung-ho and made a mistake crossing it in the first place.

We continued up the south bank along adjoining riverbanks and splits in the Ok Oma. At one point, we stopped. Two of the boys went into the bush. Again, I was wondering what they were up to, when Tilot told me they found a lizard. I wasn’t sure if they were trying to deceive me, and I felt a bit paranoid; something told me I had missed something, that there was some connection I failed to make. Sure enough through I got my camera out and there was a lizard. They split a stick, caught up the tail, wrapped it around the stick and pulled it out. It was full and intact, but had apparently died recently. I took a close-up of it.

Now, the two boys went off in the bush. I asked Tilot what they were doing. He said they were going to put the bilums someplace and go look for the men from Wapubuta who were maybe someplace in the area. They had previously indicated that they had been afraid to cross the river. They had said there was a second trail upriver and that maybe the men from Wapubuta could tell them where it was. When I thought of them going off with my bags, I decidedly wanted no part of this, and I demanded that they come back with my bags. After some calling, Tilot got them to return. I told them I’d carry my own bags, but I wouldn’t have them going off with them. I told them that it was no concern crossing the river, and I said it was no good finding the man from Wapubuta because we still had to cross the river. I said we could hike back to the point I crossed the river the second time (because it was an easy crossing), then walk to the spot I’d crossed it the first time (where we could pick up the trail on the north side leading the Duranmin.) They agreed, and we backtracked. The river crossing was easy, and they experienced relief from their ungodly fear of crossing the river.

We hiked back to where I crossed it the first time. From there, I suggested we go straight up the mountain and then walk across to find the trail. We walked straight up, and up and up, found the trail, and went up, up, up. We were reaching the crest of the ridge when the two boys, Hapom and Teleng, went off a bit from the trail and stood next to a pile of dirt about 6 ft. x 6 ft. x 2½ ft. high. Tilot said that this was the nest of the bird whose eggs we had eaten two nights ago. Tilot said we’d wait on the hilltop for them.

We were soon at the crest of the ridge, though the view was blocked as usual by all the forest around us. After twenty minutes, Tilot went to fetch the boys, and I grabbed a quick slurp of the fresh highlands honey I had brought in Tekin. Tilot returned with the two boys, with smiles on their faces. They had found five more eggs. We took three of them out of their wrappers of big bush leaves wrapped with bush twine and Tilot took a picture (with my camera) of me holding them. (They are remarkable in the use of bush materials to wrap the eggs; they use leaves and twine, which serve as very good protection. They put these in their bilums made of bush materials and carry these on their backs.)

 

Tilot Non holding one of the six eggs they had found. To this day, I still do not know which species of bird they came from.

From the top of the ridge, we hiked along the hillside, and then down, down, down to the north. Water! I could hear water and was secretly hoping it was the Fu River. (But I tell myself that it’s not so that I won’t be disappointed if it’s not, but I’ll be happy if it is – is this self restraint or what?) To my pleasure, it was the Fu River.

We passed another mound of dirt like the bird’s nest, but this one had leaves on it, indicating it was old, and the boys did not even look at it.

We came to the forested area near the water’s banks – though we could not see the river clearly, we could hear it. (It is instinct that tells me that this is the Fu River? Well, Tilot tells me, but what makes me sure he is right? I’ve studied the maps, that’s really why. But I do feel sure.)

Tilot told me earlier he and his mates would build a bush shelter. It’s now 4:30 pm or so. We can’t tell if it’s going to rain or not, but overcast above spells it out as a possibility. I instinctively do not like the place: i) I feel that it’s going to be a mosquito-ridden place, and ii) it is rocky. My inner voice says, “We won’t end up staying here, but they’ll probably suggest it. Just then, they suggest it. I told him what I think but I don’t push the point. I get out my topo maps. I’m not sure, as I’m a novice at reading them, but if we’re where I think we are, the map shows two buildings just ½ km away or so upriver. Excited, I show Tilot. Rather than push the point, I tell him I will go and look for them. But he’s interested, he bites, and says we’ll all go together. (As we walk away, my inner voice [playfully?] says that we couldn’t sleep here, that this place is really evil, that if we slept here, we would die! I think I was just amusing myself.) We go up the path and I cut off to have a look on the river. On the river is a bush shelter but the roof is almost gone. I get the feeling that this is not the place shown on the map.

We keep going upriver, and, very happily, in a short while, we come upon a real shelter. There are a few shotgun shells on the ground and a row of pig’s tusks hanging on the wall. Like the shelter at Mahosha, this one has no walls. It is quite comfortable. The boys are very happy because we have a nice place to stay.

I go down to the river, a short walk, and I bathe (without soap), untangling the thorns and junk in my hair. Refreshed, I return. Tilot says he is going to sleep in the place provided above the fire. I have previously noted that above the fire they sometimes place a rack. He tells me that up there, the mosquitoes don’t bother you much, and he nods his accord when I note that it is also warm up there.

I am happy. The business of dinner begins. They bury their kaukau (which they dug up at Wapubuta) in the fire. [Note: they expertly build a huge fire in just a few minutes upon arriving.] I fix up some cabbage, rice and soup mix. We eat heartily, and I eat constantly while they pass around the bowl. Then, we are ready to cook the eggs! This time, as donor of another can of curried mutton, I watched and helped in the entire process, as I want to assure my stomach of a full share, rather than a mere nibble at this gourmet feast!

First, I empty the mutton into the saucepan and heat it up with a bit of yellow onion. They crack the top of the eggs and pour it carefully into the heated mutton. Some eggs are just like hen eggs – a clear white and a yellow yolk. Then others have slightly developed embryos, so there’s a bit of red in it. One egg has a little chick in it. From this egg, they pour out what they can, and then place the chick lying in a half eggshell on top of the burning embers. While that’s cooking we finish emptying the other eggs. Then I stir in some sliced cucumbers and salt. (After the kaukau and cabbage and rice soup, I was thinking to suggest saving some of the eggs for morning – but it came to me that to expect these ravenous lads to wait to eat all the eggs was too much to ask!!)

While our omelette, which sits almost 6” high in a saucepan 7” round is cooking, one of the boys removes the chick, cracks the eggshell, and we devour it. When the omelette (glorious omelette) was ready, Tilot told me to get the cup, bowl and white top of the plastic container, which we had used before, along with the saucepan, to hold each of our shares. I had noticed the small boy had got some leaves, and I didn’t want the small cup to serve as my share, so I mentioned the leaves and said I didn’t want to use the cup. (I gave no reason.) As they dished out the shares, the portion on the leaves I held above the white tray kept spilling over and falling in my portion, so I said I would put some back in the saucepan, which I did.

Well, I had my full. Delicious, good, gourmet, ‘one with the lot’ – it was a fantastic treat!!! I ate and felt satisfied perfectly with my portion.

I had set up my mosquito net and now I lay back in its confines reflecting with contentment on how wonderful I felt and how joyous were the simplest pleasures of exercise, eating and rest.

The rain fell down hard, and I, for one, was very happy to have a real shelter to rest in instead of a jerry-rigged one.

I even still had a shot of sweets to complete my coziness, and I went off to a land of strange and intense dreams (like I seem to have mostly in the woods).

Day 9 Sheaville to Duranmin

Monday May 23, 1983

I awoke aware of vivid dreams that I can’t recall now.

I fixed a bowl of cereal for me, and one for them, and I made a cup of coffee, one for me, one for them.

We set out at 7:25 a.m., feeling good, pretty assured that we were only about 6 hours away from Duranmin, my best estimates having it between 5 and 9 hours.

In the first hour of our walk, along steep slopes bordering the river, and along the riverbanks, I counted four statistics. (I mention that i) in concentrating on counting I might have decreased concentration on walking and thus increased occurrences, and ii) at any rate, this was probably one of the more treacherous hours of the whole trek from Tekap.)

Statistics: # of times:

Foot slipped from original place – 53

I got tangled in a thorn, bumped my knee, etc., in some way caused myself pain – 20

I walked off the trail (even though Tilot was leading on trail ahead of me) – 11

I slipped and fell – 4 (Pretty incredible, huh?)

After the first hour, the trail got a bit easier. We walked along the river a ways. Again they began to cross it. Again I crossed it and they turned back. Again I hiked alone one side of the river and they along the other.

I went through bush trails. I almost slipped and fell six feet into the water with my pack and camera, but my right hand grabbed a tree trunk’s protrusion and I saved myself the fall. I wandered along the banks. I went through a maze of streams and wild pandanus. The wild pandanus is really a peculiarity of the bush. Its trunk is not singular. Like roots, its trunk is divided into sometimes 20 or 30 poles upon which it rests, the base thus becoming pyramid-like. There was a log crossing a deep rivulet, and, luckily, I tested it, for it cracked easily – I would have gone in and my camera been destroyed. I thought of the possibility of quicksand, but encountered none. (A day before, the banks of the Bi River were so mucky, they would hold my feet down!)

From time to time, I communicated with my “guides” across the river. Tilot informed me to look at the smoke upriver, where we could expect to a house. I walked through thick bush, saw a 5” long spider, and noticed that the fire was on my side of the river. I was happy. I walked to it, and found an abandoned fire on the river.

Now, we come up a hill and from a garden, we can see a group of houses. The trail leads back down to the river, and when we get to the shores by the village, the people beckon us across. The village is a circle of raised houses.

We go in the man’s house. They bring bananas, kaukau and a yellow papaya. We eat the two former, put the third away and go on again to the super-highway (i.e., a trail two feet wide).

In a half hour of walking along the shores and trails of the Fu River, we spy a weather sock, indicating an airstrip that soon comes into view. We walk down the grassy plain of the runway, sit in some shade, devour the papaya, and we are there: 2:30 p.m.

In Duranmin:

The principal of the Bible College there, George, finds a room for me to stay in.

 

Inside I attend to chores – transferring the peanut butter from bags (which didn’t work out) to a plastic container, etc. I buy a bar of soap, some coffee, some milk powder. At 6 p.m., I call Tekin, but Kelly has gone to the Lawrence’s for a day. Near dusk, I take a 3-shot panorama of the airstrip on my way to wash clothes in the river. On the river, I bath in the nude in twilight to the embarrassment of a straggling lady on her way by. I see Tilot and friends, and he says they’ll try to fly home because they’re afraid to make the river crossing on the Ok Oma.

I got back to my room, make some rice, and enjoy a rich cup of coffee. I spend the evening organizing all my possessions and, tired, fall asleep at 2 a.m.

Day 10 Duranmin – 2^nd Day

Tuesday May 24, 1983

I slept through the 9 o’clock radio broadcast to Tekin.

I read my New Guinea Pidgin handbook during the day, laid out the clothes to dry, bought some coconut kina cookies and enjoyed and drank rich coffees and Milos.

At 2:30 pm, I talked to Kelly in Tekin on the radio. She asked if it would be all right for her to come down and hike with me to Frieda River!! I said ‘Sure’ immediately. I told her to get some groceries. She said she’d be there tomorrow morning. I talked to her again at 6 p.m. about groceries.

I spent a simple day and turned in early.

Day 11 Duranmin – 3^rd Day

Wednesday May 25, 1983

I lay in the comfort of my down bag, warm, not having to get up, comforted by the sound of rain outside. It was raining hard, and I wondered what would become of Kelly’s plane flight. Water dripping from the thatch roof prompted an earlier-than-expected exit from my heavenly bed.

I spent the morning drinking rich coffees and then writing; later, I dried my things when the hot sun appeared. People brought me kaukau, corn, a papaya. Also, since I’ve been here, I’ve been given a room to stay in, some sugar, some salt, the use of a kerosene lamp and stove.

Kelly’s plane came in about 1 p.m. It was great to see her. She had baked two bags of cookies for me, had brought loads of groceries and a laughing, happy countenance and loving arms. She had had to pay an extra K23 over the K17 for the specific chartering of a plane to get here.

We talked. I ate cookies. We drank a Milo and a coffee. She related facts of interest: there’s a village two days away from Tekin that has just been contacted by white people. Other stories about ‘peace-childs’, etc. She showed me the eight beautiful bilums she had purchased in Tekin. All of totally natural fibres, they were exquisite. She showed me the penis gourds she’d gotten, and explained what was considered nice-looking in that line.

After 4 p.m., we walked east of the Fu River. We undressed and took a “refresho” in the river – snapped a few pictures, ate some chocolate and walked back. On the shores of the Fu, a glass wing butterfly let me take its picture up close.

Kelly made a fabulous rice-with-tuna-in-cream-sauce dinner with lettuce, tomatoes, green peppers and onions on the side.

When we turned in, we made an inferno of love. First, she got on top and practically raped me, she was so ravenous and wonderful on my body. I came and we lay side by side. Later, I got on top of her and we made it again. She felt so wonderfully skinny, soft, smelled so clean and good. Ah!

We slept soundly.

Day 12 Duranmin to Fumanabip

Thursday, May 26, 1983

I sometimes reflect on the ways I spend my days now as opposed to how I spend them at home. Now, I wake up and revel in greenery, the sounds of birds, clean smells, fresh water, friendly brown people, fresh food, and whatever adventures present themselves. How can I describe how much more favorable this is than driving for hours breathing exhaust, sitting in artificial light wracking my brains figuring out directly meaningless problems (i.e., problems that have no immediate bearing on my existence)??!!

This morning we were busy getting packed after waking late at 6:45 a.m. We gave the young man who was helping us (go to Wabia) a cup of Milo.

We enjoyed cups of coffee and a large helping of Granose with perfectly ripe papaya, finished our packing and left the hut. Tilot and companion peered from their walkway, and we shook hands and I took his address. George greeted us, said goodbye. Many villagers stood by.

Kelly had been worrying because I hadn’t asked anyone to help us carry our bags. We walked out of town loaded down. I assured her that somebody would offer, and that it was best to walk out of town for a while until someone did. True to my prediction, about 15 minutes out of town, our new companions, themselves carrying only a few bilums, relieved us of a considerable part of our burden, though I was left with my 50 pounds, which was sort of according to plan, as I figured if I carry my own bag, I may not have to pay anything.

We walked strong up the riverbed. We came upon a village, Siliambil, and we stopped for a few minutes. The villagers expressed their delight in seeing us. (Sometimes, they get this twitch in their necks and blow a little air between parted lips, which means that they’re really happy to see you.) Some village children followed us as we continued upriver.

As we continued upriver, one of our new companions said the naked little boys following us were afraid of me. In fun, I chased them a few feet, growling, and they scattered. I barked at them, and we laughed more, all of us, including the scared boys.

The straggling children soon went home. We continued on the river, easy walking. Then, we passed a set of houses on the bank, and shortly after, we cut off to the northwest, up a wooded hillside. We climbed, occasionally resting. Kelly commented how nice it was to be in the forest, and how she was glad to have a chance to bush walk again, and I had to agree with her that it was nice in the forest. She also commented how she had never seen a forest like this one, how they were all different. And, again, I agreed.

After only 3½ hours of walking, we arrived at a village on a flat space on the hillside. We were told, even though it was only noon, that we’d have to sleep there, because if we continued on we could not reach the nearest house by nightfall. Actually, this suited us just fine.

We were brought to a big house on stilts, where I settled in for some writing while Kelly and one of the boys went to search for some water.

This place we were at is called FU-MAN-A-BIP. The place is characterized by the pig shit that lies all over, both inside and outside the village grounds. The village is fenced off, but the pigs are allowed to run in the village area, leaving their feces and urine wherever they please. This place has a very filthy atmosphere. Combine this with the fact that the water supply, a mere trickle from which 5-10 minutes of effort is required to gain a liter of water (and which is 5 minutes away from the village), make me say that the village is of poor design.

The pig corral is right below the big house that we were put in. Occasionally, one of the piglets jumps up the stairs and jumps through the door to the house. The doorway is one large piece of wood from which is carved an ellipse.

When the piglet came in the second time, I chased him around with a paddle, to the amusement of those watching. If a dog comes in, we hit it, and everyone laughs – but maybe we hit it only if it starts getting in our stuff.

The guys we ware with are called Atemik and Waneng, which prompted Kelly to call them Atomic and Warning. Atemik is a little fellow with eyes that go astray like (the actor) Marty Feldman’s. But he is bright, and although he looks like he couldn’t do anything of physical consequence, he can scurry up a hill with a load of vegetables lickety–split! Waneng is bigger and stronger looking, has a nice face, and his hair is in braids (which means he’s an only son – I think). Both are fun to be with. Atomic lets out yells every so often on the trail which makes me think he’s hurt. They laugh, which creates an atmosphere in which I try to be funny.

I laid around the rest of the day writing and then reading my Pidgin book. (Note: I also went outside with my topographical map and spent ½ hour locating an approximate position.) Kelly made a dinner of potatoes and corned beef along with an excellent salad of eggs, lettuce, cheese, tomatoes and onions. Just as we were about to eat, we heard yelling in the distance, signifying that the villagers were returning from the gardens. Soon, they flooded through the doors, shaking our hands – men, women, and little children. We ate, and, as usual, everyone stared at us. I’m getting to the stage that I don’t pay much attention to them, though for sure, it can be nerve-wracking. After supper, we attended to things like putting the pot under a drip from the roof, as it was raining, and because the village spring was so inconvenient, we wanted to easily get water for the morning.

As we sat around in the dark, with three fires blazing in the house, one fellow obnoxiously shined his flashlight at us whenever we were doing something, although we never wanted his assistance. When I tried to sneak some of our chocolate out without the villagers seeing, he would shine his flashlight on me, and I found it bothersome.

I laid down and read “I Want Pokalde” (an article about a medical student climbing a 5805 metre peak in the Himalayas in 1973, which Kelly had cut out for me) by the light of my flashlight.

We lay down to go to sleep in the noisy room. At night, the dogs get into things, which prompts the villagers to hit them, then the dogs yell. Babies cry. People talk. The atmosphere is sort of annoying, especially compared to the peaceful nights I spent on my way to Duranmin.

At one point, Kelly and I shifted in the darkness to prompt the man with the flashlight to shine it at us in a monotonous beam. I grabbed my flashlight, and shined it back, saying in English (unintelligible to him), “You want to play games with your flashlight? I can play them too,” as I turned its beam on his eyes and saw him flinch. I laughed and the man sitting next to him laughed and Kelly chuckled and flashlight man laughed and, taking the hint, put his flashlight away.

We rested through a night of noises. (Note: I relieved myself (urinated) by pissing off the “balcony,” down outside the pigs’ quarters. I later noticed a village man did the same, which made me feel I had not violated any cleanliness taboos in the pig-shit-ridden hovel. In all fairness, Fumanabip does have a sort of nice view.)

Day 13 Fumanabip to Kutbama

Friday May 27, 1983

We awoke (again) at 4:30 a.m. and were almost going to get up, when we decided to go back to sleep, and didn’t wake until 6:30 a.m. We tried to make coffee from the water that had dripped off the roof, but it was yellow and tasted terrible. I imagined that one of the dogs or pigs had drank from the pot in the night, or, even worse, had pissed in it – or maybe one of the men or boys did – but it was probably only yellowed from the decaying leaves which provided covering for the roof. With no water, we could make no milk for cereal. Instead, we breakfasted on Coconut Kina cookies topped with crunchy peanut butter, one of our favorites. After breakfast, I carefully packed, to the wonder of the villagers. (Now I’m carrying my two sets of bird of paradise feathers since Kelly came.) Besides being stared at continuously, anytime I touch my pack, either involving opening or closing it, I draw the undivided attention of any Melanesians in the vicinity – or so it seems.

We shook hands with everyone individually, men, women and children, (some babies excluded) and we left the house. We walked across the pig-shit-ridden grounds. At the other end of the grounds, we walked over the fence, and amidst waves goodbye, we saluted our hosts at 7:30 a.m.

The first portion of the day was delightful. We climbed up, up to a hillock, where we rested a bit. Other occasional stops made for an easy ascent. Then we walked down, down to a stream, where we rested for 35 minutes. There was a small waterfall in which I showered, a pool in which Kelly bathed, then I dunked myself.

 

I shower in a small waterfall

We drank some Tang, and gave Atomic Warning (i.e., Atemik and Waneng) a cup. Then we climbed up and then down again to another stream. Atomic lent me his axe, and I chopped my first tree down. The rest here was shorter. I dunked my head. (I seldom let a stream go by without enjoying its splendor in some way – I don’t want to pass it up.) We were told that from this stream it was up, up, up to cross a big mountain. From studying my map, I knew a large ridge existed. By the time I reached the top of this ridge, I had a newfound appreciation for what 40 meters vertical distance (i.e., one contour line on the topographical map) means. We walked uphill steadily without really stopping for 2½ hours – it seemed like 3½. We left the stream at 12:40 p.m. and got on top at 3:25 p.m. I had counted every vertical step I took, ignoring mere flat steps on an upward slope, and I counted 1078 steps of the type where you put your foot on a root and lift your whole body up. My pack really weighed me down, but I just kept plodding.

Sometimes, the trail became moss-covered tree trunks and colonies of moss-covered roots. As we passed upwards, I spotted many flowers. I even saw one red-yellow orchid plant (only one) of the type I had seen on my way to Wava. We saw the pink clam flowers, pink (I think orchid) flowers, many red-orange blossoms and delicate white orchids with a shade of purple around the ridge. Other flowers as well graced our path.

It was overcast, so the one spot in the trail upward that would have afforded a great view afforded none.

One time on the way, I head Kelly yell out “Jeff!” I yelled back, “What!” – and from below in the forest where I could not see, she yelled “Nothing.” “Are you all right?” “Yes.” I figured that she just wanted to be assured I was in the vicinity.

Atomic and I waited about eight minutes at the top for Kelly and Waneng. She came trudging up with a smile on her face, full of spirit, which made me happy. We all walked on a bit and stopped at a rest place – a very small clearing where a fire had been built some times before. Atomic and Waneng ate potatoes and Kelly and I had cheese sandwiches.

Atomic had informed me that we wouldn’t reach Wabia today, and that we would have to sleep along the road in a house which was very far off. The road from here went down, down. The top of the ridge wasn’t very clean, and had he not told me it was the top, I could not have been sure that it wasn’t one of the many places that looked like the top but was only another flat depression on a huge mountainside.

As we began descending, it began to rain. Between my pack, which extends from the top of my head to the top of my thighs, and my rain gear, going down the muddy, steep trail was an effort. I had to stop and eat some chocolate and drink some honey when the rain stopped, and below Waneng and Atomic urged us on.

We walked on and I had to stop again. I had grabbed one of those really thorny plants right on the thorny part, and I wanted to put on my gloves (which I should have worn from the outset). I was at the point where every little thing became a pain. A step down caused my knees to ache. If I grabbed a plant, a thorn in my fingers drove deeper and caused me to yelp. My shin would hit a log right where I had a bruise and a tropical sore! Ouch! A variety of pains plagued nearly every action, and I could not stand it any longer, so I just sat down. I buried my head on my bent knees and shut my eyes for a minute. I had told Kelly to go on, but she asked if she could wait with me and I said yes. She sat beside me as I took out my medicine kit and picked at my hands with a needle. I drank three large gulps of honey. I asked her for a hard-boiled egg, as, for some reason, one of these seems to revive me.

Fifteen minutes later, I was ready for anything. I slung my heavy load on my shoulders and we met with A & W who were waiting just below.

Whereas before, I tried to sing to cheer myself, but to myself, sounded like a man gasping for air, I now sang heartily and cheerily. I pressed A & W for a time estimate on reaching the house, and finally (not liking to give time estimates) Atomic said one hour, and Waneng added maybe half an hour.

We walked down and came out on an area that had been cleared of forest. It was about ½ km x ¼ km. A & W said that they (their village) had cleared this area a year ago. We walked along logs. I was being boisterous. When they said, “This way!”, I said, “You guys change your minds every five minutes – I’m making my own way now!”

We progressed through the garden. I felt full of energy. I noticed that walking along the logs was easy – these were new logs with bark on them – they were neither slippery nor rotten – so it wasn’t bad balance that made forest logs so treacherous – it was the fact that they were moss-covered and slippery and often, my weight (150 lbs + 50 lb pack = 200 lbs.) meant they would give more often than for the lighter PNG-ers. Often, logs are rotten in the forest. As we neared the other edge of the clearing (the clearing was on a slope), there were some squash, a little banana tree, and some cabbage plants among the felled trees.

We left the clearing and went down a streambed. Finally, we reached a grassy area on a bluff. In a moment, Atemik and I came to the house. I yelled with glee – “Yiiii-Haaa!!” “We’re home,” I yelled to Kelly, coming up.

There was a house surrounded by banana trees and papaya trees. Oh! It was too good to be true! It was 6:40 p.m. We had left Fumanabip 11 hours ago. I was really ecstatic to be able to put my heavy load down for a night, with only a short walk to Wabia in the morning.

Kelly had gone to the crashing brook that was nearby to fetch water with Atemik to show her the way. Now, she and I went with a bar of soap. At the brook, I undressed. We used the cooking pot as a scupper. Kelly washed me down and soaped me up. It was like heaven being bathed out here in the forest’s pristine stream. After I rinsed, I scrubbed down her nude body.

We rinsed off our clothes. By the time we had finished, it was dark already.

Back at the cabin, Waneng had started the fire with the piece of tree resin I had given him. (This was the resin I had pinched from the room in Duranmin. It came from a block about 8” long and 6” in diameter at it’s largest point – it was huge). Note: A & W had picked a large ripe papaya of which we enjoyed equal shares.

I had told Kelly I would fix cabbage soup. I was tired and I suppose growing irritable, but my good spirits prevailed, as a full apology would come from my lips. It took awhile, but the cabbage soup with rice was excellent. We gave the last bowl to A & W. I had some kaukau. We made some hot Milos. In order to get water for coffee and for the morning, I got up, as tired as I was, and I put my wet raingear on with only underwear on underneath, and I went out to the stream in the rain. There was thunder and brilliant lightning outside. I got to the stream, and I felt like a wizard in The Hobbit in my hooded rain gear by the stream in the lightning, I looked up and noticed that some plants were fluorescing. Curious I shined my flashlight on them, and they seemed to glow even a brighter light green in the dark. I walked up to them, barefooted and I looked at them. They were mere rotting reeds. [Note: Some years later, I discovered the word “foxfire” in the dictionary, which I think describes this phenomenon.] I grabbed them, taking two 8” sticks back, glowing like light rods. I showed them to Kelly, who expressed like interest. There were a bunch of cockroaches running around. I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired in all my life. Well, I can remember a time after a regional wrestling championship (in which I’d wrestled several matches) when I felt so beat up. Anyway, there’s been few times in my life when I’d been so tired. It wasn’t so much the walk as it was having to carry the pack of 50 pounds or so on such a trail. Also, I’d had diarrhoea in the morning in Fumanabip, so maybe my body wasn’t up to par.

I slept a dreamless sleep.

Day 14 Kutbama to Wabia

Saturday May 28, 1983

When I opened my eyes, I felt too groggy – unable to move. Almost involuntarily, I sat up. I n a minute, I felt beautiful, wonderful, sensing the transition from when fatigue to that of refreshment which sleep and food had provided.

The fire was stirred by the time I awoke. I put the water pot on the fire. Kelly and I kept A & W waiting a long time, as we plunged into a luxurious morning.

One of the first things I did was to go outside and snap a picture of the grounds with dark-green forested mountains with fog running in between as a backdrop. It is really beautiful here. Oh! The banana tree and paw-paw (papaya) trees were so bountiful.

Kelly woke up and said she could hardly move, but I think, in a moment, she realized the refreshment I’d felt. We ate Granose with Tamarillo sauce made by Carol in Tekin. We had coffee and made a Milo for A & W, then and a Milo between us.

I had Kelly come outside and snap a photo of me in my underwear reaching up with my hand on a giant papaya (about one foot long and seven inches in diameter at its largest point) as if I was stealing it. I wanted to get a picture that depicted the size of the papayas on this tree. The largest papaya was on bottom, which I had my hand on, but there were many, many on this tree – maybe twenty or more.

I went meticulously through my possessions as we packed, because in garden shelters, I have noticed that the cockroaches are rife, and if you’re not careful, you can carry a bunch away with you.

Just before we (finally) left, Atemik had complained of a hurt foot, so, despite his protests, I insisted on, and removed the thorn from his foot. At about 9:58 a.m. (glorious leisure), we set out.

The trail was a comparative cinch, yet, after yesterday, I didn’t really feel like hiking. But the trail was almost all downhill. I was in fine form, feeling energetic. I trucked up all logs, not slipping, using only my feet, not my hands. Descending down rock and root, I almost never used my hands, using my hands to pull my pack-straps in to hold the pack closer thus saving energy- not having it get thrown from side to side. (I note that the guys from Yokana threw the snap to my chest buckle away.)

Once, Atomic and I waited 45 seconds for Kelly. We later pulled up to a pineapple garden (young plants – no fruit yet) and she came up in 2 or 3 minutes. (Although) She was really moving (fast) too! We walked down towards the rivers we could hear on either side – on the right, the Ok Milak, which flows into the Niar, which joins up to the Malia (Nera) to maybe the Frieda – on our left, a tributary to the Ok Milak.

We reached the tributary, which flowed by in a rushing torrent between walls of slate about fifteen feet below. Across the walls from one side to the other, was a bridge made entirely and strictly of natural materials. It was only 15 feet across, but fine in form and picturesque. I got out my camera and when Kelly came up, I gave it to her to take a picture of me crossing. I instructed her to take a picture of me when I wasn’t looking back at the camera, but she snapped it when I looked back to communicate mutual instructions with her. Oh well!

We crossed and passed a house ‘bilong pik’, then walked on away from the gray slate environs of the river.

 

A “haus bilong pik”, or pig house, is a surprising but very real part of New Guinea life. Here, you can see the little piglet exiting at the left side of the door. I remember a very large pig with its head in the chief’s lap. The chief groomed the pig, taking lice out of its hair.

Trailing behind, I came up to A & W, who were sitting on a log. They said, “Frieda – Wara Frieda”, and looking below to where they pointed, I could make out a large river between the trees. Then, they said “Wabia – close to” and looking up, I noticed a scenic village on a hillock above and away from us.

We had a snack while they smoked on, then headed off, all high in spirits, for the 15-minute jaunt to Wabia. We had to cross a high bridge above a gorge – a real classic. The river made about a (135°-) 140° near U-turn through a gorge about 40 feet below, whose sides were vertical walls of grey slate. The bridge crossing it had some wire (man-made material), which prevented me taking a photo of it. We bridged the river and climbed the steep hill on the other side. At the top, we sat and gazed at the village, which was within yelling distance – then, up and at the village, and once there, me coming across the fence first.

We sat down on someone’s porch, and then Waneng led us to his house up a green lawn with a river running in a man-sculpted trough on the left border.

“The place is really lovely,” thought Kelly and I simultaneously. The setting of Wabia is picturesque. Far off to one side a few kilometres in the distance, is Mount Ava, nearly a vertical cliff. Some parts of its face is white and black (limestone) rock, while the rest of it is carpeted by a near-vertical wall of green forest – amazing it is how the greenery clings to the cliff face.

On all sides, Wabia is surrounded by mountains, which add to its scenic beauty, and yet, Wabia itself is on a hill, very far above the crashing torrent of the Ok Milak.

In addition to its natural scenic beauty, this village has been enhanced by intelligent planning on part of the Wabians. There is a spark of genius some place in this village. Example: 1) an upstream river has been diverted so as to provide a) excellent drinking water b) a wash place c) a running cleanser below the lavatory and d) an aesthetic attraction both in terms of sound and sight. It is a full, rushing river. Upstream, it provides drinking water. They have arranged a portion of the bark off a big tree to create a human-sized waterfall situated just above the washing place. Thus, at the wash place, a person can bathe and rinse off in a copious waterfall. Also, at the wash place is a huge rock, ideally suited to serve as a wash rock, a place to sit and a place upon which the set soap and other goods.

From the wash place, the stream flows along a man-made track lined with stones. The water runs, about 8” deep, down the hill, around a bend. It then flows in a trough perhaps 4’ deep as it borders the village’s largest segment. It flows by houses, then down along a green lawn that carpets the edges of the trough. Finally, the stream flows under the toilet facility. The refuse is carried away by the stream. Although this may seem like an unsocial design from the standpoint of villagers downriver, the stream flows into the much larger Ok Milak, which proceeds downriver for miles with no villagers below. Also, at Wabia’s present population of about ninety persons, the set-up is ecologically sound. The stream is very fast rushing.

Besides this water landscaping, Wabia also offers a hot shower room (though we have not had the pleasure to use it). This is rigged by routing water into a PVC-type pipe upstream above the washing area. This pipe is laid along the water trough, from which it exits and flows into an oil drum on its side. The oil drum sits on supports that allows for space for a fire underneath. Thus, they are able to easily direct a supply of fresh water and heat it. From there are pipes leading to a structure that is the shower room. Not having been inside it, I can only conjecture that there are manual pumps that draw water from the heated barrel.

The main part of the village is on one side of the water trough (which itself provides the soothing sound of rushing water), but there is a path (a half-cut log over the trough over to a few more houses. Also, on the other side and down the hill is a fishpond that contains perhaps ten large – about one foot long – goldfish and black gold fish. (Or are they called black carp, or catfish of a type?)

The doorways of the houses are interesting, Kelly suggested, of Sepik origin. In the middle of a side of the house is a single carved piece of wood with a hole in it through which the body passes. The wood is carved with colored designs. On some pieces, the designs resemble the face of a spirit, the doorway representing a mouth.

The house we’re staying at is of a more modern design, without the carved doorway, the floor is a criss-cross of mats. The walls are made of bark fastened to posts. The roof is made of thatch. We were led into it by Waneng, and, as requested, we laid down our bags on the floor and stretched out and rested. Various villagers came to visit us, including a village elder with a large tumor protruding from his belly.

After we’d rested awhile, I came outside and took a bath in the washing pond. A piglet or two wandered around, but I see no evidence of pig shit inside the village proper.

After my wash, I was taken to see the fishpond. Later, I asked Waneng, upon the suggestion by Kelly of roast chicken, if we could buy and kill one of the chickens running around. He came back later and said we could kill one, would I like a male or a female? We decided on a hen.

Waneng got his bow and arrow and said we must look for it. The villagers, as I’ve come to learn through exposure, have an arrow for different types of game, including fowl. Their arrow for fowl is very strange, a notched piece of wood or bone. We walked around looking for the hen. He found it, and the chase began. Finally, he got it backed against a house. I snapped a photo of him aiming and also one as the arrow shot from the bow and feathers went flying. The bird didn’t drop, but went scurrying away as the villagers, all excited now, ran around it. Some other men now stalked it with bows and fowl arrows. Another man let an arrow fly and still the bird went running! Again, the other man shot and hit it. The bird still ran. Finally, after someone stoned it, a woman grabbed it and held it up. I snapped a picture of the vanquished bird.

Waneng and I took it up to show Kelly, who was taking a bath. Then we took it down by the house and plucked its feathers. It was still living. Without feathers its wounds were revealed – three of them. It’s back was open. We cut open its throat and took out the upper half of its alimentary canal. Now blood gushed, the chicken thrashed, and its life was over. We cut out around the bowels – removed the intestines, but we left the liver, etc. There was a developing egg inside this hen. We chopped off its feet and then its head – its body was still warm. The head, the feet, and the intestines all lying together looked so interesting and colourful, I almost took a picture, but I didn’t.

Waneng and I cut up some cabbage and cut up the chicken and put some water in the pot and put it on the fire.

Later, he brought the pot into us. I gave some of the best parts to him and his wife. Kelly and I supped on the rest. The egg inside had a paper-like skin developing around it. We found it like a hard boiled egg. Also, inside we found a yolk with no white. The soup was particularly delicious (and nutritious).

After supper, I had occasion to go outside. The night sky was spectacular. It was an unusually beautiful night. The moon had a large glowing aura about it. The very distant sky was like a plate of dark clear blue glass with clouds painted delicately on it. Very faintly in the distance, one could see, through the mist in the rear and middle distance, the faint outline of very distant mountains. On through to middle and even close distances, mountains appeared through transient misty vapors. And Wabia was silhouetted, against this, with its trees and huts. Glorious it was! I called Kelly to see. We went outside with my camera and tripod. Each time I set my tripod up, the mists would move, and the picture I had in mind would be lost. I ended up taking no pictures.

We made passionate love upon retiring. It was bon appetite! She came and then I did. It was powerful, and I felt like I was delving into precious and forbidden places, with no bounds to my passion or hers.

Day 15 Wabia – 2^nd day

Sunday May 29, 1983

Not much to say about this day. It was a day of rest. My feet have jungle rot, or something! They have been wet too much, which has made some parts of them begin to lose their skin. It’s really painful. So today, my goal was rest and also let my feet dry out. I ended up writing a lot in a comfortable position on the porch. Although to this “comfortable”, I might add that they have these peculiar little bugs that are about the size of a speck of sand, but they deliver quite a bite!

In the afternoon, I bathed in the was-was ples. In the evening, Kelly and I made cabbage soup. We got in a silly argument because she didn’t like the way I stirred in the eggs. Later, as I maintained a staunch position that she was being a petty bitch, she retaliated by making a bowl of soup “for herself,” whereupon I grabbed it and ate it myself. Later, she lunged at the chocolate in my hand, wherein ensued a wrestling match. This, in turn, led to us making love, passionate and wonderful as usual. I made her come with my tongue and then I came inside her. After, we were hungry, so we had a treat of Coconut Kina coolies and peanut butter. We then retired, for the next day would bring a journey.

Day 16 Wabia to “Place in rain forest on ground in rain with no shelter, by ourselves, with the guide having taken away with the food pack”

Monday May 30, 1983

At 5:30 a.m., the radio sounded, interfering with the comparatively mild sounds of the cocking rooster. The room Kelly and I were staying in is part of a duplex, that is to say, on our side of the house are two rooms and on the other half of the house, one other family lives. Well, at 5:30 a.m., the other side turned on their radio. Most of the music was this idiotic South Seas mumbo-jumbo with an instrument mimicking an off-key bass and continuing the same thing for endless time. At first we joked, then commented, and finally pleaded and said in a strong voice – “Mi no laik harim radio!” And Kelly was telling them to Shuddup. Naturally, they thought we wanted them to turn it up, so they did. Finally, they got the message and we went back to sleep until 7:15 a.m. When we awoke, the day began very pleasantly. We had a super breakfast of Granose and heaps of good coffee. After awhile people began appearing at our doorstep trying to urge us to hurry, as we had a long way to go. But, good spirited, and not a care to speak of, we whiled our time away. A big crowd gathered outside the house, waiting for us to appear. We made our appearance at 8:25 a.m. and said goodbye. (Earlier we had given Waneng and his wife two rolls of bilum string, about which they seemed ecstatic.)

We actually began walking a few minutes later, as there was some confusion about who was coming with us – the first signs of trouble. Kelly panicked when I told her to pick up her heavy green pack, as the villagers were waiting for her and I to go. But she picked it up and we began to go, and I asked Waneng how many men were coming. A man in a red shirt was pointed to as the only one. Kelly began complaining about how she couldn’t carry such a load. I told her to be brave, meaning for her to put on a good face as she did when leaving Duranmin, which set her off, and she began a tirade. I was in no mood for such, and I made ultimatums that she either give me her pack (I was already carrying her day pack, plus my pack) or go back. As she refused, I then made the ultimatum that she either go back and take the helicopter or I would. I was being too reactive. She began with bitter tears. “Why do you have to be like this, why?”

We were standing on a steep hill above the village. By this time, there were three men with us. Well, actually two men, about thirty and twenty-five, respectively, and one boy of approximately ten years of age. They were standing directly above us waiting for us to settle our dispute. Finally, the man in the red shirt took her green pack and I took her daypack.

We walked for a while on the side of the mountain, finally coming to a hillock, with a house where we rested a few moments. We continued on down a hill and heard a ruckus of cackling. I looked ahead and called out as low as I could to the red shirt man – “Bird of Paradise?” He said yes. I stood motionless. A few flew back and forth against a grey sky way up in the trees. They looked like black silhouettes against the bright sky. I could see their tail feathers – those gorgeous plumes – but only fleeting glimpses. I thought I saw perhaps three different birds, and heard five or six. I could not tell what color they were, but from the type of feathers they were either the red bird or yellow birds of which I possess feathers. The red shirt man motioned me to follow and left, but I stood on and pointed the phenomena out to Kelly as she came down the trail. (She was barely talking to me.) I was extremely pleased to witness the sounds of a display spectacle, and I was glad also to see them in their natural habitat; they flew away as the men rustled off, making much noise. The view had been fleeting.

We walked on and I caught a view signifying that we had passed Mt. Ava on the other side of the river, the huge towering mountain of stone and forest. We came to a stream with a waterfall. Normally, I would have swum and showered beneath the waterfall, but today, I wanted to “keep my sweat up.” That is, I didn’t want to cool down, but wanted to keep my body temperature at its worked-up level.

Red shirt man (to be later identified if I can find out) had told his brother to wait for ‘meri bilong me’, i.e., Kelly. As we sat at the stream, the young boy came up. I asked if someone knew of if she was coming, and the man said he didn’t know where she was. The third man showed up but didn’t know where Kelly was. I tried to tell them someone must walk with her. Finally red shirt man said he would wait for her, and said I could go on ahead.

He told me to wait on the mountaintop. I walked for, maybe, half an hour and reached a bluff. I took a photograph through the trees at an impressive mountain. I didn’t think this looked like a good resting spot, so I went on. In short order, I came down upon a gigantic rock overhang. Underneath it was space for camping and a fire. There was a brown–orange butterfly sitting on a rock, and I wanted to photograph it, and this seemed also like a good rest place. There even was firewood.

I was waiting for the others and realized Kelly had borrowed my lighter and, also, the matches were in one of her packs. I was planning on making coffee. Well, the other guys came, but I didn’t know where the fire starter kit was and didn’t think to look in the green pack red T-shirt man was carrying. The fire starter kit consisted of two packs of matches that are “waterproof” (and are sealed in a plastic bag) and tree resin. (This was the tree resin I got in Duranmin, as I mentioned before. I had broken about 3–4 cubic inches off of the huge chunk the guy had under his bed. It’s a great thing to start fire with. It’s not sappy, but hard, like a rock.)

Finally, when Kelly came (at 1 p.m., maybe 15 minutes after I did), I found out where the stuff was and started a fire. In short order, we had a delicious lunch of crackers, cheese and tomatoes and rich cups of milk and coffee. Also we had Coconut Kina cookies for dessert. I failed to ask our companion if they wanted some.

After a half-hour lunch, we left at 1:30 p.m. Red T-shirt man told me to go ahead, as they would catch up. Since Kelly’s slowest, it seemed like a good idea, but it was a fatal mistake. Full of vigor, I ran on ahead until I came to a stream. Seeing a trail ahead directly opposite me on the other side of the stream, I followed it. He had told me that the trail went up a mountain, but this seemed to be heading to the right towards the big Ok Milak River. I left a trail of broken twigs and easy-to-see footprints, and I followed the trail, thinking it might eventually go up the mountain. And thus, I eventually came out on the Ok Milak River. I followed a trail along this and eventually surmised it was too disused to be the right trail. Furthermore, red T-shirt man had distinctly said the trail did not yet go by the river (Ok Milak). I began to head back. Soon, I saw the others minus Kelly who had followed me there. In short order, Kelly came around with a bruised, cut shin that we bandaged with antiseptic.

It was confirmed that I’d taken the wrong trail, and now we’d follow the river trail. Red T-shirt man said he knew the way. It was about 3:00 p.m., when they jetted off ahead of us. I had determined to stay with Kelly, and, as she was moving so slowly, I thought I’d offer to carry her pack when she said, “Just go!” authoritatively. I blew up and told her we must hurry as the others were already (after just ten minutes or so) “a mile ahead of us.” For an hour, we followed the river and trails alongside, tracking the other’s footprints, and finally, we found Liki (the man in the red T-shirt) waiting for us at a stream. He showed us to a bush house near the Ok Milak where the others were waiting. He asked me if we wanted to sleep here or if we wanted instead to continue on to Unamo, which would take about two hours more. It was now 4 p.m. I asked Kelly what she wanted to do. She said she didn’t care. Thus, I said let’s get on to Unamo. It was a spur of the moment decision and all very rushed up.

Soon, walking on the river rocks, the others disappeared ahead of us. It was the last we saw of them. Kelly and I sat down on the riverbank. Whereas the others had been resting at the shelter waiting for us, I had been walking with Kelly and needed a rest. We had a snack and rested for fifteen minutes or so. I thought the men would wait for us, but I was wrong.

When Kelly and I again began walking, we soon left the river and went on a path in the bush. We soon came to a place where the path was blocked by a bush that lay across it. I looked for an alternate path but could find none nearby. Forging through the bush, I found that the path indeed continued. It being well–defined, we followed the path upwards, away from the river, and northwest in the direction of Unamo. I looked for signs that they had come that way, but I found only possible signs, nothing definite, a few possible broken twigs, a few depressions in the ground.

We climbed fairly confident that we were on the right rail. But two hours after they left us, without a sign of them, we began to fear that either they were on a different path or they had deserted us. We came to a clearing on a hill, but found no shelter, and could see no signs of Unamo, civilization, or our guides. We decided to try to round a ridge in the distance, and to walk in the dark, in the hopes that they were still ahead. We walked on. It grew dark. It began to rain. No sign of anything. Finally, I suggested we sit down. I noticed that there was lots of blood on the back of Kelly’s neck, but figured it was from a leech. I searched for one but found none. I didn’t have the heart to tell her. We sat down on my pack and threw my rain tarpaulin over us, trying our best to protect ourselves from the rain. There we stayed, talking, shifting positions, thinking, feeling miserable.

When the rain stopped, we had some food – crackers, cheese, peanut butter, chocolate. We talked about the different possibilities: to go on, to turn back, to wait there, to scout around in the dark, to wait till morning. We decided we should get some rest for now. Kelly seemed to get irritated as we tried to share my tarp and ground mat. I, in turn, grew indignant that she was not more gracious about using “my” tarp. She got up – it had started to rain – and walked away, saying I could use it all myself. She walked and stood in the rain, but I could not see her. I turned over and tried to sleep, feeling that if she was so stupid and obstinate as to voluntarily sit in the rain instead of under my tarp, well, I could just let her be. Finally, she came back and, saying some nasty comments, she got under the trap. In retaliation to her comments, I pulled it away from her. She in turn grabbed my tarp, walked away, and was about to throw it into the bush, then threw it at me. Then she came over and grabbed the mat from under me, spilling me to the soil, the whole time a mutual conversation of dislike ensuing. I told her I wished I’d never met her. She grabbed an object and flung it at me, the buckle hitting me in the back. I thought to myself, “That really does it, I’m fed up with her.” She went off and sat in the rain. I turned to go to sleep. After awhile, I noticed her crying, and she told me resentfully that she was all wet (no surprise since she’d been sitting in the rain). We exchanged ‘indignancies.’ Finally, I realized I’d better be kind if I wanted her to calm down.

I gave her my wool cap and convinced her to lie down; I threw my tarp over her and me, and she settled into my arms. Soon, she was snoring away, “sawing logs.” The night passed with us dozing on and off, rain coming occasionally, the two of us as miserable as wet rats. But at least we were trying to be nice to each other. Too nice! At 5 o’clock (Oh, how slowly this night passed), she tried to make a comfortable place for us to lie down, as we’d been sitting all night – I declined to lie down. (I figured, since it was a sloping bed, I would have gotten muddy, for surely I’d slip off.) This prompted her to become unreasonable upset. Finally, I laid down and commented on how nice it was, just to calm her down. We laid together, me off and on into the mud. We slept under a tarp that was wet on both sides, on the ground.

Day 17 From Unnamed place with no shelter in the rain forest to Bush Shelter near the Ok Milak River

Tuesday May 31, 1983

We got up at 6:30 a.m. or so, both of us wet, muddy, tired, hungry and lost. We immediately assessed the situation. To go scout ahead for two hours and find nothing would mean we were i) on the wrong road, or ii) the men had misled us as to the distance to Unamo. We figured it would be a good idea to at least check out what was ahead lest we be so close and turn back.

I took a sip of honey and was off, carrying only a map and a watch. I came to a trail that forked off – uphill – in fifteen minutes, and I decided to investigate it. I hiked uphill and came to a bluff with tree ferns and grasses. I had gone uphill largely because I had thought I’d heard a dog barking and wondered if it meant a habitation. But I found none. However, I learned that it was not a dog barking, but a hornbill. I caught a glimpse of this strange oblong bird with a thin curving neck and large bill alighting from a tree in the distance. It seemed to have noticed me. It flew away making a strange sound, which is its cry.

I retraced my steps and pursued the main trail a few minutes to the northwest. I soon felt, seeing that the ridge in front of me would take an hour to reach, that in any event, a hike in this direction would be long, and without any possible assurance of reaching human habitations. I considered that if we retraced our steps to Wabia we would have a reasonable chance of arriving – then, if I still wanted to hike, I could procure a good guide who could get me there in two days. It seemed silly to pursue the hike now with such slim odds of a smooth arrival, and such a great probability (25%) of getting stuck out there alone with Kelly in the big bush.

I walked back, and I was soon with Kelly again. I tried to explain to her that if we got back safely, I would walk it again. At this, she became upset. In turn, I blew up. She was upset, because she said it was “stupid” for me to still think of hiking after this. I began walking around like a madman, saying things like, “If a man can’t do what he wants, then a man is not a man.” We grew wild. Her smart mouth and unrelenting obstinacy on small points made me rage on. Finally, I swung around and grabbed her by the upper arms and shook her, crying, “Pull yourself together!” She said, “Pull yourself together” “I am together! Pull yourself together Kelly! Am I not together?” Such was the enraged conversation.

Kelly suggested we’d get going. I agreed. We grabbed our things. The pack seemed like it must have weighed sixty pounds – all the clothes were sopping wet and the water added a tremendous ten pounds. I commented on how heavy it was. Kelly said indignantly that I could just leave her things behind, as if I’d commented on it so she’d offer to leave her things. I said, “No, I’ll carry them. If I were selfish (as she’d been complaining all the previous night), I would leave it behind.” Then I said, “You know, Kelly, I love you, but sometimes…” to which she replied, “No you don’t.” Now, I blew up! I threw off my pack and began to tirade: “OK Fine! If that’s the way you want it I’ll just leave your things here. I’ll just leave you here.” I had momentarily become unglued!

Then, I grabbed my pack and said, “Let’s go.” She said she wasn’t coming with me. I said, “Oh, yes, you are, I’m not going to leave you here.” We started walking.

Again, in moments, I swung around to her, only this time crying. I threw my arms around her. She began bawling too. Amidst my deep, uncontrollable and heartfelt tears, I cried out how sorry I was. Kelly cried, too, that she was sorry. “It’s terrible the way we fight; Kelly, I don’t want to fight anymore.” It came from the guts. Both of our apologies did. “But I know we’re going to fight again! It’s terrible!” Kelly concurred. The ill feelings fled. We began down the hill.

Like I said, the pack felt tremendously heavy. The jungle rot on my feet had been aggravated by a whole night in wet socks after a ten-hour hike the previous day. Every step was an agony. But my head was clear. When we started out, we’d talked about the possibility of reaching various stopping points: i) The bush hut on the water (I figured it would take two hours to reach the bush that had blocked our trail and another hour to reach this shelter by the water.) ii) the rock where we’d had lunch (which would be 2 1/2 –3 hours from the bush shelter), iii) (or) we could go (all the way) to Wabia. After fifteen minutes of hiking, I realized it was futile to try to go any farther than the bush hut today: my feet needed a rest, we both needed sleep. Kelly was of the same opinion.

We walked down to a stream, then up a hill to the clearing we’d passed the evening before. The time passed, we went on. Occasionally, we’d have to pull several 1” – 2” leeches from our skin on our hands or legs or ankles.

Almost two hours to the minute, we came to the bush that had blocked our path. It was 10:45 a.m. We crossed it, then looked for an alternative trail that Liki and the two others, Toni and Kami, might have used. About fifty feet away, we came to what must have been the turn they’d taken. There was a smaller trail heading down to the river. There was no way we could have known they’d gone that way.

At 11:30 a.m., we came to the shelter! Happiness! We were on the right rail. We had a place to rest.

I took my shoes off and let my poor feet rest – they were shrivelled up. The bottoms of all my toes were raw. Kelly went to rinse out the clothes in a pristine tributary to the Ok Milak that flowed a minute’s walk from the shelter with no walls. I thought I heard a helicopter, which prompted me then to start a fire, using the tree saps I had with me, but I only imagined it from sounds of the forest and the river.

It was a most fortuitous circumstance amidst our poor luck that Kelly had happened, thinking she was not going to have to carry her pack, to put the liter of honey, a can of corned beef, some peanut butter and a can of tuna in her pack. I had a “snack bag” with me, which contained a block of Kraft cheese, some crackers, part of a package of Tang, a bar and a half of chocolate and some hard candy in it. Also, at the rock where we’d had lunch, I had started a fire, and transferred the tree sap from the green bag (that Liki carried off) to my pack. Without the food, we’d have been weak and doubly miserable. Without the tree sap, we’d not have been able to build a fire, thus limiting our recuperative abilities – drying clothes, keeping warm, heating food.

We made quite a pleasant afternoon. I suggested we make hot honey water. We heated a pot (which I had in my pack) of water and tried it – it was delicious. As we were having cheese and crackers, I suggested we make toasted cheese. Using the top of the pot, we placed the crackers and cheese on it, then placed our bowl over the top to make an oven. The finished product was a little burnt, but delightful nonetheless.

So, I wrote lying under the shelter. It rained outside, and the drips inside were minimal. I wrote and Kelly slept. I began to feel gloomy, writing about what had happened, but when Kelly woke up, I immediately felt cheery. We were in excellent humor.

For dinner, we fixed some more hot honey water, of which we had probably ten cups that day (a tablespoon or two in one cup hot water) – a very invigorating drink in lieu of coffee, Milo or soup. We heated the corned beef in the can and ate it in the bowl, bite by bite, carefully savoring the juices. I let Kelly dish out the servings, and, to her immense credit, she invariably spooned out a bit more for me, satisfying my rebuttals by saying that I had to carry more weight.

After dinner, we had more hot honey water. I knocked over our “last” cup, but we made 1/2 cup of it more, and drank it. We set up the mosquito net and crawled in. After a few tender kisses, we fell fast asleep, dreamful, and expectant of the day tomorrow.

Day 18 Bush shelter near the Ok Milak River to Wabia

Wednesday June 1, 1983

The title of this day says it all. We found our way back!

The rain lulled us awake. We made love in the protection of the mosquito net.

We had planned to get started at 7 a.m. The 7-hour hike, if no mistakes were made, would put us in Wabia at 2 p.m., giving us ample leeway for mistakes and rest breaks.

By the time we were ready to go, after a breakfast of honey water and peanut butter, it was 8:45 a.m.

Milestone 1 was to find the spot on the river where Kelly had tended to her cut leg on the first day. I figured it should be about one hour away. Following the river was a little tricky. Sometimes we walked along the river. Others, the trail would head off to the bush. I passed it up once, and Kelly called me back. We came across a log I’d busted, so at that point, we knew we were on the right path.

We came to a fork in the river. We followed the right path, and I felt sure we were coming to the place where Kelly had mended her leg. But at 10:20 a.m., we were on a bush trail heading away from the river, and I was afraid that some place we’d taken a wrong turn. I got spooked. I begged Kelly to hurry up. A minute later, we came upon a broken shelter that I positively recalled seeing the first day before Kelly, Liki and the rest of us had met again on the river and Kelly had mended her cut. That meant that somehow, we’d bypassed the rock on the river and were passed Milestone 1 but on the right trail.

We followed the path to Milestone 2, the stream from which I’d taken the wrong path the first day. We saw signs that told us we were on the right trail, and came to the stream in ten minutes, at 10:30 a.m.!!

I was very pleased!! The path on the other side of the stream was obvious. A big log pointed right to the trail on our side of the stream. I had remembered that when I had come down, I had not waited, because the path had seemed so obvious. Seeing it again, I could hardly blame myself for the decision, as the log pointed directly to a path on the stream’s opposite side.

We walked across the log, and began up the path to Milestone 3, the big rock overhang where we’d had lunch the first day. I estimated it we should be there by 11:30 a.m., thinking my estimate conservative.

Kelly straggled behind and kept saying that she hadn’t remembered the hill being so long. I said it didn’t conflict with my memories. At one point, she said she thought she saw the rock overhang, but I was sure we hadn’t come to it yet, so I yelled for her and we went on. I took a fork in the trail, and Kelly expressed the belief that we should go to the opposite side, to the left. After a few steps, I agreed, and we cut across to the other trail. I was beginning to get spooked again at 11:30 a.m., but we kept on. I came across some orange-colored “grapes” sitting on a broken tree stump – I remembered putting them there for Kelly to see! This was a positive sign that we were on the right trail! In a few minutes, I yelled “Eureka,” seeing the overhanging rock!!

We sat underneath it, in a comfortable camping ground, and it began to rain, but we were dry under the huge rock. I made a fire. We fixed hot honey water, ate chocolate and cheese and peanut butter. After an hour’s lunch break, we left the rock, refreshed, at 12:45 p.m.

Our next goal was the bush hut on a hill that we’d reached the first morning. Based on the fact that Kelly said the young boy had carried her pack for two hours (she had taken it back at the shelter, Milestone 5), I made an estimate that we’d arrive at 3:15 p.m., with an 80% probability of arriving between 2:25 p.m., and 4:15 p.m. We went down to a stream with a waterfall that we’d remembered (Milestone 4), then up and around a mountain. Then we went down a ways to a place where you could hear but not see an underground stream, and then up the hill where we’d seen some birds of paradise the first day.

Ever since the rock where we’d lunched, I had begun carrying Kelly’s pack (in addition to mine) on the uphill stretches. With me loaded down with 70 pounds of gear, she could keep up with me reasonably well. In this manner, we went up hills. I preferred the extra load and her right behind me. I felt more secure with her nearby.

We saw a pair of hornbills as we went up the hill. It was a beautiful sight. We could hear the two of them calling as they flew. One of them came into my field of vision at a distance – the long, lanky body, the crooked neck, the long bill.

Soon, I saw the shelter. I cried out, “Glory to God in the Highest, and on Earth Peace to Men of Good Will!!” my voice faltering with emotion on the last words.

We had a half-hour break at this insect-ridden shelter, arriving at 3:15 p.m., and leaving at 3:45 p.m., although it seemed we were only there for ten minutes!! Ever since we’d reached the lunch rock, I’d figured we were reasonably safe. We still had tuna fish and honey and we could sleep at the lunch rock or at the shelter, Milestone 5, if we could find it. Now that we’d come all this way, I wanted very much to reach Wabia. We still had nearly three hours of daylight. I figured it would take only two hours, though my estimate was two and a half to be conservative.

We walked down a hill. We now faced a big mountain. We figured that on this mountain’s other side was Wabia. As we started up it again, I again donned Kelly’s pack. By five o’clock, we both began to complain that every step was beginning to hurt our feet terribly.

The panorama became familiar. Soon, we saw banana trees but without fruit. We came to a garden with sugar cane!! We found food, and our lives were assured!

We began down a hill. We heard the sounds of the stream that sounded like Wabia’s!! We kissed! Kelly heard a ukulele. We heard voices of youngsters playing! We kissed again. We saw the village below us, down a steep hill! We kissed. Kelly took a photo.

We came to the village silently. I grabbed her hand and tried a triumphant kiss, but she was embarrassed. We waved to some amazed villager on a porch next to Waneng’s house. Waneng stuck his head out, said he was very sick, and asked us what happened. We gave a very brief description.

We sat down and removed our shoes. My feet and ankles were a mess. I pulled off my socks and the plastic bags I had put around my feet. A few leeches came off on the plastic bag. My feet and ankles were covered with sores of jungle rot. My feet were shrivelled, white and waterlogged. In three places on my right lower leg, bright red blood dripped from leech sores.

In response to finding out that the men had taken our food pack, the villagers began to bring us kaikai. We were given six bananas, which we immediately began to devour – another bunch of bananas, then, one, two, three pineapples. Then a man brought us about three pounds of a sago-like taro cake. We ate and ate.

Waneng cleared out his place for us and we put our bags in his house. I walked like an invalid. I asked if we could buy a chicken, but it seemed to put Waneng on the spot.

We soon retired to our room and ate as much as we could. We then lay down. Our neighbor brought us a lantern. After awhile, we blew it out and laid in the dark. We talked. We began to, amidst saying thanks for our lives, recount the contents of the green pack that had run off with Liki. Upon remembering that my traveler’s cheques had been in it, my driver’s license, as well as my university ID card, I became infuriated. I rose and went to the house next door where there was a fire, and from which I could hear voices.

Waneng lay in the corner, obviously in pain from his spleen, so I addressed some other men. I told them in detail what had happened. They agreed that Liki had done a very grave thing by leaving us in the forest.

One of the men gave me some more bananas. Later, three men arrived with coffee, sugar and milk. One man fetched some water in the pot that I’d brought, and we made coffee. It was almost 11 p.m. when I returned. They insisted I take the coffee and goods with me. I went back very pleased that I could have coffee in the morning, which I craved.

I crawled in the mosquito net and fell asleep.

Among the things I’ve learned from talking were i) that the Wabians knew the names of the men, ii) that the Wabians felt that the men didn’t have enough money to fly to Telefomin from Frieda as they’d told me they’d planned to do, iii) that if they walked back to Telefomin, they’d have to walk through Wabia, iv) that if they flew back, they’d have to take the helicopter from Frieda Base Camp in the hills to Frieda “Strip” on the Frieda River, and v) that Liki had told the Wabians he planned to stay in Frieda a long time.

Day 19 Wabia – First day of rest from a harrowing experience

Thursday June 2, 1983

Looking at my feet, you would think that I wouldn’t dream of hiking in the bush for a while. Today, though, I rehashed the subject with Waneng and friends about what should be done. “Laik bilong yu” is the sensible answer, i.e., what I like – i.e., if I want to walk, do it, and, if not, they can send a messenger to Frieda who can give the company a letter from us requesting a helicopter.

The day was one of recuperation, and, generally, I just read and wrote, and slept and ate. In the afternoon, Waneng came in and offered this as a proposed plan:

Tomorrow, I rest. Tomorrow, his brother-in-law, his “tambul,” will go to the garden and dig up some food. He’ll return in the evening. On Saturday morning, he and I will walk to Unamo. On Sunday, we’ll arrive at Frieda top camp. I’ll request a helicopter. On Monday, a helicopter will come to pick up Kelly, along with most of my gear, which I will leave here.

I said that it sounded like a good plan. Soon, Kankone (Kan-Ko-Nay), his tambul, came to join us. The plan was agreed upon. I will carry the barest of necessities with me. We’ll leave early in the morning.

As for as the rest of the day, I will just list the points:

I bathed, as I was filthy. I scrubbed my jungle rot, which surprisingly didn’t hurt much being scrubbed, and I feel much better. The only real big concern is that both my big toes have infections in them.

The Wabians made “bush pizza” tonight. They ground up some taro into a meal, spread it out flat on a board, and covered it with (red) pandanus sauce. It tasted rather bland.

 

Pandanus is used as a food. It is steamed, the seeds are removed, and the paste is eaten. It has almost no taste.

We were given more food – taro, a papaya, pumpkin, a strange green vegetable. We’re both getting tired fast of this diet. Even though I asked twice for a chicken, no chicken was sold to us. Oh well! God, I’d love some chicken soup!!!

The Wabians are expecting a helicopter because the man with the trade store here went to Frieda by foot and should be returning to Wabia by helicopter with the goods.

We ate up our tuna. Out of our supplies, we have left only about one cup of honey, one stick of gum and perhaps two grams of Tang.

I want to hike, but I feel that my feet will not be ready by Saturday. I’ve got to devise a way to fix up my shoes.

We have no malaria pills, and Wabia’s doctor went to the bush this morning. We are already three days late.

There is no tape here with which I can bandage my feet or fix my shoes.

Day 20 Wabia – 2^nd day of rest

Friday June 3, 1983

Today was the twentieth day since we left Lake Kopiago. Again, spent in Wabia. Although at day’s beginning, I believe I will leave tomorrow, that is now changed by day’s end because a man has come from Unamo who says that another man will come tomorrow who has found, and will bring, Kelly’s green pack. Thus, we will wait for his arrival. Apparently he’s found our pack in Unamo and is now coming with it. I became very pleased with the prospect of getting it back!! (Now, not only do I get to have the novel experience of getting lost in the forest, but perhaps with no bad side effects!) I suppose I could leave tomorrow and perhaps find this fellow on the road, but the villagers tell me to wait, and I don’t want any mishaps, so I will wait as they tell me to do.

With the idea of hiking again in mind, today, with a bit of assistance from Kelly, I began sewing my shoes up. They are a tattered mess! (It is really a good thing that I’m able to wait another day, because by day’s end, I have not finished sewing them, and since they are dry, it is better to finish them now before I start walking). I tell Kelly that when I finish the hike, I am going to send my shoes home and someday have them bronzed.

Today was a sit-around day. After three days of persistence, I finally got them to kill a chicken for us. The secret was that we raised the price to K6 – the first one we brought for K3.

We told them to cook the chicken for a long time, and it made a difference. The extra cooking time softens the meat. (I helped actively, took control actually, to clean the beast. First, we feather it. Then, an incision near the throat – cut out a big bag of junk. Then, an incision near the rear – cut out the intestines and a red sinewy ball. That’s it! Oh, and cut off the feet and head). We had no cabbage or other fixings, so we put the chicken in water and cooked it two hours. We feasted on the whole thing, the two of us, in the quiet of our room. It was delectable. Kelly ate the organs and I ate more of the white meat than she. I even tried the meat on the necks, which was tender and delicious, and it makes me wonder why I never tired it before. We were full when we were finished, and glad for the meat and the protein (!!) after our ordeal in the bush and having this foreign diet.

So, another day passes in Wabia. Kelly and I spent some of our time talking about all the foods back at home and how much we would love to eat them!!

Day 21 Wabia – Last day of our stay

Saturday June 4, 1983

Again, by day’s end, plans change again. I awoke and began sewing my shoes. In this activity, I spent the larger part of my day. There are patches virtually all over them now. I sewed my shoes, we boiled water, drank coffee, and so the morning passed.

After some time, I began considering our situation. Kelly is supposed to wait here while I go to Frieda Base Camp, where I will request a helicopter to go and pick her up. The villagers say that it’s only K10 for a helicopter to come and pick her up, but I know a helicopter normally costs about $120 an hour, so, if, as the Wabians say, it is just 15 minutes to Wabia and 15 minutes back to Frieda, the 1/2 hour trip should cost K60, not K10. So, I thought that perhaps, if the helicopter happened to be going there, they might give her a lift for K10, but otherwise, they might charge K60. Since the villagers said that a helicopter was coming next Friday, I thought Kelly’s choice might be to pay K60 for a helicopter on, say, Tuesday, or to wait until Friday and pay only K10. I told her these thoughts, and she became distressed. She accused me of not caring and of being “smug.” I felt I was being attacked unfairly. It followed that she changed her mind and said she’d rather walk than wait. I felt it was not a good idea to take her back out there. I also felt she was overreacting by treating a hypothesis of mine as hard fact. I tried to calm her down, but to no avail. She left the room, and I continued sewing.

Atemik and Seni, our duplex neighbors, came in and kept me company. I enjoyed Atemik’s crazy way. Later, Kelly returned and they left. I eventually agreed that it was better if she’d come hiking. Plans were made. I spoke with Waneng, and it was made clear that Roti and Kankone would accompany us, and that we would leave early in the morning tomorrow.

Kelly began working on her shoes in preparation for the hike. Many people brought garden food of various kinds to us: taro, kaukau, bananas, cucumbers.

In the evening, a young man came in to wish us well. I spoke with him about the journey to Pagwi. He gave me the names of places en-route: Unamo, Frieda Base Camp, Isai, Frieda Strip, Iniok, Tauri, Ambunti.

And so, we retired with the prospects of hiking on the morrow. We had had a few setbacks, but we agreed, “Who knows, the rest of the trip may go as smoothly as can be!”

Day 22 Wabia To Wesibil

Sunday June 5, 1983

I awoke at 6:20 a.m. We “hurriedly” tried to get ready. We ate Granose cereal with papayas and bananas, and we had coffee. Many people came to say goodbye to us, and others gathered outside the house. We left another roll of bilum string in Waning’s room.

It was about 8 a.m., when we stepped outside. Kelly and I each shook the hands of all adults and some children. I told Atemik I would try to send some medicine for the sores on his legs.

The small man, Roti, donned my large pack, and Kankone put the other pack on, while I carried the daypack. We set off, waving goodbye. Up, up the steep hill facing Wabia. Kankone’s wife and daughter also set out with us. We arrived at the garden on the “hilltop.” Then, around the mountain. Kelly and I chatted about various topics. We travelled down the mountain’s other side to a stream. Now up a hill. Now down the hill.

We cross two streams. Kelly and I remove our shoes and socks, walk across the water, then dry our feet, then don our shoes and socks again. We do this to prevent waterlogged feet and the resulting jungle rot. Now, we go up a hill, and we arrive at the shelter.

We catch our breath and proceed down the hill. Then we cross a stream, then up a hill, then down, where we walk across the place where we can hear an underground stream. Now we go up and around the base of Mt. Uli, which faces Mt. Ara on the other side of the river. We caught a glimpse of Mt. Uli on the hill with the shelter, from which we’d just come. It’s a good thing we can go around the base ¾ to walk over it would be impossible. Sheer cliffs of white and black limestone stand formidably, with tufts of forest growing where it can on the rock face.

We are about half way around Uli when I feel something on my arm. To my surprise, I behold the most exquisite caterpillar I’ve ever seen. Coloring: aqua blue, yellow, with six groupings of black spikes.

 

Caterpillar with Black Spikes

This unusual caterpillar surprised me. It was one of many unusual forms of life in Melanesia.

I take four photos of it as I am truly amazed. Kelly is also stunned by its magnificence.

We continued our walk around the mountain, then climbed down to the stream to???? the classic bush waterfall. Having passed the stream twice before, and both times having wanted to stand beneath the waterfall, I now gave Kelly my camera, took off my shirt and shorts (still wearing my under-shorts) and I braved the onslaught of the water. It beat??? against my head with a fury, falling down from about twenty feet overhead. It was a good–sized volume of water crashing down. Exhilarating!

Then, we walked up the steep hill, came down from the small clearing, and, for the third time, rested at “Coffee Rock” (an appellation of my own device). Rain came for a bit, but we remained dry under the huge stone.

We left at 12:23 p.m., and rambled down the huge forested hillside to the stream. I thought previously that here I had taken the wrong road, due to a miscommunication with Liki, but now, I found that I’d indeed taken the right road, as we followed it down to walk along the rocks. One time, I nearly killed myself when I slipped stepping down on a boulder and my back violently impacted on the rock. I was wearing the daypack, which cushioned my fall. Something cracked in the pack, even Kelly heard it. I took out my camera and inspected it, but, luckily, it was all right. (Perhaps one of the taros that I was carrying had broken.) We again left the waterside and walked in the bush bordering the river. We came out upon the crystal clear stream near the shelter near the Frieda where we’d recuperated after our night in the bush. We crossed it, passed the hut and came out on the treacherous river rocks again. Kankone had gone ahead. (His wife and daughter had already gone ahead of us at Coffee Rock.) I was continuing along the river when Roti motioned that we had to go back to the bush, contrary to my recollection. I had been walking barefoot since the stream before the house (for thirty minutes or so, through bush and river rock). Now I stopped to put my hoes back on. Then Kankone came up along the river rock ahead of us. He motioned for us to follow him. We continued to a cluster of rocks and ¾¾ pools that I recognized them. Then, ahead, I noticed something that hadn’t been there five days ago when we came through. Spanning the water was a single strand of what I first thought was rope. As we came near, I noticed that the rope was lashed to trees on either side of the river with strands of bamboo.

To my disbelief, I noticed what I had thought to be rope was actually bamboo! A single strand of 3/4” bamboo “rope” about 30 meters long!! This ingenious “bridge” intrigued me, and I immediately determined to try it. [*Later note: it was not bamboo, but canta, a bush vine.] As I took off my pack, Kankone, who was sitting nearby, told me that we’d sleep here for the night – it was 3 p.m. He was pointing to the bush just beyond the rocks. Again, to my disbelief, a new sight!! Within the last five days, since the last time we came through, someone had constructed a bush house!!! I questioned Kankone on this, and he told me that his father had done all of this work with the help of some other villagers. They had come from Unamo, stopped here, built the house, built the bridge and gone to the other side of the river to plant sago. He had come ahead to help his wife and daughter cross, who had gone to visit their wantok. I thought how remarkable these people were to be able to construct a house and a bridge in so short a time, and of such excellent workmanship. Now to test the bridge!

 

This was not rope, but “canta”, a useful jungle vine

I handed Kelly my camera with instructions to shoot when I was at the deepest part of the water. (The bridge went out, crossed some shallow water, to some big rocks in the river, then out across some open water to a tree on the other side, about thirty meters in all.) I grasped the rope with two hands. Hanging, I crossed hand over hand and proceeded across the river. At the rocks, I stopped, then proceeded to the deep water. Under my 60??? kilos, the rope was sagging, and my legs were up to the knees in the fast-moving river, making harder for me to propel myself. I went??? to the other side and touched the bank with my foot. On the return, I tried the slightly different method of sliding one hand to the next rather than crossing them over and this seemed to require less energy.

When I got back to the original shore, I took the camera from Kelly and noticed that the automatic exposures lock was in. Since this could result in an incorrect exposure time, I mentioned it to Kelly. She said she thought it seemed like and took a long time on the shutter for the exposure. We concluded that I must have accidentally depressed it when I checked the camera after having fallen, since exposure time seemed normal previous to that (to my recollection).

In short, I decided to take another try at it. Anyway, last try she had taken two shots of me crossing, and I wanted her to take a shot of me come back, facing her. So, with new instructions, I went across, turned around, and now came back. Lifting myself a little, straining, I hammed it up, put a strained look on my face, and Kelly snapped the picture. I returned to the west bank.

Now, we gathered up our gear and moved it to the new bush house. Meanwhile, Kankone took off across the river to visit his father. There were leaves all over the ground from where trees had been chopped up. The roof of the house was green rather than the usual dry brown. There were places for two fires. The grounds inside measured about 20 feet x 15 feet. The roof slanted down almost to the ground, but otherwise there were no walls. Kelly went back to the river to wash up, and I soon followed her. We washed out our clothes. I took a bath. She scrubbed down my back. This was heavenly.

I thanked Kelly for having spoken up when I had begun a rebuttal to Kankone’s suggestion to spend the night. She had reminded me that we had made a vow that we’d stop each day no later than 3 or 4 p.m. That stopped me in my tracks, and I acquiesced. We did say that. She and me were right. (She was telling me that she was reading that the patrols in the early days used to get up at 4:30 a.m., and hike until 12 and make camp.)

Kelly stayed to bathe on the river, and I went back. Roti made a fire, and I fixed up a hot coffee. She returned when I’d just finished making it. I lay down to write, and we shared the coffee.

I felt ecstatic! It had been a wonderful day. The earth was moving round and round in my eyes. What a beautiful Sunday!!

We had supper. Kelly and I fixed up some soup. Kankone gave us a taro. We had a few kaukau, which I by now have grown to love. Kelly asked Kankone what was wrapped up in the leaves. Kankone had gone off to visit his father and had returned across the rope “bridge” with this package. Kankone said it was wild pig meat. He told us how one man had killed two wild pigs. He brought them to Unamo and 4 men and 3 women had feasted. Then they came here, had built this house and rope bridge and gone to the other side of the Frieda. The pig had been shot with a bow and arrow. When it was cooked, he handed a few chunks to Kelly and I. We ate it in small bits and chewed slowly to savor this delicacy! It was, well, …super delicious!!

After supper, we drank Milo. Kelly seemed tired and irritable and I was hyperactive, so I sent her to ‘bed,’ and I stayed up cooking rice for the morning meal.

I ended up sleeping by the fire on my mat, curled up to stay warm.

A memorable day!! (The night sky was gorgeously full of stars).

 

Day 23 Wesibil to Inayetaman

Monday June 6, 1983

We awoke in the pristine environment on the river. Hot drinks. Rice with bananas for breakfast. Head off!!

The river hut, named Wesibil, was at a site virtually on top of the trail leading away from the river up the mountain to Unamo. We retraced our steps of a week ago, at times the road looking unfamiliar, and then recognizable.

At a stream, we removed out shoes again and crossed. At the other side, we made Orange Tang and passed it around. I took a photo of a pool of water because it captured the clarity of New Guinea’s Stream – they are so clear you can see everything as if it was at the surface (for water up to 5 feet deep!) In this pool, the flow bubbling, the bottom was orange, aqua, red, brown, tan, very exquisite coloring.

 

The water in New Guinea’s streams was so clean, you could see everything as if it was at the surface. I never got sick once in New Guinea, even though I drank directly out of streams continually

We came to the place we had slept. There were wrappers and evidences of our miserable night here. As we went on, I explained our steps to Roti and Kankone, who shook their heads in a display of sympathy.

As we went on, we passed a place where I had carved my initials J.S. in the moss of a tree while on my morning scouting the day after we were abandoned.

We soon came to where I had turned back. It was 10:30 a.m. Now the trail was new to me, and I observed closely, from where I turned back, the trail followed a stream, then where this stream joined another it went back up the adjoining stream. Had Kelly and I come in the dark that fateful night, we never could have followed this turn. Upstream a ways, a rail had appeared plainly off to the right (north).

We continued on the trail, around and around a big mountainside on a fairly easy trail. Again and again, we could see and hear evidences of hornbills. Occasionally, we would startle a hornbill and the incredibly loud sound of the flapping of their wings (FLAP! FLAP! FLAP!) would alert us to look up, and hopefully catch a glimpse of their lanky bodies racing off. Sometimes, they would commence with their raucous cackling.

It was a fair day. By and by, I heard what sounded like a big river way off down to my left (the Frieda sounding in the distance on my right). Kankone said it was Henumai, the river that joins the Frieda (called the Ok Milak on my map). I told Kelly that I thought Unamo was on the wrong place on the map, since it’s shown some distance from the rivers’ joining.

Soon, we entered an area where the flora seemed more “wooded” than “rain forest,” as if it had at one time been cleared and had grown back. The trail widened and we began descending. Soon, we beheld Unamo below, a cluster of houses on a flat clearing on a bluff, overlooking mountains and valleys 270 degrees around, with a vista of up to 30 miles. We walked down and escaped from the penetrating sun in the shade of a house. We were getting short of food and I had to satisfy myself with a little taro, a banana, and a few bites of cucumber.

At about noon, we descended from Unamo’s position on the mountainside towards the Henumai, going in a NW direction. We crossed several streambeds and proceeded at a slant down across the mountain. Coming to the flatland adjoining the Henumai, we sloshed through pockets of mud and crawled over slippery, moss-covered trunks. I removed leech after leech and in a silly sort of revenge, I put each on a tree trunk and carefully severed their heads off with the axe I carried.

We came upon a clearing, and I, leading walked straight to the house in view. It had a plastic tarp for a roof, and, although dismal looking, I wanted to rest there. The others seemed to want a rest also.

I was very tired as I’d not gotten very much rest the night before. Kelly also. We were both dragging, so I suggested we made coffee, and had a nice rest.

It began to rain. I had a wonderful sensation of ”being there.” The rain came down hard. First, it came straight down. Then, it slanted into the house. The sun shone even though it was raining. Now the rain slanted in another direction. It was odd yet typical, and it was simple but wonderful to observe.

When the rain stopped, we were roused from our fleeting slumber and began hiking. We crossed the Henumai. There was a wire bridge with concrete supports and below it, a bridge made entirely of wood. We crossed the wire bridge.

We made our way over a hill and went on and on through the bush. Finally, we came to a stream. We were told that our night’s resting place was fairly close, and now all we must do is follow the river to reach it.

We took off our shoes and tramped through the streambed. Kelly slacked behind with Roti. Kankone and I came up, after a time, to a place with a relatively small overhanging shelter. It was raining when we arrived, and the ground beneath the overhang wasn’t exactly dry. But it was hell a lot better than nothing!!

Kankone was trying to light a fire, but futilely, since the wood was damp. I gave him some tree resin, and soon a fire was blaring. Kelly and Roti soon came up. Kankone went away, and soon we heard the bushes rustling and looked up to see him knocking down a wild Pandanus, “Malita”, with a 10-foot pole. Kelly was excited with the prospect of eating some Malita, as she’d been craving it, and I also was expectant, as I was very hungry and had never before tried it.

Kelly and I fixed some coffees, and soon soup was on. We shared the soup and took out our saved bits of taro. I chewed my small piece of taro with religious relish. We had no rice, no meat, no bread, no crackers, no cereal, only a bit of coffee, a bit of Milo, a bit of milk, a little Tango and two more packages of soup – and 5 bananas.

While Kelly and I finished the soup by counting the number of spoonfuls each took from the community bowl, Roti and Kankone had disappeared into the darkness, and gone to the mumu. Roti came by and said “Tupela I stap.” I took this to mean that we should come, but Kelly convinced me that it meant to wait. Finally, I urged her to go to see. (IO was in no condition to check, as my toes were afflicted with jungle rot and would sting incredibly when in contact with water. Finally, she went and called out: “You were right!! Hurry up before it’s all gone!” I ambled to the waterside as best I could. On a piece of bark was a red sauce with chunks of taro and some greens from the forest. Roti urged me to eat, and pushed a couple of pieces of taro my way, which I devoured.

I don’t think Kelly caught on that the chunks were taro, as she let me eat an awful lot of it. By the time we’d finished it, I didn’t feel so hungry, and I felt that I’d gotten a good share. The Malita is delicious and delicate. With taro it is really a treat – I suppose my hunger biased me in favor of it.

Shortly after dinner, I was tired, and I lay down. Soon after, Kelly and I organised our sleeping area. At about 9 pm, we laid down for good. I was soon asleep. A deep, dreamful sleep, with vivid dreams that I cannot recall in my waking hours.

As I drifted off to sleep, I listened to the symphony of insects and night birds. The exquisite song of the forest lulled me to sleep, intrigued. It is as if the sound makers of the forest sing together in a weird and beautiful symphony.

Day 24 Inayetaman to Frieda Top Camp

Tuesday June 7, 1983

At 4:30 a.m., I awoke, and I wisely decided not to go back to sleep. We were so low on food, I did not want to take any chances that we might not make it today.

Kelly got up too. We put things away. I began sewing Kelly’s shoes, which were barely holding together. We drank a coffee and Milo concoction of Kelly’s, which was delicious. Kelly ate two bananas, but I had no other breakfast than a hot drink. Kelly tried to cheer me by reminding me “We’re going to be in Frieda today!!”

Daylight comes about 6:15. We soon after were ready to go. We walked out, crossed the stream, Kelly put her shoes on, and we began going up a hill at 6:50 a.m.

The first part of the morning was spent climbing a hill, up, up, up! We came to a ridge top and followed it down some way, coming then to a clearing with a beautiful view. We were told it was a helicopter pad. All around, tree had been felled. I took two pictures and taped up my toes, which were giving me pain, afflicted with “jungle rot” or “Tinia”. As we crawled around the tree trunks, I stopped to chop a log and Kelly who was stopped behind me in a precarious position, slipped and fell.

We left the clearing and began descending. Kelly tried to check what time it was, but noticed that her watch was missing. We figured that I had come off, perhaps the bank had broken, when she’d slipped. Kankone volunteered to go back and search for it. I took the green pack, he went back, and Roti, Kelly and I went ahead.

After awhile, we came to the OK Binai. What a lovely place!! One of the trees looked very much like an oriental type, with dark green leaves and fanning branches. The day was sunny. There was a great red rock that appeared as if it was rusty. It was smooth and had a glazed look. It wasn’t one, but it had the appearance of a meteorite! I took three pictures of the place – one was of Roti helping Kelly across.

We walked up to the river a ways. Then we turned up a stream on the left. We followed this a little, all the time Kelly and I in bare feet, walking in the water. As we were leaving the stream, we stopped to don our shoes. Kankone came up. He had found the watch, excellent man! As four again, we set off up an incline. We walked ever upwards. At 11:30, we came to a shelter. We made a fire, and we cooked some soup, as well as fixed some coffee. Kankone and Roti had found some green bananas, and they cooked them, and ate every last one themselves. Kelly was very indignant at this, but I only thought “serves her right!,” for this morning, she had expressed a wish to get the bananas out of my pack without letting them see – maybe they’d taken notice (maybe they’d understood her English!). The guys had run out of bruis- i.e., tobacco. So, despite the fact that Kelly didn’t want to give them any, I gave them some, since it was mine to give. (By the way, this is the same tobacco that I’ve been handing out the whole way since Gera village near Kundiawa – the roll of twist I’d bought in Malaita in the Solomans for S.I.$2) I should also mention that Kelly is ‘generous to a fault’ (using her own words, but it’s true), but we had so little to eat, it seemed rude of them not to offer.

We sat and talked. Kankone said it was only two more hours of walking, and we’d arrive at Frieda Base. Finally, rested, and full of coffee, we got up, and at about 1:15 pm, we started walking. We finished climbing the small mountain we were on, and in no time, were looking down a valley and walking through gardens. Kankone pointed down and said there was a river down there, and that’s where Top Camp was. We were, in a word, elated!!

Soon, we met with Kankone’s “brother,” who accompanied us down the trail. He had heard about us “loosing” the trail, and so we found out that word about us had arrived, incorrect though it was. We followed a river down; soon, we came to a group of fairly shabby looking houses. Kelly expressed her tentative disappointment of this was Top Camp. But we were lead past these dwellings, around the hill, and behold!, we beheld a rather promising-looking camp, with tin roofs and some white buildings, a lovely river and the look of civilization! This was Top Camp, and what a lovely place it was to turn out to be!

We were lead to the camp manager’s office, and sat down outside. We paid Roti and Kankone each K12 (about 50t an hour, the going rate). They seemed pleased. After a bit (Kelly bought some cigarettes), a red-haired man with a beard came up, leading about 5 other fellows, all very proper in their hiking shorts and shirts. The red-haired man, who introduced himself as Drew, did a double take upon seeing us, as if it was the last thing he expected. He asked if we needed a bed, and I said that we’d like to stay the night. He said he’d fix us up, and we could possibly get a hot shower to boot. Furthermore, why not join them for afternoon tea where they were all headed now. It did not take much convincing. We followed.

We came to a white building, and, inside, found a group of tables in a room of quaint, well-cared-for, cafeteria appearance. (We must be dreaming!) We got in line. To the table, we brought saltine crackers, with butter, coffee with milk and sugar, cheese, apples, oatmeal cookies, orange drink and sweet biscuits. Our heaven could not have been more complete! We stayed till later after the group of geologists had gone, eating. When we were finished, we returned to our packs outside the camp manager’s office. Soon, we were led to a housing building, where we were each given a room with a bed, pillows, writing tables and fan. At this time, stunned with happiness, Kelly went off to shower. I was extremely tired, but felt compelled to sit down and write, which I did. Kelly remained in the shower for what seemed like an hour. When she finished she came in my room ad teased me about how filthy I was, and said I should go shower. Once in the shower, I noticed the water was only lukewarm.

“Kelly!”

She came to my shower. “Yes?”

“Was your water hot?”

“Yes.”

“Well, this is only lukewarm.”

“I didn’t think about it until I was ½ way through my shower, and then I started to conserve.” I decided to try later for a hot shower, but that turned out to be the end of the hot water for the day.

We found out that dinner was at 7 p.m. We went up to the mess before 7 so that we could socialize and I could enjoy a beer.

We began talking to Jeff McIntyre, one of the geologists in residence. It turned out that the 5 young men that were being led by Drew were visiting geologists who worked for CRA, a company owning part of the Frieda operation, which is run by another partner MIM. (CRA runs the Panguna mine on Bougainville.) On my second beer, the dinner call came. A barbeque! We walked just outside. It was a cook-your-own, and a hot griddle and a platter of steaks and large pork-looking hot dogs awaited. I happily cooked up a steak and a couple of sausages, along with a green pepper, onion and tomato. When this was done, the serving table afforded rice, French fries (kaukau), bread and butter, gravy and onions and hard-boiled eggs. It was ecstasy!!

Soon after dinner, the lights were dimmed, and a movie slipped in the video. It was “Fedora,” a strange drama, and although I joined everyone in making satirical remarks about the picture, I must have been starved for entertainment, for I secretly enjoyed it.

After the movie, we returned to our quarters. After awhile, the generator lights went out. I was in Kelly’s room; she made a comment about wishing she could flirt (I chose the word for her) with all the men in camp, being the only white woman in camp. When I started undoing her pants she said: I don’t want you to sleep I here!

I immediately left the room, went to mine and went to bed, I could care less! I lay there but couldn’t sleep. I got up and went to Kelly’s room to get a flashlight. When I got there she pulled me into bed and lavished me with apologies. In fact, she told me that she had just been planning to come to my room when I arrived.

She said her pussy was sore, however, she showed her sincerity by performing fellatio on me, until I came in her mouth. After a while, I got up and returned to my room, as we both needed and both wanted a good night’s sleep.

Day 25 Frieda Top Camp

Wednesday June 8, 1983

A helpful fellow named Jeff McIntyre had told us last night hat if we desire an assurance of waking up at 6 a.m. for breakfast that we should leave our lights on at night. When the generator went off we could sleep in the dark, and the generator went back on at 6 a.m., so we could wake up when the lights went back on. We followed his advice. At 6 a.m. the lights went on. I woke up, thought it was daylight, and noticed then that outside the screen window, it was dark.

Soon, we arrived at the mess. A glorious breakfast awaited us: poached egg, sausage, spaghetti, two bowls of granola, canned peaches and milk, toast, butter, orange juice and coffee!!! Being as though we had been made official visitors of the camp, the meals and lodging were free of charge! After breakfast, I talked with Drew about staying tonight as well, procuring groceries, and possibly getting a ride on the helicopter, as I’d never ridden in one before.

Shortly after 8 a.m., there was space on one of the helicopter trips, so I grabbed my camera and hopped in the front middle seat. Swoosh! Up and away. (It was a $260,000 Hughes helicopter.) Down the river a bit, now up and over the mountains to the West. Way off to our right 15 miles away was a spectacular cliff (the Table Mountains). Off to our left, Mt. Iku, the “Knob.” We landed at a small clearing, and Martin and two other fellows jumped out. Now, we returned to the camp, soaring into a cloud front, as if it were a heavenly field. The sun shone in between the higher clouds. We circled around, and Bill dropped the helicopter in a mist of clouds; now, below the main body, we could see the river. He followed the river up and we soon alighted back on our original pad at Base Camp. The whole experience probably took only 10 minutes!! Kelly was waiting there for me. I hoped out of the helicopter and sat on a bench by the pad, telling her how much I enjoyed my first helicopter ride. The Copter took off. A few minutes later, Bill brought the chopper back. He signalled me to come back on, and, letting gout a whoop, I ran back to the chopper, and boarded for a second time. This time we dropped one Japanese geologist on top of a cloudy, steep ridge. Due to the limited visibility, this ride was not as spectacular as the first. (On the first ride, while looking towards the Table Mountains, I imagined I had visibility for about 100 miles. Checking my map now, I see we were at about 141°45’ East longitude. The Irian Jaya border is at 141° — meaning only 45 miles to the West. Drew said later that he doubted I’d seen all the way, though on some days he said you could see one of Irian Jaya’s 16,000-foot mountains!! Nevertheless, I reckon I was looking at least 45 miles!!) The first helicopter ride I’d taken 11 pictures. The second ride I took only one.

Soon after I’d had my first experience in a chopper, it was time for morning tea. We had many saltine crackers with butter, chocolate cookies, juice and coffee. We returned to our quarters and ‘dottled’ around, played a few games of gin rummy. In no time, it was lunch. We returned to the mess, and we feasted on a large lunch. I had a beer, two pork chops, rice, tomato, cheese, red papaya, onions, peas, carrots, juice and cabbage. After this morning full of food, I was really stuffed. Kelly and I returned to our cabin and lay down. We made exquisite love – all the juices flowing, lusty, passionate, delicious sex. Then we slept. Afternoon tea at 3 pm was out of the question, I was so full. We played cards and surveyed our possessions.

One of the things I did in the afternoon today was to go look at the Wogamush map, showing the flow of the Frieda River from just north of Frieda Strip to Iniok on the Sepik, then the Sepik east through Tauri and on. I am very excited!! The river winds back and forth, back and forth. The vast area shows nothing but flood plain forest.

In the late afternoon all the many clothes we’d left lying on the floor were returned to us washed, dried and pressed!! At 6 pm or so, we rested in our separate rooms. I awoke at 5 to 7 pm and hurriedly rousted Kelly to get up, as supper was being served. When we got to the mess, everyone was eating. I stacked my plate with what was left and managed three pieces of chicken, some greens, cabbage and tomato salad and a bit of sauce. Ice cream was put out, but by the time I was done eating it was gone, and I had to settle for pears with chocolate and strawberry topping.

In short order, we were sitting in front of the video watching Oh God! (Book 2), a movie in which George Burns plays the part of God. It was a good movie, I thought. The ending was so happy I had to hide my tears from the rest of the men.

After the movie, Kelly and I went into have a hot Milo and cookies. Jeff McIntyre came into talk to us. I noticed that my ankles and feet were really swollen! They looked horrible. For the first time, I was really worried; what was happening???? I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to walk!! Jeff helped me a bit by offering his ointments. He suggested my legs were full of poison from the sores, which seemed about right. He said the medic might be back tomorrow, and Sani (acting camp manager), who had walked in, said he would try to find Keith’s (the medic’s), whereabouts in the morning, as he’d gone off to a village in the bush on Tuesday morning.

We returned to our quarters, worn out from a day of luxury!! We slept in separate beds. I slept like a log!!!

Day 26 Frieda Top Camp – last day

Thursday June 9^th

Before we went to sleep last night, I determined to attend at all eating times of today, my last day of Top Camp. Breakfast brought an omelette, sausages, spaghetti, toast, butter, coffee, juice, granola with pears and milk!!! Kelly and I whiled away some time playing cards.

By the way, yesterday, I forgot to mention, I called PNG migration in Port Moresby on Top Camp’s telephone. I talked to a Michael Osae, to whom I explained our situation. He told me that we’d have to send our passports in for another visa extension. I told him our passports were in Wewak. He said that when we arrived there, we’d have to send them. It was sort of a relief that a representative of the migration department thus instructed us, as it gives us some leverage later on if we have any problems. Also, of course, it’s nice that it seems so simple to take care of.

Also, another item out of place: on the way to breakfast, a group of nationals spoke with me. Amongst them was a man named Alok, who said that he would take me to Ok Esai tomorrow, from where I could get a canoe.

Kelly and I spent the morning playing cards and attending morning tea of saltines with butter (ate much of this), cookies, juice and coffee.

After morning tea, I inquired where I might find the men that had deserted us in the bush. While we were waiting for them to be fetched, we went up to Jeff McIntyre’s office and engaged him in a conversation. He showed me his sharp computer/calculator, complete with pager printer and micro cassette for storage.

We went back in front of Sani’s office, and the three men were summoned. I asked them what happened in the road, and they seemed rather smug and indifferent. Liki told me that the young boy had become sick, and this is why they’d not turned back. It sounded like a flimsy excuse to me!!! Then, Liki said that they’d turned back because they had no food! This we were certain was untrue; as we both recall they carried a big bilum full of tubers. We told them that we knew that they had food. Then Liki said that they had no fire with which to make fire to cook it. We felt no sympathy for them. They had left us in the woods with, well, we had some food, but they didn’t know that.

It became clear that they were guilty of extreme negligence. They had no good reason for abandoning us. At one point in the interview, Liki cracked a grin, and Kamai crocked an even bigger one. I, who almost never comes to physical violence, could easily have thrown myself at Kamai, the smaller man, whose attitude I’d never liked. I could have enjoyed beating the shit out of him at that moment. But instead, perhaps wiser, I used words: “Do you think it’s funny Liki, or you Kamai?” Liki stopped smiling. I turned my contempt to Kamai. “Do you think it’s funny, leaving us out there? Then why are you smiling? I don’t think it’s very funny. Do you? Huh??” I stopped my tirade when he stopped smiling. I walked in Sani’s office and asked if I was getting too violent. He said no. He came outside and said a few things to them in Pidgin. He explained that they should have contacted someone at Top Camp and reported the fact we’d been left out there. He translated from me that I wouldn’t have minded them eating my food, but leaving me out there in the jungle was clearly wrong.

I was growing exasperated, since I felt they weren’t sorry at all for what they’d done. I told Liki that I was planning on giving him money for carrying my bag. I asked Sani if he thought Liki and gang were sorry. Sani said “Yes, they were sorry.” I asked “Liki, are you sorry Liki, are you sorry, really?” He said he was.

Since there was really nothing more I could do, I finally just sent them away. Kelly and I would just have to content ourselves with the thought that they’d be ostracized by the community.

In the evening, talking to Drew, I said, “There was nothing more I could do!” Drew suggested a “swift kick in the ass!”

Lunch provided a heaping plate of spaghetti with meat sauce and cheese.

After lunch, I went to get medical attention. Keith, the orderly, had come back from the bush. He came up to the haus sik, but said he’d have to wait till, 1 pm to get the key.

If you don’t set deadlines, nothing happens!! – God from Oh God Book II

After a chat, he left, saying he’d come back, and Kelly left shortly afterwards. As I lay on the bench, some nationals came up. Among them was Roti, the small man with the big smile and the big heart who’d brought us form Wabia, for which I owe him thanks (and paid him K12).

After 1 pm, they couldn’t find the key, so they had to bust into the haus sik. Soon, Keith was taking care of my sores. He cleared them and dressed them. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any extra tape or medicine, as they were short on supplies.

With my bandage feet, I walked back to my room, thinking happily that now I’d be able to finish the walk to Frieda Strip.

Kelly and I played cards. We attended afternoon tea of saltines with butter, coffee, juice and cookies. I inquired about possibly taking another helicopter ride. Soon, I was riding away to pick up Martin out at the spot we’d gone to yesterday on my first ride. But of all my three rides, the first had been the best, due largely to visibility. On this ride, I took only one picture, facing the valleys towards Frieda Strip.

In the late afternoon I wrote and we played cards. Again, our wash arrived cleaned and pressed. We headed up for dinner early, so as to be there when the bell rang. I enjoyed a pre-dinner beer. I went back in the kitchen and asked for a can of peanuts, which I was promptly given. Kelly tried to make me feel guilty, but I thought if it was wrong to ask for them, I wouldn’t have been given them. We both enjoyed the peanuts.

Dinner call came. An answer to my dreams: Roast beef with champignons (mushrooms), potatoes, rice. Ice cream was served for dessert with chocolate topping.

After dinner, we all settled down to enjoy “Torn Curtains,” an Alfred Hitchcock directed movie of 1966 with Julie Andrews and Paul Newman. It was a bit old, but quite enjoyable.

During the movie, the wind started up and the rain really poured down! Afterwards, Kelly and I returned to our quarters. We decided to play some Gin Rummy before the generator lights went out. In the midst of our second game, she was killing me, and the generator was shut off. She asked if I’d like her to get the flashlight to finish the game, and I said that was ridiculous. Indignant, she got up and left without so much as a kiss. Strong, I rolled over on my bed and proceeded to try to sleep. I was in the midst of my efforts some 20 minutes later when I felt her soft hand. She crawled in with me. As her pussy was sore, she resorted to giving me love with her mouth, which I duly appreciated with a fine orgasm! And she left shortly afterwards, so that we could both sleep well, as the beds are rather narrow. And so, I slept deeply my last night in Top Camp.

[Note: today I threw three darts with Kelly for high score. The first went in the outer bulls eye ring for 50 points. The next 20 pts. And the third a 50 pt., shot too! A total of 120!!]

Day 27 Frieda Top Camp To OK Esai Camp

Friday June 10, 1983

Breakfast on poached eggs, sausages, toast and butter, granola and pears with milk, spaghetti and coffee and juice, but I tried not to overdo it, because I had to walk today!!

On the way back to my room, I bade farewell to Drew, giving thanks. He was a gracious host to the last.

(On the way to breakfast this morning, I went down to the helicopter to look for a roll of film I’d dropped yesterday. Kelly, who was walking with me, was beside herself: “You’ve got more nerve” than anyone I’ve ever met!!!” I ignored her and went down, but found nothing.)

Kelly and I returned to my room, and she helped me pack. I brought plenty of food so that I wouldn’t have to worry about running out on my 2 to 3 day trek to Frieda Strip. We brought my pack up to Sani, the camp manger’s office. We weighted the pack. My reduced pack, as I had brought a minimum of non-food items, weighed 16 kilos, or about 35 pounds! I swear, I carried about 50 lbs., pack from Tekin to Wabia!!

At the office, Alok came up. Sani was down at the heliport. I went down and said goodbye to him. He had my lost film, so he went and returned that. I gave him my address in Vanimo and in the States.

(The other person I’d said goodbye to was Jeff McIntyre, who’d been a big help. As I was packing this morning, he brought in a box of provisions that I’d requested – These we had to pay for, but were very glad to get: sugar, rice, cereal, Staminade, bread, milk, pen, writing pad, saltine crackers, tuna. Yesterday, we’d also procured corned beef, salt, matches, two jars peanut butter and instant coffee.)

Having said goodbye to Drew, Sani and Jeff, being packed and ready to go, Alok and I began walking back up the hill behind the camp, Kelly walked a short ways. Then I kissed her goodbye, and we left the camp, Alok and I, at about 8 a.m.

The first hour of the hike was up and down through typical rain forest country. At 9 a.m. or so, we came to a helipad, from where we had a nice view of the mountains facing the river passing Top Camp. I took a 2 shot panorama.

Alok was carrying my pack and his small bilum. I carried nothing. Walking thus, we made good time. From the helipad, we walked a bit up, but then it was mostly down to where we came upon a small, pretty river, which the trail followed. At times, we had to walk in the stream. The stream winded. At each bend, the water formed pools perhaps 6 feet deep, with the floor sloping gradually to a sandy bank or one side of the river, while on the opposite side, the depths rose straight up a rocky outcropping. At turn after turn, these beautiful deep pools would form. The clarity of the water is amazing, just amazing!

As we walked, Alok and I walked about a number of things in simple Pidgin. We exchanged names and the name of our homes. He told me that he’d worked as a pastor for 13 years. He said that at home he grew vegetables and sold them. He told me that the men who left us out in the bush were not good people. He said that he had spoken with them and told them that they’d done wrong. He said a good man will carry your bilum, wait for you, eat with you, talk with you. I agreed! He asked if I would take a photo of him. He described the trail we would follow. And so, as we marched through the bush track, he and I kept up a fairly lively conversation.

At the stream, I took off my shoes and put them back on at the other side; but I could see it was too time consuming, and I wanted more than anything to get to OK Esai today, so I chanced getting jungle rot in my feet. We had to slosh around quite a few waterways, so it turned out to be a good idea, as it would have been totally impractical to try and put shoes on and off all day.

We followed the river on and on. At times, we the bush track starts away from the river, then returns. Then, we might walk along the river for 5 minutes, and then the bush track would start up again. I could see Alok studying the banks when we walked in the river. It made me a bit uneasy, as to whether or not he knew the way – also the fact that he’d only been on this trail once, and then in 1979, four years ago, didn’t help me confidence in him.

Eventually, we came out upon the place where the waters “Bung,” or meet. The stream where which we’d been following joined the beautiful Ok Binai, which, on our way to Top Camp some days before, we had had the pleasure of walking on some 7 kilometers away. We followed this river for a hundred yards or so, forded a small adjoining waterway, came to a shelter, and marched on. The plan was to have lunch at 12 pm and it was only 11:45 a.m. We were not walking along the OK Binai. We met an old man and a boy. They spoke to Alok in tokples and I could not understand them. Alok told me that the old man was his brother, “brata,” and it confirmed my suspicion that these people use the term as loosely as the Alro Americans!! (Since the old man was obviously of a different generation.) Alok told me that the old man had given him directions of how to get to OK Esai.

Shortly after 12 pm, we stopped on a shady bank and lunched. I enjoyed eating bread and peanut butter. Bread was a real luxury, and I was glad I asked for it at Top Camp. I noticed that Alok had only biscuits. I asked him for one, smeared it with peanut butter and handed back to him. I fixed some Tang, gave him a cup and finished the bottle.

After ½ hour lunch and a sock change, we headed off. We followed the left (north) bank a short ways and then crossed the river. From here we began following a small stream to the east. The OK Binai flows to the northeast from where we left it. It flows into the Nena (Malia) River about 3 km away. From there the Nena flows ENE about 7 km and joins the Frieda River.

We followed the small stream and did not see a bush track for ½ hr – just walked in the water and rocks. (Note: the OK Binai, which we just left, was a fairly large river. The banks were wide and sandy. It made me feel as if we had reached the lowlands because it was flat and wide, and I would see so much sky and not too many mountains. It gave me a good feeling, and I disliked leaving it and going up a forested stream. The day was sunny and bright with big, white, beautiful, non-threatening clouds.) Alok had told me that he’d never taken this particular road before. After awhile, I was feeling as if maybe he wouldn’t be able to find the way. But these folks are excellent at finding their way around. After a time, we were climbing up a ridge, which he’d told me earlier in the day we would reach. I now had confidence we were on the right road.

At the top of the ridge, we sat down for a few minutes. I asked him if a lot of people lived in OK Esai. He said only one or two men lived there. I asked him what would happen if they had gone away. He said that there was no road to Frieda Strip from there – he also said that he’d have to go look for men to help me, as he didn’t know the art of making a raft. The OK Esai men knew how to “wokim bet,” but he didn’t.

As we started down the hillside, I envisioned getting to the place and being unable to go down the river because there would be no one to help me. As we came to the headwaters, a small stream, of the OK Esai, I began to accept it as a certainty. As we walked along, we continually crossed the stream which joined here and there with other streams, making an increasingly large body of water.

We reached a point where he pointed to a trail coming from the right. He said that that trail was the one he’d used in 1979. This gave me confidence now that we were again on a trail familiar to him.

I took the lead and nearly flawlessly followed the trail in and out of streambeds, occasionally looking back for approval. Finally, I saw some footprints. Then some more. I asked Alok about them. He said that a while man had been walking through there with one of his brothers, that they’d come here earlier in the week. It came out in the conversation that the old man we’d met on the road had told him the two men at the OK Esai were there, and apparently, the old man had just come from there. I grew increasingly enthusiastic that I would find someone to help me float down river at Ok Esai, meaning my walking was almost finished, as it would be all river travel from there.

Finally, I turned a bend and a few hundred yards away I could see a green tarpaulin stretched out for the roof of a dwelling. I immediately recognised it as – white man’s dwelling. I asked Alok if there was somebody there now. He said “Yes”, it took me a few minutes to recognize that it was one of Top Camp’s geology outposts. We came up to it. Inside, there were beds and mosquito nets set up, a stove, fireplace, food, etc. I was overjoyed. If no one was there I’d help myself, and if they were around, there was a good chance I could share the tent with them. (The floor space is about 40’ x 18’.)

I left my pack there and Alok and I walked another 100 yards along the river to a bush house. I first spied a woman on the river, which meant that local people were living there, and, as we approached the house, I saw men – there was a good chance they could help me.

I shook hands and squatted on the ground. In front of me was the most pathetic looking dog (or even animal!) that I’ve ever seen in my life. It was about 1 foot long, and virtually bald, just skin and bones and crusty eyes! Yecch!! After a few minutes of conversation, in which I merrily discovered that these men could help me, I returned to the large tent. I began washing out my socks, and momentarily, I head and then saw, a white man leading a troupe of other men on the river towards the ten, from the same direction I had come.

I had noticed, inside the tent, the name Ian, and having heard of him at Top Camp, I greeted him with “You must be Ian!” He responded affirmatively. He was a really nice fellow. He was properly surprised to see me. He talked with me about various things, about how he liked working out there, but found it lonely as he was a single man. He said he was leaving PNG in 6 months or so.

He said that Bill, the copter pilot, was coming to pick him up in a few minutes. He got his things together and we chattered while waiting. He said that I was welcome to use his bed and he left a pillow for me. He said he had to hand it to me for walking all that way (from Kopiago). He said I could eat whatever I could find. Before the copter came, I complained of not having any medicine. He gave me an almost full bottle of antiseptic powder, for which I was deeply indebted.

As we sat there talking a huge and startling crash made my heart jumped. Very close to the bush, house 100 yards away, a huge tree fell, crushing smaller ones around it. Ian told me that the locals were remarkable in their ability to deforest an area in a short span of time. He said they will find a big tree, and cut only ½ way through the surrounding smaller trees. Then, they’d chop the big tree through, and when it fell, it would take all the smaller tress with it.

The helicopter came and went to a place some distance from us. Ian explained that the real village of OK Esai was about 2 km to the East. He said that there was another expatriate working out there and that Bill had come to pick him up. Finally, at 5 pm, Bill was an hour late, and Ian got out a nifty field radio, a 1’ x ½ x ¾’ box that, according to him, housed about 1500 – 2000 Australian dollars worth of equipment. They had two car batteries hooked up as a power supply. Just as he was about to call, we heard the helicopter and had to rush to put the radio away.

With some last minute comments to beware of Sepik people, Ian boarded the landed helicopter, Bill waved to me, and the helicopter created the most marked disturbance as it took off, as it had when it had landed. Ian had told me that he’d send a radio message to my “wife,” Kelly, at Frieda Strip saying that I’ve arrived safely in OK Esai. Those helicopters are amazing things. (Note: Another thing Ian had told me was that Bill was 63 years old and one of the best copter pilots around. I believe it. He made it look so easy!) As soon as Ian left, I hightailed it to the “tucker,” i.e., where the food is. I ate some peanuts and drank some cherry cordial. Then, I washed out my socks and stuff in the river and found a deep place where I myself bathed.

After was-was, I prepared some Chinese rice mix from his supplies and drank a heaping cup of coffee while waiting for it to finish cooking, I wrote while waiting. Then, I enjoyed a bowl and left the rest to Opi and his son.

Alok and Sam, the Tall Man, came and told me they were going to run down to the village Esai and inquire if there were any available rafts already made.

I lit the lantern when darkness came. I fixed some rice and corn and another coffee. I ate ½ of the rice and corn and left the rest for breakfast in the morning. Many locals gathered around while Opi, a veteran of Frieda Copper for 1f4 years, apparently in charge of the tents, prepared rice and tinned fish and meat for them. (Jeff at Top Camp told me that the company annually spends about K50,000 on the locals.) Alok and Sam came back and said that Sam would take me to the Frieda in the morning, build a raft, and w would go together to Frieda Strip. You can hardly imagine my elation at hearing such good news. I made a hot cherry cordial. Just delicious!

I took the lantern inside the mosquito net, and I lay on the bed and wrote. Soon, my eyes were very heavy. I gave the lantern to a man, and I lay back. I drifted to sleep. Occasionally, the talking and the radio of the men sitting by the fire would wake me from me revere, but I didn’t mind. I was happy with the thought that the hiking part of my trek would be over tomorrow. I was very happy.

P.S. – a note on relieving yourself in the bush. Admittedly, sometimes, it’s a hassle!! For instance, in this place, I woke up several times during the night, having to take a piss. With the condition of my feet, it would be a hassle to put shoes on in the dark, walk though camp and find a place in the bush. So, instead, I walked to the end of the tend and hung a leak through the dead weeds that served as a wall. And take the next morning, which I’m about to describe. I woke up and needed to take a dump. I quickly put my shoes on and made my way through bush, walking on we logs, trying to get away from the camp, but I really had to go! Finally, I bash away a clearing and cover it up when I’m done! It’s not easy in the bush!

Day 28 OK Esai to Frieda Strip!!!

Saturday, June 11, 1983

Ladies and Gentlemen! I am overjoyed to announce that I reached our destination today, and did so in the style of a Tom Sawyer-like raft!

I had my rice and corn for breakfast (with a load of sugar in it), and a strong cup of coffee (with a load of sugar in it). I said goodbye to Opi, the keeper of the tent. Sam, the tall man, and I walked through the bush. He carried my pack, his bilum and a real axe (most PNGers use hatchet blades on a long handle). I carried only a lantern. The terrain here is much different from what I’ve been through this last month – it is Flat. It is well forested. The trail we followed lead to the village OK Esai. The place I stayed in last night is not the real village, but just a habitation on the river OK Esai. The real village of Esai is a few kilometres east. We came to it crossing flat streambeds. There were many houses, both on a hill and on the lowlands. In other respects, it was just a typical looking village. We stopped for a few minutes. An older woman brought me a huge, ripe papaya as a gift. It was about one foot long and 6 inches in diameter at its widest point. Sam and another man made an announcement to the village ‘not to look at the sun today when the eclipse came in the afternoon, as it would hurt your eyes.’ Many people had come up to shake my hand when we had walked in. Now, I waved goodbye. Sam and a boy, who he later said was his son, and I walked on from Esai. We crossed gardens of taro. I was amazed to see grasses eleven feet tall!! We walked on many logs, and I was proud of my agility – not carrying a pack made it easy. We forded a few streambeds. Within ½ hour of leaving Esai, we came to the Frieda River. My walking was finished!! I was very content. There was a contraption sitting on the bank that looked like a raft with a roof and a fireplace in the middle where a few coals were smouldering. Sam told me to wait here while he went and built a raft. I gladly went and sat on the floor of the contraption under the shelter of the roof. Sam and son went away.

I removed my shoes, socks, shirt, I wrung them out, hung them up to dry and stirred up the fire. I rolled out my mat and lay down and wrote. I passed my time in this manner. I later got hungry and had some bread and peanut butter. That not being enough, I got some river water and spent a great deal of energy trying to boil it, as, for the first time, I did not trust river water as drinking water. I was just using some of the water to make some milk for my cereal when Sam’s son came up. I could hear Sam axing something back through the trees by the water. I offered the boy some papaya and coffee. I myself made a bowl of Allbran with hot milk, sugar and loads of papaya. The papaya was perfectly ripe, juicy and sweet, yet firm. After a few minutes, Sam came up and said it was ready. I fixed a cup of coffee and go my bags together. Then I drank a cup of coffee, while Sam expertly chopped an oar out of a tree. These people are real craftsmen I thought. We grabbed our bags and walked through the bush to the water. By the way, the whole time I’d been waiting, I’d been about 15 feet away from the river. It made me happy to see the large body of water; one, because it signalled my sought-after destination, and two, because it was obviously big enough to carry a small craft down river. From bank to bank was perhaps one hundred yards, with some sandy, rocky bar within that space. The water moved at perhaps 4 or 5 knots. It was a muddy green color, though not really unattractive, just the signal of a large flow.

We walked to the place where the raft awaited. I was ecstatic when I saw her. She was of a crude but well-crafted construction, about 10 ft long by 8 feet wide.

 

Sam appears with the new raft. He built it from scratch in a very short time with an axe.

The body was made of perhaps 10 logs of varying sizes laying side-by-side long ways. A few crossbars gave lateral support. All were lashed with bush rope made of either vines or a sinewy type of stripped bamboo. Along the back, 6 stakes had been driven vertically into the logs to which two sticks were lashed across the raft, providing a place for sitting. In the center of the raft, more stakes had been driven into the logs, providing a hangar for luggage. I loaded my things, stepped back in the water, took a picture, got on, and Sam released the “docking lines”, setting the craft free to drift downriver. San had one oar in hand and 2 spares on deck. His son sat on the seating starboard aft and me on port.

 

The view from the raft as Sam, his son, and I headed out for the first time from Ok Esai. Sam taught me how to steer the raft with primitive paddles.

The first maneuver was over some shallow rapids. Sam was expert and got us through no problem. After 10 minutes or so, I noticed that we’d already travelled a kilometre or so, and I thought “this sure beats walking!” – we were really making time, in bush terms.

Onward downriver, we had to negotiate a number of rapids, some shallow and others gushing. At one of the worst points a foot or two of water splashed over the deck. It was very exciting. It was a sturdy craft and managed the hazards quite well.

From our moving vantage point, we were in good position to observe the birdlife. At one point, Sam’s son said to look, and flying to quickly to allow me time to get my camera out were two hornbills plain as day. It was the clearest view I’ve yet had of them. They are awkward yet graceful, funny yet beautiful.

 

 

(Talking about the hornbills seem as we go down the Frieda…) White tail feathers, lanky black body, (is it a) creme-colored head (?) and reddish crème beak of its own classic design.

We entered an area where the river became less wide, with a lack of sandy banks, the banks now having a bit more of a rocky appearance. Often, a stream let out onto the river in a delicate fashion, dropping on the face of steep rocky slopes for the last 10 or 15 feet of their exit into the water. It had a very scenic effect, for me reminiscent of something Oriental.

Occasionally, we would startle a herd of the rocky shores or sandy banks – one moment bathing in the sun and the next flying away.

I would look back and be rewarded with classic views of the river I’d just come down, and behind in the background, the distant mountains which I’d walked through to get to the river. I saw many birds of a type – they were white with sort of fat missile bodies, and, from a distance I would guess, yellow beaks. This type of bird would set up a loud ruckus and fly over the river flapping its wings madly.

Among other birds sighted was a brown variety with a span of perhaps 2 – 3 feet. My impression of this bird is that it is ghostly, perhaps because it was so quiet, especially considering the noisy hornbills and white birds. Also, there are many small black birds with very pointed wings that zoom all over the place, but these did not much interest me.

The subject of crocodiles. By all rights, the Frieda River has real live, wild crocodiles. I did not see one this day. Apparently, the OK Esais found, killed, but up and ate one last week. Ian told me yesterday that he’s seen a number of skins that the villagers sent to Top Camp to be sold. Unfortunately, they cut it up the middle of the belly, ruining the part of the crocodile that is most valued in making handbags, etc. The crocodiles are reported to avoid the sun, staying in shady areas during the hot day. Also, it is said that they do not pose a real threat to man. When we asked the local head man how big they grow, he described a 12 ft. long crocodile, but we figured he was exaggerating.

Now, talking with Kelly, I discover that the white birds I was describing (I saw many birds of a type…) are cockatoos. She says she was just reading an article in either Times, Newsweek or Reader’s Digest that live cockatoos are selling for $2000 in the States now.

I sat in the back of the raft on one of the “seats” just left of center, and Sam’s son sat on the same kind of seat on the “starboard quarter.” Sam himself sat forward, steering and paddling. Realizing I might soon have to pilot the raft myself, I watched him closely. I found his technique odd, and yet he successfully brought us through all the rough spots. When we came to a rapid, which was often shallow, he would turn the raft broadsides to the river flow, and he would paddle towards shore. Finally, as we were passing through it, he would straighten out the raft again, i.e., head it downriver.

As we sped along (I’d estimate we were going 4-5 knots), I felt mostly excited. I was glad to be out of the bush, that for all practical purposes, the walking was done. Secondly, I was happy to have a raft and to be travelling onwards in this mode. And, frankly, I was just plain overjoyed to be on the river in such a primitive raft. It was like living out the dreams all children have, but which most of us have to live vicariously. Mind you, it was not just the raft, but also the river, and the remoteness and “realism” of the setting.

When we were getting fairly close to Frieda Strip, I made my play. “Suppose I want to use this raft to go down to the Sepik? Can I use it? Will I make it? You won’t be needing it anymore, will you?” I fired such questions at Sam in my best Pidgin. [Sapos mi laik usim dispela bet I go daun long Sepik, me inap usim? Dispela bet inap igo daun long wara? Yo no ken usim dispela bukain, em I stret?”] Sam seemed to agree to my proposal.

In the distance, I could make out a large wall of brownish-red that Sam identified as a mountain, with a name that I cannot recall. It was a mountain of sorts. We glided by it slowly. It was pockmarked in spots, and it had almost a volcanic appearance. Perhaps it was 400 – 700 ft. tall. As we came even with it, I was called upon by Sam to take note of the area to our left, which he communicated to me was the beginning of the airstrip. Again, happiness overtook me.

Just as it started to rain, we docked on the left bank. I thought he had stopped short and asked him why we couldn’t go straight to the place, but he ignored my question, and we tied up. He threw the paddles into the bushes. We walked up the bank, came out on the airstrip and I saw why we’d stopped – because we’d arrived. About 200 yards away was a complex of buildings, which was Frieda Strip proper.

We walked up to the office. I shook hands with everyone, took off my raingear; just as I was going to relax, they led me to a building a bit up the hillside and showed me a single room. He said my wife (Kelly) was in the shower, and her room was next to mine. Sam was waiting around. I had told him I’d buy groceries for him, but now the store was closed. It was about 3 pm, and the local fellow who was camp manager told me that it would open up at 4 p.m. Sam agreed to meet me at the store at 4 pm, and he left. Just then, Kelly showed up. She’d just come from the shower. She said it was time for afternoon tea, so we headed down to the mess. She said that this place was like a miniature Top Camp, and I felt very happy with the prospect of being able to eat delicious food to my heart’s content!!!

When we walked in the mess, Roy, the workshop manager (he ran the whole place at Frieda Strip), a fellow from England, was already enjoying the afternoon snack. Kelly and I joined him. We had tad and cookies. I related to Kelly and Roy the interesting points of the day. After tea, Kelly and I went to our rooms, grabbed my camera and tripod (because the height of the afternoon’s eclipse was to occur at 4 pm) and went down to look at the raft.

We walked past the mess and beheld the scene of the workmen playing basketball, the river flowing behind, the airstrip to the right, the mountain across the river to the right. All was bathed an eerie light caused by the partial blockage of the sun by the moon. (In Port Moresby, the eclipse was total.) It was 3:50 pm: the moon continued to come in front of the sun. Everything looked different. Kelly and I equated it to being on a different planet. “Welcome to Xenon! The Xenonian Solar System has two dying suns!” I took a number of photographs in an attempt to capture the lighting, but perhaps it will not show in pictures.

 

A near-total eclipse of the sun in New Guinea on Saturday, June 11, 1983

Kelly and I walked down to see the raft. She was very excited to see it. It was a sturdier construction than she’d expected. Her mind began turning. She already began talking about taking it all the way to Pagwi, our final destination on the river. I was naturally very pleased by her enthusiasm. I myself had been toying with the idea of taking it all the way, but I thought she wouldn’t be too keen on the idea. As it was after 4 pm, we began heading to the store, as we had an appointment with Sam.

Whereas the going rate is 4 Kina a day, I bought 6 Kina (5.95) worth of groceries because he had mad such a good raft. [On the way to the store, Kelly had suggested that we have Sam make the raft strong enough to go all the way to Pagwi. For example, make the lashing extra secure, stow extra lashing (wire, bamboo rope), put some poles on top so we could make a sunshade, and cut a long pole so we could pole the raft if need be.] After I’d bought the groceries for Sam, I asked him about it. (There were other fellows standing around who spoke English and Pidgin who could assure me he understood. I added to Kelly’s idea by asking if he could build a roof our of bush material. Sam seemed amenable to the suggestions. I had four kina left in my hand, and I told him that I’d give it to him if he completed the work. Outside the trade store was an old flat boat with a synthetic canopy that was half burned up. The men around told Sam that he could use it to make our roof. Kelly and I walked back tour rooms.

We were then moved to the guesthouse situated above our present rooms. It was dreamy: they had placed the single beds together to make a giant king size bed. Further, amenities: fans, lights, water bottle, Tang, Staminade, writing table, screens on the windows, a terrific mew. A house all to ourselves!! We were both happy beyond belief. This wasn’t a bush house – no. It was a real “European” house – there was even a staircase with white side rails!

Dinner was even better than at Top Camp! The cook here made individual plates, so that there was no worry about getting a full serving if you were late. He also prepared the food more carefully, and he used a large cookery book that aided him and developed his expertise. Tonight there was ham and delicious rice, including other types of garnishes and a rich orange drink. For dessert he served a big dish of vanilla ice cream, and I asked and got chocolate topping. Shortly after dinner, the movie “Goldfinger” was shown. (Although I’ve seen it three times before, I enjoyed it thoroughly.) After the movie, Roy, Kelly and I talked for a while. I had two beers during the chat – ice cold San Miq’ bottles – what a treat!!! Then, Kelly and I retired to our house on the hill. Passionate love ensued.

Day 29 Frieda Strip – day of leisure

Sunday June 12, 1983

Morning breakfast: poached egg, sausages, toast, coffee, orange drink. Roy engaged with us in another interesting conversation. We walked together down to see if any improvements had been done on the raft. The poles for the roof had been erected, and a pole for poling had been cut. There was no sign of Sam. We walked back, and Roy said he’d drive us down to the end of the road, Calginas, so we could have a look), after morning tea. Kelly and I went to our room. I wrote. I suppose there was no tea, as it was Sunday, for at 10:15 am when we got to the mess, Roy summoned us to follow him. We got in the truck and headed north down the road, 13 kilometers of gravel lined by trees, running in the same direction as the river, and alongside it at times. Thus, the distance on the river to Calginas was somewhat more than 13 kilometers, perhaps 15 or 16. We got down to Calginas and looked around. It wasn’t much. There was just enough space to pull the barge, the Copper Queen (which runs supplies from Iniok on the Sepik to this place). We toyed with the idea of bringing the raft down to here tomorrow without the baggage since Roy said the river was rough down to here, but it was fairly smooth going afterwards.

We drove back. For lunch, we had a substantial meal of ham with rice and all the good things that this Melanesian cook dreams up to accompany the main portion of the meal. We went back to our room and decided we’d like to stay tonight and tomorrow night here, so that we’d fix up the roof tomorrow morning if indeed Sam had gone, take the raft to Calginas in the morning, and walk back and spend the night again if it was alright with Roy.

I went down to get a beer, but the one that I’d placed in a cold spot in the freezer had been removed along with the 23 others! I noticed the ice cream and snitched a large bowl of it and topped it with chocolate syrup. After that, I had another bowl and topped it with strawberry syrup. I didn’t feel at all guilty!! Well, I went back to the room. At afternoon tea, we asked Roy if it was O.K. – our plan that is. He immediately said it was O.K. I almost got the feeling he was relieved we wouldn’t leave. Roy is a neat guy. We talk about politics and music, etc. He’s one of those fellows that say things outspoken at times yet in a reserved manner. That is, he’ll make a statement that could be shocking but it’s so true that you just have to agree. For example, we were talking about how the colonists subdued the natives. He made a remark about punishment and how it was necessary. After all, says Roy, if there were no punishment he would just go over and take the money out of the cash box, now wouldn’t he? Or, for example, he’ll opine that the way American journalists air America’s dirty laundry (Watergate, etc., etc.) was sort of deplorable – how embarrassing for the people. And other such stuff.

Now, Kelly and I went back to our room. We made passionate love which was quite satisfying for both f us. She said she had an orgasm.

Roy had said earlier that the movie would come on at 5 pm, before dinner. Kelly slept till then. We went down and watched Oh God (Book II), which we’d seen at Top Camp just recently. After the move, which was good for both of us a second time, we had a dinner of steak (which wasn’t quite as great as usual, but rather satisfying) and ice cream for dessert. It was an early night. I went back and wrote. Kelly slept. I wrote on and finally joined her in bed, expectant about tomorrow’s run down the Frieda.

Day 30 – Frieda Strip

Monday June 13, 1983

Our 30^th day began as planned. We awoke, breakfasted on delicious pork chops and beans. We grabbed a sandwich for lunch. Down at the trade store was a canopy, half destroyed by fire, on top of a beached flat boat. We had permission to take the canopy, so we cut off the burn part and carried it over the raft. (I forgot and left my shoes at the flat boat.) Excited as hell, we fixed the roof on the raft. Then, we shoved off and started downriver.

As expected, the first hour brought us immense pleasure. Both of us made a continuous battering of comments expressing how happy we were to be aboard. The raft drifted down past logs, branches, rapids of shallow water, as we maneuvered her with the crude paddles Sam had fashioned at OK Esai. I remembered I’d left my shoes at the beached boat by the store, and as we had a 13 km walk on a gravel road when we got to Calginas, that was a disappointment. We were very pleased with the way the raft was handling. Occasionally, we would pass a villager and they would look at us in wonder. Kelly had dubbed me “Captain” and herself “first mate,” but a few rough points in the journey there was some dispute as to the method we should employ to pass the point of contention.

After about three hours we both agreed it looked like Calginas up ahead. We pulled the raft to the left bank, negotiated some branches, and we arrived safely. We tied the raft up the water canal where the Copper Queen docked. It was a safe place, and I figured it was worth the extra trouble.

We began our walk back to Frieda Strip, 13 km away. The sun blared down. Kelly was glad when we passed a shady spot in the road, as she’s not one for physical exertion under the full force of the tropical sun. meanwhile, my feet were getting tender on the gravel. After ½ hour, we stopped and ate a sandwich. I fixed up some temporary protection for my feet with socks, nylon strapping and one of my gloves. Through crude, these “shoes” were adequate protection to allow me to walk with comfort, or rather, without pain.

We continued on, occasionally stopping to explain to villagers who thought we’d capsized that we had planned the walk back. At one point in the walk, as I was looking down at my feet to avoid painful rocks, a snake I had failed to notice jumped out of my way. It was a blackish-grey, and about 5 ft. long. For all I know, I almost stepped on a deadly adder.

We arrived back at 2:50 pm just in time for tea and chocolate scones with butter and jam – apples too.

Back at our room we discovered a beauty of a green and brown moth. I took a photo of it on Kelly’s hand. In our room against the screen (window) a butterfly of a type we’d been admiring in the forest was sitting, trapped. Kelly had the butterfly crawl on her hand, but we couldn’t coordinate a picture because the butterfly kept moving. Finally, I decided to hold its body, the idea of which upset Kelly. In short order, one of its legs came off as it struggled to free itself. I carried it outside to get better lighting. I had the camera in my right hand (and the white winged, a gold with black-rimmed bulls eye on the two outside wings, with a second set of white wings inside making four in all, purple eyes and gold fuzzy headed thing in my left hand) and tried to snap a marvellous picture, but the film was not advanced from the shot of the moth, so I had to advance the film. In the interim, the butterfly struggled to free itself. I was just about to snap a museum-piece photo when she extricated herself from my hand and flitted away.

Dinner was a delightful chicken with an ice cream dessert: vanilla ice cream over a sort of shortbread with strawberry sauce! Boy, was that delicious!!!

After dinner, Roy excused himself to go read while Kelly and I, and the local workmen watched “Hustle” on video. It starred Burt Reynolds and Catherine Denueve. I felt the movie relied too heavily on the reputation of these stars. It was an unoriginal plot. On the other hand, it was good enough to sit through. Out there, it’s nice to be entertained!

After the movie we went to bed and to sleep, excited with the prospect of having a day of rafting ahead of us.

In the middle of the night, a huge storm broke out, awaking both of us. The thunder was sounding so loud, it made one think of imminent destruction – Lightning crackled all around, bright as day. We both wondered what might happen to our raft during the night – would the water level rise and carry it away from its mooring? I also thought what would happen if such a storm should come when we were on the raft!

Day 31 Frieda Strip to Lover’s Sumptuary

Tuesday June 14, 1983

If it is not obvious, Lover’s Sumptuary will not appear as a place name for anywhere on the 1:100,000 Wogamush map. It was the bank on an obscure turn of the Frieda River where we spent the night.

Now, how we got there:

The last breakfast at Frieda Strip, and a sad parting it was – delicious, but sad: egg, toast, sausage, spaghetti. Then, we stocked up on groceries: big can of Milo, 2 packages, Crackers, 2 package cereal (Sanitarium Granola or “Muesli”), 2 peanut butter, 2 cans steak and vegetables, 1 can milk, matches (8 boxes), 2 cans corned beef, 1 loaf of bread, can of beans, jar of Tang.

We returned to our room and packed. We didn’t finish packing until 9:10 a.m. I earnestly wanted to have sex once more with Kelly before we left. We started kissing and I walked her over to the bed, which we laid down upon and made love.

We brought our bags down to the mess in time to enjoy morning tea before we left. We ate scones fresh baked with butter and jam, orange drink, coffee and apples. After tea, we went to pay for the stores, but the Camp manager, Kaius, said to forget it that we didn’t have to pay! We were delighted and accepted immediately. We gave three letters to Kaius to deliver for us. One was to PNG Migration apprising them of our overstay. Another was to the Postmaster at Vanimo requesting him to hold our map until July 15. The third was to Ian and Carol at Tekin. It was a personal request to them that I would like to purchase a small bilum like Kelly’s and three more penis gourds (as two of the ones we had got busted on the trail in the pack). Just before we left, both an MAF plane and the helicopter from Top Camp had landed. We gave the letter for Ian and Carol to the MAF plane as he was going to Tekin this day. Drew and Jeff McIntyre came out of the helicopter. Both Kelly and I were embarrassed because we thought that Drew might notice we’d stayed so long. I greeted them both cordially and immediately explained to them both that we were leaving momentarily by raft. Drew seemed quite friendly, though Jeff seemed sort of serious. Drew seemed very amused that we were leaving by raft! Before we parted, he offered us a bit of advice: “Be careful of the Sepik people – they’re a different lot than the Highlanders. They’ll try to steal you blind – don’t take their first offer – offer them something less than the first price – it’s the way of the people: Traim tasol!”

We left Drew and sought out Roy. We said a warm goodbye to Roy, who had also given us a new bottle of vitamins, some bandages and some cream for my tropical sores. Roy is a swell guy. Oh, he also gave us some mosquito medicine, saying we would need it on the Sepik!

We boarded the truck and were motored down to Calginas, road’s end. The Copper Queen had arrived. It was a very simple barge colored red and yellow. It looked like a box.

I walked around to our raft, freed it, and brought it around. We loaded our bags on it. She seemed a littler lower in the water than the say before. We decided to christen her the S.S. Pukpuk. I asked the Melanesian captain of the Copper Queen for a bottle. All he had was a thick little curry bottle Kelly took a picture of me trying to crack the bottle on her bow, as is customary in christenings, but the bottle wouldn’t break. I returned the bottle and Kelly and I shoved off.

 

I christen the S.S. Pukpuk. The bottle didn’t break!

Out in the mainstream, we had the immediate job of negotiating many logs, stumps and branches, which were strewn treacherously along the river, bottom from shore to shore. We paddled like mad to make progress in one direction, then the current would jolt us to another direction. Some times we would come dangerously close to obstructions, then be swung around 360º while passing backend-first between two obstructing logs. I suppose the only credit we should get for navigating passes like this is that we didn’t try to fight the current.

For a while, we had to bypass the first stretch of logs. Then, a short way down the river was a second stretch with plenty of obstacles. After that, we had only to deal with the following scenario which recurs time and time again as the river winds its way back and forth: As you round a point on the inside bank, the river has a tendency to throw the raft towards the opposite bank, a picture: the river bends back and forth. Arrows show that the current flows into the opposite bank. Trees and branches that have been there deposited by the current, await the unaware rafter. Thus, we had to be on guard against colliding with the litter on the opposite bank.

INSERT ILLUSTRATION

At perhaps 2 pm, we came to a village. We docked our craft on the bank, and asked questions. We asked if they had any bananas for sale. No. Coconuts? No. We asked them where the next village was. They said it was the village on an island. I didn’t feel like stopping in this village because the people looked ignorant and ‘grody’, and they didn’t have any food. I got the impression Kelly felt the same way. We shoved off.

On we went, doing the proverbial turn, with the occasional added twist that we’d do an involuntary 360º turn.

By and by, we came to a place where the river split. This must be the island. I had just Kelly take over the steering, and I told her not to commit until the last moment. We could not yet see which way the main part of the river went. But the current pulled us to the left, on the smaller part of the fork. We drifted along. We saw a few small banana trees, but no houses denoting a village. I was complaining to Kelly because she’d let the raft off the main river, but very shortly we met with the main part of the river. We looked up the island, I stepped onto shore momentarily. Seeing nothing, we shoved off.

Along the river we flow. The rain clouds built up, and we lost sight of blue sky and sun. A few drops began trickling, then a full-pledge downpour ensued. I had just let Kelly take over at the helm again, but we both became busy securing rain protection for our bags and ourselves. The raft floated into some twigs and leaves and came up against a 5-foot high mud bank. “Let me take care of these,” said I. I pushed off the bank with my paddle, which was fine, and stayed sticking out as we drifted away. Not wishing to lose one of our two “good” paddles, we maneuvered the raft over to the bank just down stream. Kelly kept the raft against the shore, while I went to fetch the paddle.

I climbed up to the bank holding on to an overhanging log. I ran barefoot on the soft mud, and I pushed bushes aside. I got to where the paddle was. Perhaps only two minutes had passed since the paddle had gotten stuck 4 inches above the surface of the water was now at water level. Unable to walk to where the paddle was, I hooked my foot around it and pulled it up to where I could grab it. I ran back to the raft while the downpour continued unabated.

 

Heavy rain was a frequent occurrence. We continued downriver, protected by our tarpaulin overhead.

We set off, quite content, fairly sheltered from the tremendous volume of water pouring down from the heavens. Kelly thought to take a picture. It was an ingenious thought at such a time. The scene before us was startlingly gorgeous. It looked like the most avant-garde fantastic Artist had meticulously painted 100,000 particles of water smashing into an otherwise serene grey river. I was in favor of a photo. She took a photo, and I took one later on capturing a patch of blue sky and puffy white in the far distance.

As we floated along in the storm, the lightning moved closer to us. I was wondering about being the highest point in the water, and thus a target for lightning. I related this to Kelly, but as she became concerned, I concluded that this old tidbit of info probably only counted when you were on a big lake. There, we had tall trees ion either bank, so it probably would hit them before us. So we continue on. Fortunately the lightning and the storm passed us soon, and we soon drifted into a warm, sunny late afternoon.

So passed the afternoon. The sun waned in the sky. We wondered if we should find a shore to pull over for the night. Kelly offered that we perhaps could tie up to a log in the middle of the river to escape mosquitoes and what not. I thought it wasn’t such a great idea. We wondered if crocodiles would bother us, and this spooked us a little. We passed a marshy inlet on our left. Onward, we passed a 90º turn to the right. The sky became darker. Just about the time the sky got pitch dark, we abandoned any idea of travelling down the river at night, for we could certainly not see well at all. I could barely make out a bank on the right. We made for it. It was a very flat bank. We figured if rain came in the middle of the night the water level might rise [our experience of the afternoon impressed this up on us], so we used our pole as a lever and shimmied our raft a few feet up on the bank.

Now the raft was sitting on solid bank with only a few inches of water between the timbers. We set up the mosquito net along the width of the raft and laid out the green foam Swiss Army mat. We got inside and lay down to see if it was comfortable. To our surprise, we found ourselves quite content there. We were in each other’s arms. We lay there, not ready for sleep, but happy to be able to lie down and relax. And happy to share the moment.

The sky was a combination of clouds and stars. From our place we could stare out through the mosquito net and make out whether the sky was clearing or clouding. It was clearing.

Lying there, we estimated the probability of danger of crocodile. I felt unconcerned. I told Kelly that I gained my confidence and sense of assurance through remembrance of the attitude of my friend Gary Cappa on one night 12 years ago in Yosemite. This required explanation. So, with P. Pukpuk (Kelly) resting her dear little head on my right shoulder, I began to tell her the Tale of Twainhart, a story I once wrote in detail during days of waiting for Giovanna’s afternoon visits to my hotel room in a small countryside hotel in N. Italy in 1975. Perhaps having written of the account of my friends and I in Yosemite and Twain Harte one summer helped me to tell a flowing story, but at any rate, I delved into the Tale without hesitation. Perhaps, as I mentioned Italy explaining how I’d written it down, we went off on a tangent regarding Italian foods. Beneath the clearing sky, in a mosquito net, on a bush raft, on an obscure shore of an obscure river, the Frieda, I told Pita the story of how we scared by thoughts of the Sickle Killer, who slayed a group of people in a tent in Auburn California in the summer of 1971. The story told how Cappa had nonchalantly tried to remain asleep through a scare in the middle of the night. Thus, was the moral crocodile are nothing to fear here – they’re probably as afraid of us as we were of them.

This tale prompted tangential conversations of various sorts. So, pleasantly we passed the time. I have named this unnamed spot Lover’s Sumptuary for the act that ensued. On a bed of logs with knots and knobs and space between them that would swallow a leg, we tossed and turned ourselves into a heat that required satiation leading to a sumptuous banquet of body to body contact in the missionary (how apt for PNG) position so, I felt it apt to call it Lover’s Sumptuary, or the place where Lovers Sumptuate: if there is such a verb, we did it. Maybe we were the first to ever sumptuate, if I’ve invented a verb. The love was regular, but subtly intense, lovely as ever. Following the sumptuation, we slept. No crocodiles disturbed us. It was even a fairly good rest considering the level of comfort. I believe I had some weird dreams.

During our occasionally moments of wakefulness in the night, we had occasion to notice that rather than rise, the water level in the river was falling, so that by the end of the night, it would seem that the raft might be sitting in the spot totally devoid of water, presenting us with a problem to solve in the morning.

Day 32 Lover’s Sumptuary to Hornbillville

Wednesday June 15, 1983

It was no surprise, as our nightly glances foretold, that in the morning we were beached. But we were 25 ft. from the river! That was a surprise. It was dark when we got up – but that’s not surprising since it’s not the sort of place you’d sleep in till noon. Kelly wanted to get going right away; I told her I wanted to take a photo of the novel predicament of our craft. This conflicted with her plans thus leading to conflicting attitudes with which to start the day. I had a bowl of granola. She wasn’t hungry. She drew huge designs in the flat we sand. After I ate, she showed some tracks in the sand – were they bird or crocodile? Bird, I think. I went over to the raft, got out our pole, shoved it under the raft and lifted the free end of the pole thus lifting the raft and shoving it a few inches in the direction of the river. I repeated this motion and again made a little headway. As I continued like a madman towards the river, Kelly came over and tried to help with a stub of a log. I tried to show her how to use it, but she felt best suited to digging out the sand that piled up at the edge of the raft nearest the river as I shoved the other end. We worked on it for maybe 20 minutes – I had to take a few breathers. Finally, the raft was in the river’s shallow water. Dripping with sweat, I bathed in the river with Kelly. We scrubbed each other’s back. By the time we get underway, it was 8:20 a.m.

 

After the big rain, the water level of the river rose dramatically. When we woke in the morning, the water had receded, and the raft was stranded twenty-five feet from the river! Moving the very heavy raft back to the water was achieved by wedging our pole under it and lifting repeatedly. Inch by inch we managed to get the raft back to the Frieda River. I dubbed this site “Lover’s Sumptuary.”

IRONY: Last night we’d joked that the village was probably just around the bend. Today, we found out this was true. No sooner had we embarked than we rounded the first bend up the river and discovered a village. We paddled like mad to reach the inside bend of the river. We landed beyond the village. I walked through some mud and came to a group of 7 houses or so. Kelly waited on the raft. I searched the first house, there being no one in the village, but found nothing of interest. I looked around, but found nothing I wanted, no good food in the trees. I returned to the raft. All I could say was that we could have spent a night by a fire. But we were both glad we had spent the night at Lover’s Sumptuary.

In a while, now going downriver, we came upon some men in canoes. One sold us a large bunch of bananas (5”) for 60t, but Kelly gave him and extra 40t. Later, the man gave us three coconuts downriver.

We continued down, the sun growing ever hotter. We began a silly argument; perhaps we hadn’t slept as well as we’d thought on the raft. We came to a village at about noon. They thought it was four or five hours to INIOK, but they weren’t sure.

More than once, we saw Hornbills and Cockatoos around us on the river. At about 2:30 pm, we saw a house by the river. We docked and looked around. We decided that it would be better to stop now rather than end up downriver without a house to sleep in again, for we felt that despite the villager’s assurance that we’d make it all the way, we still had a long way to go.

We pulled the raft into a putrid water inlet next to the house. We were on each other’s nerves, arguing about any little thing that came in our way.

I walked around the nude. The sun was shining hot. The house was large and had no walls. The floor was decrepit and in some spots had fallen through. We made a fire and I went and fetched water so that we could boil it and have drinking water. We had to get water from the Frieda, which is a mucky brown, none to appetizing. Because the shore was so muddy, I had to walk upstream a little ways, dive out into the water with the water bottles or pots and fill them up while the current carried me back to the house. I did this repeatedly.

I took some photographs, as the lightning was spectacular. We heard incessant chatter from hornbills in the nearby bushes. Across the river, we could see an occasional swarm of bats flying around. Admittedly, before I came to PNG, I never thought bats flew in the daytime, but they certainly do here.

As dusk settle in, the bats began a migration to our side of the river. There must have been thousands of them, most a good size – perhaps an average wingspan of 3½ feet. It was a spectacular sight seeing all the bats flying together in a stream against the glowing sky of day’s end.

When Kelly said she hoped she cooked??? enough rice, and I replied “It’s enough for one,” she became indignant and refused to eat. She got under the mosquito net and I ate dinner – a can of steak and vegetables with rice (the can of steak and vegetables is mostly, you guessed it: vegetables). After I ate, I made a Milo and crawled under the net.

In little time, it was evident that there were far too many mosquitoes in the tent with us. With Kelly’s assistance, I began slaughtering the mosquitoes by flashlight. There were plenty of red stains on the white net by the time I was through. We applied plenty of mosquito repellent to ward off any stragglers.

Shortly thereafter, a rainstorm came. The wind blew the rain into our shelter at an angle. Kelly and I put up the rain tarp on the top of my mosquito net, which allowed us reasonable dryness. The storm soon subsided, and we were then able to obtain a reasonable semblance of a night’s rest.

Day 33 Hornbillville to Iniok

Thursday June 16, 1983

First thing I did in the morning was to dive into the river to fetch more water. Our previous day’s edginess was still upon us. After we’d packed, we became engrossed for a while in the bird population. We noticed a group of hornbills in the trees around us. We counted 14 that we would see, but there were others. The hornbills always travel in pairs, but I had never seen as many together. I cursed myself for not having bought a telephoto lens when I had the chance. What a picture this group of hornbills would have made! My 50 mm lens just could not get close enough to capture it. I started walking towards the trees, but the hornbills flew away immediately. Oh well!

Once we were out of Hornbillville, back on the river again, our spirit picked up. We came to a flat region with lots of pampas grass. It seemed that the water moved very slowly here. The sky seemed bigger. The colors were green, white and blue. The clouds reflected off the flat water. The sun sent a gleam to all.

We passed a motorized canoe, whose passenger told us that we should get to Iniok by 11 a.m., but we knew it was probably going to take longer.

Now, every turn became an expectation. We envisioned the Sepik to be 2 km across, as I had told Kelly my remembrance of the Topo map was that it was about that wide. Frieda with no Sepik in sight. Occasionally, we would have to paddle to steer away from a tree in the river, but for the most part, it was easy going.

Finally, as we were floating along, I noticed that the Frieda was turning to the left, but the water was flowing to the right. I immediately surmised that we must be coming to the Sepik, since the Sepik flows to the east there, and we were heading north. I pointed this out to Kelly. It was cause for a small hullabaloo. After all, we had reached a milestone in our journey. We’d reached the Sepik. Also, it was interesting to see the Sepik, though it seemed, at most, twice as large as the Frieda and scarcely ½ km across.

It looked much the same as the Frieda. They both looked like lakes. One might think that on these big, populated rivers you would feel secure about being in civilization, but actually, you can travel a long time down river and see no villages or people. We paddled to avoid “round waters” – that’s where a swirl will form heading back upriver – and to get us out into the mainstream of the Sepik. We also kept a sharp eye out for the right bank for INIOK, because I remembered that that it was close to the meeting of the two rivers. However, we say no sign of a village. We floated down the big river. It was about 12:30 or 1 p.m. We came upon some canoes, and we brought our craft to shore, where I investigated but found no sign of life. Back out in the mainstream we pondered our new situation. The Sepik was bigger, with much long straightaways and wider turns. Perhaps we could run at night.

On we drifted. It was a long turn ahead. By and by, we head voices. We rounded a bend, and houses began appearing ion the right shore one by one. Soon, an entire village was discernable. We floated and then paddled toward INIOK. Once landed, we asked for food, but no coconuts or bananas were available. We finally bought some sak-sak (a few pounds) for 30t. The people we’d been coming across since leaving Calgines, river people, did not have as much appeal for us as did the Highlands people. These river people seemed sort of sleazy. We could see the Frieda Copper Company petrol dump downriver about ½ mile away on the left bank. The villagers at INIOK said that if we were looking for the bed we were talking about that we should go down there. Consequently, we set off right away. Just as we’d been talking to the folks at Iniok, the Copper Queen had rolled down the river by us. As we pulled up to the petrol dump, the Copper Queen had just docked and was unloading. We ere motioned to tie up to the Copper Queen, which we did. The place wasn’t much you could tell that the whites working for Frieda Copper never came own here – this place was just for the black workers.

The captain looked at our vessel and said it was no good. He referred to the fact that it was low in the water. The logs were absorbing water, and the SS Pukpuk had sunk about three inches since we’d left Calgines. The back end was only about three inches from being submerged.

We were shown where we could sleep. It was a place with two wooded bed frames and some screening to keep the mosquitoes out. No cold beer, no stores. The captain offered us some of his food free, as there were no stores, he got this food (free I think) from Frieda Copper, he was going there again tomorrow, and I had offered to pay. He gave us some coffee, a can of corned beef, some rice and some biscuits.

Kelly and I asked about other transport down the river, and we were told we should buy a canoe. They sent a message across to Iniok that we wanted to buy a canoe. Kelly was unhappy about the thought of continuing. We were both tired and worn out from constant exposure to the heat and sun of the Sepik. Kelly threatened to find a motorized canoe and take it. I told her I didn’t care what she did. I was tired and hot and the last think I needed was someone complaining.

Roy had requested that we radio to him and let him know when we’d arrived safely. I went to the boat and did so, leaving a message for him.

An older man from the Copper Queen came in out room and helped to explain the geography of the river and how long it would take to get to each place. His estimate was about 6 days to get to Amount, sleeping in OUM, KUBKAIN, SUAGAP, IASAN and IANBUN on the way. He seemed well – acquainted with the river and I felt a reasonable reliability existed in his estimate.

The afternoon grew dim as a pleasant evening sky encroached. I went outside where many people sat about some within the shelter of a roof with a fire glowing under it, and others sitting on logs on the high banks. I started talking with a young man named Justin Kulu from Ianbun, who represented himself as being from Ambunti. I didn’t particularly like his manner. Justin told me it would take two weeks to get to Ambunti. He warned me that if we travelled at night the crocodiles would swarm on deck and eat us, and he was indignant when my countenance belied even the traces of non – belief. I assured him we wouldn’t travel at night.

There apparently were no motor canoes travelling towards Ambunti for a while, and it seemed fruitless to pursue that angle unless we wanted to pay for a barrel of petrol for K141.60; not that we’d want to do it, but we couldn’t anyway; we only had about K70 between us. Justin suggested buying two canoes and putting them together, rather than make an outrigger as Kelly had suggested. He said we could buy one for K2 to K5 for a fairly small canoe. I asked him to ask around, but apparently no one wanted to sell one.

Kelly was in a stir – she was tired, I guess. She complained she hadn’t slept well the night before – I had “hogged” my Swiss Army mat again. She fixed some corned beef and rice, and then she went to bed. I ate the meal, and I drank 3 or 4 cups of tea. I went into the room. Once bed had clothes on it. Kelly was on the other one with the mat, sleeping bag and mosquito net. I crawled in with her, but after a hot meal and hot tea, I couldn’t stand the heat inside the mosquito net, as they are hotter inside usually. I like cleared off the other bed (it is more like a hard wood bench than a bed), and lay on top of it with nothing under, over or on me save my swimming trunks. The caffeine in the tea did nothing to keep me awake. I fell asleep promptly. I woke in the night and transferred to a preferred spot under the net.

Day 34 Iniok to Tauri

Friday June 17, 1983

Early morning was already boiling hot. The Copper Queen men rolled barrels on petrol on her flat red steel deck; then, the barge cast off. The SS Pukpuk was tied to a log on the shore, ‘There go the last traces of helpful civilization’ thought I. Kelly was tired of this endeavor last night, woke up this morning “as enthusiastic this morning as I wasn’t last night,” She’s a trooper.

It was apparent that no one had a canoe for sale. One man agreed to fix the raft up – to put new logs under her existing bed to lift her up out of the water. He agreed to do it for K3. However, minutes after he began the undertaking, he came back and asked if I could by a barrel of gasoline for K141.60! Apparently he had given up on the endeavor. Kelly and I were wondering what to do, and we felt forced to take our raft downriver as it was. By and by, a man came up to our door. I went to talk to him. He did not mention the raft at first, but I noticed he looked quite strong, and I felt he’d ask, which he did. His strength would make the task fairly easy for him. We agreed to pay him K5, and he began work at once. I went down to the waterside. There he was, standing waste deep in water, chopping a log that was 2 feet in diameter and 60 feet long and making it look easy. Some of these men, not many mind you, but some are incredibly strong. This man was the strong amongst those. [It might also be noted that in most places, virtually all the men of any age are with out fat. Their calves on their legs have muscles of incredible strength from all the walking they do. Also, it should be mentioned that the women routinely carry hug loads o their backs. It is not surprising here to see a woman carrying a 50 lb sack of rice for miles along with other bilums full of other goods.]

While I was waiting for the raft to be completed, I brought the sago (that we’d bought yesterday) outside to cook it. I immediately enlisted the help of a woman who crumbled it up ½ inch thick in a frying pan, I sprinkled water on it and cooked it for maybe 10 or 15 minutes until most of the whitish grey powder had turned into a gooey greyish pancake. (Sak-sak, sago, comes in many colors and forms.)

Meanwhile, the strong man had successfully chopped the 60ft log into 3-20 pieces. He was lashing them together in the water. Along came another man (who ran the camp at this petrol dump, I think) who pointed out to him that he should put the logs under the raft separately first and then lash them together. He jumped in the water in moments and began helping him. Now the two worked at it.

One man stood in the water while the other stood on one log at a time as they “ran” them under the existing raft. Soon the three logs ran under the raft, sticking out on both ends by 5 feet or so. They began to lash the new logs to the old bed with CANTA. Canta is a bush material used widely as lashing. (The rope bridge in Wesibil was a single strand of canta about 90 feet long. At the time, I thought it was bamboo, which it resembles when it is unsplit.) In order to use the canta, the user splits the solid wine into 4 pieces and strips it long ways. Some of the twiny interior is stripped away. The strong outside is found in the pieced of canta used for important lashings.

After the men had various lashings finished, I got our to the raft and began inspecting. I began pointing out where I wanted lashings, for I knew that in the course of a few days the lashings would work themselves loose and cause the logs to become wobbly.

The man who had just volunteered to fix up the raft for K3 (who had given up in minutes) sat on the shore and was saying that the raft was not fixed up and they were finished. The fellows working on it were saying that if I wanted “bikpela wok, yu mas paim K.10.” I told the man on shore to stop causing trouble. I tried to reassure the man working on the raft that I did not expect much more of them.

After they’d finished the floor, I had them start strengthening the roof. They seemed to get into the spirit, and soon, a lovely roof was built. They made hangers and seats. I was very pleased. They had done a great job. The original bed was elevated out of the water, giving us a dry deck. We paid the man K8 instead of K5 to show our appreciation and to reward him for going beyond “contract specifications.”

We gathered up our bags and collected the 8 sak-sak pancakes, boarded the new S.S. Pukpuk and cast off at 11:30 a.m.

Shortly downriver, we heard a strange sound. To me, it sounded like 100 electric saws were buzzing in the bush on the river banks. Kelly heard something different. The water all around us was suddenly choppy, but we could see downriver that it was serene and still. We figured we were riding over a shoal. Kelly suggested that the water was making the sound we heard. I didn’t believe it, but as we rode out of this suddenly choppy patch of water, the sound drifted away.

Soon, we noticed that we were being pulled out of the mainstream of the water towards the left bank. Then, to our dismay, we discovered that we were being drawn back upriver in a counter current!! So this was the “round water” we had been warned about! We knew it was futile to row against the current! Now that our raft had been reinforced, she became virtually impossible to move by rowing. She weights an estimated 1500 lbs. The improvements added a good 1000 lbs. So, we let ourselves drift upriver until we felt that we could steer her back into the mainstream. Five minutes of hard rowing brought us 20 0r 30 yards. We kept rowing, inching along. In 10 or 15 minutes, we started moving downriver again. We kept paddling to insure that we didn’t get caught up again, wasting all our effort.

Now we floated freely downriver. It required the barest minimum of effort to keep her on course. We were infinitely pleased with the way she would turn around, flat sideways, and ramble downriver, keeping reasonable away from shore without the necessity of being steered away by us.

So we enjoyed ourselves. By and by, the subject of taking her along at night came up. She seemed to perform so well that our confidence was boosted. Kelly pointed out that the moon is waxing and that we should be getting a lot of light from it should we decide to travel by night. We were heading toward a group of trees stuck in the riverbed. Dead branches and limbs stuck out in treacherous patterns. It was my idea: “Kelly, let’s see what would happen at night if we drifted into this situation.” I suggested that we do nothing to steer her away unless absolutely necessary. We neared the trees. When it was too late, I jumped up and frantically tried to avoid the inevitable collision. We came up and crashed into a log. We tried to push off, but we were pulled by the current into the most treacherous of obstacles. An overhanging branch at a height above our bed but below the top of our roof causes difficulty because riding on the river current, the current would force us into the overhanging, thus slashing through the roof supports, getting caught on the canopy and wreaking general destruction and havoc. Thus, it happened. We crashed into the 6” diameter branch at a height of about 3½ – 4 feet above the water. The front roof supports were crushed. We stopped moving, as we were caught by the branch and the log on the right. The entire roof was slanted and broken. The canopy was squashing Kelly down, and I was afraid one of us would get hurt. We freed her and then I had her push off from the log on the right while I pushed with all my might against the overhanging branch to prevent us from going directly through it and to allow our back end to swing to the left, freeing us from the treachery of the branch. Our back end swung around, and as we made away from the logs we crashed one more time into the branches outer reaches, further demolishing the roof. But now we were free of the treachery. We floated down, relatively undaunted by the whole experience.

One of the first things Kelly asked me was if the collision had changed my mind about night travel. I said “No.” I was happy that she was still interested in the prospects of night travel, and I was proud that the accident had not scared her. But we both agreed that we’d have to be careful and we’d always have to have a helmsman on duty.

We looked at the roof. It was apparent we’d have to repair it. We tied new sticks to the broken ones and jury-rigged the roof as best we could in 15 minutes. It wasn’t an expert job, but it provided us with a sunshade and protection from the rain. We drifted on, happy. We had thought Tauri would be reached before 4 pm, but we didn’t pull up to it until about 4:30 p.m., where we were greeted by many children. We tied the raft up and went ashore. On the river, the main sign of Tauri was the abundance of canoes parked there. The village itself was a short walk from the river.

The houses in the village were fairly remarkable for their size. They were built on posts so that the floor was about 6 feet from the ground. The houses were about 80 ft. long and 50 ft. wide and consisted of one huge room about 15 ft. high at the apex.

I asked to look in their trade store, but it was a disappointment. They had only tin fish (mackerel), salt, soap and kerosene. I asked for coconuts. They said they were 10t each, but I said I would pay 5t. I also asked for a bunch of bananas. They said it was K4 per bunch. We walked all around the village but no one was interested in selling coconuts for 5t. I gave in and said I’d pay 10t, but we only got 5 coconuts instead of the 20 that we needed.

The demeanor of the villagers was not pleasing. For the first time since the Highlands, we had to rely on river people for accommodation. It was a different scene. Whereas the Highlanders were always ready to lend a hand, these folks seemed to sort of resent us. I was asked if we wanted to spend the night, and I answered that we’d like to. However, they replied that if we couldn’t find a house to stay in, we’d have to leave. I was a bit ticked off, because they had plenty of huge houses and there was plenty of space in them for us to throw our bags down. After some minutes of discussion, one man let us use a small house of his. Accordingly, we went to fetch our gear from the raft, followed by an entourage of children who helped us carry our goods from the raft to the house.

As evening set in, we set up the mosquito net and arranged for some hot water to be boiled. We sat around as the owner of the house brought his lantern in to replace our kerosene jar lantern that we’d been given to use at INIOK. (A kerosene jar lantern in a jar with a hole in it through which a wick or cloth is passed. The jar, once filled with kerosene, will provide a good light.) The lantern he brought in was crawling with little cockroaches. The man talked to us for a while. We reviewed our itinerary with him and he generally agreed that it was 5 or 6 days to Ambunti. When the hot water came and we prepared to eat, he promptly bade us goodnight. We were glad for the privacy we always feel uncomfortable eating in the presence of curious villagers who stare and watch your every movement. We prepared a pot of tea and snacked on peanut butter.

After dinner, we crawled into the net, first smearing repellent on our bodies. Laying down we soon began making love: Outside people were playing drums and singing in that high, stifled voice which seemed prevalent in primitive ritual. Making love was heightened by these aural enchantments, sounds of a certain type of wildness that filled me with emotions never felt before making love.

Day 35 Tauri to Oum2

Saturday June 18, 1983

We noticed sounds during the night, and in the morning, we discovered that a rat had eaten through a bag to get to the sak-sak. A rat had also eaten through a coconut, one of the ones we’d purchased last night.

Before we could leave, I needed to produce some more coconuts, as we were unsure what we’d be able to procure in the way of food downriver. Getting these villagers to sell their coconuts was a major problem even though the trees around had plenty of coconuts. Each man I would ask would say that he had none. I also ran into the typical response that the man who owned them was away in the bush. Another problem was change – Kelly and I had used up the last of our change, and we only had one kina coins and paper money. I finally talked to a man who at first denied having any coconuts but after I said, “I know you’ve got some (mi save yu gat coconuts),” he said he’d sell me some. I got 10 from him and paid with a kina coin. Then I had to pay the boys who sold me the 5 the day before, but I had no change. (One boy sold one to me, and two other boys each sold two.) I finally got one man to fetch give more coconuts for me and I paid him a kina, and he promised to pay the boys their money when he got change. We had our entourage of children help us carry our things out to the raft. By the time we were loaded and ready to shove off, it was 11 a.m.

We were always happy to get out on the water again, and we always commented how ideal it would be if we were able to stay forever on the water, as the villages on the Sepik didn’t appeal to us. On the water, we were free to lull nude in the sun, we were free to use the river as our toilet whereas on land, we were relegated to using a mosquito-infested outhouse. On the water we would eat, sleep and talk without interruption from the villagers. On the water was sun and freedom – in the villages was filth and poverty and resentment.

We passed into a routine – I would spend most of the day in the front, piloting us away from the shore, while Kelly would take care of various chores. She would be back there active. First thing, she would wash of fall the mud from the logs. Then, it would be time to arrange our baggage securely. Then, breakfast. Now that we had coconuts we could feel secure about food and drink to our hearts content on the water. We had fixed a pot of rice to bring with us to eat. I suggested to Kelly what kind of breakfast I’d like: rice with milk, bananas and coconut and sugar. She opened a coconut and we’d drink. It is amazingly delicious here. The water inside has a carbonation to it when the nut get hot. It tastes like coconut soda pop – it’s really delicious – I, who am a fanatic for sweets, actually prefer it to orange drink or coca cola. Kelly meticulously prepared the meal I suggested, slicing the coconut meat carefully (on the green drinking coconuts, the meat is a slithery white and very sweet and soft), slicing the banana thin. (The bananas we bought on the Frieda River were now getting ripe.) She called me back when it was down and she assumed the helm. I took my time and devoured the big bowl-full, savouring each bite – it was truly scrumptious, especially in our situation.

Then I went forward and Kelly would fix herself the same. After breakfast, Kelly would take a bath in the river and maybe wash a few clothes. Later, we’d have some sort of lunch. And so, the day passed pleasantly away. I love to be all alone with Kelly, and it felt ideal to be winding our way downriver together just her and me, our raft and the current.

If we wanted to clean off or cool of, we always had the river to swim in, though we sometimes felt it necessary to wait until we came to where the water was clean.

As the afternoon waned, we asked the occasional canoer how far we were from Tauri, they would try to describe how many turns we’d have to take until we arrived there. A most curious sight presented it – in the back of the canoes, just behind the canoer, was a rising smoke! They kept a small fire in the canoe with them! The women rowed sitting down, often with a pipe in their mouth, and a child or two in their canoes. What a strange picture a lone woman with a pipe in her mouth made in her canoe (with a fire smoking in her canoe) against the great water with a paradoxical sky of both sun and threatening thunderclouds. The men customarily rowed standing up. Their paddles were thus longer, sometimes 7 or 8 feet in length!

 

To my amazement, people often transported small fires with them in the back of their canoes

We would watch the weather carefully; threatening clouds would hover on the horizon, but seldom did rain actually come. It is June now, the beginning of PNG’s “dry” season. The water level on the river is lower, and thus it movers more slowly(2 knots) than when it is flooding in the wet season (5 to 9 knots!!).

At about 4pm, we spied Oum. We had come off a point and were heading for OUM directly on the opposite shore. We tried to row towards shore to make sure we didn’t pass it, but we got in a counter current and soon found ourselves drifting back upriver along the bank and way from the village. I dove in the water and tried to steer the raft out again into the main stream again while Kelly rowed hard. After considerable effort, we again began floating downstream towards the village. Still we struggled to make sure that we landed at the village and not past it. We slowly pulled up to the muddy shore, me still in the water. We were greeted by a throng of stoic onlookers, none of which offered to help. There was an atmosphere of unhelpfulness and stoic indifference to us, which sparked anger in me. From the water, I yelled to one young man, “Can you help us?” He smirked. As we landed, he came down and said, “Yes, I can help you.” However, his tone lacked that of cheerful compliance, but seemed to belie an attitude of affected superiority. I walked in mud and tied up our raft to a nearby log. Every child merely stared.

The young man who’s help we’d enlisted told us to wait. He said that OUM 2 was back up the canal that ran into the river at this point. Here on the river were only a few dwellings. The real village was inland. He said he would ask permission and get a canoe to bring us to OUM 2. He came back in a few minutes with a canoe. We loaded our baggage onto his canoe. The village children took five of our uncleaned coconuts saying that we could retrieve them on our return. We left only 1 small coconut on our raft.

Kelly and I had begun bickering back at the round water before the village. She had gotten defensive when I asked her to change sides on her rowing. When I yelled to that guy for help, she criticized me for being unsociable, and when he’d gone for the cone, she made a comment: “I guess arrogant white people don’t go over too well here,” “Who are you talking about?” “You.” – It was not what I wanted to hear after a long day. I felt unjustly accused. We’d been to so many places with good rapport. I had no vendetta against any villages. I felt that the attitude here was sorely lacking – it was their attitude, if anyone’s, that needed work. Thus, Kelly and I rode along in the still water. The canal opened up into a lake, and soon we arrived at a village bordering the north bank, OUM 2. We unloaded our gear, and sat under a cluster of coconut trees. We sat and talked with a group of young men. After awhile, I noticed a big bird flying through the village trees. It reminded me of the tail feathers I’d seen sticking out from behind a log on the ride into the village. I’d commented to Kelly that I thought I saw a hornbill. Now I asked, and my hunch was confirmed. It was a tamed hornbill belonging to one of the village men. I expressed my desire to take a picture, and I was told that I’d be able to go right up to it. I got my camera out, and indeed, I was able to get close up shots of my friend, the hornbill. I still regret not having a telephoto lens to have been able to capture groups of them in the wild.

We inquired about getting coconuts and the like. It turned out that the nearest store was in OUM 1, which was ½ hour ride by canoe up this inland water way. We decided, as it was later in the day that we would go there tomorrow morning.

We explained our situation – about how slow our raft was, and how we didn’t have enough money to go by motor. We asked the advice of the villagers. We were told that our raft would take about two weeks to complete the trip to Ambunti. It became the sensible thing to do to buy a canoe. We were told that one man had a canoe for sale – that it was K60. Rather than directly affront them, I told them that we did not have that much money (we had about K65 left) and furthermore, I had been told that the going price was about K20. Shortly afterwards, I was told that they’d sell it for K20. I went to look at it. It was quite long (25 feet) and looked O.K., except for a crack in the back that seemed to have been repaired. It was moored 10 feet from shore, so I couldn’t really see it too well, and the sun was fading also. Kelly had said that she’d be afraid to travel by canoe unless we could get an outrigger built to prevent it from falling over. I talked to the boys and it was agreed finally that an outrigger would be built and we would be given 2 paddles as well for K22 as a total price. I authorized them to begin the next morning. I returned to Kelly, and told her that I’d prefer if she’d look at it, but, being tired, and not up to walking, she said that she’d take my word for it. Kelly told me she’d been talking to a Daniel, who had expressed his doubts to Kelly about whether or not the folks here had experience in building an outrigger, which gave us some cause for doubt. [I found out later that Daniel was from the West Sepik were “certainly” more friendly than the people here. He was looking forward to the times when his contract to teach in OUM 2 would be finished and when he could go back and teach at home. He was working for the PNG government.]

Kelly had turned around and pointed to a man saying it was Daniel; she didn’t look where she pointed and she had pointed to the wrong man. I began talking to the wrong guy in Pidgin, and Kelly, thinking I was talking to Daniel, corrected me for talking Pidgin because he spoke English. I then began to talk to this man in English, who still seemed a bit miffed about something. Meanwhile, when I noted this man seemed miffed, Kelly criticized me in low tones “Remember it’s rude to speak to them in Pidgin if they speak English.” The whole time, she had her back turned to these men, and she didn’t realize what was going on. So ensued comic frustration. (Later, when I tried to defend myself saying the man was out of place to get miffed because I had asked him one lousy simple question in Pidgin, it came out that Kelly had been unaware what had actually transpired.) By and by, realized that the man to the left of the man I was talking to was Daniel, so we began talking together. He seemed relatively friendly among a group of stoic countenances. The man I’d originally addressed seemed to have a chip on his shoulder. We were trying to find out how much the guesthouse cost. We at first were told K5, then K10. Now, Daniel said it was K2. we asked if that was each or together. The other man (also a teacher) said ‘each’, it would be K4 together. Daniel said K2 together. The other teacher walked away angrily and said K4! By and by, we moved our gear up to the house. It was only one room, which was used by a Father Austin who was presently away. Among its merits were broken window screening and a wicker bed that fully accommodated me from my ankles to my neck. But we were happy just to have a roof over our heads. It was nice to be able to get away from the throng.

Kelly and I were both tired. It is understandable that there would be strain between us. The place seemed so inhospitable, it cast a gloomy atmosphere. We really couldn’t believe the outstanding difference between these people and the hospitable Highlanders.

Kelly went out to cook some rice. She came back saying that the other teacher had even begrudged her the use of his fire, but that Daniel had offered her his. What an asshole, I thought. Kelly told me that Daniel had said that the reason no one wanted to sell bananas was because the floods earlier this year had destroyed the crops. It made me wonder just a little – maybe the people here are crabby because they’re hungry – maybe they’re just not happy!!

Kelly and I enjoyed a corned beef and rice dinner, which tasted scrumptious under the circumstances. There was no electricity of course, so were used our kerosene lantern. After we ate, we sat around for a while, and then turned in on our wicker bed. We made love; it was passionate and wonderful, as it almost always is between us. Sleep. (Note: Due to the circumstances, we used jars to piss in during the night, as it is a dreadful hassle, especially when it rains to tromp through to a mosquito-infested outhouse.)

Day 36 Oum2 – a 2^nd and last day

Sunday June 19, 1983

It was decided last night before we slept that we would put a stop to any work on the canoe/outrigger this morning first thing – the new plan was that we would see if we could procure adequate supplies at OUM 1, and if we could, then we would just take the raft and forget all about the canoe – the only reason we wanted to get the canoe was because of the shortage of supplies – we were worried that if we could not buy supplies, we might find ourselves hungry on the raft if it took as long as the OUM villagers said it would – 2 weeks. We liked the raft. And besides, ii had to agree with Kelly where se pointed out what a drag it would be to be in a canoe all day with the sun heating down on you. (The raft had a canopy!)

Thus, first thing this morning, we went down to the canoe. The boy was already working on it. Immediately, Kelly pointed to the crack in the back of the canoe and began to complain and say how she didn’t want to buy it. It couldn’t tell if she were being serious or only putting on an act to get us out of the obligation of buying it. I told the boy that he shouldn’t do anymore work on it until after lunch – I said we’d be back from OUM 1 by then, and if we didn’t want the canoe we’d give him a couple of kina for the work he’d already done on the outrigger. I don’t know if he heard me or not, but he kept right on working. Kelly was upset, so I told her to handle it. She said in a loud voice to discontinue work, and the boy heard.

Kelly and I went back to our room. Soon, we were called to board the canoe to OUM 1. Daniel and a few schoolboys came with us – the schoolboys paddled. It turns out that at high water, the Sepik flows along this waterway, but at the present time, it was a lake. We rowed along the side of the lake, through water grasses and beside fishing nets attached to poles in the water. We were told there were plenty of fish.

We arrived in OUM1 and went to the trade store. They had no biscuits, but they did have steak and onions, corned beef, Milo, milk, cigarettes, cherry rolls, etc. We bought plenty of supplies so we wouldn’t have to worry. I believe we caused quite a stir as we cleaned the store out of a few items. Our bill came to K24.21. I remember that because it really caused a commotion.

We came back to OUM2, and I could hear the village boys outside recounting how much we had spent: “Twenty foa kina na 10 toea (toya).” I opened the door, and I corrected them: “Twenty foa na 21 toea.” Maybe they resented the fact that we were so easily able to buy so much in groceries. It must have seemed like an awful lot to them.

Kelly and I decided that we had procured sufficient groceries to allow us to continue by raft. Kelly wanted me to start a fire, but I was tired, so I took a nap. At about 3 pm, I went to build a fire and Kelly slept. The other teacher told me they were short on firewood, but Daniel led me to his kitchen hut. Outside was a large supply of firewood. (Just goes to show that the other teacher was just trying to give me (us) a hard time. I asked Daniel if we had enough groceries to make it to Ambunti. He said he thought we’d have plenty left over when we got there. Daniel said it was only 2 or 3 days to Ambunti for us on a raft. (Of course, we didn’t believe him.)

Kelly came out to tend to cooking after I’d gotten the fire going. Meanwhile, I tried to roust up a supply of coconuts for us. Daniel got a group of young boys together to climb the trees.

They began climbing. When Daniel would yell up to them to toss a coconut down, the coconut would come flying down and crash on the ground and split apart. This, said Daniel, was a sign that the coconut was not ready. It had not developed an interior of meat to give it strength. Each time a boy would throw down a coconut, the same thing would happen. I excused myself and went up and had lunch of “Braised steak and onions” and rice with Kelly.

After lunch, I went back down to check out how they were making out with the coconuts. Outside our house, Daniel sat beneath a tree; he ordered a young boy to climb a tall tree – as is customary, the young boy put his feet in a moose made of vine. As he climbed, he had his feet on either side of the tree. The noose holds the feet together, thus going part of the work. Once at the top of the tree, the young boy used the bush knife he had brought with him, and he began cutting the nuts down. As each fell, it busted open, and became useless for our purpose. I suggested to Daniel that perhaps if someone brought a bilum up in the tree, they could carry the coconuts down and this prevent them from breaking. His reply was that I was too much work. Meanwhile, the young boy in the tree was walking around up there on top of the leaves. Another coconut dropped and fell to the ground. Daniel told the boy to come down.

As it was imperative for us to have fresh drinking water on the raft (the river water was out of the question), I had to get coconuts. It was apparent that I was getting nowhere with the present methods. As Daniel was leaving, I asked him if it was all right if I went up the tree myself. He said it was O.K. I went up to our room and got a bilum out. I got a T-shirt on, because I had climbed a tree before in Malaita and I had scratches on my body. When I had climbed a short tree in Malaita (and one in Rabaul on mother), I had not used the noose for my feet; however, this tree here was much taller (25 feet?) and thin and straight up; I wanted to try the noose today.

Kelly hugged me and told me to be careful. You would think I was going out to battle the natives! [But I loved the treatment, I can assure you.] So Kelly and I hugged passionately and we went outside again. I borrowed the noose from the boy and tested it for strength. Slinging the bilum over my shoulder, I began my ascent. The boys watched me (expecting me to fall?). I made the ascent ½ way and rested. I was getting accustomed to the food noose, but I was wary that it was going to break. I inched my way up, grabbing upwards with both hands and sliding my feet up. When I reached the top of the truck, I tried to secure myself with one hand so that I could twist off the coconuts with the other. I successfully twisted off one coconut and maneuvered it into the bilum. Then another. I changed hands to get at another on my left. My knees began to wobble – perhaps the weight of the nuts in the bag was enough to make a difference. I was uncertain if I should quit or go for another nut. I figured I could fit one more into the bilum. I finally twisted off another and managed it into the bag.

I began an ascent, moving slowly – it was a long fall – I would purely break my legs if I fell. I made it to the bottom. Under my shirt, I had bruised my chest. I was really tired (I haven’t had much upper body exercise in the bush.) Maybe if my life depended on it, I could go up again, but short of that, I was through for the day. My chest and forearms were really puffed out.

I called over one of the boys and offered him 10t if he’d climb up and get 4 coconuts in the same manner I did. He slung the bilum over his shoulder. After some minutes work, he came down with three coconuts. He was visibly burdened by the bag, and he seemed worn out from the effort – I didn’t bother asking him for a repeat performance. Perhaps Daniel was right – it was too much work.

We didn’t bother to notify the boy who was in charge of the canoe that we were no longer interested, because it became common knowledge through the “bush telegraph” that we weren’t.

I went over to pay Daniel for the coconuts and the room. He had gotten 5 other coconuts from someplace, which made 12 altogether. Kelly was back in the “kitchen” (a hut) again. We fixed a pot of Kurumul tea – a tea from the New Guinea Highlands with a nice flavor. She fixed another pot of rice for our trip tomorrow. (We store it in a plastic container to help keep it fresh.) Then she tried to fix the sak-sak that had been given to us. This sak-sak was a tan color. She cooked it properly, but the sak-sak had a zingy taste that we were unaccustomed to, and we thought it had gone bad, so we threw it away. During this cooking, I was trying to clean a coconut of its husk without breaking the nut. I made a mess of the whole thing – it was more difficult than I thought, especially so because the coconuts were so young, the nut was easily ruptured.

After we were finished, I walked to the “boys’ hut”, a large dwelling which housed the older boys, in order to secure assistance in cleaning the coconuts. I offered 20t to clean them (10 of them). The boy who had been building the outrigger took on the assignment immediately and was followed by a throng of helpers in the encroaching darkness. He sat outside our house and began cleaning them with a bush knife. It was getting dark. When he’d completed about 4 of the 10, I went out and paid him and old him to lave the rest on our doorstep.

Kelly and I had a light supper left over from lunch. The boys brought up the finished coconuts. There were only 8. He said that the other 2 had busted. He promised to get more in the morning. He bummed a smoke from Kelly and went on his way.

Kelly retired and I stayed up to do some writing. I felt full of emotion. Thinking it was still two weeks to Ambunti after all our effort, and believing we would have the same unfriendly reception downriver, I felt a resurgence of spirit which came to fight off encroaching remorse. I felt the grand spirit that comes to good men when they come to obstacles that they are about to surmount. (“To charge on in the face of death,” may be a bit strong of a description – but maybe it’s the same spirit.”)

When I went to bed, Kelly was still awake. We made a love that was the most refreshing experience of a day in a deprived village.

 

 

Day 37 Oum 2 to Kubkain

Monday June 20, 1983

We effected a fitting departure from our “beloved” “OUM 2” this morning. Fairly early, we were up and ready to go. Some boys came to our door to taxi us by canoe to our raft on the Sepik. The young man who was to bring us our coconuts was “asleep”. Thus, it was “Maski” (forget it) on the coconuts and into the canoe went we. We were gliding on the water and passed the boy who was supposed to bring our coconuts. We fondly thought what an asshole! And, as a gesture of appreciation, as he summed up the attitude and atmosphere of this god-forsaken place, I flipped him the bird and inquired, “Do you know what this means?” This brought on a reaction of doubled up laughter from our canoers and vehemence from the scaly-skinned receiver of said compliment. Apparently, the bird is universal. So, he flipped it back in vain reprisal. He did not understand – the coconuts were of vital importance to us.

We got to our raft and, as is the matter of course, it was bogged in mud. I approached the villagers and asked for the coconuts which they’d been “storing for us” since we got there two days previous. They had never heard nor seen us or the coconuts they claimed. I had about had enough of this nonsense. Kelly notified me from the raft that the other coconut on board was missing as well, which made 6 coconuts missing on this end. I raised my voice in anger at the non-compliant man before me. It was not a question of “blowing it” by forgetting my human relations techniques. I was just plain pissed off, and I felt so angry at these bastards, I hardly cared for the consequences, for I felt willing to defend myself to the death. The man I talked to said he knew nothing about it, and the two other men nodded agreement. I said, “Look, when we came here two days ago, there were many people standing here watching us. They came and said they’d take the coconuts from us and hold them so we didn’t have to carry them. Don’t tell me none of you know anything about it.” There was a group of females on looking. Another man came up and yelled at the women who fled and went behind the big house. I asked him what the women were doing and he said, “Working.” This new man tried to scare me into intimidation. He said, “What are you talking to this man for in a loud voice.” He says he knows nothing so stop talking. You have finished talking – that’s it!” The atmosphere was one of tension. There was the implication that they were going to get physical. I felt cautious but no fear. I kept right on talking, now addressing myself to the new man. After I had explained to him what happened, I said, “You would be angry too it if happened to you.” He had to agree. The conversation came to a standstill. Rather than pursue the point that our coconuts had been stolen, I merely said, “Can you get someone to get some coconuts to replace the others.” (This conversation was in Pidgin.) Immediately nothing a solution, he called some boys who produced three coconuts from a nearby tree. I settled for this.

I asked a by standing boy if he would help us move the raft out of the mud. He replied, “Nogat.” (No). I asked another man and the same boy said No again. I turned to him and said (in Pidgin) “Look, you don’t want to help. O.K., that’s all right. Now we are finished talking. You and I don’t have anything more to say to each other.” I knew fairly well that we had little chance of procuring help from these men, to whom I had shown contempt, but I note it was unlikely they would help us anyway, thus being the mature of these men. The reply was that they would help us if we paid them, and I immediately dismissed the idea as impossibility, as a further demonstration of my contempt. The two boys that had brought us there offered to help. So, Kelly and I and these two boys huffed and puffed, wedging the raft back off the mud and into the river, while the group of men watched us stoically. We made short work of it to the surprise of everyone. The two boys who helped us wanted to sell us the paddles, which was their prime motivation for helping us. I gave them my address, gave them each a banana and a cigarette and bought a paddle for one kina, ½ of their original asking price. Funny, after we bought the one paddle, we desired to shove off, but we still had one edge on the mud, and I said, “Can you give us a hand?” The boys replied they wanted money, but then one boy convinced the other to give us a last shove for free, which they did. The transparency of their greed amazed me. They help us for free, we buy their paddle and extend our friendship, and then they want money for an additional 15 seconds of their time.

We shoved off and drifted very slowly way from the village of stoic onlookers. It was a welcome departure from an unwelcoming village, OUM2, FUCK YOU was my parting epithet.

Once again, as always, Kelly and I relished being on our own, away from the hassles of being on land, i.e., mosquitoes, unfriendly people, inconvenience for washing and toilet. So welcome was the water! Our raft very slowly separated us from our anathema, OUM 2. a motor canoe cruised by with Daniel on board. We tried mostly jokingly to hitch a ride, and he called out that they were going a short way. We waved our only friend of OUM 2 (a non-native) into the distance downriver, and we followed slowly but in the steadfast manner of a raft on a large flat river.

So we began the day.

We began the day quite uncertain as to the future week. We dared not believe Daniel’s estimate of 2 to 3 days to Ambunti. We thought the own villager’s estimate of two weeks seemed uncommonly long, but did believe it might be perhaps 9 days. And we were dreading having to stop in unfriendly villages, and so thought seriously about going at night. But our fate was not to be grim.

We delved into the aforementioned activities of a day on the raft: cleaning, preparing meals and snacks, steering, bathing and swimming. At about noon, we came to a village. I was extremely pleased when the villagers yelled from shore a familiar name “BOWAMI.” It was the one place I remembered seeing besides INIOK on the Wogamush map. To my recollection, it was about ½ way across the map, which led to all sorts of conjecture. The map joining the Wogamush quad was the Ambunti quad which meant that if Bowami was ½ way and even if Ambunti was on the rightmost side of it’s quad, then, since Iniok was on the Wogamush’s left most side, we were about ¼ of the way to Ambunti. And, if we were 1½ full days’ run from INIOK, then we could expect to get to Ambunti in approximately (3½ ) 4½ days!! This was promising, and it was the first concrete information we had to judge our progress. We drifted by Bowami without stopping.

We had one accident earlier this day, before we got to Bowami. We were going along nicely, and I was at the helm. I saw the obstacles ahead. The major one was on the right. It was necessary to skirt the left obstacle to its right and then make for the left of the right obstacle (!). I tried my best to judge the currents, which are mostly stronger than any rowing we can effect. We skirted the log on the left and were approaching the one to the right and downstream. I was probably one stroke too late; as we approached it, we could plainly see that a fast current ran water to the right of the overhanging branch. As we had endeavoured to its left, and were being hopelessly pulled to its right, we plowed straight into it! We quickly freed ourselves, with only minor damage to our battered roof supports.

The paddle that we’d bought this morning was obviously superior to our others. I was about 7 feet long, which allowed me more reach, thus greater control. The small, flat paddle blade gave great torque, and at the end of the stroke it would pull back sideways swiftly through the water. In accordance with local custom, I would stand when I rowed and Kelly would usually sit. This was also in accordance with personal preference. I would usually sit on the front “bench,” and to row I would stand on the protruding logs in front.

As the afternoon waned, we thought we should be coming to Kubkain, but saw no signs of it, and we begun the usual round of conversation on what action to take supposing we did not get there by dark.

There we were, floating downriver in late afternoon. There was a large straightaway that we’d just come to, and there was a waterway (either a canal or a river) that ran off to the right with reed banks. We noticed a few canoes coming into the Sepik from this adjacent waterway. They were heading toward us.

First, two came, and then two more, and gain two more, all coming for us. They looked friendly. As the first two came up to us, more and more canoes came from the waterway. We greeted the canoers and at once began to answer their questions as to our status: we were looking for Kubkain – these men were from Kubkain, we had only this raft – to our disbelief, the fellow we were talking to said they would give us a canoe, and when I mentioned an outrigger, he said that they could build one. The canoe men had a hold of our raft, so we drifted together. One by one, their canoes came up, each canoe being held to the other by hands and paddles laid across, until there were 14 canoes floating with us downriver, about 8 on one side of us and 6 on the other side of us. We were thankful that they were friendly! It was such an amazing scene that I secured approval to snap photos, and I crossed from canoe to canoe until I stood on the outside canoe, from where I took a panorama shot of the scene – four photos from left to right – Kelly lucked out, as she ended up in the middle of the scene. In each canoe, there were from 2 to 6 men, so we had a fair sized gathering. I came back to our raft. We talked as we floated. At one point in the talk, I was informed that they were about to do a traditional song. However, they were waiting for one of the “big men” to start singing. Apparently, the “big man” (important man, usually older) must have died, for they never did sing. One man on my left, took our some sak-sak. This was a tan color and was wrapped in leaves. It was the first time I’ve seen it prepared like this. It was a solid chunk about 9 inches long and a float oval about 2” x 1”. The surface was shiny and it had a rubbery consistency, which you could bite into. It had a zingy taste. (The sak-sak Kelly made yesterday thus turned out to be good.) it was not delicious but only passable. The man gave us two sticks of it, though at first we turned it away, we finally accepted it. This man was small and had a benevolent face highlighted by a mouth of red and black teeth (where they were not missing) corroded by chewing beetle nut with lime (and mustard seed). He incessantly pointed at the sky and then to himself while mumbling something about his close association with the bikpela man upstairs: obviously, a man of God.

Another man offered me some fish. This fish was about 7” long and flat and black and brown and whole. They must cook directly on a fire. By breaking the rough, scaly exterior off, we exposed the white, tender meat inside. Another man gave us a 10” fish. It was delicious. We commented this was the best treat we’d been offered in PNG, which it was.

The initial excitement must have been too much for them, for after minutes of gliding with us, the canoes separated from convoy one by one and sped off downriver. As it turned out, Kubkain was close to, and we soon were boarded by two village men who tried to assist Kelly and I to dock our raft. We were only 20 yards away but we had to row against a small current, and with 4 people rowing we barely managed to gain the “harbor” of Kubkain.

We were very grateful that we had met friendly, helpful people instead of the other type we’d been bumping into. The Kubkainian who had first introduced himself on the Sepik, and subsequently invited us to stay at his house, now assisted us in tying up. He asked for some of the canta that we’d brought from Tauri for tying things. He took the un-split canta. Using his teeth he broke it into 4 quarters and split it lengthwise. Then he tied two pieces together and, lashing one end to our raft, he threw the other end to a boy high on the step branch, who in turn tied it to a tree. We were helped off with our bags. By the time I followed up, Kelly was surrounded by villagers in the quickly dissipating sunlight. We were led without delay to a very big house. We climbed up the “pole stairs” and dropped our bags inside.

Illustration

We fixed some tea and shared it around. The man who had assisted us in tying up our raft introduced us to his relatives who were present. Later, I was given some greens with fish, which I mixed with some rice Kelly and I had left over from breakfast. All in all, it tasted pretty good. The greens dish was tasty.

I was shown where the toilet house was – it was a little walk. Later, Kelly wanted me to show her where it was. I was tired, but started her out anyway. On the way back alone, I thought something attacked my foot, but it was only my imagination.

We were helped to erect our mosquito net. Without much fanfare, Kelly and I crawled inside the net and, placing the green foam in the center (note: to expect to comfortably and without hassle share a mat that’s scarcely 30” wide is expecting too much from two tired explorers) of the sleeping area, we donned mosquito repellent in place of clothing and slept.

In the middle of the night, we woke up, and got into an argument about something unimportant, which brewed into seething whispering. It was one of those confrontations that begins from nothing and ends with both parties really angry. I pulled “my” green mat to my side. We slept.

Day 38 Depart Kubkain – Riding on river through the night

Tuesday June 21, 1983

I awoke before dawn and went outside to “relieve” myself (pis-pis). I walked down to the “harbor” and I checked out our raft. To my dismay, I found a horde of mosquitoes on the raft, and I hoped they would leave when daybreak came. I went back to our house and slept till dawn.

Upon awaking, Kelly and I silently (through demeanor of action) apologized for the bickering we’d committed in the middle of the night. Kelly made a batch of rice, and I went to see if the store had biscuits. The store had no biscuits. Kelly and I packed up our things and left. (I got some tank water.)

We drifted around towards the right shore that curved to the left. As we were thrown off to the left shore, we paddled to steer us straight down river. We were trying to avoid adverse currents on either side of us. The current on the left ran back upriver, and the current on the right ran over to a big lake-like portion of the river. Through our effort, we avoided these two traps.

Ahead of us, the river opened up like a big lake. If it weren’t for the noticeable progress we could make against the passing shore, I would think we were standing still! Off to our right were plants on the surface of the water that were moving faster than us. Such was their character, that they looked stationary, giving us the impression that we were moving backwards! I looked off to the right, and calculated we were moving backwards. Then, I would look to the left and see that we were moving steadily downstream, as the bank appeared to be passing us upstream. I would back to the floating shrubs and think we were going upriver, then look back at the bank on my left and concluded we were going down-river. I looked back and forth until I finally convinced myself that we were proceeding downriver and correctly deduced that the plants to my right were floating with us, and they were not part of a marshy shoal as I had at first suspected. Without hindrance, we proceeded with the current. And so we began our longest run in the S.S. Pukpuk.

At about 12 pm, we came upon a big body of water off to the right. It looked like a river, but we weren’t sure because the water was so flat and still looking. We passed a couple of men from Kubkain in their canoes. They informed us that this was the April River.

Just after we passed the April River I decided to fix up a burden support on the roof. Kelly, I could tell, didn’t want me to disturb her sunbath with working, and said sarcastically “If you’re going to fix it, why don’t you do it right?” To her later lament, I took her seriously. Soon, we were both disassembling the roof. There were some supports that had been broken twice and had as many extra sticks attached to them to reinforce them. We took the entire roof down. (Now we were passed Bowami.) With one of the oars, I banged the supports back into the logs (they were spiked on one end and were originally beaten into the logs with an axe).

Some of the supports were just wedged in between the logs and tied to other supports. These were re-tied with canta – bush rope. We methodically strengthened the roof supports, including adding a new “main mast,” for which we employed the crudest of the three paddles that had been cut by the original builder at OK Esai. We now had the extra paddle where we’d bought at OUM 2. All in all, spent about one hour repairing the roof. Kelly was anxious to get it done, for the sun was merciless. We ere pleased with the product of our efforts: our new roof was strong and allowed us more comfort. We floated and gloated.

We had to now be especially careful that we did not have another spiked roof accident that would strip our roof again, which would required a renewed support effort. We were finished with the roof just after 1 p.m.

As the day wore on, it became apparent that the mosquitoes that had joined us at Kubkain were planning on spending some time with us, it seems they had set up house on our raft. Before the improvements at Iniok, the mosquitoes had no place to hide, but after the original bed was boosted out of the water, a space was formed between the old bed and the three large logs beneath it. There was a heavy rain in Kubkain during the night, which had apparently forced the mosquitoes to take refuge under our canopy. By late afternoon, we subdued them somewhat by throwing water all over the place, lighting mosquito coils and driving them away with our hands. However, whenever we moved a piece of baggage, we’d uncover a hoard of hiding mosquitoes, and it was evident that many still were present on our raft.

The day was smooth and clear. The afternoon grew late. We decided that we would chance a night run. We had seen no sign of Saugap, which was supposed to be a short day’s run from Kubkain.

The evening sky is wonderful. I write in my diary.

The still evening panorama, the water reflecting a broad sky, as peaceful as heaven, it is absorbing. The river is bevelled glass. A godly palate of soft hues paints incredible peace. Straight downriver is the silhouettes of mountains with pink clouds above. I am awesomized, happy and at peace. In happiness, I feel no unsatisfied needs. I feel full and content.

 

The last night on the river, we choose to ride through the night, rather than sleep ashore. As sunset comes, its beauty fills me with contentment.

And so, day passes into night. The moment the sun goes down, there is a swarm of mosquitoes whose collective buzz is frightening as it grows, sounding similar to an electric razor. This naturally causes the immediate question if our decision to stay on the river at night is a good one. Luckily, we have the big bottle of RID that Ray gave us for just this purpose (Ray at Frieda Strip). We apply copious amounts of this pleasant-smelling ointment, and it seems to have a favourable effect for although the mosquitoes are swarming all over us, they aren’t biting. We light mosquito coils in a few spots. We set up the mosquito net in the rear of the Pupuk in case we have to seek shelter, for we’re not sure if the mosquito problem is going to grow out of proportion. When the mosquito first came on, it was alarming as the sound was growing – we thought that they might be coming from shore – perhaps their number were unlimited.

The moon illuminated beautifully. It is near full. We can see fairly clearly, and certainly well enough to avoid the normal treacheries we’ve been encountering during the day. It is really lovely out here. The mosquitoes have died down to a reasonable extent. We are both excited about the prospects of the coming night.

I suggested to Kelly that we could use our kerosene jar lamp to heat up a can of Peck’s Steak and Onions to have with our rice. The kerosene jar lamp is placed on the bottom log and the can of meat is placed above it, wedged between the logs on the original bed. When it is boiling, we open the can completely (while it cooked, we made 2 small openings to let gas escape) and have it with our rice, which is quite satisfying.

As the hours pass, the moon moves barely perceptively across the sky – i.e., it is still hovering overhead (it made its appearance when the sun was still out). Our happiness continues unabated, and the excitement of expectation of completing a night on the river grows.

The sky is basically clear in our immediate vicinity, with just a few roaming, harmless clouds. But we notice off to our right, threatening lightning beginning. A thundercloud, perhaps 10 miles away flashes like an atom bomb. If this cloud came over the river, it would certainly damper this perfect night. Presently, it only offered us excitement. As we proceeded east on the water, the cloud to the south of us was heading northeast. It was a question of whether we would meet or whether one of us would pass before the other. We continually watched the sky for signs of storms brewing, constantly assessing the probability of threat in the night sky. The thundercloud was moving fast, and we figured it would cross the river within an hour.

At about 9 pm, we came by a large body of water to our left. As it opened up to the site of the passing rafters, I concluded from its size that it must be the Wogasu River, the only other large river entering the Sepik between the Frieda and Ambunti (beside the April, which we passed at noon). Another moment of excitement. In the daylight, it was often heard to judge where the Sepik was going downriver, at night it was even a bit more difficult to detect the flow of the river. As we flowed by the Wogasu, even then it took us time to assess whether the Sepik was going to carry us to the left (up the Wogasu!) or to the right (as it turned out down the Sepik). We came to the straight east bank and the water bogged down, but with me rowing, we were carried slowly to the right – so for sure this was the Wogasu River. The flow coming down from its mouth was noticeable.

I got out my Papua New Guinea map, which was large scale map and only crudely depicted the Frieda, the Leopard Schultye (I can only figure this was the waterway just upriver from Kubkain), the April, and Wogasu entering the Sepik.

Since we’d taken 9 hours to go from the April to the Wogasu (12 pm to 9 pm), we were able to judge the time it would take to go to Ambunti from the Wogasu. I estimated we had a chance of getting to Ambunti tomorrow evening. We were excited – just yesterday morning in OUM 2 we had been told it would take us two weeks! Now we concluded that perhaps they had been bullshitting us just so we’d buy their canoe! We were happy!

The thunderstorm had now moved in front of us, and it was still a few miles away. It was moving away from us rapidly, and we figured that we had nothing to fear from it.

The map depicted long straightaway between the Wogasu and Ambunti, whereas upriver from the Wogasu it showed the curly – Q river that we’d been experiencing since Iniok (and since OK Esai on the Frieda). True to the map, we looked downriver to see a huge straightaway (2½ miles) with a turn far off downriver.

Kelly was handed the helm, as we figured it would be good for me to sleep while the going was easy, so that I’d be wake for the second half of the night. I went to the rear of the SS Pukpuk, and I went inside the mosquito net. It was necessary to pull the edges of the mosquito net on top of the green mat, since otherwise, they would come in between the logs. I lay down and tried to rest, but no sooner had I got settled but I felt and hard some mosquitoes, I decided to investigate. Kelly handed me the flashlight. I shined it up around the inside of the net. There were 20 mosquitoes inside. I began to exterminate them by holding the flashlight in my teeth and slapping the net together. (I had experience in doing this from Hornbillville where we massacred a horde inside the net.) There were very many I couldn’t get. I got Kelly to assist me. I would chase the mosquitoes up into a corner, then shut off that corner with my hands. Kelly would then twist and squash the closed-off corner of the net obliterating the contents within.

By 10 pm, I had eradicated the mosquitoes inside the net, and I lay down to sleep. I dozed for an hour or so, exchanged a few words with Kelly, and then I dozed off again until midnight.

Day 39 to Ambunti

Wednesday June 22, 1983

At 12:04 a.m., I awoke. I had only gotten 2 hours of half-sleep, but I was ready to stay up the rest of the night. Kelly was inspiring me as she said that she was ready to stay up the whole night (even though she’d gotten no sleep). Kelly told me about her experience of the previous two hours. She had had an easy time of it, going slow the whole time; she’d taken a few turns in the river, which surprised me. The last 5 minutes, she related, the water had begun moving faster.

According to our plan, we opened a can of tuna and ate it with crackers for our midnight snack. This was a leisurely process. We enjoyed a cup of Milo afterwards. Our next scheduled snack was at 3 a.m. We continued down the river, talking and watching. The moon was still high in the sky. Many sounds came from the shores. There was a cracking sound in the forests lining the water, echoing through the spaces. Insects, water drifting through broken branches in the river, jumping fish. At 3 a.m. the moon became obscured behind clouds, and the river became very dark. We could see very little now. We postponed our snack until 4 a.m., and Kelly laid back to rest as our raft made its progress around a turn to the left in the river. I cheated. I closed my eyes for a few moments. Opened then. Shifted. Lay back and closed them again. When I opened them, I noticed we had drifted 20 feet of the left bank, which was lined with marsh reeds. I thought I’d better put some distance between the bank and us. I grabbed my oar, and in the process of doing so, I knocked it against the roof front left support, making a cracking sound. In the water, between the bank and us, a huge commotion was raised. I don’t know how it lasted. Perhaps three or four seconds, but surely at least two. Instinctively, my mind registered: CROCODILE TO ATTACK, but I realized a moment later that the crocodile must be afraid and making for the river bottom. The water thrashed violently. Whatever made the sound must have been big. A 10-foot crocodile is common on the river, and I would not be surprised if this was one. The sound was so noticeable that Kelly, who had been drifting off to sleep, jumped up and nearly fell overboard. She stayed on board though, but her arm and leg got wet.

As quickly as we could, we lit a kerosene jar lamp, which cast light upon the reed bank. We saw nothing of a crocodile. Most probably what had happened was that we had startled a crocodile resting on the shore.

We continued down in the darkness, our conversation chattering about how fortunate we were to have such an experience! We noticed an increase in our speed, as the dark banks whizzed by. There, way off to our left was an ungodly racket. It could have been a sound from hell! The hugest crashing in the dark, way off on the left shore (we were now drifting near the right bank.) Then, following the huge crashing came a thunderous roar of birds startled. We could not understand what was happening. Was it a crocodile, or was it a chunk of the bank falling in the water? Another huge crash and the sound of birds. We were about ¼ mile away from these sounds. We were afraid that the current would bring us there; whatever was happening over there, we didn’t want to find out! A third crash came and the clamour of the birds arose. We could barely see where we were going, but we felt pretty sure that we were being pulled past his hellish noise. We were picking up speed, which was all right unless we hit something. We had to rely on our ears for warnings. As we raced down, we were alerted to a sound close off the port bow. We soon could barely make out a log sticking at an angle out of the middle of the river. In the rapid current, we were helpless against the fateful flows, and it was luck which saw us pass about 25 feet to the right of it. Had we hit it, we might have been in serious trouble because: i) it was a bulky timber ii) it stuck up enough to smash us from the deck to the roof supports iii) the water flowed swiftly by it. We might have hit it and been hurt by the splintered supports, or perhaps one of us could have been knocked down by the log itself. (We had taken the precaution at dusk of rolling back our canvas roof so that in case something hit us, we might avoid being pinned down by the canvas of our roof, as Kelly had been on our worst daytime collision.) [There is also the story of the Israeli couple that “packed” for the night in their outrigger canoe in the middle of the river. A log came by, knocked off their outrigger, the canoe capsized, and they were caught up in their mosquito net in the water. Once freed, they grasped in the water for their gear, but turned up only with their flashlight and mosquito repellant – the two best items they could have found in that situation.

Just downriver from this log was a strange sound that appeared suddenly on the left bank, which we had been forced near. To me, it sounded like water rushing over a timber. Kelly said she was scared. She began insisting that the sound was following us! I tried to calm her down, but I felt a little spooked, because it didn’t seem to be diminishing; finally it subsided into the distance.

The sky and river were black, and we could not see. I could barely make out what was ahead. It appeared that there were a few water inlets, perhaps they were swamps. I was afraid we would get forced into one and have a hard time getting out, so I began paddling. We paddled until we were sure that we were safely beyond these “creepy canals,” we laid back and sighed relief – the last hour was quite exciting.

Our snack was a little overdue at is was just past 4 a.m., so we proceeded to heat some water in a cup [by placing it over the kerosene jar lamp). When this was ready, we opened the cherry roll (Big Sister), which we’d saved for the occasion. Kelly hogged most of the hot coffee, so we made a cold coffee to supplement it.

We were watching the clock now. We knew that full dawn came about 6:15 a.m., so we were expecting lightness sooner. We were both in good humor and fairly wide-awake. At about 5:25 a.m., we experienced what Justin Jones called “false dawn,” that is, the first light. We suddenly began to see clearly what was minutes before invisible. We felt some rejoicement that we had successfully endured the night. We watched as the sun lighted the sky – there was crimson in the clouds, but I wasn’t sure if the adage, “Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning,” was appropriate or not. I took out my camera as I had at the last dusk, and I took only 1 shot, while I looked at birds, which flew in every direction greeting the morning light.

With the treacheries of the night behind us, we began to think about the coming day and what our situation was.

Kelly swore she wasn’t tried, which I found amazing. We began wondering how much we’d travelled in the dark, and made idle speculations on the worst and best possible outcomes of our travel.

Before long, we were on a lengthy straight away, and I corroborated this evidence on the map, and I thought it resembled a long straight away on the map, which would put us close to Ambunti. Though we’d never visibly verified seeing Saugap at all since we left Kubkain yesterday morning, we assumed (correctly) that we must have already passed it during the night. We soon saw some canoers, who provided us with no idea of where we were in our fleeting interview, but who pointed out a village downriver.

We floated up to Yessan 2 at about 8 a.m. We weren’t sure whether it was or if we wanted to stop there. When we found out that we’d come to Yessan 2, we were disappointed. The captain’s helper on the Copper Queen had given us the following order: Kubkain, Saugap, Yessan, Moiyo, Praconouri, Yanbun, Ambunti. The folks at Yessan were friendly, and I tried my best to behave myself so as to keep it that way. They husked some of our coconuts for us, allowed me to boil some rice and sold us two tiny bunches of bananas for 40t. They felt bad for us and said that if we paid for petrol they would let us use their motor canoe for nothing and take us to Ambunti. At first, they needed 5 gallons of fuel, but later it grew to 6 or 7 or 8 gallons – perhaps they had reassessed fuel consumption as being higher to account for the increase their imaginations had rendered in the weight of the coin in our pockets. The trip would cost us about K20 – K25, which would leave us with about K20 in Ambunti. Kelly was trying to eradicate (in vain) the mosquito problem on our raft, while I discussed this matter in a shelter nearby but out of sight of Kelly. I went down to talk to Kelly about it, and although she was excited at the prospect of being in Ambunti in hours, when I said that I would rather stay on the raft, she was ready to forge on. I went back up to talk with the fellows. I told those under the shelter that we’d decided not to take the motor canoe and that we were going to leave, they insisted that I wait – that perhaps they’d be able to secure a free canoe. One man gave me a banana leaf wrapped around 4 fresh eggs – a generous gift. A woman caught a catfish. When she pulled it out and brought it up and put it on the table, it sat there making rather loud noises. It was strange – it sounded like it was crying for mercy. I finally said I’d wait on the raft. I returned Kelly urged me to eat, so I had some steak and onions over rice, which tasted great but made me tired.

Some men came over to the raft and I apologized for changing my mind about the canoe (they’d expended effort searching for the petrol). They said it was all right. As a last minute gesture, one of the men on shore offered to give us a canoe! That made us feel very happy, but we said that although we appreciated it, we’d just continue on our own raft. As we were pulled away by the current, children ran along the shore. I let out a whoop and they responded. I screamed and whooped a few times, and to me it sounded unenergetic and I figured I was tired. The whooping from shore seemed of an inferior sort, and I was thinking that the Highlanders had it all over the Sepiks when it came to whooping.

Well, thought I, here we are on the water again. The weather was gloomy, overcast. The river looked ugly, grey and scummy. The mosquitoes were still flying around our raft. I was in dire need of rest. It was about 10.30 a.m. Kelly claimed she wasn’t tired (remarkable); so I tried to sleep a bit in the brightness. It was hot, but that didn’t keep me awake. It was the mosquitoes! They wouldn’t leave me alone. I tried wrapping myself up in the mosquito net, but that was sort of hot! After awhile, I managed to drowse off a little. Kelly woke me once to declare that some men were following us in a canoe. She figured they had their eyes on her and referred to them as bastards. At about 12 noon, I got up. It wasn’t much use to sleep. We were both fatigued. I felt a bit crummy but not too bad. Kelly remarked that she was afraid that we were going into another round water.

A canoe with three men in it and an outboard motor that was not running rowed up to us. As they approached, Kelly mentioned that she though they’d been following us. When they go closer, we recognised them as Yessan 2 men. They informed us that we indeed were in a large “round water” and that they had come floating down river with us so that they could help us by this spot. I held on to their canoe, and they paddled us into the mainstream. Observing the round water, it became apparent that we might have possibly been stuck there for over an hour trying to escape its clutches. My fear was that we would get caught in a “round water” that we could not escape. The canoers stayed with as a ways. The communication between us was lacking, but I thought they said there was another round water down ricer, and that they would row ahead, meet us down-river, help us through the problem and return from there to Yessan 2 through a short-cut canal (being incorrect in my understanding however as they rowed off and we never heard from them again). Kelly and I welcomed their departure as it permitted us freedom, which soon manifested itself by removal of clothing and dipping in the water –a sure refreshment. We drifted on. A motor canoe sped by, and although I tried waving it down, it sped by without slowing down. The mosquitoes kept at us, and we had a few provoked words between us, but just for the heat, nothing serious. I helmed while Kelly lay down for a short bit. We came up to a turn, beyond which was a village, which we bypassed. Down-river a bit was another, more well kept village. Coming towards us in the distance was a woman in a canoe. I watched her approach from a distance as minutes past. Kelly and I commenting on the house on a hillside that looked like a white person’s dwelling. The woman in the canoe pulled up to us as we neared the village and we floated by the village talking to her. The first thing I noticed about her was her large full tits. They were beautiful, and I found myself attracted to them. (After all the tabular breasts of PNG women that lay flat and empty to their bellies, this woman was a happy sight.) She had carvings for sale – carvings of soapstone made to look lie they were old. I said I wasn’t interested and passed them to Kelly who handed them back. We asked for vegetables or fruits, and this woman called out to the village informing any potential sellers. This woman took her leave of us.

Kelly and I floated on in the hot sun, which had made its appearance from behind the clouds. (The house at Yessan 1, the village we’d just passed, was owned by the two women who we’d heard of the whole way since Tekin – i.e., Divanap – I can’t remember their names now.)

A motor canoe turned the corner by Yessan 1 and was heading toward us. I was going to try to hitch a ride when Kelly asked me what I was doing. I thought she was pointing it out to me that it was futile, and so I started sitting down instead of waving down the motor canoe. I told her that I had planned to hail the canoe. She said it was worth a try. So as the canoe sped by, I waved and stuck out my thumb in the hitchhike position. Another canoe sped around the point the first canoe made a U-turn, and to my surprise the driver brought it up to our raft. I yelled out: “Where are you going?” He yelled back: “Ambunti.” “Can we come with you?” “You are most certainly welcome aboard!”

There was one other young man beside the driver in the canoe. Kelly and I immediately began loading our things into their canoe. I doubt there has ever been a vessel that has been as faithful as the SS Pukpuk that has been abandoned as quickly. The canoe men said they’d like the raft canvas, so we removed it and gave it to them. We left the SS Puk-puk a few hundred yards downriver from Yessan 1, baggage-less, roof-less and abandoned). As we sped away, I shot a parting photograph of our faithful vessel. She looked alone and it was almost sad. She became a floating particle in the distance, and we wondered what would become of her. (Perhaps she’d reach Ambunti in about 12 hours.)

We arrived in Ambunti in less than two hours. On the way, we saw treacherous water – whirlpools, round waters – near Yanbun, which turned out to be a huge village. We came up to Ambunti, in a pleasant setting with a backdrop of green mountains. We stepped ashore. We’d reach civilization.

We brought on baggage to the mission HQ, to inquire about a room. A young lady approached us, and before we could say anything, she immediately ran down the list of prices of accommodation and meals. The only thing we could afford was the last item – a hard floor and a good roof for K3. We went down to the store and Kelly had an orange, and I had a beer and we split (I ate) a package of coconut kina cookies. When we returned to mission HQ, we sought out the lady to show us to our hard floor. We asked an older lady where it was. She looked around for the young lady, couldn’t find her, and came back to us and asked if we wanted to come to dinner. I asked her “how much.” She told us it was free, that she was inviting us. We walked outside and bumped into her husband who also asked us to dinner. He said to be there at 6:30 p.m. He asked where we were from. I said, “California,” and he asked what part. I said, “San Francisco,” and he shoed some surprise. I asked where he was from, and he said, “Palo Alto.” (Which is only about 30 mile away.) I.e., it’s a small world. We asked where the “passenger house” was and he said we could sleep in a room we had. We were shown to the room. In side was a double bed with a mosquito net. In an adjacent room was a toilet and shower. He asked us to write our names and address (we posed as married) on a card, and he left us to get ready for dinner. Kelly and I showered and dressed for dinner. We were ecstatic to have a nice bed to sleep in. We showed up for dinner on time. We talked, met their son, ate dinner and dessert, and retired to the couch after dinner. After a short chat, we went to the bedroom. We lay down and slept amongst the deepest dreams of our lives.

Day 40 Ambunti

Thursday June 23. 1983

We weren’t really in a rush to leave. We woke up at 11 a.m., and I went out to look for a canoe (motor) to Pagwi (which connects by road to Wewak, a costal center – whereas no roads lead out from Ambunti, only river and air travel from there), but by this time no more canoes were going there, so we were “forced” to stay another day. I went to the store, bought an orange drink (out of beer) and went back and shared it with Kelly, who was napping when I came in. Neil invited us to dinner, and said that normally they charge for all this, but “under the circumstances” (since we were short on money and come so far) it was all right. Neil is a real Christian.

Kelly and I bought a pack of cards. We had been craving cards for so long, there had been so many idle moments to pass away on our Trek, for which I reminded her that it was her idea to send the cards on to Vanimo to conserve on weight – but we really should have brought them. We played a few quick hands of Gin rummy before dinner.

Over dinner, Neil brought up Christianity, “Well, since we are of missionaries” (SIL – Summer Institute of Linguistics). We told them our backgrounds: me, Roman Catholic, Kelly, Presbyterian, but neither of us practice anymore. Neil described his place with the Lord. He said astonished at the thought of controlling his own life, “Well, I couldn’t even imagine making my own decision – I let the Lord make my decisions. Making your own, well, that invites Satan to take over.”

I asked Neil if the fact that we weren’t Christians diminished his liking for us. He answered indirectly, saying he felt grief, commiserating grief, for us. He said that Christians looked after one another, that they had a brotherhood. His wife, Jan, put in that “We couldn’t treat everyone like that.” Them she went into some fanatical interpretation of reality depicting the Lord’s intervention in their mundane daily task. I think the Lord could care less. Besides, Jan looked like she hadn’t dicked into about ten years. Poor thing.

Later, we talked about how things were when they first came here in 1060. At that time, there were restricted areas where cannibals were not yet subdued. Often, villagers would be imprisoned for cannibalism. Jan and Neil reckoned that even at that time nearly ever tribe had been contacted.

Neil was saying that they just recently started working with a tribe that was remote and devoid of Western goods – they had no kerosene, no mosquito nets – it was pretty miserable out there.

I reflect now on that conversation: the first white men came into the interior of New Guinea when: in the 20’s, the 30’s. So by the 60’s, Western men had already contacted most places. Neil said that about 1965 a woman anthropologist was there to discover “untouched” tribes, but found none. The New Guinea that we expected was long gone in one sense – the people all had awareness of Western Culture, and most had some small degree of goods – steel axes, lanterns. But still were the rough bush tracks through difficult country (although they are probably now more well – travelled). The wantok system manifesting close ties among villagers was ever present. The houses were still made usually entirely of bush material. The people relied on their gardens for food. Perhaps now two major things have altered since Western intervention: i) less tribal fighting and ii) more plentiful food supplies because of the introduction of steel (axes).

I am left with one central impression: that primitive isn’t so primitive – the men who lived here before whites came were intelligent naturalists – they can build a bush house in two days that will stand for years. They can build a bridge of rope across a 100-foot wide body of water in a day – this is made of canta or bush rope. (Modern tools enable them to finish these tasks more quickly.) In most senses, thus, I feel that this land is very much in the same state as in the 1800’s. But I missed the nudity, the fearfulness of the people and undoubtedly the wreaking poverty that must have existed then.

The land is rapidly changing. The people are losing their culture in a trade for what we have, little realizing that they are destroying a priceless tradition.

Without going as deeply into the bush as we did, it is doubtful we could have gotten an ‘adequate” idea of what the heritage of New Guinea is…????

Kelly and I enjoyed another night in the double bed, and in the morning, we caught a motor canoe to Pagwi and a truck to Weak and civilization.

 

Day of week	Date	Day	Place slept
	1983	of Trek
Monday	9-May	A1	Tari (from Mendi)
Tuesday	10-May	A2	Koroba
Wednesday	11-May	A3	Koroba
Thursday	12-May	A4	Kopiago
Friday	13-May	A5	Kopiago
Saturday	14-May	A6	Kopiago
Sunday	15-May	1	Yokana
Monday	16-May	2	Gaua via Strickland Gorge
Tuesday	17-May	3	Tekin via Oksapmin
Wednesday	18-May	4	Tekap
Thursday	19-May	5	Hutiwapa
Friday	20-May	6	Mahosa
Saturday	21-May	7	Wapubuta
Sunday	22-May	8	Sheaville
Monday	23-May	9	Duranmin
Tuesday	24-May	10	Duranmin
Wednesday	25-May	11	Duranmin
Thursday	26-May	12	Fumanabip
Friday	27-May	13	Kutbama
Saturday	28-May	14	Wabia
Sunday	29-May	15	Wabia
Monday	30-May	16	Slept on path in rain
Tuesday	31-May	17	Shelter on Ok Milai River
Wednesday	1-Jun	18	Wabia
Thursday	2-Jun	19	Wabia
Friday	3-Jun	20	Wabia
Saturday	4-Jun	21	Wabia
Sunday	5-Jun	22	Wesibil
Monday	6-Jun	23	Inayetaman
Tuesday	7-Jun	24	Wabia
Wednesday	8-Jun	25	Wabia
Thursday	9-Jun	26	Wabia
Friday	10-Jun	27	Ok Esai Camp
Saturday	11-Jun	28	Frieda Strip
Sunday	12-Jun	29	Frieda Strip
Monday	13-Jun	30	Frieda Strip
Tuesday	14-Jun	31	Lover’s Sumptuary
Wednesday	15-Jun	32	Hornbillville
Thursday	16-Jun	33	Iniok
Friday	17-Jun	34	Tauri
Saturday	18-Jun	35	Oum2
Sunday	19-Jun	36	Oum2
Monday	20-Jun	37	Kubkain
Tuesday	21-Jun	38	riding on river through the night
Wednesday	22-Jun	39	Ambunti

 

Jeff Shea’s solo 555 kilometer walk across the Altiplano of South America

In November 2010, I set out by myself on foot from Socaire, Chile (3600 meters elevation) on the eastern edge of the Atacama Desert in an attempt to walk across the Altiplano, a relatively “flat” geographic feature of the Andes Mountains in South America.

My first problem was that I found out there were 800,000 land mines along the border with Argentina, a vestige from the conflict of the late 1970s. Another problem posed to me by the border patrol in San Pedro de Atacama was that there were drug smugglers and thieves just up the road on the border with Bolivia. So, I headed south to Socaire to begin my walk.

The first week was a bit disconcerting, as I hauled my 150 pound chariot up to 4500 meters. I’d left with 35 liters of water. By the sixth day I was nearly out of water. I went past a cordoned off area where there were signs denoting there were land mines in the ground on either side of me. I took water from a heavily saline river and pumped some from a pocket in the ground.

There were no passersby. There was not even one habitation. Just solitude.

I came to the road to Paso de Jama and stayed on it till the border to avoid hidden land mines. Once in Paso de Jama, I went back to San Pedro de Atacama to get a warmer sleeping bag and a better tent. The nights were so cold that my water froze. The days were so hot that the back of my hands burned.

I returned to Paso de Jama and went eastwards, finally ending up in Tilcara. I abandoned my chariot, then used a pack to hike over the mountains.

Other than flamingoes, llamas, vicuña, and a large, flightless bird, called a Suri, there was no life. Not even insects. After traveling 500 kilometers on foot, I saw my first tree. I ended my walk at the termination point of the Andes near Libertador, Argentina. The total distance traveled in a straight line was 310 kilometers, but I actually walked a total of 555 kilometers.

What follows are entries from my diary.

November 6, 2010 7:14 p.m. Socaire, Chile 10, 726 feet

I begin my journey. It is all too unbelievable to imagine. I will be walking, far away from all I know, out of touch. I feel calm. I want this to be a stroll, for enjoyment. I want to revel in these mountains…. The day is warm, the breeze of 8 knots is cool, the sun 10 degrees off the west horizon. I begin. All is quiet save for the air rushing off my ears and the occasional slap of this paper, and some faint distant sounds of birds, or the civilization I am at the edge of.

November 7, 2010 11: 24 p.m.

So far it has been a perfect evening. But the day was tough… Total silence here. Total. No planes. No birds. No animals that I can hear. Nothing. The stars are brilliant. I am toasty warm  – not like last night….

I make camp on the second night of my expedition, as night falls rapidly

November 8, 2010 440 p.m. 4316 meters

One of the great days of my life. Breeze at my back. The color of the pampas grass is a brilliant gold in the spring sun. Solitude beyond belief. Heaven on earth. This is what I was seeking.

The night of Nov 8 was spent at 4316 meters. Slept without tent.

Saline Lake, Cordon de Puntas Negras

November 9, 2010 4412 meters

Yesterday was one of the best days of my life. But last night was very sobering.  (At night, after a 12-hour day of gaining 4000 feet in elevation pulling 150 pounds up gravel) I over-exerted myself by taking a 40-minute hike without any gear save for my headlamp to scout for the lake. When I returned I was too tired to make anything but a cup of broth. I woke cold and made noodles at 1 a.m. But I realized with the slight, constant breeze, I was getting hypothermic, even with all my clothes on in my sleeping bag! The bag I chose is terrible.  I realized if a storm came – or even a high wind – I might die. I have to protect myself. I learned a lot last night. I had no energy!! 4412 meters. The zipper on my sleeping bag is stuck!!! I can’t easily pull it all the way up to get warm, and if I do, I get locked in!! The bottom of the bag has no down, only the mat – so my underside is cold all night.

But yesterday was incredible – beauty beyond belief!! The colors. The contours. The solitude. This place is a wonderland of beauty….

I make a sobering assessment of my position at Salar de Aguas Calientes, as the sun sets

November 10, 2010 4224 meters

I took a couple of liters of saline water from this river, in case I ran out, which I did

I am concerned because I have a long way to go to Paso Jama. I have about 13 liters of water. Plus I found 4 liters of good but saline water today. I want to cut across the Salar to save time.

November 11, 2010 2:30 a.m.

I have traveled very little compared to what I had previously thought. In addition, I have much further to go than I realized. A sobering situation.

After studying my map some 40 minutes or so, I have resolved it is:

1. Foolish to go across the salar because … a) there is a possibility of land mines, b) there is a possibility of marsh.
2. A good idea to get up now and start while it is dark. I will be ready by dawn….

Today I made it all the way past the land mines. Now an ugly slog through gravel!

November 12, 2010 4198 meters

Woke at dawn on “road” – left about 9 a.m. Slog through gravel, landing at Salar.

November 14, 2010

Woke like a newborn calf, barely able to stand up, left without breakfast, only a few sips of water….

…. Two weeks later….

I slog my way through sand and gravel in Valle de Chivatos Muertos

November 26, 2010

Quebrada Nest

I came to a sort of pass, the road was blocked off. But not for me. I simply descended down into the canyon. I was told to follow the playa, the beach! “Do you know what I mean,”  the man had asked. “Ah yeah, I know.“ He meant the riverbed, there was sand and so forth. But as I continued, the going got so difficult, I was afraid that I was on the wrong path. I walked and I walked. It was beautiful. Now there was cactus, cactus just like in the cartoons or in the movies, a beautiful cactus. Somehow, the stature of a cactus gives it the appearance of a human being.

As twilight descended I continued to walk, trying to hurry, hoping I could make it to Pueblo Cobres. But alas, that was not to be. I continued, wondering which way I was going, and when I finally turned left I decided I would wait until that wall of the mountain in front of me and I met. I assumed it went left and it did. And when I finally checked my compass-point, I was going southeast or south, which meant that earlier in the canyon, I was going south, or even southwest a bit. This concerned me.

This concerned me because Cobres was supposed to be southeast. Actually, the trail all day had changed directions. At first it went north, which kind of bothered me. But I realized that paths sometimes they meander, just like my life. Sometimes, when I want to go someplace, I end up going in the opposite direction for a while. Funny, how that is. So, I finally stopped in a little kind of nest, underneath some plants, a little curved wall. There were insects. I hadn’t really seen insects except for little tiny beetles, holding on to flowers.

It was also warmer. I felt like I had gotten to some kind of a new climate.

Vortex Universe from Quebrada Nest

And like most nights, I had little energy to do anything else. I just threw my bag down, opened it up, crawled inside. I did cook a little bit. And then I just went off to sleep.

November 29, 2010 11:50 a.m.

At the end of the road, I felt that there was something really good, but it didn’t overshadow the enjoyment of the journey.

The day was beautiful, ever expanding. The horizons never stopped.  The colors, again today, were so gorgeous, so subtle. Green, gray, chocolate, tan. They were the colors of earth. The salars (great salt pans, mostly dry, some water, often 30 miles or more across) never ended. You could walk in a salar for days. I enjoyed it, except for nightmare sand.  When there was sand, I had to put both hands behind and pull my cart in a way so there was no loss of energy.

In the beginning of my trip, I would struggle, step, by step by step. Then the nighttime breeze began, blowing past me, dust and sand, spitting at me. But it was O.K. I told myself it wouldn’t last for long.

Philosophically speaking, nothing is ever really that bad, as long as you can walk. Walk to someplace that you want to go.

At first it was difficult. At first, I couldn’t breathe! I had to stop every few seconds to rest. I moaned my way up the hill. But now, once I was on the Altiplano, once I was acclimatized, I could walk. I no longer needed to count to thirty, or count to sixty, just waiting for that moment that I could stop again. Now, there was no need to stop. One foot in front of the other, over and over, became second nature. I no longer had to think about it.  The only thing was, I was distracted quite often.  I was distracted by interesting things. Distracted by the need to take a sip of water because it was hot, or to take a photograph because something caught my fancy.

The first few days of my journey, there was no sound. Only one sound. Wind. There was always the sound of the breeze, and when the sound of the breeze stopped, I grew quite hot, and I wished for the breeze to come back again.

Other than wind, and the sounds I made myself, it was completely quiet! A hundred percent quiet. I’d never been to a place like that. Complete solitude. And nobody to help. I did become nervous. I checked where I was. I was so far from the road. And I only had a limited amount of water. I didn’t know what the saline mineral water would do to my body. But, as a precaution, I took a gallon of it and drank it, after boiling it and sterilizing it. I woke up one morning afterwards with huge bags of water under my eyes. There were some nightmare moments. Nightmare moments when I thought I was gonna die.  But deep inside,  I felt nothing could harm me. Nevertheless,  there was a certain thrill of the danger and the risk and being completely on my own.

The skies. The skies were unimaginable. I used to think that I could wait to take a photograph. I used to think that somehow things were permanent. But the sky taught me just the opposite. From moment to moment, things changed. And the beauty, the unparalleled beauty, surpassed itself time and again.

In the beginning there was nothing. Just flamingoes, who did not make a sound, except the sound of their wings as they flew away.

Flamingoes on Salar de Aguas Calientes, Chile

Flamingoes flee as I approach

Flamingoes and a little tiny scorpion.  And then later, there was vicuna and flamingoes. Still later again, there were llamas and vicuna and even a large bird called a Suri, like an ostrich. I couldn’t get close enough, but I think it had iridescent feathers. And I marched and marched.

There was no time. There was no purpose to hurry. Somehow, I knew, somehow I felt, I would keep going on and I would find my destination and eventually I would reach it.

Self-portrait in Salinas Grandes

My favorite times were when the road was hard and flat and white. because white meant pounded, compressed salt, and it was totally natural – it was easy to travel on.

Anyway, my happiest moments were when the road was hard and flat and white, with green on the borders and brown chocolate mountains in advance and arrears of me, with their folds.

Hard Ground in Salinas Grandes, makes it easy to drag my cart.

I would wonder, how mountains came to be. How is it that they’re so complex and yet, they’re so simple and so beautiful? How did they get their features? Did they decide themselves? Did somebody named God give them to them? Or did somebody named Nature form them? And again, like the sky, they were changing. Only the sky changes in seconds, and the mountains change only visibly, in centuries, millennia, and eons.   I imagined what it would be like seeing the mountains changing as the sky changes (like in the movie The Time Machine, where everything changed rapidly, where there was a cave and no cave). My happiest moments were looking out at all those things, and as the sun went down and cast shadows on everything and golden light on everything, the beauty was unimaginable. I never saw beauty like that before. Because, my heart was free. When you’re free, everything looks beautiful.

First view of Tres Morros: a centuries-old church and solar panels, and two cows walking towards the buildings, of which there are about fifteen, maybe ten. Gorgeous. I’ve arrived.

Llama at lithium mining camp in Salinas Grandes

Sunset…

I am walking towards the sunlight. It is beckoning me, like a big treat. In sunlight, there is warmth, light and clarity. All things shine.  (Though, sometimes in sunlight, there is heat and unbearable thirst.)

I am walking faster than the sunlight – it’s fleeing – so it can’t evade my presence, not that it would want to anyway, because in my dream, all things are basically good, although there is a cycle, of life and death. It’s a funny thing, on my journey, sometimes I was so afraid of death!, I fled, I ran, I was terrified. Other times, I was so happy!, it didn’t matter if I died at that moment, because, things were so perfect that the essence of happiness had been reached, the sort of, the nirvana of my life had been consummated.

11:24 p.m.

It was nighttime. I was in my tent. I looked out at the night sky through my porthole, the silhouette of the mountains, almost completely black. On the horizon, there was just a bit of color, a bit of light. But it wasn’t from a city. I don’t think it was from the moon. The light was in the west and the moon was in the east.

Did I ever really take the time before to look at the sky? I did. I did do that. And ponder, like man and women have done – and children – from the beginning of time, to look at the sky and wonder what it all means – all these heavenly bodies. In the day-to-day bustle now, who takes the time? And, anyway, the city lights, they dim out the stars.  It’s as if civilization kills everything. As if it obscures the clarity of our vision….

I was warm and cozy inside the tent. I had hot chocolate. (Chocolate and coffee. Chocolate and coffee. It keeps me going.) I had walked up towards the pass, up and up in the late afternoon until the sun fully set. But the sky. You know, the sky, even though the sun fully sets, the sky is a great illuminator. And I walked with my camera and my cart, my camera dangling around my neck, and I stopped and I saw this incredible road, heading to the northeast towards what appeared to be Tilcara.

How could I be sure? But I had to make camp there just in case in the morning somebody came by. And I could ask them if this road indeed went to Tilcara.  How wonderful. It was like a golden road. It was winding and heading straight to the northeast, exactly where I wanted to go. I couldn’t pass it up. I had planned to walk during the night. I had planned to “cover some ground,” “make some progress,” but, it’s a dream, and in a dream, you don’t need to make progress! You do as you need to do. So I made camp, and I filled myself up with hot liquids, and the wind died down, it was totally calm,  and I shot a night photograph of the sky, with my tent and my cart.

My tent and cart and the Movement of Stars

I had no one to answer to. I had no phone calls to make, other than the ones that I really wanted to make, which only involved love. I had no emails to answer. I left all that behind. Tonight was all mine. All mine. I felt like a king, so many times over, I felt like the lord of the earth. I felt like the lord of the sky. Oh, well, you can criticize me for using these words, king, lord, sovereign. This kind of concept is not in vogue, but it’s my dream, and in my dream, I felt like the lord of all the things in the things in the sky and the earth. I felt in touch and communion with everything, at one with everything, in a mutual harmony, in a fine balance that could not be disturbed if my attitude was right, which it was, because I appreciated everything in my dream. I just lay down against one elbow propping my body up, with my head resting on my shoulder, looking out at the sky, feeling unbelievable.

I reached out and I touched the stars. I grabbed a whole bunch of them with my hand and pulled them into my tent, and then I opened my hand and I (phew!) blew them towards the hill, and they bounced off the hill and back into the sky.

On my walk, I felt I could do anything. I talked earlier about feeling fear of death and feeling no fear of death. And the difference was, when I was completely happy, and completely in touch with my own nirvana, completely satisfied, although I value life and although I cherish every moment, and I want to live forever – and there’s no proof that I won’t! – but death, it seemed no different than life, because I was completely whole.

Sierra de Tilcara, Walker on the mountainside (center)

November 30, 2010

I remember what my friend Ruth told me. She was a great photographer. She said that the photograph “Creation” was something she just had to do. It was something inside of her that just needed to… I don’t know exactly how she described it… in my own words, it was just something that pulls you, that just has to be realized. Maybe that was what this dream, this walk, was for me. Something that just had to come together in order for my life to be whole….

I revered the mountains, and in return, they let me pass

The mountains were bigger than I was. But they were not bigger than my determination. I revered the mountains, and in return, they let me pass.  There was nothing that could stop me, because my heart was pure.

December 16, 2010 12:43 p.m.

Condors overhead. What a difference between these days and the days in the salars. In the days in the salars, the altitude was about 14,000 feet and the nights were freezing!, below freezing!, and there was wind, and there was no life. None! No life. No insects, virtually no life! O.K, there was some. I saw a mouse. I saw beetles. (Not many!)

Now, as I descend out of the Andes, it’s a wonderland.  There’re trees. Yesterday I passed my first tree, my first tree in a month. Literally! Before, there were no trees. None. None at all. And now, there’s forests to my left, and there’s jagged mountains all around, in the distance, as I descend slowly out of the mountains, on gentle paths that hug the mountainside.

Last night I walked.

I set my camera on a rock and then rushed off to my sleeping bag, while I waited for the long exposure

The path hugged the mountainside the whole time – below crests – it was wonderful. There was really nothing so dangerous. Maybe one spot where if I fell, it could turn ugly because about twenty feet down, I think there was a cliff. If I rolled I think I could fall, but, mostly it was nothing dangerous. But still it was spectacular, walking by the moonlight.

…mostly running on adrenaline, drenched in moonlight

I used my headlamp – sometimes, I used the moonlight only.  Now, it’s a perfect day. The path is gentle, it’s winding down, down, down, down out of the Andes, out of the Andes forever. The mountains move, but very slowly. I can see evidence about the geologic upheaval where things were pushed and huge stratification at angles, all discombobulated into a scenic wonder.

There’s life all around me. There’re insects, beautiful insects. There’re condors overhead. They soar, black and white. Strong, powerful, aerodynamically perfect. Something like a bomber. Or a bomber’s something like a condor. There’s grass, sloping hills. Maybe the hills are seventy degrees, on the side of the path, mostly with grass. And there’s evidence everywhere of goats having used the hills to graze for centuries.

Night….

This place is just kick-ass beautiful. I mean, it’s kickin’my ass!, but it’s beautiful. It’s ironic in a way, that I chose this route, to finish my walk across the Andes, there’s been nothing like it in the western part of the Andes. Unbelievable, it’s easily the most spectacular hike I’ve ever done. It’s dark now. I’m just sitting here resting on a trail that’s hugging the mountainside. The river is maybe about a hundred and fifty meters below…. The gorge is not very wide. A big wall of rock in moon shadow is just across from me. Maybe the gorge is something like two hundred meters across, six or seven hundred feet. I’m tired. I’m hungry. But I’m not that tired and not that hungry. And mostly running on adrenalin, drenched in moonlight.

I walk out of my dream. It really was a dream. A total dream. Everything was so foreign. Everything was devoid. Now, stepping into life again, I step out of my dream. But the dream has been good to me. I learned. I learned a lot. One thing is I learned is that my body needs to be used. It’s not right to sit at a computer all day long, burning my eyeballs out with electricity. It’s not right just to take a run for twenty minutes. I need days. And I found out that my body is good. I found out that my legs are strong. I found out that the ankle that I thought was bad is not bad. It’s good. It just needs to be used.  All my aches and pains went away. Walking every day. Walking twelve hours, sixteen hours. No problem.  Enduring the cold. No problem.

Last night I lay down and went to sleep for a short while, on a mountain crest, just wearing my clothes, with a jacket thrown over me. I was perfectly comfortable for a while.

I learned, other things…. I learned that I can do more than I thought I could. Importantly, I learned that any goal is achievable if you just apply enough resource. Maybe you don’t have the resource, maybe not at that time, but the goal is achievable.  It’s like, I want to be a music star. It’s achievable. It’s just a matter of energy, resource. It’s not far off.  It’s not any further off than the next village.  That village was very off when I began my trip. Very, very far off. Now I’m close, because of application every day of my energies towards one end.

I learned that, when an opportunity comes and I’m not prepared, that I should prepare, even if I think that that opportunity won’t come again, because often it does.

I learned that I’m dependent on other people. I asked a lot of questions. Without people’s guidance, I don’t think I could have found the way so easily… (though maybe I could have, eventually – or, maybe I would have just had a better adventure).  But I like life. I like other people. I like civilization. I was trying to escape civilization but I don’t want to escape it totally. I like to have one foot in it, and one foot out of it.

1984

Foreword to 1984 Journal

This is a true account of my travels, while I was in my twenties, virtually as a vagabond, across lands that were for me enchanting and amazing. As much as there are parts of this journal that I find embarrassing (such as the use of drugs, explicit descriptions of sex, etc.), I decided to leave it all in. After all, it is the truth, and it is how I felt. I decided that the integrity of the writing should win out over merely pacifying those faint of heart. The views I expressed and the way I behaved in 1984 may not be the views I hold or the way I behave today (in 2007). Behavior changes as we grow older and experience new and better ways to live. So, I hope that this journal is not offensive. I am publishing it because I think it is a worthy document, as the experiences of that year were unique and took place in a world that has since changed significantly, a world of the past.

I do not use drugs, nor do I drink alcohol, so I don’t want to give the impression that I condone their use, because I don’t. I think they are destructive. Today, drinking coffee is about as adventurous as I get with respect to drugs!

Sometimes in this journal I interchangeably use the present and past tenses. I have left this in too, though an English teacher might want to rap my knuckles with a ruler! In cases where I used words that are not technically part of the English language or where usage was incorrect, I have put these words and phrases in italics.

I normally use the word “girl” to mean any woman I am interested in sexually. My usage of the word “girl” virtually always refers to what is, technically, a “woman.”

This journal begins with a tumultuous love affair in the midst of my personal pilgrimage on foot two hundred miles across the Indian countryside to the Taj Mahal from Jaipur. I came down with a case of hepatitis on the walk. While recuperating in New Delhi, I shared a dorm with two addicts that tempted me to smuggle heroin. I traveled to Katmandu again, where I fell in love with Gabrielle. We agreed to meet in Egypt. I traveled overland to Sikkim, to the far east of Bangladesh, then west to Egypt, through the very anti-American Ayatollah Khomeni’s Iran. Reuniting with Gabrielle in Cairo, then almost breaking up with her due to her “infidelity”, I nursed my hurt feelings by dating new women in Nairobi (with her permission), until she said enough was enough. We traveled down the Zaire River (i.e., the Congo) after a walk up Mt. Kilimanjaro, the first of my Seven Summits.

This typewritten document is taken almost verbatim from my original journal, handwritten in a small book I bought in India.

Chapter 1
Judith, Revelations and the Burning Ghats of Varanasi

January 1, 1984
Baidam Lake Near Pokhara, Nepal

The first thing of the New Year is that I let out a Whoop, a lone outburst from my otherwise quiet pondering self, laying in the night wrapped in down clothes on the temple island on Baidam Lake. The group I was with tried to involve me in their party, but I “sank to my own heights,” danced to my own tune on the stone wall on the edge of the water, stone on hash, opium and finally beer and rum. I involved them in a discussion they didn’t want from my philosophical perch—they were on mushrooms and wanted to laugh. They snickered when I suggested the howling dogs in the distance could be communicating through subtle changes in the tonality of their barks. “Now I know how Galileo felt,” I voiced. Eventually, silence was requested on my part by the others. The tension in this encounter was great, yet let it be symbolic, for however ridiculous I appeared outwardly, my inner spirit remained dauntless. Actually, what I wanted to be doing at midnight was making love.

Nepal, Judith, 1983

Judith and I, on our walk home at 5:00 a.m., found an old lady with a fire and had a snack of tea and eggs. Back in our room, we fell asleep. Early in the morning, she and I made love, almost unconsciously, and fell back to sleep. At 8 a.m. I woke up, remembering to “contact” Kelly. Since Japan is three and a half hours off, I should have “broadcasted” at eight thirty a.m. but I waited until the appointed 9 a.m. and sat on the shore of the lake. Giving due consideration to the fact that Kelly transmitted one-half hour beforehand, I ‘received’ first.

New Year Haiku
City noises
Country quiet
The tremendous sounds
of the bush
are thoughts of you.

I sent….”white mountain bliss before me communing with you”…and I sang Hubbadahay Shusho Shusho twice. Lastly, “transmit again January ten, twelve p.m., Tokyo.”

Back in bed, Judith.
Diary, can we be perfectly frank? I licked her cunt for a good while, and we fucked and it felt divine. All in all, I must have licked her pussy for forty minutes this morning. We were lounging about and she was looking at my cock. She had the sweetest look on her face, as I held her close, when she said, in her Dutch accent: “You’ve got the best cock in the whole world.” Thus flattered, I licked her cunt and she took my cock in her mouth just a little for the first time.

We took a break, and then, before we went for a morning swim in the lake, we had our morning’s lovemaking, during which she said things: “This is what we should have done last night.”
Judith went to Pokhara and I lay in the grass in the sun and read the great book Dracula! Thus, the first day of the year lulled by nicely. We ate dinner at the Snoland restaurant, which whittled away much of the evening.

January 2, 1984
Cottage on Baidam Lake, Near Pokhara, Nepal

Though we were supposed to get out of bed the first thing this morning, we were kept there unwillingly by itchy love bottoms. Then Judith took a dip in the lake.

We sauntered through town. I bought a red coral necklace for one hundred and ten rupees of one hundred and fifty or so beads. By the time we had seen to our fancies and eaten our fill, the afternoon was closing. Judith’s period had come, a happy note for us. I bought fifteen mushrooms and had them put in my soup. As we walked down to the pier to get a boat, I felt a little something coming on.

We rented a boat and rowed across the lake. The boat swirled around. I had moving visions of the Annapurnas backdropping Judith at the other end to the boat. When we got to the other side, we beached the canoe and walked to the cottage. Shortly after arriving, I sat down on the ground with a good view of the lake Baidam and the Himals. Here I sat for the sunset and pondered the mysteries of the Universe.

I asked myself “ridiculous questions” and got answers so deep I transformed into a believer. In between, I would sit and “see,” without thinking. Think/see/think/see.

The mountains seemed to have a soul of their own, so I wondered if they were not being as I was. Who was superior? They had pushed themselves up through geologic time to gain ascendancy over the lowlands and lower mountains of the world. But I have eyes, I can move! Yet who is to say that they are not cognizant in some way unknown to me? They see the sunrise first and the last of the setting sun. They stand staunch for millions of years, unmovable, but I am come and gone in a flit.

Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of the eternity of space and matter; rather than feel shut off by my short time here; I felt close to the Universe, I felt part of eternity. In the recesses of my mind, a knowledge submerged now expanded into my consciousness for a revelating moment. It seemed staggering and yet so very natural. It seemed that I had always known the Universe.

Now I hesitate to deny the truth of my revelations however ludicrous they appear, because the feeling was so strong, and it seemed clear, as if God had filled my mind, and I saw as God saw. My imagination was free to run unhindered. I reflected that one of my goals was to live one of the most imaginably exalted lifetimes in existence. I wanted to live a billion such lifetimes, and I considered that this could be one of them. I felt like a prince, like a king, like a philosopher. I reflected that maybe all of my goals were taking place in different parts of the universe simultaneously. Maybe I was living other lifetimes right now, maybe I was a rock contemplating for a million years. Maybe I was riding on a comet. But because my desire was to live a human life, I, as my human self, could not have human knowledge of other existences. Just because I was unaware did not negate the existence of an expanded self!

Truly, when I had asked myself before the end of the year what would I achieve if I could transcend time and space, I was reaching beyond myself, beyond my own life and powers as a human, envisioning events that I will never experience as a human. However, in that moment, I broke a barrier of perception, by imagining that greater than myself, I caught a glimpse of reality greater than myself, transcended my humanness. Once the possibility was envisioned, it stunned my human mind into a sort of remembrance, and suddenly, my imaginings seemed a certainty, a reality! I knew a larger Universe than my human recollections would allow. It seemed I had returned to a state of natural realization that had floated around my earliest consciousness as a child. The possibility of other realities (greater, much greater, than my human existence) perceived with the same spirit that I call “ME” seemed ridiculous to be termed “possibilities,” for they were a greater certainty than my own human existence! I had “seen” all this.

Last year, I had written out my transcendental desires, and subsequently had a gut level confirmation that they could be real. Could my desires cause reality, or could reality be reflected in my desires?

My imagination exploded. I thought of Be ing. I looked at the range of hills in the foreground of Annapurna, now black silhouettes against the pink snow of the distant mountains in the sunset.

Lhotse Everest Sunset

Lhotse – Everest Sunset, 1983

Although this photograph is not of Annapurna, it is nevertheless similar to the scene described in the journal. Mount Everest is also not so far away from Pokhara and Annapurna, where the journal entry was written.

Another “ridiculous question.” If I could be a segment of the hills in the range or to be the entire range, what would I choose? Could I be the Annapurnas? If I could be everything, would this not be more to my pleasing than to be part of it only? But, thought I, I would only like to be the good things. Then I reflected that all things are good. Maybe we consider actions as being bad or good, but objects themselves are good. My conclusion was that I would like to be everything in the Universe—the Universe itself!!!

Now I made a declaration that I cannot explain the “logic” of. I tried to reconcile that if I was the Universe, what was my physical body? What was, then, the purpose of my life? I thought: the purpose of my life is to see myself. By this I do not mean physical self, for as many say, this is only a vehicle. When I say “myself,” I mean the Universe, for I am that, I am the Universe, and by Universe, I mean everything that is! (Even if my normally conscious mind can’t see it, it can accept that it is there.) I, as the Universe, am thus employing my body to see itself in a new way.

These last points were somewhat muddled. But I felt, nevertheless, the following conclusion. I am the physical Universe: the word ‘I’ in this sense denotes my spiritual self. On the question of my physical self, to live the most imaginably exalted lifetime I possibly can is the focus of all my dreams. To grow as much as I possibly can is my strategy. I felt that I must prepare my physical body to be a conduit for the powers of my greater, physical Universal self. This stems from the idea that my physical body innately has limited capacities, but that it is possible to draw on greater powers to funnel them through a properly prepared psyche, and release them in actions of goodness and super-human power. (This sounds ‘suspiciously’ like the notion of the Christian Father/Son/Spirit relationship now that I write it out. The Father is the entire Universe, the Son is the human man, and the Spirit is the link between the two! I have just thought of this January 8, 1984, 7:22 pm.)

I admit now, in my sobriety, the contradictions that would appear. At the top of the page (in my other diary that I wrote in at the time), I wrote: “To be the Universe is my ultimate goal”, and a few sentences later, I wrote: “I am the Universe.” I think that I felt I proved this by inference, as if everything was moving in that direction so quickly that the result was inevitable. It seemed like the final thing to say, the only conclusion that made “any sense!”

I felt and feel convinced of the immortality of my spirit and it’s ability to enter reality again in some physical way. I wrote: “The lifetime of this body is finite, but I shall go on and on, and that is a warm feeling.” By that I meant that it was a secure and everlasting feeling. Among my final conclusions as night sat in were: “There’s not much time in this physical body, so I am compelled to use it to the best purposes. I feel as if the fact that my Time is limited in this life is my impetus to grow and to be good, my impetus to be simple.” To add a note of finality to this discussion, I now rewrite: “I am not speaking in figurative terms about the whole matter of Being the Universe, but on the contrary, I feel quite clearly and sanely the things I wrote.”

As I write this down now, it seems all so much to be a parallel of present-day religious philosophy. The idea of preparing your body and mind to receive greater powers: how would one do this? It seems obvious that one would try to tell the truth, so that truth would flow through your mind, that one would try to be peaceful, so that peace would flow through your soul; one should seek to have right conduct (along the lines of Plato/Socrates) so that the body and mind should enjoy harmony and thus be accepting of universal harmony; one should develop the body and nourish it, so that one can enjoy the vibrations of vitality inherent in the universe. One should learn and grow, seeking to expand, so as to allow a greater volume of light (or power) to flow through their self at an increasing rate. All these things might be ways to prepare the human entity to receive greater power into itself.

Thus, sitting still on my perch above Baidam Lake, I peered into the mysteries of life and felt surprised at the relevance of my answers. I felt strongly that I was the young king experiencing revelations at the proper and chosen time. I felt the intensity of my life in the light of a millennium of millenniums and beyond. They were wonderful and serious sensations!

Judith came up to me, as it was time to eat. She asked me how I felt. I replied: “Like a king, like a god!…” We ate a Nepalese dinner with the cottage people, and then we retired to our room in the otherwise vacant building down the hill towards the lake. Judith’s period had come in the afternoon, so I was able to come inside of her. Our lovemaking was beautiful and, as usual, full of lust and passion.

January 3, 1984
Fewa Hotel, Baidam Lake, Near Pokhara, Nepal.

Out of the barred window of our room lies the morning Annapurna. Judith and I made love. She’d told me earlier that she felt that she might have a mood come over her today, and that she might cause problems—this was by way of a warning.

I went back up to the house, to write in the courtyard sun.

When Judith came up later, she seemed upset. I asked if she’d mind to fill up the canteen bottle. She said “No,” laconically.

The canoe-rental man hassled us for the (that is, more) money, as I knew he would. I was followed up to the Snoland by him and his wife. They left threatening to send for the police, who never came. Judith and I went to the hotel Fewa and then went up through Baidam and had dinner. When we returned to the hotel, we fell asleep without making love and also without talking about our plans for the morning, since I was going to Sonali, and, if she wanted to go to Gaya, she’d have to take a different bus by way of Raxaul. The conflict was still in her when we retired.

January 4, 1984
On Indian Border, Sonauli, Nepal

I awoke at 6 a.m. and I got up and began to pack my things. Judith remained in bed and made no motion to move. When it was in the air that I might leave and she might stay, she continued with her feelings that maybe it was better that things turned out that way. I said that I couldn’t believe she’d loved me if she was going to end things just like that. I remained resolute in my leaving. She crawled out of the covers like a pink/white animal, with black hair and budding breasts hanging down like two cones ending in fleshy soft pink/brown nipples. If I’d never really loved Judith before, I did now at this moment. She drew herself to my breast. She asked me what I was thinking. “That if I made love with you right now, maybe you would change your mind and come with me!” She said, “Give it a try!”

I took off my pants and crawled in with her, we talked, the air cleared a little. The mood for lovemaking was curtailed by the time I jumped out of bed and got my things together and threw my pack on my back—“You’re going?” “Yep!” “…I’m going too,” she said, and with that she was up in a flash and ready to go. (“Women are unfathomable,” the Englishman had said!)

We caught the bus to Sonauli. Elbows in the head, people shoving, resulted in us going atop the bus. So we rode along to the border, Judith in my arms, the brown terraced landscape passing by.

We arrived before sunset and got a hotel room with a window looking out to India, from the Nepal side. We took care of lovemaking matters tout-suite.

I checked through Nepal migration (you’re allowed to stay in Nepal one night even after you’re stamped out). Judith walked straight across the border to get a bite to eat as I was going through customs and only then did I realize that people were allowed to pass freely between the borders!
On the Indian side of the border, it was just different enough to notice. The food was good, and we had a sugar confection made with flour into a crunchy sweet. It was absolutely scrumptious, fresh and hot out of the pan. It was the first time I’d ever seen Judith eat a sweet, and she ate this with gusto. It was full of butter!

We had bowls of dahl and chapatis at another place, and the meal was very satisfying. Judith was writing, so I left the restaurant and waited outside. She took so long that I finally left and met her back at the hotel, a bit apprehensive that she might be bothered that I didn’t wait for her. Back in the hotel room, I fell asleep on one of the beds immediately. We slept with the light on atop one of the two narrow beds in the room.

Psyche-up for India!

January 5, 1984
Varanasi (Benares), India

We awoke in the middle of the night, and Judith turned the light out. I had three aerogrammes left for Nepal, and I wanted to write to Kelly, Dad and my dear Grandma. I felt like getting up, so I flipped on the light, intending to write letters. Judith immediately voiced her annoyance, and it made me feel defensive. I felt that she should endure the light being on as we were roommates. I would let her do the same. She often wakes me up early in the morning to talk with me. I maintained my mellowness as her anger grew, but I nevertheless refused to grant her wishes. I tried to subdue her with some of that good butter sweet I bought. It had a limited effect. She pored over my map of India and said, now ignoring her resolution to go to meditate in Gaya, “Nagpur! That’s where I’ll go!” I felt like she was making things difficult. Before she had tired herself of being difficult, she’d even gone so far as to say, “I Hate You.” I tried my best to ignore her.

I wrote to Kelly, and to Dad. To my Gam, I wrote my feelings of thanks and told her of the ways that she had changed my life in very positive terms. I was awake still when dawn came. Judith awoke in a disturbed mood, but she seemed more rational despite her anger. I took the approach of amnesty: I won’t hold her overreactions against her if only she’ll be friendly. She packed her things. She was ready to go when I was given a bucket of hot bath water by the hotel boy. I asked her where we should meet and she asked how long I would be. I said, “Eight minutes,” and she said, “I’ll wait for eight minutes.”

I felt like I wanted to show her how much I would hustle to keep my word to her, so I proceeded very quickly, and I was ready to go in a short while. We left together. Nothing about it was said, but I felt she got the message: I was sincere that I would behave the way I was asking her to behave; there were no double standards here!

We entered into India with a handshake from the smiling Immigration man. The minibus to Varanasi was very pleasant. We bought fruits and puffed rice and snacked as we sat in the fourteen-seater. We faced the front and had a good view on three sides. Elation. India is the 40th country I’ve visited. The countryside was flat and cultivated all the way to Varanasi. There was a guide with us and he asked me for some of my hash. This began a smoke-out, and I ended up tremendously stoned! We stopped for tea. I sat in the sun and wrote: I wrote about the feeling I had of the certainty of the “seeing” I experienced at the cottage on Baidam Lake and right then I wrote: “I feel a presence,” which had an implication of a person but which was an inaccurate implication. However, being stoned my mind ran away with the implication and I feared that my Grandma had passed away. I fantasized that her spirit had come to me and was guiding my thoughts to their proper conclusions.

It was terrible to believe that she had gone from this life, and such a strong feeling came over me that I couldn’t see how it wasn’t true!! I finally told myself it wasn’t true, and then it all seemed to have been a fantasy. While the feeling was awful, because I hate to think of never seeing her again, I felt very comfortable with the idea that she had, in spirit, come to me. Truly, if she should leave this life before me, I should feel happy and content if she should watch over me in spirit.

We stopped for lunch. Judith and I were served last. I read some Dune Messiah until it got dark, and shortly after that we rolled into Varanasi. We were let off on “tourist row.” Judith didn’t like the hotels she saw. I was really tired from not getting sleep the night before (which is why I’d gotten so stoned! — the sleep plus lack of food), so she went off to search for hotels while I watched the packs. When she came back she wanted to go eat, so I put on my pack. Then she said she wanted to smoke a biri, so I waited. Then she was suddenly up and walking down the street before I would scarcely look up. I asked her if she’d wait for me. She walked back to where I stood and said a few things, amongst them a sarcastic remark about how I sat by while she raced around. She walked away. I was too stunned and too tired and too proud to follow her immediately. Rather, I read from Dune Messiah for a while. My anxiety grew, however, that she would be gone for good. I got up and walked down the street to find her. Some men in a restaurant saw that I was looking for her and said “she went that-a-way!” I looked all over, but to my dismay, I could not find her.

As I passed the restaurant on the way back, the men pointed around the corner, now saying she’d gone back towards the hotel. I walked to the hotel where she’d split from me, and not finding her, walked down the same street again and found her in a teashop. There wasn’t any real problem, and soon we were walking up the street, lovers again. We found a nice hotel in short order: the Hotel Relax. I went down to the Most Welcome Restaurant and had a delicious pea dish.

Back in our room, Judith and I made love for some time, probably two and a half or three hours.

January 6, 1984
Varanasi, India

The goal of the day was to get to the burning place, and it took us all day to get there. The first order of business (ahem!) was to go to the bank so that I could find out if my money had arrived in Delhi. We crossed the train station and got a rickshaw. Since I’m so short of money, I decided not to send a telex, since if the money isn’t in Delhi, that’s sixty rupees (six dollars) less that I have to work with! On our way to the telegraph office, we stopped in to a silk store and examined their silks: thirty rupees, fifty rupees, seventy rupees, ninety rupees, one hundred and ten rupees, one hundred and thirty rupees, thirty grams of silk, forty grams, fifty grams, seventy grams, eighty grams. I wonder how much silk costs back at home.

We took a rickshaw down to the area where the burning bodies are. The streets are so full of life—the only comparison I’ve seen would be in Dacca. There are vendors of every kind. One can buy popcorn or peanut brittle, apples, oranges, tea, papayas, bananas, fruits like apple/pears that I don’t know the name of (not the Japanese cross), samosas, hot milk. There are rickshaws and sacred brama bulls, water buffaloes littering the road. Our rickshaw man let us off in the busy street and pointed out where we should walk.

For the next hours, we mulled about the avenues and cul-de-sacs of the area. We bought the delicious peanut brittle (1.20 rupees for one hundred grams, fifty cents per pound). I bought this here diary, which is the traditional Indian (school) book. We split up for a few minutes and met down at the burning place.

The burning place is situated on the Sacred Ganges River. When I got there, I wasn’t aware that I was looking at the Ganges, but it is a tribute to the holiness of the river that, without knowledge of its history and identity, I was deeply impressed by the atmosphere about the river, the mystery and serenity which emanated from the land and water and manifested itself in the noises of the river bank: mourners chanting as they brought the bodies down to the fires, children yelling, dogs fighting, yelping and snarling over the rotted stinking carcass of a sacred bull in the sacred river’s shallows, countless offers from boaters to ride on the water, the crackling of the fire as it consumed the loved ones of the onlookers, who themselves sat in silence.

The Burning Ghats of Varanasi, India, 1984

I marveled at the burning bodies. The fires were three feet high and the bodies lay atop them with the head and feet hanging over each opposite end. It was so strange to see legs and arms, heads, spinal columns sizzling like so many pieces of BBQ chicken. I reflected that Jim in New Guinea had described a book in the Honiara archives that showed some cannibals roasting human flesh in an old photo. I thought it would be fantastic to see this photo, and still do, but seeing these bodies burning with my own two eyes was strangest of all. I saw the attendant push on a human shoulder with his stick, and it caved in straight away. I saw them take a charred human spinal column and pelvis and chuck it in the river. Down river not twenty yards, men were bathing in the water!!

Judith went off to see a statue or something, and, as I couldn’t find her, I walked downriver along the bank. The left bank was lined with walls of stone, some fifty feet high, and there were stone steps all along, giving the left bank an atmosphere of a battlement. Across the river, it was virgin land—a sandy shore, grassy banks, flat green lands. As I walked along my eyes filled with the wonder of the place. It reminded me of countless movies of the Orient, and, possibly, it jolted deep memories of a lifetime long past. The aura sinks to the bones, and revives sentiments at the core of my humanness.

I thought of what a great adventure it would be to walk the length of the river to the ocean from here. It seems like it would be a fascinating experience! Or even boat down the river!

Water buffaloes stand dumbly in groups on the steps of the shore. I walked back, found Judith, and now we walked together past the point where I had turned back. When we walk together in town, the men laugh and cheer us on when they see us arm in arm or holding hands or even kissing, as it is not their custom to do so in public; but I think they enjoy seeing it nevertheless, or so they seem to! Judith and I walked back off of the river, through the narrow alleyways that wind through the city. We emerged on to a big street, but could not find where we’d been before. We finally caught a quick rickshaw, which sped us back to the Hotel Relax in the growing darkness.

Before we went to dinner, Judith said that she would like to make love for a bit, and I am not one to turn down a beguiling offer. We stripped. We went at it quickly and forcefully. In order to see the effects and practice control, I refrained from coming, and after twenty minutes or an hour (says Judith), we just stopped and went to dinner.

The Welcome Restaurant put out a decent meal, but no more. We returned to our room afterwards, and we fell fast asleep!

January 7, 1984
Varanasi, India

The beginning of the day is lovemaking. Then Judith said: Do you know what I would like to do? She wanted to have me kiss her while she got herself off manually. I consented. It was exciting when her body became totally tense and shook. She felt so good. She had two orgasms.

We went out to look at silk. The rickshaw man brought us to a silk factory. We took a short tour of the factory where the hand looms were painstakingly operated by people earning journeymen’s wages of five rupees a day. It is astounding the amount of work that goes into the material, and also the low wages are shocking! We were offered tea, and as usual they seemed to be taking their sweet time about showing us the silk we came to see. We had to get up to leave before they would produce the silk. Judith saw nothing she wished to buy. Consequently, the rickshaw man brought us to another locale.

Star Handloom was where we ended up. In this nice shop, Judith began to feel weak, and the man of the shop let her lay down on his mats, threw a blanket over her and got us both some tea. This gentleman had the nicest shop of all with the nicest silks and a nice manner. I wrote while Judith looked at silks, Tibetan brocades, paper silks. The man peered at my writing and read aloud: “…higher purposes…purpose behind purpose….” Before we left, he flattered me by saying how intelligent I was and talking about Socrates in the same breath. He pressed us to come to dinner that evening at his shop (he’d given us a taste of his lunch and it was delicious). We didn’t want to commit but half-heartedly said we would.

We took a rickshaw down to the burning place area, left the rickshaw in a traffic jam, got split up, and caught another rickshaw once together again. The driver tried to let us off in the middle of nowhere as he had no idea where we wanted to go. It turned out we had originally been only a few blocks from our destination! After much circling, the driver finally got us there. I bought Judith one of these notebooks to do her drawing in for a belated Christmas gift. We looked at silks at an obnoxious silk factory. The salesman used the same line we hear from nearly every merchant in Nepal and India—it is uncanny how standard this line is!: “This is Quality, Madam. If you can find silk this quality for less money anywhere in Varanasi, I will give to you this entire roll of silk for free! You don’t believe me?” We walked out on him abruptly.

We went to the burning place in the dark. Mystical, the burning takes place continually, twenty four-hours a day. I took a sneak photo but the exposure was much too long to be in focus—they try to extort money from you for the privilege of taking a photograph.

We walked back through the cul-de-sacs. When we emerged on the street, an unusual sight surpassed all the others. A dead body wrapped in orange on a stretcher was poised at an angle in a rickshaw! The driver had gone off and the body waited patiently, the bright vendor’s lights reflecting off the silk. I tried to shoot photographs, but I fear that the exposures will be blurred. An old man requested baksheesh, but as he just was opportunity-seeking, we proceeded on without giving it to him.

India, Varanasi, Corpse in Rickshaw,1984

The figure in the left foreground was a man requesting baksheesh, otherwise known as a payoff. The rationale was that, even though he had no relation to the corpse in the rickshaw, I, as a foreigner, should have to pay anyone that could insinuate themselves into the situation. In the background, the rickshaw driver is having a cup of tea.

We caught a rickshaw home. The driver raised hell because we’d paid him the going rate of two rupees and not the tourist rate. Ignored and avoided, he finally rode away.

Judith and I had some hot milk, and this had its effect, as we fell asleep straight away on our return to our room.

January 8, 1984
Varanasi, India

Morning activities are making love and drinking coffee in bed, writing. I asked Judith if she’d like to get herself off. This turned out strangely, and we seemed caught in a dilemma; Judith was afraid to ruin our great sex life by introducing this new thing of getting herself off—this all came partially because I’d related my experience with Linda. Linda was the only other girl who had ever done that, and it really turned me off—but it was much different, for whereas Judith loves to make love, Linda couldn’t really get into it. I was encouraging to Judith to try again, because I think it’s a good and fun thing. Sometimes both people can get bogged down, and at these times, it’s necessary to ignore the negative aspects plaguing the atmosphere—by just being positive about it, the moods change, and light is reached. Sometimes we do worry about nothing or about meaningless past experiences. The outcome was that we made it a second time.

We got a rickshaw to take us to the burning place so that I could get the pictures I sought. I only had two frames left in my last roll of film. The rickshaw brought us to a different, smaller burning place upriver, but there were no good pictures, so Judith and I walked down to the big place. I tried to be secretive but I was spotted right off by the “secret police” of the burning place. These extortionists claimed their father owned the place, and that money must be paid to the “beggars” that lived in the house overlooking the place if photos were to be taken. The three young men before me invited my wrath, but I ended up bargaining with one of the boys for four rupees, and was presently led upstairs to a spot where I could overlook the entire area. I wanted a real good close-up of a body. (By the way, on the rickshaw ride out to the Ganges, I took a photo of a man riding an enormous camel down the street.)

Man Riding Large Camel, India, 1984

I never knew camels got so big! This beast had hoofs fourteen inches in diameter, and I swear he stood eleven feet tall at the shoulders!! Riding him was an Indian man, looking like bird in its nest high atop the camel’s back.) The young man agreed to let me go down next to the bodies to take the picture. To my surprise, the Indian onlookers made no objection as I stood close and shot a close-up of a body on the hearth! The legs hung out towards the river, and the head looked ghastly! The body filled the frame from left to right!

Cremation, Varanasi, 1984

My camera had one more photo in it as it fully clicked over. I ran upstairs again to get a wide-angle shot. I was followed by a man who refused to allow the picture. Other boys followed. Ensued an argument. One boy, much smaller and more frail than me, was saying it was his father’s place and threatening to throw me over the ledge. I said: “Who is this guy? Doesn’t he realize that he’s much smaller than me. What is he, a judo expert??” The guys were very unnecessarily aggressive. I told them that I’d already paid.

I was told to leave, I was told it was a sacred place and no pictures were allowed, the government didn’t allow them, they would throw me off if it was night time…and then at the last minute, as I was about to go, they said I could take one photo but then I had to go and never come back. Nonsense. I took my 28-millimeter photo from this plan view, and Judith and I split.

We walked out to the main street, caught a rickshaw, cashed money at the bank, went to a silk shop, looked at the stock, and finally ended up at Star Handloom again. Judith bought some green twisted silk for seventy rupees per meter for a dress, forty-five grams, and some yellow thirty-gram silk for thirty rupees per meter. The shop owner gave us dinner on his mat. Later, when Judith was out for a while, the shop owner involved me in a conversation on sex with Judith. He wanted to know if we used the “sucking system,” what kind of “job, night job” did she do with me. He said he’d only had sex with his wife, and wanted to know how many women I’d been with, and if Judith had been with many men. He asked how she was and I told him that she was the best I ever had.

Later, when Judith came back in the shop, the conversation turned to corruption in India, the caste system (Brahman (ten percent), Shatria (ten percent), Be (thirty percent) and Sedul (fifty percent, “untouchables”), and sex—boy/woman, man/boy, man/woman-and its aspects of vagina, anus and sucking. We were both well tired of the topics. As Judith described it, it was like he was orgasming constantly during our conversation! I was a little shocked by his tangents from his otherwise perfectly well-mannered self. I think he has the hots for Judith—it’s blowing me away how many men do since we got to Varanasi. It seems every man wants her!

We walked home in the dark; it was super-good. We now know a bit of the orientation of the city since our friend the merchant informed us we could walk from his shop.

We stopped off for some milk on the way home. Again, it had its sedative effect, and we fell asleep after going to bed.

January 9, 1984
Varanasi, India

{Let every act and creation be a tribute to my life here on earth.}

In the morning, Judith and I again made love. I give much pleasure orally to Judith between the legs. Since we’ve been in India, I have felt not as strong sexually as in Nepal. I think it is due to the diet. I must see if my strength picks up if I eat a lot. We walked down past the train station again this morning, and again to the area of Star Handloom in Nadesai. Judith bought her material to Famous Tailors and had a dress made of the green silk and a sari of the yellow silk.

We came back to the hotel, I wrote in my book about milestones towards a musical career, and I also outlined some of the characteristics of the type of system I would like to create. Judith and I made love. We discussed our sexual feelings of late, and I was telling her how I hadn’t been feeling strong and hoping it didn’t worry her. She told me I was the best lover she ever had, and she said it with sincerity and glib femininity. I’m not really surprised she said that, because we’re so good together. But diary, I know how things can be said in the bedroom.

Earlier, a neighbor in my hotel, M.J. Vyas, a “Brahman” introduced himself when Judith had stepped out. Now he came by to say hello. He is from Budro and is here on business. We made arrangements to meet him just before nine and all go with he and his company’s representation in Varanasi to an Indian movie. This is something that Judith and I have been looking forward to.

When he left, Judith and I went to the tailor. We got her dress and sari. I decided to have a pair of cotton pants made and I couldn’t decide between a black and a green, so I opted to make one leg black and one green. The tailor said “You’re a new man in Varanasi,” meaning that I was going to be the only man in Varanasi with such pants.

We went off to the hotel where we met M.J. and his friend. We took rickshaw to the theater and saw an Indian film along the lines vaguely like James Bond, only this guy had a steady girlfriend whom he danced and sang to. It was a thoroughly enjoyable movie. It seemed rather corny throughout, but it had all the action one could desire, and a beautiful woman to boot, music and dancing. I really admire their showmanship and innovative music. It made me think of my own aspirations. It is funny how much of a movie you can understand even when you can’t follow the dialogue. I thought it must be a trend amongst the sophisticates to interject terse English phrases occasionally into their speech.

After the movie, we arrived back at the Hotel Relax by rickshaw. We decided to smoke some hash, so I broke off a piece about 1.6 grams, and put it on the end of a needle. First, I lit the whole ball of hash until it was flaming. Then I blew out the flame and inhaled the white smoke. When Judith sat on my lap to get some, I realized another way to smoke it was to hold it under your nose six or eight inches below so that clouds of smoke rise between both of us. It worked great. We got really stoned and really wired. I suggested we take a short walk. We got on our clothes and went down the street. Our walk was curtailed by the presence of a restaurant, where we were held up no small time consuming dahls, chapatis with Ghi. I learned to say:

One more! = Ek! Or! or Ek Ordo!

When we returned to the room, Judith and I made love from about 4:10 to 5:00 or 5:30 a.m. We finally fell asleep early in the morning.

January 10, 1984
Varanasi, India

It was decided to put off my leaving for Delhi until tomorrow.

Diary, I want to note emphatically how well Judith and I are getting along since we came here to Varanasi (barring the first night). She’s being very much more reasonable, and we’ve been able to reason out any conflicts so that they are not really conflicts at all, but rather they are learning experiences and quite joyful moments. Instead of getting angry at a comment I make, now she may look at me and relax and say, “I love you anyway!” with enthusiasm! It’s really great. You’ve got to be able to make the little things pleasant if you’re to be around people. Both people have got to be reasonable, and we’ve got to be able to see ourselves clearly and to laugh at ourselves.

Judith and I made love upon waking. This is all really great, because when I open my eyes in the morning, I look up and see Judith next to me, soft, white, inviting, and we kiss and talk. I grab her breasts. Yum! It is all really so happy.

We went to the tailor and picked up Judith’s silk jacket, and I got my pajama pants, one leg green and the other leg black. I really like the way they look. I think they are awesome!

We went across to Star Handloom, and Judith bought two and a half meters (fifty dollars) of the incredibly beautiful Tibetan brocade. This one particular cloth is so awesome, it is a treasure in itself, a work of artistry. I bought half a meter of checkered silk, to make a scarf with. This material is also beautiful.

The owner of the shop, our friend, gave us the particulars of how to order silk from him to the USA or Holland. Ten percent shipping, fifteen percent import tax. He offered us five percent commission on sales to friends or stores in our countries—if we get him business, he’ll share profits, but we have to come to India to get cash, although we can take profits in the form of silk or other gifts which he can send. He also offered to get things for us, anything we want from India if we pay him five percent commission charge above the purchase price. He said to consider himself our agent in India, to feel that we have a branch office in Varanasi.

We walked back to the hotel; stopping on the way to have chapatis and dhal—I ordered fried dahl, which is dahl with fried onions thrown in. The neighborhood restaurants are noisy—the soup man clangs his ladle on the metal pot, as if he believes he is making sweet music. The buses and trucks drive by honking horns that are so loud it hurts my ears!!

We went to a stone store and looked at sapphires, which cost 150 rupees per carat. Apparently, Varanasi is the place in India to buy stones.

On the way down the street, Judith suggested that we stop off at the hotel to make love. I love it when she wants it bad enough to ask. How I love it! God only knows. It was great, as I would expect, because I really feel excited and wanted when she asks. We tried a new position, me on my back and her on her back on top of me, to allow her to finger her clitoris, but had to take a rain check because it was so new (we’ll have to work out the details). We ended up making love hard and good, and she fingered herself and had an ‘O’ too before we finished.

The evening was a bit confused. All I wanted to do was to write, but every time I attempted writing, there was an interruption of some sort.

Before we went to sleep, Judith and I made love. She looked so beautiful all night. She had on the new yellow silk blouse and yellow silk sarong, and her dark hair out. Her face was soft and white and she had a special glow in her natural pink cheeks. When we made love, Judith was almost half asleep. She felt so small.

Afterward, Judith fell asleep in my arms and I dozed off half sitting up against the bed board. I awoke and carefully disentwined myself from her, so as not to wake her, then I wrote in the diary and smoked some hash.

I really like the new way of smoking hash: to put it on a pin and let the smoke rise to my face—but it’s a more wasteful method—however, I have plenty now and don’t concern myself with that. I’ll put one gram or ½ or ¼ on a pin and let it burn to get a high.

P.S. —people really stared at my pants tonight. I think a lot of people like them. I like wearing wild clothes—I enjoy attracting attention and making people laugh and smile!

January 11, 1984
Varanasi, India

Made love in the morning. Judith was anxious to get to the tailor. Before she left she said she’d decided to go to Delhi with me! This was great, and I felt a noticeable increase in my momentum.

We put off going for a day so we could take care of things and go to the “stone market,” a fictional place among those that Judith wants to go to.

I lay about the room and wrote and caught up on my exploratory work. I had the kid of the hotel wash my clothes for four rupees. I smoked some hash, and then went out and looked at books. I bought a map of India, a book on Hindi, a small copy of the New Testament and a book called Hints on Tiger Hunting, which is a fascinating book written by an expert Tiger Hunter of India. Among many interesting facts I learned was that my right eye is my master eye, and the left is used just to intensify vision and give the stereoscopic effect. (Eyes open, point to an object, close left eye, is finger still in line with object, open left and close right eye, is the finger now out of line?)

Judith didn’t return until about 5 p.m. We mulled about, and we left at about 7 p.m. to find the “stone market.” We went to the train station first and bought two tickets for the 2 p.m. train tomorrow. We took a rickshaw out to where the stone market was supposed to be, which was the same place that we’ve been driven to on our way to the burning place.

I had three fried dahl and three chapattis. We couldn’t find the stone market at all. We took a rickshaw back to our hotel.

The best lovemaking experience of my life followed. In the room, I was reading about tigers when Judith began to wrestle me on the bed with her clothes off. By the time we finished wrestling we had all our clothing off. The wrestling itself was fantastic. I haven’t been so playful for years! We kept at it for forty-five minutes or so, and we ended up making love, which was tremendous—and then we stopped, then wrestled for awhile and briefly made love. Then we smoked some hash. I went down on her and then we started making love again. This was the best sex ever! I just kept looking at her face, and I got really excited because she looks so beautiful. Again, Judith and I made love up until I was about to come, and then I gave her pleasure orally for awhile longer. I began making love to her again, and it was much better than good! I think it much be very important to my pleasure to be with a beautiful woman! I get so much pleasure from just looking at her ! Skin, mouth, eyes, hair, breasts, bottom, all yummy! As I made love to her and watched her, I saw expressions of pure passion, of pure lust, of pure pleasure, of pure happiness, smiles, mild faces and intense faces, of pure wonder. My hands roamed her body. At the end, our legs rolled off the edge of the bed. It all had an air of divine life-light about it.

Tonight we made so much noise! The neighbors must be pretty tired of it! Judith was letting out big laughs from the beginning of the wrestling until after we were finished! We made a huge ruckus when we were wrestling. When we make love, the beds creak with every thrust! We have virtually broken down two beds in our last week of lovemaking!

After Judith and I made love we talked about how well we’re getting along here in Varanasi. There’s just not enough time to fight!

Then we smoked some more hash, and now I’m writing and Judith is sleeping.

Chapter 2
Jaipur

January 12, 1984
En route to Delhi on train, India

Well, when you’ve got to get things done, there’s a bit of tension in the air. We woke up to the sun, and went to the tailor and then Star Handloom to get more silk samples. Judith was annoyed because I’m always borrowing small change, and she was causing problems and cryptic, which left me bewildered until she finally told me. We got back to the room and had only less than an hour to catch the train, but decided to make love. I was too quick and came before she wanted, though she didn’t seem to care. I was insecure.

I was yelling for her to hurry by the time we were in the station, and we finally found our seats just before the train pulled away. But, diary, you should keep in mind that before we went to the tailor in the morning, we were having a joyful discussion at how well we’ve been getting along, how much our love is growing, how we’ve been growing as people and learning more effective ways to behave.

Once the train started moving, I felt my tension relax. We sat together, then she lay with her head on my lap for a while. We went up to the top bunk and lay together, which attracted the attention of the men, I think. Judith was looking lovely. I emptied a cigarette and filled it with marijuana and hash. We went to the back of the car and smoked it, while looking at the flat farmlands go by. There were colors of earth—brown/tan/red—and the azure of the sky—a spectrum of greens, yellow-greens, blue-greens, brown-greens, and so on. The richness of it caught all four of our eyes. I felt my initial love of India growing. For a moment, Judith stepped in to the toilet, and I spotted a very large bright blue pheasant on the farmland. When she joined me again, I spotted a camel far off. My head filled with adventurous images. Judith went off with a kiss. She’s a lovely, lovely girl (as all the Indian men remind me).

Soon, as I remained looking out of the window, a man came to speak with me, and later, others. I began asking questions about the prices of animals—camels (1,000 to 5000 rupees), buffaloes (two thousand rupees), goats (two hundred rupees), elephants (one lak—ten thousand dollars? Rupees?), horses (five thousand or three thousand for Afghani). Buffaloes give ten liters of milk daily and goats, two liters; a servant costs five rupees/day. Feed for a buffalo is three hundred rupees per month. A second man showed me a judo trick and I told him about his master eye, which, unusually, was his left. He told me Judith was beautiful. Both men asked me if she was my wife or girlfriend. When I said “Girlfriend” one of them shook my hand! (and said she was beautiful). The other asked me if Judith and I had sexual relations. I said what we did was our secret, but “maybe it would be enough to say that we broke the beds at the Hotel Relax.” He knew the hotel as he’d seen us on the same street in Varanasi.

I continued looking out the doorway with a good view of the countryside until it was dark. I bought about six teas and some “pakora.” Once dark, I went inside the car. During the time I’d been watching the countryside, I had thought about Global Entertainment Company, a former aspiration, and I thought how it is possible. I considered that I might buy animals, big game animals, as investments for trading, and as one of the assets of a company with such a broad scope. I thought of my present situation and I considered how greatly I would like to continue traveling. I realized that I am facing an intermediate−run crisis. If I act now and make money somehow, I may be able to always travel, and still progress towards my ultimate goals, but if I just spend my money, I will be forced to take a job at home. The time to act is NOW!, and while I am trying to project my thoughts for the long-term future, I must also now take action on the present. I thought of smuggling by horseback from Nepal to Europe, thus incorporating unique adventure with finance. I thought of riding camel back through Rajasthan, playing the guitar. Riding elephants. Riding a motorcycle through India.

Back in the car I lay down with Judith. The men around us carried on laughing and joking (and they turned the light off) in such a way that I imagined what they were talking about!

After a time, I got down and fixed up a joint. Judith grabbed a knife and we got apples, bananas and peanuts and a mat, and we brought it all to the end of the car to have a picnic. We smoked the cigarette. Music began playing in my head. Judith went back to lay down. I came back too after a while. She was sleeping.

I started a conversation with the judo guy and he began to speak in Hindi, teaching me phrases such as “Kiasa−me, ho−raha−he?” “What time is it?” “Ek, do, tin, char, pange, che,” the numbers one to six. He gave me his address in Baroda and said he could help me with buying a motorbike. We said good night.

January 13, 1984
New Delhi, India

My first time in New Delhi, six thirty a.m. I have some coffee. We leave a rickshaw boy angered for refusing to pay two rupees for nothing, and took an auto rickshaw (whose owner grabbed our rickshaw boy’s collar after he hit the auto rickshaw). We splurged on a great room (wood walls and bed stead).

I split. Found a restaurant with great eggs. Went to Citibank. Two thousand one hundred dollars from Gam, just as requested. Now things are cooking. AmEx only saved letters for thirty days which was disappointing, as I have no way of knowing who might have sent letters, and it hurts the momentum to have their letters returned. I walked out of AmEx with a letter from Gam and one from Fred Billy in the Solomon Islands! I got an auto rickshaw and went all over town.

First, the Sudanese Embassy; I need a letter from my embassy to get a visa. Then it takes one or two days. I went to the Iran Embassy and found it is possible for me to travel in Iran. I need four weeks to process the application and then two days for the visa. I went to the Afghani Embassy. It is possible to go to Afghanistan, but one must apply to the embassy in your home country. So I asked if I could apply through Kabul. I can send a letter to the American Embassy in Kabul and have them request the Ministry of External Affairs in Kabul to contact the man in Delhi Embassy to issue me a visa. I went to the Kenya Embassy. Costs eighty rupees and they process immediately.

Because I can travel to Iran, I change my plans. I’ll go overland to Turkey.

I went to General Post Office and no letters for me. At the tourist bureau I found where the Map Survey was. I was able to purchase four ‘topo’ maps for 13.60 rupees and I was able to buy a large wall map of India for six rupees.

At the hotel sweet Judith was waiting. We went out to the restaurant nearby for dinner. Then we walked around town, returned home. Judith and I made love , but only I wanted to at first because she was so tired; I got her stoned and we made love. Her femininity smelled (and tasted) like a delight. I’ve only imagined…. It was immensely exciting. Sleep.

The news about Afghanistan was incredible for me!, and my ability to go through Iran (fifteen days) really opens up good possibilities. Thank Gam, for I had only twelve dollars or so left!

January 14, 1984
Delhi, India

Judith and I made love first thing in the morning (as usual). We packed our bags, which took quite a time. We left the hotel after putting our things in storage at about 2 p.m. Had lunch, great dahl at the local place. I left ‘cause Judith takes so long to eat. Met in front of Gaylord’s at 4 p.m. I’d just bought a guitar for two hundred and eighty five rupees with five nice picks and a new set of strings. I love the guitar. It was the cheapest in the store, yet I’ll have you believe that the fret board has the best action, and the fact that the body is a cut−away (one-half as thick) makes it light and suitable for traveling.

Judith was going to bring us to the tailor, but she couldn’t remember where it was. We got split up. I returned to the hotel, got the address and found her there. It was almost 7 p.m. I went to another part of town and found a cheap tailor who made a nice canvas bag for my guitar, a canvas holder for my maps and sewed a pocket on my white pants for sixty five rupees including material. In the middle of the tailoring, Judith came up with the manager of the hotel and accused “You Egotist!” because I was late and she’d been waiting—I’d told her to hurry back to the hotel, and then kept her waiting. I found her, indignant, back at the hotel. It took over an hour to clear up the problem, and then it was too late to leave Delhi, according to the hotel man, which we later found out was untrue.

We checked back into the room and at ten thirty p.m., went back to the local restaurant for some food. (Last night, when they wouldn’t accept two torn rupee notes, I threw them on the ground to everyone’s astonishment. I said they were worthless since no one would accept them. The men all took part in discussion. One picked them off the ground and I took them from him and threw them on the ground saying they were mine and I wanted them there. Then a man became indignant, saying I was disrespecting Indian property. I said that it wasn’t money, since it couldn’t buy anything. They insisted it was money, so I said ‘Ek cha’ and put the money down as payment (‘one tea’). Since they refused again I took this as proof that it wasn’t money. We finally left and I took the notes with me, saying “Good night!”) They said there was no food, it was too late, but through persistence, I got them to happily prepare a meal. We were all friendly to each other. It seems they have ten boys in the kitchen always just hanging around.

We went back to the room and we got ready for bed. I played the guitar and Judith was half asleep when I had finished. I smoked a joint and she joined me. Lovemaking ensued, long and luxurious, the tenderness of love with a hard edge! Will these late hours begin to tell on us! It seemed quite late when we finished!

January 15, 1984
Jaipur, Rajasthan, India

We awoke and made love.

We decided it a good idea to change money, so, it being Sunday, we took an auto rickshaw to the Ashkok Hotel; I think it’s the biggest hotel in Delhi. We had to wait till the bank reopened at two-thirty p.m. We looked at jewels in one of the lobby shops. A gorgeous lapis lazuli caught my eyes, fifteen rupees per carat, seventeen carats (five carats ≅ one gram.) We talked with the jewelry expert, an old man, who said that Semitic (Jewish) interests controlled the international jewelry trade; lapis comes from Afghanistan.

We watched a (handkerchief) chapatti thrower in the beautiful restaurant. A full meal is only 55 rupees but the rooms are seven hundred and seventy five rupees for a double. The maitr’d told us that in North India (Punjab) such chapatti throwers throw the dough eighteen feet in the air! (See January 17th.)

We caught an auto rickshaw to the Old Delhi Station, and booked the 6 p.m., train to Jaipur. To kill time (two hours) we went to the nearby Old Fort. I didn’t have a ticket, but rather ‘backsheesh-ed’ one rupee to the gate man. Inside are gardens, shops. We saw elaborately carved marble grillwork. We smoked a joint in the gardens. On our way out, I talked to a business man in the back room of the jewelry shop behind a big desk. He said the Pokhara necklace wasn’t coral but plastic (untrue), but admitted my bracelet was coral. He said he’ll pay five rupees per gram for small coral. In Europe, it is twenty rupees per gram, said he. For large one inch diameter deep red coral he’ll pay one hundred rupees per gram. It sounds like he’s right on.

I decided to have the Pokhara necklace tested for chemical composition. I felt elated as I thought to make a run to Nepal and see if I can find coral to sell at a profit. It sounds like Europe is the best market, between Asia and Europe anyway. That I can go through Iran makes it interesting.

We got an aggressive auto rickshaw driver to return us to the station.

We tried getting in a first class compartment on the train, but got kicked out. A continuous series of fiascoes ensued. I lost my guitar and found it. I lost my mat for good. We were pursued and hassled by a conductor for being in the wrong part of the train, but it was impossible to get into the general compartment as the floor was solid people.

We were hassled from one car to the next and men leered at Judith in her sexy silk blouse and pretty cotton shirt. I got in arguments with a turbaned man over camels (he told me they go miles per hour and I said I was sincerely seeking information and please not to waste my time with bullshit!) Later, we shook hands. I apologized and he said to remember to be polite, which I must. The conductor came up behind me just then and started yelling and shoving me. I warned him not to touch me. He followed me and hassled me. I told him I was looking for my mat but he didn’t care.

Finally, he was yelling at me to continue to go to the next car when even he himself was aware I couldn’t proceed because the door was jammed. I blew up and yelled as loud as I could. I think he was scared. We got the door unlocked and I proceeded onwards. I locked the next door so he couldn’t bother me more, and Judith and I sat on the floor listening to him pound the door. The most aggressive conductor I ever met. I never found my mat. We moved up a few cars, sat on the floor. Judith played the flute. I played the guitar. The whole evening Judith stood by and laughed. We laughed at the arguments and kissed, more happy to be alone on the floor than on a seat with others, and happy to have each other in the midst of the comic hostilities.

We got off at the station of Jaipur. I went to search for my mat and got kicked off the train by the compartment conductor. Judith and I found a local restaurant and “pigged out” on dhal (neh merchi—no chili). We got a rickshaw ride to the dumpiest hotel ever, but were too tired, at 1 a.m. to care, and checked in.

Judith and I made love quickly for us, maybe only a half hour or forty-five minutes, as it was late and the lack of sleep is telling on us.

I felt so great all night, I could care less about the petty irritations caused my the by-the-book conductor. Judith’s sweet love to give me strength in my times of weakness is enough. My character is tough anyway.

January 16, 1984
Jaipur, Rajasthan, India

For some inane and mysterious reason an argument blossomed from nowhere. We didn’t really know what we were doing anyway, so a combination of these two things made our progress slow during the day. We went to the Tourist Office and found out camel information. We decided to start out of town and caught an auto rickshaw outside the city gates (I bought one kilogram of tomatoes for 1.5 rupees!). We were not getting on well and had no direction. I thought getting Judith stoned would allow her to calm down and understand, which, finally, at 5 p.m., happened, us sitting by the roadside. We finally communicated. The upshot of the discussion was that we decided to get a hotel in Jaipur near the Fort on the hill and to awake early and climb to the Fort to watch the sunrise and have a ceremonious beginning to an endeavor to walk from the majestic fort above Jaipur to the Taj Mahal. We had been watched over the whole time by a man with horse and cart who wanted to sell us a ride. We got in the cart and had a pleasant journey back to town. In fact, when the man stopped his horse, he walked us up the winding rock road to the hilltop upon which the Fort stood, saying the hotel was on top!

The moment we cleared the city lowlands, an inspired feeling overtook us. The city sat below us as we winded up the rock escarpment. Images of picture−book stories of Arabian nights flowed through me. I said: this is the edge of Arabia, and the architecture and dry rocky landscape show this. The evening sky set in as we climbed the hill, and it became even more awesome. We were so happy to think that the day was, after all, a success, for by a circuitous route, we were to be sleeping at an awesome place that, in the morning, we had not even known existed. The best was yet to come.

It turned out we came to the fort and entered the deserted gates. We walked around till we came to a courtyard. At one table sat two Westerners and an Indian. There was no one else in this palace, the servants excepted. It is all run by the office of tourism. We hesitated to look at the only accommodation in the whole castle, for it was one hundred rupees. But we decided to check it out and were utterly amazed with its magnificence. I’m now laying in the oblong octagonal bed with a bed head with painted Indian ladies delicately decorating it. The room is octagonal in shape, and five of the sides have doors opened to windows overlooking Jaipur and the surrounding mountains for more than one hundred and eighty degrees. The manager let us sit on the bed and turned out the light. The noise rose from the city, a continuous loud throng, the city lights penetrating through the screens on the window frame (no glass), painting a kingly panorama. (The tables and cushioned love seats are all painted and beautiful. We have a sitting room and a private courtyard.) We heard a sound outside the window and noticed some curious monkeys only feet away!

We discussed what to do and made the inevitable and sensible decision to spend the money and grab the unique opportunity to sleep in a fort/castle/palace as its only patrons with a staff of servants on a steep rock promontory looking out upon the lands of one of the largest cities in Rajasthan. It would have been ridiculous to pass it up.

We were served dinner in our drawing room. I talked my ideas on momentum over with Judith while we ate.
I played the guitar before we slept, and I felt inspired and noticed Judith enjoyed it.

We went to bed around 10:20 p.m., stoned on Nepalese hash. The lovemaking continued for three and a half hours. I softly licked her for about a one-hour period, which filled her vaginal lips and resulted in the intense lovemaking excitement that followed. The feeling passing between us were heavenly. I suggested she give me pleasure orally, which she happily did. Later, she got on top of me. Though we haven’t pursued this line much, she has an excellent style of hip movement. I could feel the sweat on her pubic hair and a tingling arose between our genitals that was both satisfied and heightened with every thrust!

I began to speak ‘dirty’ to her. This sort of talk heightened our passion all the more! She loved to be talked to in this manner.

Finally, in the romantic lighting of the heater and a few rays of light coming through the cracks in the planked wood door to our drawing room, our lovemaking finished in an exciting way, and afterwards we drifted to sleep.

January 17, 1984
Jaipur, Rajasthan, India

Woke. Wrote in book and diary. Wrote letters to Gam, US Embassy in Kabul and to Kelly. Had coffee served. Was informed that all the furniture belonged to the Maharaja of Jaipur and it’s two hundred and fifty years old. This bedroom is also two hundred and fifty years old and formerly the Maharaja’s. Judith went to Jaipur, and we met at the LMB restaurant. Judith looked for stones and I looked for mats so we can sleep outside. We walked up to the castle in the light of the nearly full moon. Returned, our staff-full of servants prepared the best meal I’ve had in India. A mutton roast in white-red-brown sauce, a pea and potato dish in tomato sauce, chapatis and tea.

Judith and I made love, but she has a cold and is not feeling so well, so we didn’t do it long.
I smoked some hash, and went into the drawing room and played the guitar. I played Confidence. I played For the Rest of My Life. I then jammed on In A Passionate Way to the extent that the original song was unrecognizable. I innovated in a modern way. I went on for forty minutes. At many times I was able to break through the barrier and transcend myself, and that is beautiful. I hit the guitar strums in a beating motion so that they delicately and rhythmically sounded. I sounded my voice like a trumpet.

Note from January 15th: In the Ashkok Hotel, I looked in a bookshop at a Tantric Book. I quote: “Resist the Enjoyment of ejaculation and you shall enjoy all the more fully every time,” and “Make love with a woman at nightfall and ye shall see ten and sixty suns in her eyes.” (This second quote is approximate…there was also something of why Shiva loved to eat the Gopis, for it smelled like the flowers of the field…and the penis was referred to as the Yonis I think….Teach a woman to play the flute and then lend her yours!)

Garnets come from Rajasthan. They cost between two and four rupees per carat, faceted. Lapis is two rupees a carat. I want to invest fifty dollars in stones and see what it brings. (…go to the source…)

Judith says she loves to hear me sing. She says she thinks I’ve got a nice voice.

I wrote Fred Billy in the Solomon Islands.

Judith is my Maharani and I, her Maharaja!

January 18, 1984
Jaipur, Rajasthan, India

One of the most amazing facts about today was that, for the first time in my life, I legally bought opium and ganja! This is the only place I’ve ever heard of where you can buy opium on the streets! Along the main streets, you can sometimes find a wooden shack which they call “government shops.” I bought (I actually had some kids buy it, trying to get the best price) ten grams (or one tola = 11.6 grams) of nice sticky opium for fifteen rupees (just under $1.50, or fifteen cents per gram) and the same amount of “grass” for five rupees!

Judith and I were not able to find a suitable ground protector and are thus to leave without one. We looked at a few stones but had no luck really, and I wasn’t really in the mood. I posted letters to Gam, Kelly, Cappa, US Embassy Kabul, Fred Billy and Mom. I felt crummy by the time we left the city, but as soon as we started up the road to the castle, I immediately felt better. We rose above the clamor and dust of the city into the pure heavens. When we arrived we ordered dinner. We didn’t eat till 10:30 p.m., and slept after that.
Chapter 3
The Walk To The Taj Mahal

January 19, 1984
Slept someplace North of Jaipur in a village in a “dela”
(thatched bed on stilts with roof), India

Awoke in Maharaja’s bed before the sun rose. Smoking a joint while watching sunrise from bed.

Jeff: The sun rises on the rest of our life on the morning of our first day of the pilgrimage to the Taj Mahal.

Judith: The sun is purple, blue, yellow around, and white inside.

Jeff: The great pool (there is a rectangular pool of water in Jaipur, very large, easily seen from our castle window) below us reflects our souls in the distant sun, and they shine back to us in glimmering brilliance.

Judith: The sun is so beautiful! Have you ever seen a more beautiful sunrise? The sun is blue, and yellow, white inside.

Judith and Jeff proceeded to make love after enjoying the sunrise and the joint of marijuana and hashish. They noticeably enjoy it to the utmost, it being one of their usual wonderful experiences. They rise. Now, 9 a.m. they pack and go to the sitting rooms where Jeff shoots photos of the marvelous furniture and spacious luxury of the sitting rooms. Jeff has coffee on a tray and shoots photographs. Some pigeons fly in from the kitchen and make their exit via the sitting rooms to the courtyard while Jeff shoots a picture of Judith on one of the chairs. They are given two buckets of hot water and they bathe for the last time at the castle. They pay the bill and exit at about 10 a.m.

India, Rajasthan, Painted Elephant,, 1984

Amber Fort is colossal and magnificent. (On the way, they passed the Maharaja’s Palace in the water of the lake in North Jaipur.)

India, Rajasthan, Palace On Water,1984

Lunch in Amber. Looked at precious gems. Saw one hundred and seventy five carat piece of topaz with beautiful flaw—one hundred dollars. Also, saw leafs from painted Persian books.

Passed through Amber and down the Delhi Road. Began walking just off the road. Given two red carrots by men with loads of them. Decided to walk eastwards and go off the main road and did so. Walked through a nearby dry river gully while Judith tells Jeff how she broke up with former boyfriend Manfred.

Proceeded past villages of children showing great excitement at their coming. It grew dark. The first people they meet bring them tea while they sit on the ground in the dark. The tea is sweetened with ghir, palm sugar. Then milk is brought, sweetened in the same way. It is very delicious. They ask for a place to spend the night. They are shown a “de-la”, which is a roofed bed in open air on stilts; the bedding is made of twine. They show great thanks, clasping their hands in prayer−like fashion, as is the custom. They sit while the family men sit around them and talk peacefully. After a time, chapatis of wheat and subjii (a vegetable dish—soup−like) is brought. Judith and Jeff eat heartily. The father comes and is introduced to Jeff . (Judith is away).

Father: Namaste!
Jeff: Namaste!
Father: Namaste!!
Jeff: Namaste! Namaste!
Father: Namaste! Namaste! Namaste! Namaste! Namaste! Namaste!……
(getting quicker each time)

Each time Namaste is said, the head shakes from side to side, the last time, the result is ludicrous, comical, and everyone breaks up laughing.

After dinner, the pipe is brought out.

India, Rajasthan, Farmer With Pipe,1984

A small fire is made so the burning embers can be used in the following fashion: a small flat disc of rock is first placed in the pipe. Then local tobacco is put in. Then a larger plate is used on top of the tobacco. Then the embers are put in the pipe, thus separated from the tobacco by the rock disc. The pipe is passed around and around between the men, who have turbans on their heads. The man who first showed his kindness was the young Ramkaran.

As they sit in a rough circle, the magical rising of the full moon appears in the East. Judith and Jeff are “awesomized” to the maximum. A magical evening to cap a day with a magical morning. “Ottar—north, Purake—east; Dashim—west; dark-shingh—south;” the directions are explained in Hindi.

Many “don−e−bat’s” (thank you’s) go back and forth between Jeff and Judith and the people, especially with the father, a good-natured farmer of 45 years. Jeff finally says a final goodnight and everyone goes off the bed, Jeff and Judith retiring to the “dela” to sleep in their sleeping bags.

A recap of the day’s interests:

(1) waking to a sunrise from a Maharaja’s bed, looking out over Jaipur from the castle window, smoking a joint.
(2) then making love,
(3) sitting in the sitting rooms,
(4) walking along the battlements,
(5) walking to the castle with a swastika on it,
[actually, not a swastika, but the ancient symbol of benediction, which is found all over the world, from which the swastika was derived]
(6) photos of the Maharaja’s party palace in the water (formerly on dry land),
(7) men riding tattooed elephants,
(8) the colossal Amber Fort .
(9) seeing one hundred and seventy five carat Topaz,
(10) seeing battle walls of Amber on exiting,
(11) stopping for tea outside of Amber, seeing women with toe rings and ankle ornaments of silver,
(12) drinking tea and milk with delicious palm sugar—“ghir”,
(13) having the first dinner with farm people, eating chapatis made of the wheat that they grow, seeing them smoke a local pipe,
(14) sitting on the ground with turbaned men as the full moon rises in the East,
(15) being given large chunk of “ghir” each from the father,
(16) sleeping in a “dela.”

Before sleep, Jeff puts some opium in a Biri, a local cigarette and smokes it. Jeff and Judith fall asleep next to each other.

In the middle of the night, they awake with a fright!! Jeff thinks, in a dream-like mood, that they are being attacked, and wakes up with a start! Judith responds by screaming. As their waking senses come to them, the truth appears: there are men in the moonlit fields, talking, and from the bush house adjacent to the dela, responses come. A man in black sits in the field while a man in white stoops to the ground again and again, as if planting or tending to the grounds. It is all surreal, men in the middle of the night ritualistically tending to their field according to ancient knowledge.

January 20, 1984
Slept at farm house Two Kilometers from Delhi Road,
North of Jaipur, India

Awoke to sounds. The birds of many species abound in the same setting.

Quails, small ones, six or seven inches long, of a gray−brown coat with strong hues of pink, purple and blue in a subtle blend. The men watch as they pack. Jeff promised to take a photo and send it, so first one photo, and then the people begin to pose.

Judith is going crazy with her Instamatic and getting excited about photography. Jakdeesh, the boy who speaks the most English, tells Judith and Jeff to wait for breakfast. A brass tray is brought with hot milk, lumps of ghir, chapatis and subjii.

India, Rajasthan, Family With House, 1984

After breakfast, the village address is given to Jeff so he can forward the photos when developed. They say goodbye and are accompanied towards the main road a piece by Ramkaran (“I am a poor man”), then take their leave and cut up to the northeast through the fields. (They left a pen and a cup [which were originally brought in Wewak by Kelly and given to Jeff] as a token of appreciation.)

India, Rajasthan, Boy With Bells ,1984

The women wore silver jewelry on their toes and ankles and around their wrists; the silver jewelry was studded with clear faceted stones (I don’t know what they were—I would not be surprised if they were some stone found in the area).

We walked through the fields and soon saw another new sight—some men were digging a well and using camels to haul out the dirt, in much the same way that they used cows to turn the water wheels. I went to take a photo, but they would not allow Judith to see into the well, as they said it displeased God. I looked into the pit and saw four men digging, filling the basket with dirt. At their feet was water, and I guess the entire country side has a water table underneath it.

India, Rajasthan, Family, 1984

Farther northwest, we came to a village: Syampura. They gave us tea and two men, who were teaching the children outside, talked to us in poor English. The village’s “big man”—who they said was very wealthy—he had gold earrings.

We proceeded and rested by a dirt side road, and we discussed if we should walk eastwards towards a white structure across the plane, which I suggested could be a castle or even a temple. Judith thought I was imagining. To our surprise, a bus came down the road, stopped. The men told us that it was a mosque in the distance. I asked them the name of a village between there and Thana Ghazi, and they said PRATABGAARD.

Judith and I walked to the mosque, across a large gully that is shown on the map. We got to the mosque, which was in a large village. We were quite hungry, and kept asking for chapatis even after we were told that to obtain them was not possible. However, one nice man took control and soon, as we sat at a tea shop with a horde of people around us, chapatis and subjii began to arrive from neighboring houses. The villagers took delight in watching us satisfy our ravenous hunger, and I drank tea after tea. One old lady brought us fresh eggs, which we had boiled.

We went to the mosque where we looked out in all directions in the last of the day’s light. (Note: they had a platform/roof with candles lining it.)

We were invited to stay there, but Judith said she didn’t feel free there, so I said, “So, let’s go be free.” Sometimes it is hard to turn down the well−intentions of the local people, but I think it is often best to do so rather than prolong your leaving and infringe on both your freedom and theirs. We were very happy to have gone, and we merrily walked along in the darkness, thankful for the full bellies we had due to the kindness of the local people. We had a stop for this and that and I discovered the eggs had already gotten smashed—not cooked enough. After a time we went on, passing a village, listening to the children sing.

Further down the road, we found a sandy place just off the road, and we set up camp. We got in our bags. The moon arose near full, now waning, whitish, yellowish, as we tried to smoke opium out of a biri. It was cold out. I went down and smelled the lusty perfume of Judith’s crotch, licking and lapping it up to my passionate content. The smell was so exotically erotic it will forever be imbedded in my memory. Then Judith and I made love slept.

Recap: Today, we saw:

(1) Yet another castle
(2) figured out how to navigate by the sun
(3) saw cow-powered irrigation from wells
(4) camels used digging a well
(5) camel-powered irrigation from wells
(6) a mosque in the middle of the desert
(7) how reeds are cut in desert gully for use in building and ?
(8) smoked opium under the near-full desert moon
(9) I made love to Judith under this same moon
(10) learned how to smoke a chillum of Rajastani tobacco
(11) headed away from the main road for good
(12) received free teas in Syampura and free eggs, radishes, chapatis (corn, wheat, wheat and corn mixed) and subjii from mosque village (Tala?)
(13) heard bells from the mosque as we left.

Note: I was pleased with our progress; pleased to be off the main road and to know the way to Thana Gazi.

January 22, 1984
Slept on asphalt road north of PRATABGAARD for three hours; later slept on pile of bundled reeds Seven Kilometers south of Thana Gazi,
Rajasthan, India

“It’s raining,” exclaimed Judith. Only a light drizzle. We got up and started walking at 5:30 a.m. Soon we reached a fork in the road where there were some tea shops, a small city behind an old fort on the hill. (On the way, in the dark, I saw the fort, and when Judith didn’t believe me, I bet her fifty pesa if she was wrong. Note: not yet collected).

The people there made us tea and hot milk. We went up to the castle and looked out over the land. Judith discovered that she’d left her ring down at the tea shop when washing, so she left to find it, and I remained on the castle wall and smoked the joint I’d prepared last night of Rajastani ganja and hash which was quite good. The bus booking agent came up and sat on the battlement and showed me direction of PRATABGAARD. The road ended here in Dola (a quite dirty village) and one has to cross the desert on a sand road to PRATABGAARD, where there is a link road to Thana Gazi.

I viewed the booking agent in the light that he was a messenger to guide my godly self on his way, and I had to follow certain rules of politeness to gain the information. A game.

Judith had not found her ring. She became frustrated by the bus driver who wanted to buy her watches, so she left and sat down a few hundred yards from the tea shop. She’d given the booking agent a penny from USA (and the bus driver who’d now gone back to Thala a quarter) and I explained the meaning of all the mottos (except E Pluribus Unum, which I don’t know the meaning of) while others looked on.

The zippers on my pack are becoming unusable, so I asked for some oil and oiled them. The tea shop keeper wanted something from America, so I gave him a TIME Magazine. He also wanted a photo of himself and his tea shop, so I took some (28mm) photos, with the old fort in the background. (They told Judith it was 1200 years old, but I doubt it highly.) The shop keeper was missing his leg above his ankle, and I thought it “Bob” of him to take two of the four pictures deliberately showing his stump—it almost seemed that he was proud of it.

I did some washing and left. On the way out of Dola, I was joined by an English−speaking Dolian who was very congenial. Soon, a boy came running up to say that we had to go back to the tea shop because someone had found the ring and would only give it back to me. We were informed by an old man that Judith had gone off towards Pratabgaard accompanied by two village boys. I figured it was best to go fetch her ring.

There was an old man sitting on a bench at a tea shop. He wanted fifty rupees for the ring. (Before, the boys had asked how much it was worth and I said one hundred and fifty rupees and they had exclaimed, “fifty rupees…fifty rupees!!,” so the old man must have gotten word and wanted the full price.) I said No. Soon the boys and men were giving him a hard time, telling him to give me the ring. Finally, the English−speaking fellow’s father came up; I suppose being an old crony had its influence, and the fellow gave me the ring when the crony told him to do so. I got change for one hundred rupees and offered him ten rupees but he wouldn’t except it. I asked for silence from the crowd and said that in my country, it is custom to give a reward, but I was told I should follow their customs. I thanked them and went on my way.

The English−speaking fellow gave me directions (left at the Banyan trees) and taught me the phrase “How do you say….?” In Hindi: “Ap Kyah ke-te-tu-hum?” and Rajastani: “Te ka-e ko-cho?”

As I walked along, I let out yells so if Judith was sitting off the road, she could hear me. I passed one of the boys who’d been with her and he nodded to my questioning motions. But all the other men I saw seemed to know nothing of her whereabouts. Naturally, I studied the sandy track for her foot prints. I saw some sandals of the right size and I was pretty sure it was her, but not certain. I estimated the time that the prints were made by the loss in distinctness due to breeze blowing particles of sand on them, and her speed by the size of the stride. I estimated they were forty−five minutes old and I was going one third again as fast as she was. After awhile, being passed by the occasional camel−driven cart, I spotted a form ahead. It was Judith. She was very pleased to find me and her ring. We sat on the road, picking brambles our of our sweaters, and she prepared a salad of tomatoes, red and green onions, white radishes (shape of carrots), bananas and peanuts. After this repast, we walked towards Pratabgaard fort.

Pratabgaard fort was classic, sitting above the town high on a mountain with a forty− five degree slopes on all sides. They had a loud, constant whistle of some kind of motor, and I wonder how they can tolerate such a continuous intrusion on their lives (even if it is for electricity, so what!, I’d rather do without it!)

We had some tea and milk and Judith left in a slight drizzle. I had to break through the crowd and yell to her to get her to come back and start the right way. I followed.

On the road out of Pratabgaard, I saw beautiful green parrots and blue peacocks. I had B&W film in my camera, so I didn’t bother to take a picture, although in retrospect, I should have. I passed Judith and went on for a time. The road is quiet—just an occasional bus. The light is that glow of pre−sunset. I stop and roll a joint and wait for Judith. She comes up and first thing she does is grab the joint and light it. We walk on. I have my guitar out as we walk and gather strange looks from some. Two men in camel−driven carts want to drive us and (probably) listen to me play the guitar (…what makes the music is the harmony). We stopped when there were still slashes of blue and black, bands of pink horizontally. The distant castle looked just a small silhouette, and the valley bed on either side towards the castle, winding as in a fairy tale. Sitting there and also walking with my guitar I imagined a whole such life, wandering all over the world, with women, practicing all the time.

Warm clothes on, we continued over the hill and down to the next valley, which spread out before us in the near total darkness. We talked about how to approach the remaining fourteen kilometers to Thana Gazi. In any event, we wanted to eat tonight even if it means walking all the way there.

We saw a light from the village next to the road. I sat by their fire and after a rest said: “Rupees I give you for food, chapatis, dood’h.” We were brought to a boy’s village and a fire was made. After a time, we had chapatis and warm milk and subjii brought to us. They expected us to stay the night, but we insisted on leaving. We gave them some fancy blue aerogramme paper, and gave them also a sincere thank you. They refused, as so many Rajastani do, to accept the ten rupees we offered. The young man and I exchanged addresses.

Judith and I walked. I estimated that the moon would come out later than 9:40 p.m., tonight and looked into the eastern sky and saw it brightening on its approach. We stopped just before I thought it would rise, and laid out the tarp and sleeping bags on the asphalt road. We smoked a joint and got very stoned. We listened to the sounds of the night. I went down on Judith to her delight.

A white horse came wandering down the road and we were startled until we saw it. I fucked Judith on the cold asphalt with only a tarp between my knees and the road, though I put my down jacket under her butt to make it softer and warm. I pulled out just before I came. The moon finally rose after that at 11:35 p.m. We watched its majesty, then we fell asleep right on the road. Luckily no cars came by! At 2:30 a.m. we were up and walking again. It got a little hard going, and at 4:30 a.m. we had pulled off at kilometer seven (to Thana Gazi) and I made a bed of bundled grasses, which we fell asleep on. It was very comfortable.

Recap: Saw

(1) yet another fort
(2) Pratabgaard castle/fort
(3) parrots green with blue and red in their faces
(4) peacocks.

January 23, 1984
Sariska, Rajasthan, India

We were awoken by men with their cows just around us, but they didn’t bother us and we just went on sleeping. When we got up they came to us, and they tried to speak to us but we could only say Thana Gazi. Namaste and Donebat. We walked on past a village where the people were friendly. We saw yet another castle which marked Thana Gazi and the bigger road. We were too closely followed by three curious boys and I took out my slingshot and warned them away. We had lunch in Thana Gazi, bought fruits. I actually had to utilize my slingshot, and there were eighty people about us. We walked towards Sariska, only eight kilometers away. We stopped and had a chat, a fight and a comfort at the second sign denoting Sariska’s nearness. Happy as two lovebirds we walked all the way to the Tourist Bungalow while Judith talked about love affairs. About two hundred monkeys swarmed the road and the trees at one point. We checked into a nice double room at the nice hotel where a bunch of Europeans sat on lawn chairs looking like they died years ago, all pale and unhealthy. I put Judith on the bed and we had excellent lovemaking. I came, then went down on her and soothed her pussy. (I turned her over, she used a pillow and that was nice.) Then we talked about her degree of satisfaction and she got hot and I made out with her while she got herself off. Then I made love to her some more. We stopped “till evening” and we got up. I ordered a beer, which really hit the spot, and I had a tray of coffee. We smoked a joint. When we went to dinner, I was flying, feeling super−fantastic. I spread out the map of India, and I saw that our proposed trip to Agra was a certain percentage of a trip across all India. I fantasized about rafting from Agra to the Bay of Bengal on the Ganges and its tributaries.

I thought about doing continuous links in an around the world trip over the course of my life. I considered what qualities a great adventurer would have and I considered that one would know their geography. (So I could feasibly apply this principle of defining the qualities [also, astronomy, navigation, etc.] not only for an adventurer but also for other people I’d like to be.) As part of a regimen then, I could learn, for e.g., all the names of the states in India.

It took some time and still no waiter or food. I walked back into the kitchen and said: My name is Jeff and I am from America. Thus, I began to explain what I would like for dinner. The outcome of this and subsequent visits to the kitchen was a relatively fabulous meal: two plates of mutton in sauce, fried dahl, vegetable cutlets, French fried potatoes, chapattis, and carrots fried in butter (I peeled and diced them myself).

Well satisfied, we returned to the room. Judith got in bed, but I ran about the room, happy and getting things done, in an effort to get ahead of my chores. The last thing I did was smoke some opium in a cigarette and smelling the smoke, directly burning the ‘O’ in candle fire. I got in bed with Judith who’d been waiting there for two hours (she sang for a half hour, J Ran, J…J….Ran….over and over), and now was trying to smoke with me. She started nodding out, so I took my chance, blew out the candle and laid with her. I went down on her sweet pussy and soon after, I was fucking her. Afterwards, sleep.

New Sights:

(1) Saw a hundred or two hundred monkeys swarming the road.
(2) Entered Sariska.

January 24, 1984
The Watchtower, Sariska Wildlife Reserve, Rajasthan, India

I awoke before Judith and began washing my clothes. When that was done, she wanted to make love. Who am I to argue? Then I went outside and had some corn flakes and bananas, which were scrumptious, and I had eggs and toast and tea. I talked with the manager and some of the workers. I found out that we could spend the night in the Watchtower, a place used for observing animals, eleven kilometers away towards Thala, on our route to Agra. I arranged for us to spend a night there with the Forest Ranger, which required some running around. I had lunch, which was passable. Later, I did some writing. We had some eggs boiled and chapatis cooked. We packed our things and started down the road. At the hotel entrance, I saw some wild pigs. On our walk to the Watchtower (we left about 5 p.m.), we saw monkeys and many deer, cows, and two wild pigs.

It grew dusky. We smoked some hash on a needle and continued on talking about tigers. I expounded on what I had learned about them from the book on tiger hunting. We arrived to the watchman’s house at 8 p.m. We convinced him to make some tea and gave him a cigarette. He took us down to the watchtower. I thought the watchtower would be twenty feet in the air, and in reality, it was low to the ground, its roof only four feet high. (This is where I write. It has one wall with a door, one wall has one, one two and the last four windows of rectangular shape. The walls are a foot thick.) As soon as we got in, I took my flashlight and shined it to the water hole, where it met a pair of green eyes, which stared at the light and then moved away. From what I’ve read it could have been a tiger (and now this morning January 25th, I am shown tiger prints and told that it came around 9 p.m., which is about when we arrived!). The man left us, and we ate some eggs and an apple, after which I promptly fell asleep.

Note: On the walk to the Watchtower, we heard a loud scream and the deer we were creeping up on ran away. Judith suggested it was the deer, and she was right, as later we saw one scream. After we’d gotten stoned, I removed my shoes and we walked silently so as not to disturb the animals, that we might see them.

Recap:

(1) Slept in shelter built for observing animals,
(2) Wild pigs just outside the hotel.

January 25, 1984
The Watchtower, Sariska
Rajasthan, India

Two−thirty p.m. The first thing in the morning, I wrote. Judith told me to look outside and there was a deer just fifteen yards outside the window drinking water. It had six point antlers. Shortly afterwards a gray/black/white nilgai (I think it is a sambar−I’ve never seen one before) came and drank. We sat and I snapped pictures. We smoked a joint, which was just fantastic. We ate one apple. And an egg and chapatti each. The watchman came and told us that there was a tiger here last night. He left. We kept viewing from our windows. So far today we have seen peacocks, parrots (green), many spotted deer (one with eight point antlers), a regular deer, a family of Nilgai came—papa tried to mount one of his females by the water directly in front of us. It was great. He licked the female and licked his lips…he repeatedly tried to mount her, with his penis showing red. The offspring were there too. Only one black/gray/white male with six inch horns and maybe four females with tan colored coats and three or four young ones. I continued to write.

Two foxes came to the waterhole and the peacocks cleared out. The fox had paranoid eyes as he drank and ran quickly away. They both shit before they left the area.

The watchman came by with a “ranger” and they showed us the tiger prints, of which I shot a photo.

We have seen nilgai, deer, spotted deer, fox, parrots, peacocks, many smaller birds, monkeys, tiger prints and a water buffalo from this place.

[Note: Judith’s period came yesterday afternoon.]

We hung around the watchtower. It is a very good spot for observing animals, as I suppose it is the only suitable watering hole in the vicinity. At three, we went and had chapatis and tea and then we took a walk. We went across the temple road and up into the forest. On our way a village man passed us, and despite his protestations, we followed him for a good ways. He seem concerned for our safety. Fifteen minutes before sundown we stopped, finished the joint we’d started and turned back. I took the wrong trail but soon realized it, and backtracked about ten minutes where I found the way. We went once again for tea and chapatis. The ranger said that a tiger had come by. Yes, we should have silently waited at the waterhole during dusk. I suppose it was by now dark. We went to our “room.” I played the guitar for a few minutes, not conducive to animal watching. I tried to prepare opium in a biri, but it was not of much use. Judith came over to the candle and we burned it on a pair of scissors. I had much more, and I definitely felt stoned on it, but not heavily.

We were talking of love—Judith was telling me my good points—and the flashlight burned out (and our candles were gone). She and I made love there. I was really horny and as any movement would make it the cold air rush under our bags, when she said she might bleed on my bag, I said that I didn’t mind. We pulled down our pants and did it. We were laying there afterwards when we heard what we thought might be a tiger. We were careful not to make noise, but I know we made enough to warn a tiger from what I’ve read.

Earlier when my flashlight had been working, we’d shined it on a family of orange and green eyes, though I don’t know what they were. Now without light of any kind, we had to strain our eyes through the darkness. A few animals came and went, and then a family of low−statured animals came, drank and washed. We could hear them shaking off their bodies and snorting water from their noses and slurping water. But when they retreated, I thought that it sounded like hoofed animals and thus, I assumed, it was actually a family of wild pigs, though Judith still thought the first animals had been tigers.

Sleep.

Recap: Saw:

(1) nilgai for the first time, male and female,
(2) nilgai male trying to mate,
(3) six point deer,
(4) eight point spotted deer,
(5) fox,
(6) tiger prints.

January 26, 1984
Village Six Kilometers after Thela on road to Rajgarh
Rajasthan, India

We had a spot of tea before leaving at 9:25 a.m. I walked ahead of Judith as she started talking “problems” and I felt “positive.” When she met me at the top of the hill, I was laying down playing my guitar. I had put my camera with my telephoto lens attached in a bag on the ground. We were kissing, and she tried to climb up the three foot rock wall I was laying on and in doing so spilled heavy rocks on my camera. Checking it, I could see that the lens cover and hood were bent and must be replaced. I hoped the camera and lens have not been disturbed internally.

We walked on to Thela. As soon as we got to town, we passed a school yard where the children, upon seeing us, began to flock towards us. Since I wanted no repeat of former scenes, I immediately intended to drive them away and did so by making every action of unreceptiveness. I took to picking up small rocks and driving back the increasing mob. We sat in a tea shop from where I rushed out a few times to show them I didn’t want them too close. I was really in a good temper though my actions didn’t show that. The shop owner chased them back with a stick and upon seeing my pleasure was encouraged to repeat this action. Soon the mood became happy, the elders and privileged or crafty children sitting outside, always slowly encroaching en masse until again driven back. I had my canteen filled with hot milk. They also boiled potatoes for us. I had multiple teas. Then they started passing the chillum around and I am afraid I smoked too much, along with a few of the many biris offered.

Before we left I bought many fruits and vegetables so as to have the food we’ve gone without the last two days. Before we left, an old man played Judith’s flute in an expert way. There was such a huge crowd of people standing in the road when we left that we took pictures of it.

Some way down the road, accompanied by a number of boys (which Judith always wished would leave), we came to a swimming spot. I took a dip, while Judith continued to a more secluded spot down the road. When I came up to her I saw that she was swimming only in underpants and the men were eagerly awaiting her to get out of the water. I told them, asked them to go away now, “Don’t stare at the missus.” Then I saw that they had congregated on the lake shore some distance away to get a better look! I yelled at them to move on, but as they did not respond, I picked up some rocks and charged at them. They fled and I kept after them. When I went to go back I saw them undaunted and so I chased them further down the road at a full spirit. I ran back to Judith, and I told her that if she swims topless with a group of men around again, that she’ll have to defend herself, because I’ll walk right by while they stop and gawk at her getting out of the water…I don’t care and she says she doesn’t either, only that she doesn’t want to offend them.

I took another swim, but reluctantly for after my sprint, I felt suddenly weak and chilled.

At 4 p.m., we continued down the road. Three boys stared at us and would not leave us alone no matter what we did, so again for the third time today, I picked up rocks and kept them ahead of us. When I got to a tea shop, I went up and grabbed and pushed one of the boys who’d been taunting us. The people tried to calm me and wanted us to have tea, but we just kept on our way. We stopped in a short while at a well, where Judith washed our vegetables. We walked for another half hour or so and stopped at a rock to smoke a joint and watch the sun set.

I was feeling chilled ever since I’d run after the crowd of young men, and as there was a village across a field I asked a villager if we could stay the night. He led us to his place, showed us a “bed,” whereupon I fell on it immediately, exhausted. Apparently, I’d come down with some sort of bug. The people stared at us and crowded around. Judith was freaking out and said so. As a solution to make them go away, she got in bed with me. They continued to stay around us until they finally were told to leave by the men.

Later, tea was brought, then milk. I was feeling pretty bad, burning up. The people started crowding in again and yelling the way Indians talk to each other—very noisy. I needed fresh air and quiet, so I jumped up and went out and laid outside the circle of men around the fire on the ground. Of course, everyone thought this is a strange thing to do, but I was burning up and I wanted to cool off lest I destroy my brain cells! I was a bit delirious. I thought I was going to die, and laid in the dirt awaiting death. I asked forgiveness from God and wished for entrance to heaven.

They brought me subjii and chapattis but I ate only a few bites. Feeling a bit better, I went inside and grabbed a separate bed. All through the night, the men in the three–sided room with us were talking, coughing, moaning and turning in their sleep. It was a broken sleep, uncomfortable, and I was feverish. In the wee hours of the morning, I crawled into Judith’s bed. We awoke before dawn.

Recap: No new sights I can recall.

January 27, 1984
(Half way? to Agra)
Rajgarh, India

As we got up, it seemed everyone else did so too. We packed. We gave them a mirror, a can opener, a nail clipper for gifts. They made morning tea. We thanked them.

The sun rose over the hills before we reached the main road. Over a small pass and down. A marker “16.” I assume this means sixteen kilometers into Rajgarh. I am feeling weak, but I keep on. Just after kilometer thirteen we stop. I laid on the roadside in the dirt in the sun. (The Earth is neither unclean nor uncomfortable.) I fell asleep while Judith made a salad of bananas, apples, tomatoes, peanuts, onion. I awoke and ate my plate and we left.

Each step was a burden, unusual for me. Just past kilometer ten, we found a water well with a motor pump where the locals were bathing. Judith had to clean her feet so she could remove the splinters she’d gotten yesterday at lakeside. Again, I rested in the heat of the sun.

(Before we left kilometer twelve, we put the potatoes and unwanted articles in a bag to lighten our load, intending to give them to the first locals. As we came up to a group o women, Judith offered them the bag. Judith went towards them to show them the contents. They backed off, as if fear—stricken. We left the bag on the ground. These people, as far as we can make out, might possibly be herders, maybe living a nomadic lifestyle. They can be seen on plains with their livestock with a backdrop of impassable mountains [impassable without great difficulty for a whole herd and owners, it would seem].)

I ate some salt and drank plenty of water, thinking part of my weakness might come from loss of salt and fluid. Before we left, we had tea in the courtyard of a man’s house on his invitation. Again, I laid back and rested for a few minutes.

With somewhat over nine kilometers left, we walk just past kilometer four. Judith had to rest because of her period and I needed a rest also. We pulled just off the road and laid in the dirt fifty meters from the road in the sun. I fell asleep. I was awakened by the talking of a group of people and looked up to see villagers at ten meters off staring at us. They made no sign to leave. I closed my eyes and rested. I put my finger to my lips and “sshhed” to let them know I wanted quiet. They moved off to seventy meters away and a larger group of people stood close by and stared and made much noise. I had to remove my thermal underwear bottoms, so, as if to kill two birds with one stone, I stood up and let them know that if they wanted to watch, I was going to remove my pants. They moved on, but a trail full of female hay-bearers came by and some men with bikes parked on the road kept observing. I changed my clothes. Then the men advanced in a group of six strong and stood within ten feet of us staring dumbfounded. We left and walked into Rajgarh holding hands (as we often do when walking along).

When we got to the center of town, we asked where a hotel was and were led by a non-trustworthy-looking lad to the tourist “guest house.” As we walked, the lad shouted his glee to the shop owners, and he was certainly enjoying his implied popularity, which he considered growing greater as the size of the throng of boys increased, while, conversely, our dismay grew in proportion. Soon there were at least fifty or seventy boys noisily following us. They came in to the guest house and made a roar of noise and confusion. We weren’t shown a room for a long time, but were led upstairs to sit on the floor of the mezzanine.

I was so weak from walking eighteen kilometers with a fever and thirty five pound pack (after potatoes were jettisoned) that I cared nothing for the noise and was content to sit. Judith however made the call to leave, but we stayed. Some lad was close to her, and then I saw her say: “Hey, don’t do that!” and she pushed him. Knowing that she wouldn’t do that unless he bodily “touched” her, I grabbed him and gave him a mighty toss that sent him hurling away, and only with great effort did he succeed in not landing on his face. This action caused a great stir. We repeatedly asked the men to close the gates to keep the throng out but though they seemed wanting to please they did not do so.

We ended up in a room bare except for a table-like bed of wood with no mattress and a bed commonly found in all villages, with a wooden frame and strings formed to make a sort of cot. The bottom end of these “beds” have only few strands, not woven, so your feet would slip through if they weren’t already hanging off the bed! (These “beds” are only five feet long and uncomfortable for me, and as the locals are sometimes also fairly tall, I can not imagine a good enough reason to prevent them from making a comfortably sized bed, where they spend one third of their lives: 10:30 p.m.: 6:30 a.m.)

I immediately laid down exhausted. The noise outside was a roar. The children banged on our door and on the shutters. They crawled up to the grilled vents to peer in. I could not imagine why they were allowed. The boy who’d brought us to the hotel said he’d get us food if we’d give him ten. Knowing it was a mistake to give him money beforehand, he left, came back with 5 rupees of food and was not seen again. Judith went out to get some food and a doctor, which turned out to be an excellent idea on her part.

The doctor came and checked me. I had a 102 degree fever and bronchitis. (I could feel my lungs since yesterday. I won’t ever smoke tobacco again, just ganja and hash and opium, for if I am going to smoke it might as well be something I enjoy and I never took to tobacco again—it was the chillums I smoked yesterday that fucked me up.) The doctor said I should be better by tomorrow, and he prescribed some medicine.

He was very helpful. He appointed one of the hotel men to fetch the medicine, and milk tea, and biscuits, asking me to give him a tip for his service. I also communicated through the doctor that I’d like to have mats to make the beds more comfortable, and with the mats and beds the room was to be only eight rupees, not the twenty five the guest house requested.
Actually, I think we’re the first tourists to come through here in a long while. The doctor’s charge for the house call was only ten rupees (one dollar). After having a glass of too heavily–sugared milk and tea (sickeningly sweet) that the man brought with my medicine, I went to sleep. I tipped the man five rupees, which seemed to both please and surprise him greatly! I roasted, sweating from my own heat. During the night Judith let me use her sleeping bag to keep warm (in addition to my own) and she used the blanketing provided us.
Our room happens to be situated in the convenient locality of being adjacent to a vacant lot which is the local pig hang out. Throughout the evening and night, from our room, one can hear their sweet music as they root, their melodious fighting, and their harmonic grunting. Funny, Judith thinks it sounds terrible!
P.S.—Tonight Judith brought me a treat—a snack of delicious peanut brittle.
Recap:
(1) walked eighteen kilometers with thirty five pound pack with a one hundred and two degrees fever in blazing sun,
(2) had nomadic women back away form us as we approached to give them a bag of potatoes; they were very frightened,
(3) had a large following harangue and harass us like never before,
(4) had a doctor give a house call for one dollar (1984 dollars),
(5) arrived at the “half way point” to Agra.

January 28, 1984
Rajgarh, India

They brought tea in the morning. Then they (actually he, the man who last night fetched my medicine) brought milk, dahl, chapatis, oranges, apples, and during the course of the day sought out and found a replacement bulb for my flashlight to fix it. For all this, I tipped him another five rupees, which astounded him, I think.
I laid around and read about Tiger Hunting and I wrote. (I respect the author of Tiger Hunting but he’s still fucked for destroying so many tigers.)
At one point, the children wanted in. I opened the door, even though I was very tired of so many (constant) disturbances. When I saw they came on pretense, I closed the door, but they pushed it open so I shut it hard then they started banging on it. It was time to teach them a lesson, so I determined to catch the first one I could and use him as an example. I ran out in my long johns with my privates hanging half out. They got a good head start on me and I had to run out in the street to get one (of about twenty). I picked him up running and tossed him to the ground lightly so as not to hurt him but in a way so as to scare the hell out of him as all looked on. He had his school books in his hand and I grabbed them from him and dashed them to the ground. I walked back into the room pointing at the others, saying something like, “That will happen to you too!” After this incident, the hotel keeper was finally and miraculously able to lock the gate, and aside from a short hubbub immediately following the incident, we were thereafter granted some peace.
A gentleman (in the true sense of the word) who had yesterday helped Judith find the doctor came by to look in on me. He invited us to dinner. He was so kind, I could not refuse, and so at about 4:30 p.m., we all left for his house. It was a very pleasant time and a delicious meal: rice with butter and powdered sugar, vegetables, pickled (strange) berries, chapattis with butter, salad of cabbage, onions and tomatoes, chilied lemon peels, chilied pickles and a few others.
He invited me to come to his daughter’s wedding February 18th. Judith gave his daughter a digital time piece (the kind you stick to the telephone) and we thanked them and left.
At our room, I went to sleep first and then Judith followed. I was fast asleep and happy to have rest. I awoke to see sweet Judith hovering over me in the darkness. She wanted to come into bed with me. However, she soon after suggested we go to the bigger bed. I was in an amorous mood, now awoken, but she was falling asleep and my advances were in vain, so I laid back. I realized I wouldn’t be ale to sleep so I got up and went to my bed and broke out the guitar and had a go at it in the darkness. When I finished I went to her bed and now I woke her up. I forget exactly, but I think I returned to my bed because she got indignant cause I woke her up and I said she woke me first!
Then I was sleeping when (later) the pigs started making an incredible racket next door to us. It was amazing how much noise they made! It seems like the male was trying to force it on the sow and then it seemed there were territorial fights and fatherly beatings. Soon, men in the other room were making plenty of noise. This place is a madhouse!! I went over to tell them to quiet down, but these poor three guys were making tea and asked me to come in and I saw that they themselves were only making the best of it that the pigs were making so much racket. Judith came in and left. I had tea. They had their businesses in this room. They fired up the cotton candy maker and the gave me some. (One guy worked on cutting and pasting glass into small shrines in which he placed cheap paper prints of Hindu religious scenes (the kind where the people are purple). I’m sure glad I don’t live like these guys. All three sleeping together—waking at 5:00 a.m. to do their work. What a life. I could never do it I think. I went back into the room and fell asleep after speaking with Judith.

January 29, 1984
Abandoned, crumbling well building near road some kilometers
Outside of Rajgarh, India

We awoke. It was clear that we couldn’t spend another night here because there is no rest. People by day and pigs by night. However, I felt weak and I really wanted to stay and rest, so Judith’s will was the catalyst for us going.

The Doctor came free of charge and said that I had to get more Ampicillin when I told him the boy had only brought three 500 milligrams tablets.

Judith and I packed and paid our bill in the afternoon. She and I made love, but it wasn’t so great. I feel sort of weak from this bug, and I told her I felt almost like I shouldn’t go down on her anymore because she never does on me and….I felt bad for coming too soon, as if I’m not enough for her….but I think on a rational level it’s silly to think this way because we’ve had such superb sex mostly….when I get feverish I get delirious.

As we went down the street we tried to ward off the children but to no avail. We bumped into the man M. Paresh who had us to dinner. He seemed surprised we were leaving and offered to let us stay at his place when we told him of the noise at the hotel, and he seemed disappointed that we wanted to go. The crowd built during our short conversation. We left, and the number of kids caused me misery for I wanted peace. I got pissed off that they crowded around me and gave them the thumbs down. For some reason they began chanting I Love You, I Love You and I supposed it was intended for Judith, which bugged me. They followed and harassed us, and, of course, the more they bothered me and I showed my displeasure the more they were encouraged. I threatened them but they were unafraid, so I finally threw my pack down and I raced till I caught one who’d run into a dead end. I didn’t want to hurt him and I didn’t, but I did scare the hell out of him by tossing him around while holding on to him; then I grabbed him by one arm and tossed him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and brought him out to the street and hailed the other kids shouting, “This is what is going to happen to you!” They ran screaming. The kid I was holding had been crying for mercy, and I let him down and walked off. I walked after Judith.

Some nice men out for an evening ‘constitutional’ erroneously informed me that Agra was about three clicks away. Meanwhile, off on a distant hill, a regrouped battalion of youngsters continued a chant of I Love You, I Love You.

I stopped to photo an incredibly colored bird, but the crowd formed and Judith refused to watch my bags so I curtailed it. As I put my camera stuff away they stared like stones standing holding their bicycles. I walked to them saying “what do you want” and in an effort to intimidate them I started making gestures which provoked them to move on, though they made their inevitable regrouping not fifty meters down the road!

I found Judith and said ‘let’s get off the road completely. As we headed over the rocky hill, the congregation’s eyes followed us from the road, no doubt intrigued even more now by our seemingly irrational behavior. We parked our butts in daylight’s last hour, against some rocks, and we ate fruit. Then we smoked some hash, and we moved on, walking back to the road. It was getting dark. Judith felt sick, so we had to stop while she laid down. We resumed walking. After a time we came to a village with lights. We got some good hot milk and some carrots to bring along. We were harassed with an invitation to stay the night in one man’s house, but we curtly continued down the road in the darkness. Another man asked us to stay with him, but as we approached his village Judith began being verbally negative about all the people and noise there’d be there, so rather than listen to her, we returned to the road. We were both tired. We stopped for a rest. There was a well house that I suggested we stay at, but Judith curtly said No, and she explained the place just didn’t give her good “vibes.” This irritated, but I should have just stayed there and let her go where she wanted. I was upset because she was just plain negative without assessing the facts. I told her so and she finally said “Let’s try it here!,” but I didn’t want her to change her mind because of me, so I said “Let’s go on!” I gave her a piece of my mind as we walked on.

I was tired and the longer it took to find a place, the more upset I became that I hadn’t insisted on my idea. Nonsensically, I asked her to look at an enclosure I was looking at, and on her way she sprained her foot, which, if she did mention it, I was really unaware that she’d hurt her foot. We walked on and found a crumbling old well house that was suitable. I tried to find hay to lay out but only could find hard dry reeds, which turned out to be, to me, more uncomfortable than stone. It was like sleeping on a bed of railroad tracks. Ugh! Before I slept I told Judith I loved her, but all I got back was a vibe that said: So why don’t you show it rather than ragging at me? And I couldn’t really blame her.

Diary, I’m just living my life, and all these frustrations are minor. We’re only human. Just got to try to keep getting on peaceably and as best we can. These are rough conditions I think.

January 30, 1984
Roadside Village Six kilometers from main road which leads to Mahuwa,
India

Morning. I watch the Sunrise. We get ready, Judith seems in pretty good spirits, but her foot is bothering her. She asks for advice. I feel her foot. If it’s only a sprain then walking on it shouldn’t hurt her I tell her. We walk on, have some hot milk, continue down the road. We come to a village and have some tea and hot milk. I buy up a big bunch of fruits to have along. On the way out of town, we are followed, though we asked for solitude, so Judith suggests we run, which we do. This, however, ends up hurting her foot more than ever, and hereafter she begins having serious trouble walking.

Out of the next town a “small” (ten or fifteen) group of people follows us closely. Judith can barely move and though I repeatedly ask them for room and solitude they seem indifferent to our requests. One boy, my height, seems to be particularly enjoying our frustrations, so with all restraint, I walk up to him holding his bicycle, and I ask him if he would please ask them all to leave. I continue on, but this particular boy is wearing his Cheshire cat grin to the point that I have had enough of it.

India, Rajasthan,Throng Of Kids, 1984

I calmly walked up to him. I grabbed him and flung him with one hand, while I remained nearly motionless; he flew six or nine feet away to the ground, his bicycle fell down. Other bicycles fell to the ground as their occupants made a rapid departure. I was surprised at the effectiveness achieved through such calm effort concentrated in a determined. Judith and I walked on. We proceeded undisturbed from then on while the would−be pursuers looked on astonished and a−gawk.

Shortly afterwards, hobbling on at an incredible slow speed, we made it to a tree just on the opposite side of an embankment, where we made it, only being spotted by one boy and an old man—the fact that you’re spotted sitting down at all is a guarantee that soon hoards of visitors will arrive. The first people came over the embankment to look at either their field or us and I lobbed mud rocks at them and motioned them away —“Neh! Neh! Neh! Neh!” One came forward. I showed a hint of friendliness accompanied by telling them to move on. This precipitated the crowd to move on within a few minutes. Then, no doubt, they would tell the next travelers on the road, whereupon, some short time later, a new group of visitors appeared. This continued. However, we got some good rest in the shade of that tree; Judith peeled apples and those other apple/pear¬−like fruits the name of which I didn’t know.

I felt my fever returning to me. Diary, all of this since my first fever is painful for me to write about! We continued on the road only we didn’t go far for Judith’s foot was in a complete state of disaster. Now I took her pack, which was a joke because I was now carrying such a heavy load, plus fruit and I had a fever anyway in the hot sun! When the string on the fruit bag broke, Judith took the bag and it seemed she was trying to demonstrate her utter helplessness to me as the weight of the fruit bag slowed her to an indeterminably slow crawl.

I pulled in at the nearest empty roadhouse and sat down. I ignored the prying eyes, I could care less, but I sorely needed rest myself, and Peace, so I laid down as best I could and read. Judith was “incapable” of going on and it was obvious we’d have to spend the night there. This is reading like a confession! Soon help arrived and we got set up in a shack with a bed. Judith spent her time complaining about the people who came in hordes and I wished she’d just shut up and be thankful that they were giving us a bed.

I was feverish. I got into the sack long before sundown, and read Hints on Tiger Shooting. I was asked if I wanted tea or milk and said yes, and fell asleep waiting for it. Before dark tea was brought, and I had to drink Judith’s because it had sugar in it—I wish she’d get over her sugar phobia in an effort to simplify these situations and be polite! I think hot milk was brought in the evening. It was uneventful for all practical purposes—I was sweaty to the point that in the middle of the night I awoke with my T-shirt drenched in sweat! Mostly, I just slept, which was the best thing for me, I think.

Despite all I write negative now about Judith, we still maintain romantic talk and all. Things aren’t really as bad as I write. Through the hardships, if one can maintain a posture of Happy-To-Be Alive then despair never gets to setting in, never gets too close.

January 31, 1984
Walking To Bharatpur, India

Didn’t really sleep, so put down this night to walking down the long lonely road to Bharatpur!

Morning: Last night sometime, I think when I changed into a dry shirt, Judith was snuggling up to me and she had a game plan in her head. She began by suggesting that to convalesce her foot in Bharatpur might be the best thing for her to do…(head her off at the pass)…I, of course, nodded consent, after all it made sense, but I had no intention of joining a bus ride there. I am on a pilgrimage to my personal God! Of course, I saw it coming, but I knew not with what force. I suggested the alternative that we could convalesce here in this village, but that was totally unacceptable for her. Then she asked if I’d take the bus with her tomorrow to Bharatpur. I told her, “Look, I’ll wait with you here as long as it takes to convalesce your foot, but I intend to walk all the way to Agra! I did not expect such a strong reprisal, else wise I might have been more supplicating! Whereupon we went to sleep! She seemed almost pissed off that I would go along with her plan.

In the morning, I awoke and she was packing. She seemed not to give a hoot about me. When I was awake, we went over to accept the tall-shining-teeth-save-a-big-crooked-protruding-yellow-one lady’s offer for food. We were transferred to an outdoor-in-the-sun bed. There, we inhaled petrol fumes. They gave us some hot, weird milk. Judith was to catch the next bus to Mahuwa and on to Bharatpur.

She’d already given me a biting lecture on how unloving I was to put my (stupid) goals above our love which just shows what kind of man (or mouse) I am….who cares for his silly objectives, but when I can be with my lover, I just don’t give a hoot. Diary, is there some mistake here? I thought I was the one offering to hold up here to wait for her to convalesce her hurt foot, and it was she who was voluntarily rejecting my offer to finish what we’d started the way we said we were going to do it in the first place – that it was she who was giving me only hours notice to either accept (whereupon I prove my love) or reject (bad guy) her ultimatum!

I told her I’d be no more than three days. We went to the road to wait for the bus.

The kids and folks crowded around so I broke off and sat on a mound on the other side of the road. Judith came over to me. She asked if she’d done anything wrong and I said No. (But I felt i) wanting to get out of there and hoping her bus would come, ii) not happy because our original plan was busted by her sudden departure.) Of course, the crowd followed her over. K kept telling them to get back. The old lady finally understood that we did want food, so some chapattis and subjii were brought – I think I was hungry. Some time towards the end of the meal, Judith blurted out., “Well, the least you could do was to thank the lady or tell her it’s good; I think she things you don’t like it!” Diary, what am I supposed to do with a “request” like that? I wasn’t trying to ignore the lady, my mind was elsewhere, and therefore I was innocent of the implied accusation. I didn’t believe the lady minded one way or the other. I ignored Judith. When the people came closer, the old lady handed me a stick to drive them back.
Judith’s bus came. Great timing. I put her on the bus, much to her resentment. She claimed it was ludicrous to saddle her with my daypack in her condition. I reasoned that she was bussing it to the hotel I Bharatpur, and I knew the locals would be helpful enough with all her baggage if she’d only ask.

Moments after she got on the bus, I was putting on my pack and walking briskly toward Mahuwa. I suppose it was about 1115 a.m. Little did I know I was off on a 24-hour, 50 mile hike! (It was approximately 84 kilometers to Bharatpur.) Some kids followed me, but I quickly shot off the road to walk alone in the fields. I say them spying me from the road. When I’d said goodbye, the kids came close, but the elders chased them away. I said in English, though they couldn’t understand: “No, it’s O.K. (don’t chase them away).” Now, it’s all right. When I’m by myself, it doesn’t bother me.

I was determined to break away from the throng. Some boys were following me from a dirt road and I finally had to cross it and warned them. One followed me and I shook my fist at him, whereupon they all ran off.

This is crazy, but I wanted to get to Bharatpur as soon as possible. I wanted to walk 50 miles if I could. I wanted to show Judith that I wasn’t abandoning her and the lengths I would go to be with her. I walked and walked. First the 6 kilometers to the main road . Then 16 more into Mahuwa. On the way to Mahuwa, there was another incident. Some buys came past me on their bikes and were aggressively friendly. Later, at a pump-well, they stood by and signaled me to come over. I kept walking, whereupon they yelled and yelled. I kept walking. They kept yelling for me to come over to them. They laughed. I threw off my bag and walked up to a boy of my own height. I pushed him. He retaliated. The others told me to break it off, so I walked away. But no more than a few steps later, they started laughing. I want for him again. We started sort of wrestling. He had some strength. I had my sunglasses on and didn’t want to break them, so I let go and walked on. I put my bag on and left.

I arrived in Mahuwa before sundown, an uneventful walk. I had the most delicious bright oranges I can imagine, and I had some fried dahl and chapattis and tea. Thus refreshed, I headed off on the long road to Agra. After a short time I reached a marker: Agra 115 km, Bharatpur 60 km. My work was clearly cut out for me. It grew dark. I walked on. The big event of the night was when I’d reached kilometer 41, signifying I’d already gone half the way. I sat down and had an orange. Down the road a way, a man and his son made me some tea. I walked on….

February 1, 1984
Bharatpur, India

About 4:00 a.m. or before I reached a truck stop tea shop where I had tea. I even rested for awhile. It was another twenty five kilometers into Bharatpur. Off again on the road. At twenty kilometers I laid down and wrapped myself in my tarp and got a little shut-eye after eating the last of my fruit provisions. I was awakened by a strange sound, as if one cat started making a command and suddenly twenty others around all started repeating this horrible crying noise. In reality, I realized, it was some new from of bird life. At first however, I imagined it was a group of robbers encroaching in on me and making calls.

On I walked and sunlight began to pervade the dark atmosphere. I had about twelve kilometers to go when I stopped to watch the sunrise. It was a big red ball, luminous, awesome. I shot some photos. I was waiting till I thought it was about 8:00 a.m. to telepathize to Kelly, but I think it had been really about 7:30 a.m. I made a provision for the message to be bounced off the sun until she tuned in.

I tried opening my mind and letting it drift with hers. I didn’t really try to communicate specifically. Towards the end I thought I got an image from her of a cross and a ring and I thought when I wrote I’d ask if someone had asked her to marry. To close, I sang, without thinking about it, Cinnamon Girl, by Neil Young. I never knew what Cinnamon was supposed to signify, but as I was singing, I realized that it was an appropriate symbol for Kelly’s red hair, so I sang with even more soul. I walked on.

I thought that for sure Judith spent the night in Bharatpur. But if she didn’t like it she might go, so I wanted to arrive by 10 a.m. so that I might find her if she was in the process of leaving. There was a sign “Bharatpur seven km.” Mind you, diary, I have been carrying my pack—about thirty pounds, I think, at least—all night. Every tour bus that passed, I looked at anxiously to see if Judith passed me! I finally got to the park and inside to the Forest Lodge just at about ten fifty 5 a.m.; this is where we said we’d meet. There was no Judith and no message. So I went over to the Forest Rest House and again no message. But finally, one man got the connection of a girl with a hurt foot, and he said she went to the Saras Guest House, just outside the park. I arranged for her to be notified of my arrival. I was dead tired and hungry. I had some coffee and sandwiches at the Forest Lodge, walked to the park entrance, slept on the lawn, then walked slowly to the Saras Guest House (run by Rajasthan Tourism—nice hotel, sixty five rupees double room). I found Judith’s name in the book. She stayed in the dorm. The men said she was out in the park till the end of the day. I checked into the double room, had a good hot shower, and I went into bed feeling chilled. It was 2 p.m., when I checked in. I fell asleep under the blankets.

About 7 p.m., Judith knocked. I got up to open the door in the nude, cold, and let her in and ran in the bathroom and then back to bed. I said “I feel really sick.” And the vibe I got back said: All you think about is yourself. I told the hotel man to leave.

Judith hardly gave me a chance to be nice to her. She made one feeble attempt, but as I was in a state of non-response, after that she ignored me. She took a shower. First, a woman came looking for her and I told her to come back. Then I looked up to see a young man come in and up to my bed and he wanted to sit down and wait for Judith. When I told him to come back, he accused me of being rude! (Who is this guy?) He said he’d helped me a great deal (i.e., I owed him gratitude). Not only did I never see him before, but I was astonished at the situation. Who was this guy! He left indignantly.

Judith came out of the shower and a woman came by. They talked in the foyer, Judith naked, which bugged me to see that she was so unabashed. I don’t know why I should be bugged. They talked on like old friends and I laid in bed with the chills. When the woman finally left, I had an opportunity to talk with Judith, only she was wearing a grudge as big as a bear. Then it all came out how all I care about is myself, and how everyone had been so nice to her and how she’d broken a bone in her foot, and I didn’t even ask her how she was (she didn’t even give me a chance, which makes me think she didn’t want me to ask her, to give her the excuse to carry out her grudge). She packed and intimated that she was going to the dorm to stay. She came near the bed. I told her that she was causing a problem, and all I wanted was to be friends and lovers and share some time with her. She gave me all the reasons why we shouldn’t be together, and telling me how dumb I am for persisting in my walk and abandoning her by letting her leave me on the bus. In the middle of this, the Indian boy came walking in! I told him to get the hell out of the room. That was the last I saw of him.

I started kissing Judith. The mood changed, and some more kissing brought it around to full−on lovemaking, after which it seemed evident that Judith and I were both happy with the love and satisfied. Passionate!

Now: Sleep.

Good day? Bad day? Diary, the trials and tribulations of life must be endured gladly, and I accept them whole heartedly as they are directly connected with the many and countless good things and joys and excellent luck I enjoy. However, I really have never liked being ill. It is the one thing about life I don’t like.

February 2, 1984
Bharatpur, India

In the morning Judith said she’d go to town or she’d wait if I wanted to go later. I thought it would be a good idea to see the doctor, so I said “Wait.” When it came time to get up I didn’t want to at all, I was so tired and slept all morning. But I got up just because I’d promised I would, although I would say I made a show of it. Judith said I didn’t have to come, but we rickshawed into town. I was dying, I was, after a series of stops, we finally made it to the hospital when a doctor proclaimed I had anemia and malaria. He said, “Look how white your hands are!” I replied, “But my hands are always white!” I had to stay till 5 p.m. to get a blood test, so I laid down and they gave me a blanket with dried blood on it. When I asked them what it was they gave me a clean one. I got my thumb pricked at 5 p.m. Then Judith got to see a doctor. I went home, stopping to eat eggs, curd, chocolate …I went home and went to bed and sleep, and Judith came in later, but I just slept. In the middle of the night, I vomited all over the bathroom floor, cleaned it up, showered and slept some more.

February 3, 1984
Bharatpur, India

All the way through the first eight days we did it—even on the cold asphalt of a road at night under the moon. So…I really must be ill.

Today, I had no desire to go anywhere, and consequently stayed in bed. It was one of those lost days when there is just a haze and the day passes away. Judith went out to make a phone call to delay her flight and was gone most of the afternoon. I read Hints on Tiger Shooting and slept. When she got back, we talked awhile. The guys downstairs hassled her to pay eight rupees for the dorm the day I checked in at 2 p.m.

February 4, 1984
At a truck stop near Fatephur Sikri on main road in enclosed thatch little house at paper−checkers (for trucks) booth, India

When we woke I certainly didn’t feel like walking on one hand, and on the other, I wanted to leave this hotel and finish the walk to Taj Mahal because I want to get to Delhi and get proper medical treatment and food and rest. We determined to leave. At noon we checked out and were ready to walk, but Judith had to return her bicycle to town and she delayed us, not returning until 2 p.m., or so, because she didn’t know how to refix the bicycle chain and had to walk the bike and this and that. Now it’s fifty–five kilometers to Agra from here.

I had all my gear with me, leaving none of it behind so I wouldn’t be forced to come back here to fetch it. Packing this morning, I discovered that Judith had lost my roll of B & W of the animals at the Sariska Watchtower!! And she lost my Minolta reversing ring. I had all my camera stuff separated in the purple pouch bag and when I looked in it, a bunch of other stuff had been stuffed in it and the camera stuff missing!

We walked, perhaps starting at 3 p.m., fifty three kilometers, fifty kilometers, forty five kilometers, down, down, down go the kilometers. Our spirits were O.K. In fact we got on pretty good. It makes it much easier to walk when you have a good conversation going. By the way, she checked my blood test yesterday and of course I don’t have malaria—ridiculous …I almost forgot to mention what I do have! Though the hospital said nothing about it, I know I have hepatitis, because yesterday, my piss turned orange and my eyes under my eyelids are definitely yellow! I am out there on that road with a forty pounds pack lugging it to Agra. It is dark now and we keep on. Judith’s foot is doing pretty good. At 11 a.m. we pulled into the Fatephur Sikri truck stop to have milk, and a guy there is offering us a bed at the check-post across the road to give us a few hours rest.

Naturally, Judith was negative on the idea completely, but she came and saw it was all right, so we bed down. She awakes at 2 a.m. and wants to go. She gets pissed and just pulls the sleeping bag off of me, but I grab it back in defiance of her incourtesy (and the cold). O.K., reasoning returns. I tell her I will meet her down the road, not to stop walking, I only want another fifteen minutes rest and I’ll be following: Stay in sight of the road!! So she leaves and I rest a few more precious minutes and then I’m up and off. She’s been doing her job, for with only about a half hour head start I had to walk five kilometer or so to catch up with her. Good work!

February 5, 1984
Agra! The Taj Mahal

I found her relieving herself on the opposite of the road. We walked. And so it went, we had about twenty kilometers left to go. Morning came in the faint first light. The sun rose, the same red ball. We got to a small roadside “town” for breakfast, having milk. On. Judith told me more about that rude guy who had barged in our room in Bharatpur. Apparently, when she went to call from the Forest Lodge (never went through), the guy showed up, suggested they walk, kept putting his arm around her (which she pulled away), suggested they get together, said “No problem!” when she mentioned I was her boyfriend. (“I’ve got girlfriends too!” he said.) She said he finally became super–embarrassed when, after he said he was twenty one, he asked Judith how old she was (expecting twenty three or something) and she knocked him cold by saying thirty. She said he showed her a picture of his girlfriend, who, by Judith’s reckoning looked about thirteen years old.

We had to start going slow cause Judith’s foot was bugging her. We stopped and started like this every few kilometers. Finally, we got into the outskirts of Agra; we went through a very noisy section of town, crowded, congested. Yuk! We got to the one kilometer mark and I stopped and waited and we walked the last kilometer holding hands, and kissed when officially in the city limits. Which reminds me, Judith’s mouth has got a bacterial infection. Her gums and tongue have something on them that’s like a colony spreading. Her breath has gotten rank. It doesn’t mean she’s gross because usually her breath is fine, but it’s really a bummer for her because it is so sensitive, she can’t eat anything! (She can only eat the softest of foods.)

Judith had to rest her foot, so we pulled into a restaurant. I had a Tandoori chicken (they had to wash off the chili sauce), which was just wonderful. And three lemon waters. I felt wonderful. Unfortunately, all Judith could have was a tea and half a Parantha, so I believe understandably she was weak. We were told that it was about ten minutes walk from the restaurant to the Taj Mahal! Ha! We walked and walked, both broken from sickness and lack of sleep though as I said, my chicken dinner helped. We finally got to a sign Taj Mahal two km.

There was a candy vendor so we bought some brittle and sweets. This helped Judith and I ate it happily also. We estimated it possible to reach the Taj before the sun went down, but just barely. We entered the Taj area. There was a glimpse of a white/gray−white temple and we said “That’s it!” and then I had my doubts that maybe that wasn’t it, since there were many buildings around. But it was it. In a race against the sun we moved to the entrance. The guard said we had to go around this side and pay two rupees each to get our tickets, but we were in such a hurry I took four rupees and stuffed it in his front jacket pocket. He waved the guard ahead of us to let us in and we entered the Taj grounds.

Jeff Shea On Arrival At The Taj Mahal, 1984

We sat down with our packs. We got our cameras out and took a few photos, mostly as documents of our haggard arrival. The sky was losing it’s light. Judith went to put her bag away and I walked down the main path leading straight to the Taj, looking, thinking, just seeing. I stopped at the midway point and sat, waited for Judith. I had two guys take two pictures of us using my camera. Then we walked to the main entrance of the temple. I stared at it and realized what the god was that I had made a pilgrimage for—it was Beauty…and I realized that my personal god is Beauty.

At the entrance to the tomb, they did not want to let us in with our shoes on, so I took mine off to give them but Judith suggested we walk around the temple first so we did. I kept thinking “Beauty is my God.” We stopped at the back side. It grew dark.

Behind the front of the Taj is a thirty feet drop to a sandy river bed, the river being sort of dried up and mucky. But it presents a marvelous scene. There was a crescent moon against the Taj in the deep pink violet black spectrum of the on setting night sky. I set up my camera and tripod and took a photo.

We endeavored to smoke some hash. It took awhile to get the needle, hash and matches together. (I had to have a man on the terrace above us throw down a few matches and use an old match box I had). We huddled together and let the smoke drift up to our noses and mouths. Soon we were stoned. We walked around to the front of the building. We were about to leave when we got the idea to go into the temple. It was now night. We rented some tie-on overshoes and went in. We went to where the monument of the graves is on the main floor, where the domed ceiling resounds. (The real tomb is just below this, though at the time, I thought these two sarcophagi held the bodies.) We went in. One of the guards took his flashlight and showed us the inlay on the marble in detail; agate, cornelian, jade, lapis lazuli, onyx, jasper, etc. We used my flashlight and studied the inlay. It was exquisite. Under the flashlight, the red inlay (cornelian) lit up like a light tube as we held the flashlight against the marble. The marble itself gleamed yellow. I think it was very high quality. I was a little amazed, pretty stoned, in a state of exhaustion, and thus susceptible to suggestion, and I was full of emotion because it was such a long walk to get here that I was really feeling it, really getting into it.

Judith went out for a bit and I was studying the marble and I just became overwhelmed by a few feelings. One thing was that I was overwhelmed by the beauty, and I saw my own life in comparison to the beauty and I felt so terribly lacking, but I felt my great spirit and had a heavy heart. I wasn’t really sad. I was just feeling like something hit me. The grandeur around me reminded me of my greater desires and simultaneously reminded me that in the sense of realization of my desires, I was nowhere, nothing. I was so low, and this place so powerful and beautiful, but I welled over not with grief but with an odd compunction mingled of great, great desire, realism about my present sate, awe and respect for the place’s magnificence and a full-of-despair but divinely hopeful desire to somehow lift myself to match the beauty of the Taj Mahal. And I broke down in sobs, from the deepest well in my bosom and I said to myself: I want to make my life as beautiful as the Taj Mahal! My goal…my desire is to make my life as beautiful as the Taj Mahal!!!!!! I sobbed and sobbed, feeling the emotions I have heretofore described.

Yet a second sort of feeling came over me, and this was an unbridled feeling that the spirits of the King and Queen here entombed were aware of my presence. I felt that they were pleased by my fantastic and deep admiration of the monument of their love. I felt that they deemed me special, and I considered that of the millions or hundreds of thousands of visitors who come here each year, I was one of a very, very few that made some great gesture to the temple, as I had walked two hundred miles or so as a conscious prelude to viewing its grandeur.

I also thought that I felt how deeply the King felt grief at the departure of his Queen from this world, the grief that caused him to erect this wonder in her memory. He lay now forevermore beside his Queen. The feelings I had were very warm, and I was filled with emotion over this seeming communion with the spirits. I was held captivated in the two feelings described for ten minutes or so. When my sobs subsided, I went over to a corner by the King’s sarcophagi and I laid down on the floor. The temple was empty, at least this small part, though I could hear the guard’s voices from without. Up till now, we’d seen no other tourists up here, only a few workers. I wasn’t sure if the temple was closed or not. (Earlier, when we first arrived to the temple, even before we walked around it, a man had warned us that the temple was closing momentarily.) As I laid there on the cold marble, I looked up. I heard Judith come in. I emitted a ‘godly’ sound, which was not so loud, and I heard it go off into the seeming infinity.

Then Judith started making sounds, but they bugged me because I think her head is too caught up in organized choir sounds and it seems to me as if she is stifling the soulfulness of the sounds by sticking to her training rather than making sounds from the heart. Judith was next to me, and I told her about how I had thought about pleasing the spirits of those here entombed by our pilgrimage. She was easygoing in her acknowledgment of my idea, but I thought she really thought I was being nutty, and she might not be wrong about that!

No one else was in there. I got the idea that Judith and I should try to make love. I didn’t want to be sacrilegious or anything, I just basically thought it was a wild and unheard of thing to do it in the Taj Mahal—and I figured not many people even got the chance to do it. We’d probably be the first people in the world to do it! (I guess there might have been a few before us.)

I guess I wasn’t convincing. Judith asked me how we would do it. I got on my hands and knees (showing her position), and I said she could just pull her pants down. We only had to do it a minute, and as far as the guards, we would be able to see them coming. Therefore, no problem. But she said she just didn’t feel right about it. So I said no problem, but I could tell she felt uneasy about denying me. I didn’t really care, I just said it as a lark.

Then we left the upstairs and decided to go downstairs where the sarcophagi holding the bodies really were. We went down and looked around. There was one or two other parties there. Then the guard told me how the Taj took twenty two (?) years to build and how it was completed in 1653 (?) (three hundred and thirty years ago) and how there was a big diamond once in place on top of the King’s tomb, but it was stolen just eight years after (being placed there) by some other head of state (Persian or something). I guess an army came there. I think I subsequently heard that the king who built the Taj was Muslim.

I left ten pesa as a donation and apologized for it being so small but the guard was very nice about it. Upstairs, the guard had pointed out to us the symmetry of the place: How the entrance and sarcophagi aligned with the fountains and the entrance to the whole place. Very beautiful, truly.

Judith and I walked out into the night. We walked outside the grounds and wasted time unwilling to pay the rickshaw driver an extra rupee (little did we know the hotel was very close). We got another rickshaw and came to the hotel. We checked in. Judith immediately went to bed. She is in a wrecked state. I simply had to have some food, so I went downstairs to the restaurant and had some drinks: lassi, shake (banana) and I rejected some tomato soup, which angered the “chef.”

I was propped up with my sleeping bag in a chair having tea when an Iranian refugee student came to me and began a pleasant conversation. I told him of my plans to go to Iran and he encouraged me, saying that the people were not so anti−American as propaganda would have me believe. This Iranian seemed quite nice—I believe he was anti−Khomeini, as he said he could not return to his country.

In the meantime, an Indian man joined the conversation. Anil was his name. He apparently had a wife who lives in Oakland, California, and at length he described how India is a man’s society and America’s a woman’s. Apparently he was not yet adjusted to what is no doubt, in effect, just a different game. I think love is easily manageable in San Francisco; perhaps, though, I have better luck elsewhere. Maybe he knows things I don’t anyway.

We smoked hash in cigarettes, drank coffees and teas, and sat with a friend of his and the “manager” of the “restaurant” (if you will call it that!). We talked until late. I got out some of my Nepalese hash and they said it was incense, but changed their minds later. I rolled a joint so thick with hash that it was like mud, and everyone just coughed. When he finally left he didn’t remind me of his repeated invitation to come visit him tomorrow and I felt as if I had in some way bored or offended him, not that I much cared.

Chapter 4
Recuperation In Delhi and The Heroin Addicts

February 6, 1984
Agra, India

Well, today was a sort of day of nothingness. I went to a doctor who inspired me with little faith, and told me for sure I have hepatitis. He prescribed some medicine, which I’m now taking.

I bought five hundred grams of beef for four rupees and had it cooked it into hamburgers for seven rupees. I enjoyed it quite enough; the doctor warned me not to eat ghee, the Indian clarified butter.

I hardly saw Judith because either I was out or she was, and we slept the few hours we were together in the room. Yes, things are pretty miserable. I don’t even feel like having sex…I’m so tired. No doubt it is the hepatitis.

It just wasn’t much of a day. I am not really complaining…and it is clear to me that the lack of vitality in our relationship is due to none other than sickness, though it even takes the form of self–¬¬centeredness and withdrawal from being sociable. I am certain if we were both well, we would be loving as usual. I read and finished Hints on Tiger Shooting.

February 7, 1984
New Delhi, India

Today Judith was up and off to the Taj and I met her there. The Taj was thus viewed in morning light. We walked around it, and then went in it, but frankly, the night experience was more awesome.

I was dragging…the hepatitis. Judith said I should go back to the hotel and I said, “How long will you be shopping?” She said 11 a.m. at the latest, and she got angry when I didn’t believe her. She showed up at just before noon.

I bought some beef and cooked it myself and did a terrible job on it, I admit. I smoked with the restaurant manager (some of his hash and I gave him some of mine).

Judith and I just made it to the station in time and we caught the 4 p.m., train to Delhi. The ride was not bad at all. We arrived and she was in a cold sweat/fever. We auto-rickshawed back to the Student Lodge. There were no rooms, so we retrieved our things. Judith was waiting out in the rickshaw and I got into a conversation with a pretty blond English girl whom I fell in love with immediately (and perhaps she with me, for she seemed as happy to speak with me as me with her). Alas, I faced the reality that (a) she was leaving for Jaipur (b) I have hepatitis and need rest and have no desire to follow her and her girlfriend. Though, I thought to return. Maybe I can see her before she flies home (on the twenty–third). I said, “Well, I’ve got to go. She’s sick and I can’t keep her waiting.” Diary, I left a piece of my heart behind. The first time I looked at her I gulped. I’m even almost ashamed to not have made an advance there and then. This sort of attraction happens on average maybe once every two months only! And Judith and I are on each other’s nerves… but then again, that doesn’t mean we don’t love each other a lot!

The next hour was employed as follows: go to the Roshan Villa nearby—too expensive. Drive across town to another hotel—not satisfactory; and yet another—too expensive…back to the Roshan Villa.

In the room, the lights now out, I was close to Judith. I came to where she laid, and I said, “I have two things I want to tell you. One is that I think you’re a wonderful person, and despite all our difficulties, they have not soured me towards you but, in effect, they have solidified my love for you, my deep respect and admiration for you.” Then I said, “Now I’m going to say something, but I don’t want you to answer tonight. I want that you just sleep on it and tell me in the morning. I want you to consider letting me take care of you in the next week. I am feeling better, certainly well enough to be up and around, and I can provide care for you that maybe you can’t get at home…” and I described the details to her. She started to answer but then honored my request to wait until morning….

Then, I asked her if she thought I’d get a chance to taste her before she left. Soon, I was devouring the juice, which gushed forth. Her clitoris was very tender. Judith and I made love .

I played my guitar afterwards. I jammed with myself in the darkness. Judith has expressed her liking for my voice many times and she seems always eager to have me play, which makes me feel very good. I put my whole heart and soul into it when I play in her presence. After, I crawled in bed and fell asleep.

February 8, 1984
Roshan Villa, New Delhi, India

Daylight. Judith had a lot to do today. She pursued the day like a woman prepared to leave on the 2:20 a.m. flight to Amsterdam early next morning.

When we first awoke, I tended to her needs in as pleasing a manner as I could. I fetched her some food that she could eat from downstairs. We didn’t really get mobilized until late, 11 a.m. or noon. The doctor’s office across the street was recommended to us (naturally!) and we first both had a check-up. The doctor was more thorough and more expensive than the others who examined me to date, so I believed him when he assured me I had hepatitis. He gave me solid information on how to handle it. Apparently, it is a very light case and clearing up already. (Last night my piss seemed yellow again, no longer orange.) He said I could take alcohol in 4-6 weeks, which relives me not end because I thought before that when I visited Europe, I would not be able to enjoy the wine and beer, to my deep dismay. The doc told me that I could discontinue the medicine the other doctor had prescribed, but since it seems to be working, I decided to continue with it. This doctor prescribed two liquids to continued for on month to insure that the hepatoxins were removed from my liver, so I will follow that.

The doctor’s behavior towards Judith somewhat disturbed me. He was in a hurry to keep and appointment, and we were keeping him beyond his listed hours.; so it is forgivable that he was rather perfunctory. He inspired us with little confidence in his assessment of her case. He said her mouth and throat and chest were all suffering from a single infection and would not say much more. He prescribed Vitamins for her. He said, when she asked about me, that I am getting healthy and that should my appetite for her be normal, to let me have what I wanted—I thought such a comment was out of place, and I don’t think Judith caught its significance or else she would’ve said something about it afterwards. My angle was: if the doctor inspired her with confidence, she might stay an extra week. However, this was not the case at all. Why did I want her to stay? I don’t know exactly I was looking forward even to be alone for awhile. I suppose it was simple: I love her, I wanted to see her back to health, I wanted to be with her, even if it wasn’t as good as when we’re well. I thought of all the nice sharing we could do while she was in bed (and me too! I could do with a little rest!) playing the guitar, making love (more and more as we felt better), and lastly, seeing each other off at our best. As it was, well…

We went to Connaught Place. We went to Thai airlines and found we could book her for next week. (I really thought she was going to do it!) Well, then we went to AmEx for letters and check cashing, and then to another bank to get another rate, but they wouldn’t cash Judith’s checks because she once used them to roll around her “sponge” (used for menstruation)—she asked my advice: would they take the checks?…”Judith, it’s a good idea not to ….don’t mutilate the checks”—so she went back to AmEx and I read some letters I’d gotten. One from Kelly, one from Gram and one from…. Kelly’s letter, well diary, it was as you know, quite a shock. It may and will have an effect on my entire future…I felt moved, I felt…I had to do something ….as I later wrote to her:…… I felt a defiance against any reality that would separate dreamers and their dreams!

In short, Kelly was heading to S.F. and I felt elated. Then I found out why she was leaving so easily…her mom died and she was going to the funeral.

The last blow was that she wrote that she didn’t have enough money to travel, so even though she would have loved to see Africa with me, we had to make the best of circumstances. She, she had to use her ticket to the States before she’d had a chance to save the money. She formerly was planning to leave in February and then March. Her letter was dated January 11.

I felt I wanted to be a hero. I felt defiant against always being short of money. I read her mum died, then I read that she had not yet cried. But I was crying for Kelly what a tough break that she never got to see her mom again. I felt that I was in part responsible because she would’ve seen her again if I’d never gotten her involved with me. But Kelly is so totally great…she said she was, if her mom’s death had ended her pain of the past five years, glad. I can really tell Kelly loved her mom a great deal. It isn’t right though, I should be able to comfort her at close range. Why, that is a cause for defiance, why can’t things in my life be so that I can fly to see her. I don’t know. Something just clicked.

After I read the letter, I felt stunned, and when I met Judith, I couldn’t hide my long face, but I also didn’t feel like talking about that. Judith did her feminine best to let me be about whatever was bothering me. She had to go to the seamstress, and she wanted to get a sitar, then a tabla. Anyway, half way through the instrument-buying session we went to the doctor and then we found out for sure that she was leaving tonight as she so suddenly announced in a happy tone: “We’ll see each other in Europe!” (I wouldn’t be so sure, I thought, defiant, bugged that she didn’t even discuss it with me, even if that would only have been an exercise in courtesy).

We went back to the sitar shop. I was energy-less. The news about Kelly, the hepatitis, and Judith’s leaving (and put in such a sudden way) left me lethargic, just blecchh! While Judith looked at a five string tabla, I had an excellent Tandoori Chicken. They took it fresh out of the freezer and cooked it without chili and other bothersome spices, and they served it with lemon. I had a Campa-Cola with it—Campa is good. Judith never came down so I had to go up to find her. The man was still packing her strings (extras). It was 8 p.m. or after, and we caught an auto-rickshaw back to the Villa (Roshen Villa, not Russian, Jeff). The rickshaw man said he wanted five rupees. (It is barely a two rupee ride). Having had this problem at night particularly, we had some tricks of our own. Judith is great….she agrees on the five rupees and I, as one who can’t break out of his own wet paper bag, speaking proverbially, I begin to chastise her (wrongly). Wrongly, for the outcome was a new aspect to the rickshaw game. You agree to pay their outrageous prices and when you arrive, you give them the proper rate (or a bit more), thus breaking the contract agreement, and walk off to where you’re going. So far this has worked twice, they don’t even follow you.

I really needed to lay down, so when we got to the hotel, I laid down, drawing my sleeping bag around myself. Somewhere in the interim of Judith letting me know she was going (in the doctor’s office) and now, I started feeling some negatives between her and I; it was sort of like: I didn’t have enough energy to be nice, and the lapse came at a bad time—just when she was leaving—just when I should have been at my most gallant. It wouldn’t have been forced, it would have come naturally. But my lack of energy drained me and my spirit was immovable, after Kelly’s news. I had wanted Judith and I to see each other off in a great way, but as it was I felt helpless, like it was inevitable…and I thought “if our love is strong, we will survive through all earthly difficulties”.

Anyway, she laid in the other bed and asked me if I wanted to lay in her bed, but really, her breath sort of drives me away. Poor Judith! Remember diary, that is her infection changing her normally sweet breath. So I told her that she could come to my bed. She did so but I kept turned away from her. Anyway, she wasn’t comfy so she came around the other side of the bed, and got in. I was just getting content when she got out and said she had to pack but she’d get in later again. And I fell asleep.

Diary, as it was going she was developing the idea that I was mad about something, because of my not friendly responses and turning away from her (breath). She was retaliating against the idea I was mad at her, and in the manifestation of her defense, she actually was making me angry! So anyway, I slept, and then about 11 p.m., she woke me up and said she had to go soon. I thought I was gonna get to lay next to her for a while, but next, she asked me then if I would lend her the money for the cassette/stereo she wanted duty free in England. But though she’d told me about it earlier and I promised to lend her the money, today at the bank, she told me that she didn’t need to borrow any, so I didn’t change it. I said “How am I supposed to give you the money? And then it occurred to her that I might not come to the airport with her. Actually, I’d sort of known I didn’t want to go, which I felt guilty about. I mean, deep inside me I wanted to go, you know, but it was a physical restraint. Well, I explained that I didn’t want to go to the airport. She suggested correctly that I could lend her my Indian money (but it would’ve presented more of a hassle all the way around—maybe she didn’t keep her money change receipts which would allow her to get a refund rupees for dollars). Anyway she negated it herself before she had a chance to ask. I felt that the way she was leaving, maybe I’d never see the money again and I was reluctant at that moment, though normally I wouldn’t mind at all. “You’re not even coming to the Metro with me!!!?”, she asked. I gave a quiet affirmation. She was pretty hurt I think. I watched her finish packing. She started out the door, and I said “…not even a kiss goodbye?” She retorted “This is the last time you’re ever going to hurt me!” She was about to go outside when I jumped out of bed. She sat on the floor with her back against the bed and cried.

Then she rose and sat on the bed quietly and we communicated and love flowed between us. She spoke: “I want you to please look in my eyes. I love you very deeply.”

I told her how it had all come to pass in my mind. And she listened. Even with the painful state of her lips, we kissed softly. I felt much sweeter to her. It was a needed token of love she gave. And she grabbed all her things when she had no more time to visit me, and she left. I opened the door and watched her walk out. She left by the back gate, and looked up at me. I waved, and, her hands being full, she walked on into the night.

I went in to play the guitar until I slept.

February 9, 1984
New Delhi, India

I moved into the dorm. There are only two other guys in the dorm, two Europeans. When I walked in, I caught one of them doing something (fixing heroin?) and I told him not to worry: “Are you doing something illegal? If so, I don’t care.” I took a bed on the far side of the room. I got to the Iran Embassy late (actually within the 11 a.m. time limit but they were absent till after 11 a.m.) and they turned me away. I persisted and strangely enough, I was given an application, and I was able to apply after all; I’m to return in four weeks.

I went to the Afghani Embassy to find out if I received a reply, but here was none. I went to my own embassy, where they tried to be helped and implied maybe the Afghanis weren’t doing their job.

In the evening, I brought my jacket to be cleaned.

February 10, 1984
New Delhi, India

“Another day,” visited a few embassies. Visited Bhutan Embassy…the only legal way to go there is on a government tour at ninety dollars per day!

Walked over to the Chanakya theater and I had a nice Chinese lunch. Then I walked back to Shanti path.

February 11, 1984
New Delhi, India

At Pakistan Embassy in morning. I was told I don’t need a visa—can stay thirty days.

Visited Jordan Embassy—closed. Walked to Ethiopian Embassy. To my surprise, found out that I can go to Ethiopia no problem. I can go by land or sea. I can go to/from Kenya and Sudan (and Djibouti).

I had a nice Chinese lunch, wrote a letter to Gam, and saw two films—Grade B: Mad Max, Grade AAA: Octopussy. Octopussy was the best James Bond film I ever saw! I walked to Janpath in the evening, then went to Nirula’s for a lamb burger.
In the evening in the room, the two junkies in the dorm revealed their habits, shooting up in front of me. Wicked.

(While I was waiting for the show to start, I went to the Akbar Hotel and I looked at their coral which was very expensive.)

February 12, 1984
New Delhi, India

Today, Sunday, and all embassies are closed, so I didn’t bother trying to get that sort of work accomplished.

Being around the dormitory, I got the opportunity to talk to the junkies. We didn’t exchange names. We talked about how to smuggle, and the tall one suggested swallowing heroin−filled condoms. The Austrian man said he might help me get rid of it if I went to his house there. I must admit it seemed tempting.

February 13, 1984
New Delhi, India

I checked out plane fares to Europe.

Today I went out to Vasant Vihar. I went to the Kenyan Embassy, and from what the consular said, I should have no problem getting a visa, even at the border if need be. I finally found the Syrian Embassy, and they told me I need a letter from the US Embassy. I went up to the Jordan Embassy, but they were closed. I went to the Yugoslav Embassy and found I can get a two week visa at the border. The Chinese Embassy gave me an address of a travel agent in Hong Kong, and the Russian Embassy says I can fly to Tashkent from Delhi. (Go to the INTOURIST Office for details.)

Since I need a new pack and I should get a much better rate for rupees on the Black Market in Katmandu and also to check out coral, I have been thinking about going to Katmandu.

February 14, 1984
New Delhi, India

Again, today, I checked out plane fares to Europe. As it turns out, I found some flights to Munich for about four thousand rupees. I went to Baroda House and booked my ticket for Gorakpur with no trouble. Finding the ITD building and the FRRO was a hassle (for permits to visit East India).

I went to apply for Gangtok permit and Assam, etc., but when I finally talked to the man it was after 4 p.m., and I was at the wrong office, so I’ll have to wait till tomorrow. I went to the world book fair which was close by. I was disinterested but I saw a book on Invisibility which vanished with me when I left.

I talked more with Roland and Hans today about the prices for the shit. There are so many venues which you can get your money ripped off. I’m now planning on going to Katmandu tomorrow night for a short trip. I told Hans I will be back for sure on Monday. The rickshaw man said he would pay me two thousand five hundred rupees for one kilogram. I said I’d bring one back.

Chapter 5
A Short Jaunt To Katmandu And Back To Delhi

February 15, 1984
en route to Gorakpur, India

Before I left at 7:45 p.m. this evening, I went around Delhi during the day. I picked up my one year free visa from Jordan. (The man at the embassy refused to call Israel anything but “the occupied West Bank of Jordan”.) I registered with the U.S. Embassy. They gave me a letter for the Syrian Embassy. I went to the Foreign Registration Department between 3 and 4 p.m., and I applied for my Gangtok permit. Back at the hotel, I saw Roland and Hans and I made arrangements to definitely return to Delhi by Monday so Hans and I could do business. I also talked to the rickshaw man last night who promised to buy from me for one thousand two hundred and fifty.

On the train, just across from me on the top bunk was a young man from England named Edgar. He and I talked a great deal, and I found him quite pleasant. He had some pretty fabulous poetry (and ideas) which he recited to me. I must get his address.

February 16, 1984
en route to Katmandu

We arrived in Gorakpur very punctually at 9:45 p.m. We got on a bus (Edgar and I) and took a ride to the border, arriving about 2 p.m. Immigration. I put my bags in his room, and we smoked a number and then had something to eat downstairs which took hours. We continued talking about our ideas (our friendship was in part sparked by my book INVISIBILITY: Mastering the Art of Vanishing), and exchanged addresses. Edgar is fond of the surreal and occult—he is a poet. He is bright faced and personable as can be.

I caught the 7 p.m. bus to Katmandu and I had a wonderful seat right up front. The bus ride went smoothly. You know, I didn’t get much sleep, just off and on. Many tea stops. My mind revolved on my plans. I thought of how I could exchange money at the black market rate and sell it back to the banks at the official rate, but realized nothing is so easy and they probably need to see a plane ticket.

February 17, 1984
Katmandu, Nepal

We arrived at 5 a.m. in Katmandu. Took taxi with two foreigners also going to Star Hotel. I made balls of glucose in condoms. I had waffles and coffee and it was quite good of course. I went around Katmandu looking for coral. I could not find Pazu because I forgot his name and his father at the shop didn’t speak English. I called Adik but got no answer. I looked for the best rate to change dollars. I finally signed over one thousand dollars in Travelers Cheques to some nice girls who gave me 12.3 Indian Rupees (I changed seven hundred) per dollar and 17.80 Nepali Rupees (for the other three hundred dollars). Then I bought a ten gram piece of beautiful red coral for one thousand two hundred Nepali Rupees on the basis that I could return it within eleven days if I was not satisfied.

I found Pazu’s brother who said to come at 10 a.m. tomorrow. I called Adik. We made arrangements to meet at K.C.’s for coffee tomorrow at 2 p.m. I went to K.C.’s for dinner, and I had two steak dinners!! What a feast for less than five dollars! Then I had some pie and returned to the hotel for sleep!

February 18, 1984
en route to Gorakpur

Woke up early, made a few balls of glucose and dropped them. (I can just see some CIA agent trying to contain his excitement at this revealment!) I went out, again to breakfast at K.C.’s with waffles. I walked down to meet Pazu. He recognized me. I asked him about hash, and we went to a friend of his who showed me a cake of five hundred grams. He wanted three thousand a kilogram but that is outrageously high. Since I’m in a hurry I agreed to pay two thousand eight hundred. I returned later and bought a half kilogram for fourteen hundred rupees. I went to see Adik at K.C.’s and she never showed. I called her after my lasagna lunch and the servant said she was sleeping. (I thought she just told him to say that.) So, I went out and looked at coral. I bought a few pieces and got a replacement bracelet for seventy rupees. I called Adik at 5 p.m., but the servant said she was sleeping. I caught the bus at 7 p.m. With me, I had a “new” pack, a Swiss Army knife, a compass. It was all in all a good effort. Slept on and off. Mind swimming.

February 19, 1984
en route to New Delhi

We arrived in Lumbini at 4 a.m., too early to go through immigration. Went through at 5 a.m. I am too tired, really, I am feeling run down. Slept on the way to Gorakpur a small bit. Was awaken by an official who wanted to see my bag (where the hash was), but he checked nothing and shook my hand. I waited a few hours in Gorakpur. It turns out it’s a second class train and I should’ve got a reservation when I first came through (but they said no second class train), and the ticket men were unhelpful. I got the train, sitting on the floor. Some guys hassled me. I was trying to sleep and I felt something on my thigh. I jumped up and jumped, leaping into people to grab the guy by the hair. I was deemed the innocent by the crowd. They drove out the antagonists and I was left in peace by the nice people around me. I sat and tried to sleep in the draft. It wasn’t exactly pleasant, but not bad either. I sold my sleeping bag for 535 rupees and my books (250 rupees).

Chapter 6
The Heroin Addicts, Mr. X And How I Heeded The Palm Reader’s Message!

February 20, 1984
New Delhi, India

Early morning brought me into Delhi. I went straight to the Roshan Villa. There, sitting on their beds were Hans and Roland. I was surprised to see Roland because he was supposed to be gone. Hans was processing his balls, and was to take the plane that night. He said he owed the rickshaw man one thousand rupees but he wasn’t going to pay him. (I don’t like being implicated in this fashion.) I went around with Hans and we went to go shopping and then went to Mr. X (I don’t know name), so Hans could arrange for five grams more. Hans’ attitude is terrible. He’s a miserable man of twenty–seven. I feel so creepy around him, really. I watched him pop the balls. Gulp! I think it was the hardest part! I went to the airport with him. We were to do a money change where we could both make forty dollars and I’d have six hundred and sixty dollars in US cash. I waited till he checked in. But the bank guys hassled him. He was nervous (popped two balls, four of opium) and he gave me my rupees back saying I was crazy! We said goodbye and I caught a rickshaw back to Delhi, feeling tired and confused.

February 21, 1984
Delhi, India

I had my serious doubts about doing the thing. Hans’ attitude is too fucked, and I ask myself how come I am subjecting myself to this sort of a thing. Where is my self-respect? Why am I so allured to this (dollars, of course—tired of being poor). Anyway, today I felt in a total haze due to lack of proper sleep this last week. I went to the Youth Hostel on foot, and then to the Afghani Embassy. I showed them the letter I got from Kabul. I also let them make a copy of it. I brought it to the US Embassy and I gave them a wrath of shit about it. I walked to the Yashent Palace shopping center and laid down in the grass of a roundabout and smoked a ‘j’. I closed my eyes. The “idea” swam around my head. I got an auto-rickshaw into town.

Back at the Villa at night, I was in bed. Roland came in the dorm. He and I had a heart to heart talk with him about all my apprehensions about the deal and about Hans’ behavior.

February 22, 1984
New Delhi, India

Today I packed my boxes and I mailed them. (I brought the articles to a parcel packing service and they did and excellent job, wax seals and all.) While I was waiting for my packages, I bumped into Mr. X, the big dealer. We had a long talk and he raised my confidence about the whole deal quite a bit, by his open and candid behavior. He told me if I could not sell it to Roland, he had the address of a man in Malta who would take it.

I felt very glad to get rid of the ten and a half kilograms of things that I sent. Now I am down to a workable weight.

In the evening Barry and I smoked a number up on the roof. I confided in him about the smuggling thing, for I felt I needed to talk to a friend, and he seems to be an open and good man. He thought I was crazy, and brought to my own mind my doubts as to where my self-respect is.

February 23, 1984
Delhi, India

This morning Roland received a telegram from Hans: (in German) “All is O.K. Jeff must make it like you do.” This revived my interest in the idea somewhat.

I had a local breakfast and rented a bike. Barry and I rode down to the Red Fort. I checked out the price of the coral: three hundred to four hundred rupees. But I don’t believe it because I asked him (before showing my coral) how much a totally pock-marked, pink, broken-in-two-and-reglued eleven gram piece was: two hundred and fifty rupees.

I rode to the Egyptian Embassy and enquired if I could get a visa (at the Egyptian embassy) in Jordan, Sudan, Kenya and Ethiopia: Yes!

I went to the Sudan Embassy but, on the way, I asked two men where it was and they were Sudanese and said the Embassy was closed but that there was one in Cairo, Nairobi and Ethiopia and that I could travel freely inside Sudan.

Then I went to the office of Foreign Registration, to double check about the Darjeeling−Gangtok permit. I had to go to the place for the Darjeeling permit after all. Sitting, waiting, writing in my journal, I hit upon something so strange, that my mind was boggled. I recalled, while writing about my experiences of meeting Johann (Hans), the story Judith had told me about the palm−reader. The man read her palms as follows: (this happened the day before we left Delhi to Jaipur): He offered to tell her the name of her lover and of her mother if she would agree to give him one hundred rupees if he was right. He wrote on a slip of paper JAF and the pet name of her mother. The discrepancy in spelling is interesting, for that is how Judith spells my name! She gave him one hundred rupees. He told her only a few things, the last of which was to avoid a man named Hans!!

To me, this struck like a bolt of lightening—it seemed like an omen via some cosmic force. It was clear to me that I should forget the whole thing!!!

I was given my permit for Darjeeling. When I returned to the hotel, Roland began saying how he may not be able to fly home for a week or two and if I would “carry” to his wife, I could go to their house near Bolzano, etc. This seemed preferable to me, and I expressed that I thought it was a good idea.

In the evening, Barry, a Kiwi named Ben and a German man named Peter, smoked my hash. Peter offered to give me ten watches in exchange for the hash, but I’m afraid it may not be the best deal. Peter said two of his friends got X-rayed at the Munich airport carrying three hundred to four hundred grams of hash in their bellies, and the police brought them to the hospital to make them shit. One is now in jail. After hearing this, and spending an evening in good company, it occurred to me that I should scrap the smuggling idea altogether.

I went home late and slept.

Chapter 7
Freedom From Temptation And A Return To Katmandu

February 24, 1984
New Delhi, India
(Written on March 4, 1984)

My big headache right now is getting rid of this hash. It is a burden, and a reminder of the deal I wish to forget. In one sense, doing the deal is the stupidest idea I’ve had: how could I? From a purely financial viewpoint, the analysis is clear: very high risk with a possible (reasonably high probability) cut–off point in the project of my life without hope for continuing for perhaps three years. It seems silly compared to my alternatives: I can earn twenty-five thousand dollars a year legally. The idea was short–sighted. My plan is to go to Katmandu, resell the coral, go to Darjeeling, Gangtok and Sri Lanka to look for sailboats! Today, I prepared by buying my train ticket and also by getting a Darjeeling permit.

I make no moral judgments about such dealings. Barry has been a good friend.

February 25, 1984
To Patna On Train, New Delhi, India

Today I made my escape! Escape from the scene in Delhi and escape from indulging myself in a short-term solution to a long term problem. I went to see Mr. X today and had to leave suddenly to get my passport back from the Nepali embassy. Well, I made an appointment to come back at 7:00 p.m. (when actually I’d be leaving to Patna on the train). I felt compelled to get rid of the half kilogram so I got rid of it at a major loss. Barry and I rode around on our bikes. He likes to smoke my hash, he’s down and out on money, but he’s a good friend all the same. He helped me see clearly in my time of need.

February 26, 1984
Raxaul, Nepal

Morning: on train. I can have as many new starts in life as long as I remain whole and free. I feel like I start afresh this morning. My future stands new before me, to be molded by my hand. I wish for the right side of the law, oneness, light, warmth, air, strength. I seek not to gain material wealth, but to remain even, in equilibrium with life, for in the long run no more is given than received, no more taken than is taken away.

11:11 p.m. in hotel on Nepal side of Raxaul: I’ve perceived a need to focus my energies. There’s only one focus for me. I assign this notebook as the one document combining notes on The Program, diary, record and perhaps a place for lyrics. I’ve got to further lighten my pack. The bus ride was O.K. A female junkie and I had dinner together. I could have gone for it, but she was raunchy. Self respect.

February 27, 1984
Katmandu, Nepal

Nepal, Terraced Landscape On Way To Katmandu, 1983

7:02 p.m. Arrived here and got a room. Called Adik, to meet her at K.C.’s at 4 p.m. tomorrow. I feel like I want to be “in like” (with her). Returned the coral, no problem. Bought a three part air mattress: nifty.

Concentrate my energies. Leto hardened his voice. ‘As you well know, the secret of community lies in suppression of the incompatible.’ To meet my end, I must simplify my life. I know this. I’ve got to hook into Time now and streamline my activities. Cultivate the champion in me. We are manifest, reality, through our decisions, by choosing which side of our natures to bring out, encourage, and by having the strength to see clearly. Sacrifice is the prerequisite to success. Face it!

February 28, 1984
Katmandu, Nepal

Morning, 10:30 a.m. I would either have been in Austria or in jail today. I can’t help feeling like perhaps I should have done it. Now I’m doing it the hard way: honestly. But I’ve chosen to remain in touch with the well-spring of life: I don’t know how I’m gonna become what I want, but I’m not giving up.

Night: Wrote a song. Played the guitar. It is always refreshing to play the guitar a good while, like making love. Adik came and went today. First, nice kisses, and then. “Don’t touch me” on my second advance. I’m just as glad. The world beckons me out. The song is FOCUSED MAN. It tells of my feelings.

I have too much stuff and it’s a drag. I should analyze each item on a utility versus replacement cost or availability basis. If I make it financial perhaps I can make it easier to decide.

February 29, 1984
Katmandu, Nepal

Morning: breakfast: I woke up feeling a hazy depression, so I know it’s going to be a good day, because my natural reaction is to fight back. Remember, this journal is for everything, including Planning.

Note: Current dissatisfactions with traveling.

1. forms, visas and other legalities absorb time and money, and delays occur.

2. bus and train are crowded, uncomfortable and relatively boring. (Questions: Is a bicycle too slow or impractical? A motorcycle too expensive?)

3. the influence of other tourists is sometimes weird, junkies (the smack scene) on one extreme and vacationers (naiveté on traveling) on the other. People into head trips.

One requisite (what I demand in compensation for all the work I’m going to do) is that I must be totally positive with myself!

Walked into Jamaly’s after practicing. And there was a girl named Eve. We had coffee and hash and she gave me twenty grams of hash as a Shiva Ra Tri gift! She’s got a stunning body and she is so very sweet and she’s got a down home feeling that makes me feel comfortable.
´

March 1, 1984
Katmandu, Nepal

I had a clean shave in the morning and decadent smokes with myself in my room, where I practiced guitar for two hours, feeling boxed in, afraid to make noise. I made a hair appointment for 4 p.m. tomorrow. I rode on my bike seeking photographic shops, none of which I dealt with. I sold Kelly’s Helly, feeling guilty but promising myself to buy her African Ivory with the money. I bought a chargeable flashlight. I saw Eve walking away from the direction of the Star Hotel, but merely said I’d be by later to give her her Shiva Ra Tri gift. She seemed distracted. I saw her in K.C’s with the guy who lives upstairs who’s image is that of a super-stud. I felt intimidated. I’d stuffed a gift of a piece of coral, a small ball of opium, some hash, and a picture of a New Guinea Koroba man under her door. Later, I knocked on his door and asked for a match, and I saw Eve’s coat on the chair, indicating she was within.

March 2, 1984
Katmandu, Nepal

Noon: So for today, I have finished reading God Emperor of Dune, and sold it. I observed Eve leaving with that guy upstairs, indicating love. I was taken aback, but then I thought how great it would be for my self-image to win her from him (and maybe even have her say I’m a better lover). I feel empty, lost, and, as much, as I am expecting a sudden burst of inspiration and activity. As a matter of fact, I’m in K.C’s and I borrowed this pen from Eve, who is sitting at the table next to me sans “Star” man, but with others. She thanked me for the Shiva Ra Tri present.

I feel the need to continue exploratory work, but am forcing myself to contain it in this book for reasons of weight (while traveling) and conciseness.

Perhaps I have an unconscious agreement with the author’s comments on getting rid of excess baggage. This means both literally and figuratively. I am feeling as if it is a step in the right direction to focus my activities down to those which I most love, as a practical means of spending more time on the important things, so that through practice and organization, I can excel.

March 3, 1984
Katmandu, Nepal

Noon: Having breakfast. Just checked out information on Royal Chitwan Park, and it seems as if it should be fun. I will leave in the morning Monday probably. Just thinking of how much I miss Judith. I have no expectations for any lovers still loving me but I have a great deal of hope.

10:49:25 Ha! This watch is slow anyway!

Diary, I haven’t even been trying, I see that now my body is performing in reaction to my former writings: Motivations, Momentum.

The Program has got to admit of…. I suggest the use of scratch paper in my exploratory writing. The day of decision is coming.

The day I pick a direction.

Eve’s girlfriend, Ann, told me about AERO-HITCHING at PRIVATE AIRPORTS! This is what I’ve got to master!!!

Went to see Eve in the morning, had lunch with her and her boyfriend. …in the afternoon, I was playing the guitar on the roof terrace when a nice girl named Caroline came and smoked with me. When I found out she was married I dropped my momentum.

Chapter 8
I Meet Gabrielle

March 4, 1984
Katmandu, Nepal
(First Mention Of Gabrielle)

Morning: I hope today to do my final baggage trimming: so far I have done well.

I could also sell my camera. I am following a pattern of achievement, re-formulation. The problem with achievement is getting tied into it. And re-formulation is sometimes too slow. I hope by having lightened my baggage, I will free myself from excessive re-formulation. Make more of a continuum.

Plan: Make decision as to regimen I will follow for four months.

Intent: Test theory that I should obtain exciting results in a direction where I desire momentum.

I’m wondering if the making of a goal list wasn’t a good idea after all. I inquired about a bank draft to bring to India so that I wouldn’t have to worry about carrying cash, however there was some question of regulations in India. So I went to see some gold. Gold! I held a 14.8 tola (×11.664g/tola) piece of gold in my hand. If I was going to be a merchant, I would want to deal in Gold! The price in Nepali Rupees is three thousand two hundred per tola. At my exchange rate of 17.8 rupees per dollar, this is $439/oz. The London spot rate is $395/oz. This is very educational. Rode out to the airport with a full pack to see how I like bike riding with a pack. Gabrielle asked me to go trekking.

Nepal, Gabrielle In Tarke Ghyang, 1984

March 5, 1984
Katmandu, Nepal

Morning at K.C.’s: Diary, I open my heart to you, I know what I have to do but I am very afraid I can’t bring myself to do it! I have got to start practicing three hours a day minimum—concentrated practicing, applying my mind to it, not just going through the motions. I face thoughts of boredom, “it’s not worth it”, “do I really want to work so hard at music”, “can I tolerate the confinement?” I either want to go all the way or not bother. I’m extremely worried about motivational problems. “Fighting loneliness.”

I feel that if I can but practice for four months, four hours a day, I will know either the momentum will compel me to continue, or I will resort back to old habits. The crux: I’ve got to force or coax myself into it, but how can I create motivational meditation? Another big problem is where to practice. I feel I need solitude, yet I don’t want to hermitize myself!

Lost green pouch: Swiss Army knife, scissors, file, pen mechanical pencil, tape, etc. Major bummer, only fifteen dollars but it made me feel stupid.

All ready to trek tomorrow. Then I went to the Star to look for the pouch when I met Caroline, who was looking for me, said she’d divorce her husband today, and asked to stay with me. I moved from Angel dorm to hotel, then we had dinner. Slept separately. Put my hand on her ass.

March 6, 1984
Katmandu, Nepal

First thing I did in the morning was to go to the Angel dorm and tell Gabrielle that I wasn’t going trekking today. I felt better for being straight with her. She’s so calm.

I’m going to write a job description and make a contract with myself. Having this work out with Caroline would be an interesting gift from God, in light of a) a conscious desire to have it so happen that my next girl seeks me out (see note of March 12), (b) to learn French, P.S. —to have girl with incredibly tight pussy (see below!)

Mind state 0: Quantity and Quality are the same things.

Stayed with Caroline all day. We moved to Pleasant Lodge. We had breakfast of pie at Jamaly’s and went to “do business.” We went to rendezvous with Bruce, smoked some good hash. We three went to Patan: my first visit there. It was interesting, less touristy. We walked through the countryside on the way back, it was pleasant.

Nepal, Eden Hashish Center,1984

Back at the hotel, it was an amazement for me that the marijuana tree Caroline had told me about was twenty feet tall!! On the terrace she plainly stated that in public she doesn’t want to behave as boyfriend and girlfriend, people have seen her with her husband; however, in privacy, sure, we make love, not every day, we are friends, make “Tripplove” she said.

We both need a friend, true. So at bed time, we have snacks, then she falls asleep. I began to explore her body with my left hand…

Her crotch felt so different, all tight. When I found her opening, I was amazed at how tiny it was. This would seem to indicate extreme pleasure. She seemed to be half aware that I was doing it. When she turned away, I left my hand on her, wanting her to be sure I was feeling her and unafraid.

March 7, 1984
Katmandu

12:30 p.m. Feeling good. First thing in the morning I told Caroline I wanted to make love (not necessarily right now). She said she wanted to too, that perhaps tonight we make “fest.” Lounged awhile with Caroline and her puppy. I felt Caroline’s tits, laid down and held her close, pressing her ass, light kisses. When she got dressed, standing in only her panties, I was very pleased and amazed to see such a nice body. I didn’t realize: she’s skinny with bit tits. A bit ragged (not a budding sixteen year old), but classic in a way—previously pin-up material.

The marijuana tree in our yard, I am told by the farmer, measured 6.20 meters! He says it is only nine months old!!

It has already occurred to me that the decision to go to Katmandu rather than Austria was one of the single, most important and meaningful decisions I ever made.

Note: As a result of denying the deal, I felt a surge of honesty rekindled in myself, and a corresponding increase in self-respect and simplicity in thought.

Night: Had great pizza, then got too stoned. Sat like puppy waiting for her shopping. At hotel, I had reservations about keeping the room so she could keep her things in it while we trek. She used this as an excuse for anger. Hence, no “fest,” which was not a surprise, but a great disappointment.

March 8, 1984
Katmandu, Nepal

Morning. Perspective: Even if I don’t make it in music, I can still get a good job, life can be pleasant. I am trying to keep in perspective. I am thinking to follow my idea to eliminate non-pertinent activities from my life. For example, I sold a book given to me. The time spent reading can be spent practicing, studying and observing.

Retrospect: Helped Caroline “prepare” for trek, even though I began having grave reservation about going trekking with her. I get the feeling she’s P.T.ing (prick teasing) me, and I don’t tolerate that sort of thing long. She continued in boorish peevishness, and by dinner I had already gone to see Gabrielle to find out if she wanted to go trekking. The response was positive. She’d just got to Katmandu today after a two day trip to Nagarkot. I told Gabrielle that if I was able to come, I’d come at seven in the morning. I explained to her my situation with Caroline. She seems such an understanding girl, and I find she has a settling effect on me.

At dinner with Caroline, she told me she’ll be getting back to her husband after some time and that she didn’t want to make love to me. I stayed later than Caroline at dinner, and the wife of a climber waited for me to pay my bill and left, expecting me to follow, but I sat down and listened to the Stones. Back in our room, when I told Caroline I didn’t think it would be a good idea to trek, she flung insults at me. We smoked a chillum together, then I went and slept on the roof!

Played guitar on terrace for two and a half hours today.

Chapter 9
Gabrielle And I Go On A Trek

March 9, 1984
Bahunpati, Nepal

Retrospect: I was hassled for money when leaving the hotel, but I already paid Caroline. As I was leaving, Gabrielle was coming to see me. We caught a bus, arriving at Panchkal at 11:30 a.m. We ate, and then walked on an easy trail to Bahunpati. We put our bags in the room and then we went to the river and washed. In our room, we were brought dinner. The guys who lived in the guest house, all young boys except one teenager, sang in our room happily until we said it was time to leave. Gabrielle and I talked, and I could have sworn that she was emitting vibes of total love towards me. She had such a serene, deep look in her eyes. I hadn’t planned to do anything but now my mind began turning. THE (FORTUITOUS) METHANE! Having gas from the dahl, I opened a window. A beautiful moon scene spread before me, Gabrielle came to see from my bed. I blew out the candles. She laid down. We faced each other. She began touching my leg lightly. I returned caresses. We began kissing and took our clothes off. We make love. Later we did it again. I fell asleep on the other bed practicing guitar.

March 10, 1984
Taran Marang, Nepal

Retrospect: Gabrielle compliments me on my muscles, and I enjoy hearing about it. We woke late. We didn’t leave until 12:30 p.m. We’d taken a bit of opium each (from Rajasthan), and it had, initially, the most pleasant effects on us. The walk was very pleasant, and we had an easy time reaching Taran Marang. We took a balcony-type room, and I practiced guitar for one and a half hours, looking out on the scene. Gabrielle massaged my feet with cream, which was a delightful new experience. I think she is trying to be lovable, and I wonder if she knows how much I appreciate it. After dinner of rice and dahl, we laid down and began kissing. Making love was rather uncomfortable as we didn’t have any mattress to sleep on (and my air mattress was unstable). I came once, and after, Judith and I made love more, but I didn’t come again. I just fell asleep. It was a very uncomfortable sleep.

March 11, 1984
Kakani, Nepal

6:30 p.m. No writing since morning of the 8th. Now feet touch Gabrielle’s under sleeping bag. Good walk today. Heart to one hundred and fifty. Heart pounding more than one hour. Things pleasant. Waiting for chai and dinner.

Morning (in retrospect): Left Taran Marang at 8:30 a.m. Seems we stopped at every tea shop on the way for refreshments. After lunch we stopped by river for a refreshing dip. Down river were two (Norwegian) girls skinny dipping with their male friend. They kept crossing paths with us as we leap-frogged to Kiul. I took a wrong trail, but if I would’ve continued on it, we would’ve saved time I think. Gabrielle finally showing signs of tiredness on the uphill to Kakani.

Weather foreboding. Nepali wedding ceremony in Kakani. Men dancing. Throwing of rice. They kept blowing off a small cannon (only one and one-quarter inches long, two inches in diameter). Took photos. Late in the evening, the husband carried the wife off on his back.

Nepal, Tarke Ghyang, Wedding Dance, 1984

With villagers about the fire, Gabrielle and I couldn’t stop touching each other under our sleeping bag. When they slept, Gabrielle and I made love (lady sleeping a yard or two away), which, I will admit, I quite enjoyed. Although I wanted it to last forty-five minutes, it was more like ten. Twice during the night, I wanted to fuck and she wanted to sleep.

March 12, 1984
Tarke Ghyang, Nepal

Morning in Kakani: Munching makai (popped corn) and drinking chai (tea). Gabrielle sitting across from me looking in her journal. Time 9:56 a.m. We have to go to Tarke Ghyang today, only a two hours uphill walk.

Dreamed, but can’t recall. Piss yellow/brown/orange. Good shit. Popped a ¼ gram (ball 1/8 inch diameter) of opium with tea twenty minutes ago. Just smoked ½ inch from last night’s goodnight joint. Can see white mountains from this village. A bit colder here. Two fried eggs and tea with “Chini” for breakfast. Continually disrupted sleep, dog barking and baby crying. Two men (drunk?) visited lady in the middle of the night. One lifted the sleeping bag over Gabrielle and I which exposed our legs. I grabbed his flashlight (as to push it away from illuminating us). Children in the morning romping around, of great visual interest. Feeling godly, presently.

Note on March 06: So it did turn out that my next girl sought me out. Is it a natural law that Everything Ascribes to a Higher Force (Ascribes: desires to be)?

Walked to Tarke Ghyang. At night, Gabrielle and I made love , nice. At 11 p.m., we went over to the monastery where they had a once-a-year festival. The ladies and men danced in a circle and sang. In the middle of the night, at 3:30 a.m. she and I made love again. The first time we did it, Gabrielle let out a real piercing scream. Later, we thought we heard a man in the next room (but there was no one there).

March 13, 1984
Tarke Ghyang, Nepal

Night, In Tarke Ghyang: I am wiped out! I smoked some amazing hash. Ea, the Danish girl with blonde hair, says that it cost her two dollars per gram in Katmandu. It looked like crystals. I’d taken opium and without saying good-bye after the chillum, I walked off from Ea, Gabrielle and Anita and headed off into the mountains for two and a half hours. Now I don’t know whether it’s the walk or the hash, but I feel drained. I feel a need to stop smoking. I can’t really concentrate on my guitar well enough! I’m floundering. Despite all controls, I feel a pressing need to get serious about becoming proficient. I’m not getting any younger now and time is of the essence. When we woke this morning, Gabrielle and I made love . So I really think I’ll flounder as long as I’m smoking so much. The objective of my exploratory writing is to smooth momentum, and I think I can really be more effective in a state of sobriety. Or, again, is this true?? I don’t seem to have time to write lyrics. Those I have written seem awful.

Note: Today I had thought to go back to school for music!!

March 14, 1984
Shermatang, Nepal

9 a.m.: about to set off for Shermatang and possibly below. I remind myself that no matter how much I feel like a “lou” (i.e., loser) practicing scales, etc., that I’ve got to keep at it day in and day out, until my twenty–ninth birthday, at least two hours a day.

Evening. 5:37 p.m.:
I feel the beginning of psyched–ness for traveling. I feel as if I should make a bee-line for Africa!! Once I get there, things will have totally different perspective:

(i) I will have visited five major continents.
(ii) I will be in a position to move effectively for Europe.
(iii) I think the alternatives will be many and exciting. I don’t want to rely on it, but I think I should keep in mind that I can probably borrow more money later if I need it.
(iv) Africa is one place I’ve always really wanted to go. (I feel a need to do something spectacular to reinstate myself in my own eyes!!)

And so it goes, the beginning of another Golden Period. I’m feeling bored with life; I need something special.

Night: I feel I can see a glimpse of light I once saw. While playing Karmic Reaction I got a super charge of inspiration on “…Your love is generating heat…” I’ve been practicing all day and only tonight did a few ideas come to my fingers. Oh! If only I can hold on to such an inspiration…oh, now I remember… then, nothing else matters (when you’re inspired).

Retrospect: Made love at night; I love to hear the way she whimpers. It was real nice loving.

March 15, 1984
Bahunpati, Nepal

Retrospect: Left Shermatang in the morning and went down, down, down, to the river in two and a half hours. The sun was bright, strong and draining. We talked on the way, mostly about boy/girl topics. Took a “refresho” in the river. Walked to Tarang Marang. Had a beer. Trekked down to Bahunpati. Ea and Anita were there, but didn’t say much. I can’t help feeling that since I left on a two and a half hour hike with out a word after smoking her prize hash, it dampened her spirit about me. She did hold certain attraction for me in her blonde hair and blue eyes clothed in purple. I bathed by the river.

Gabrielle gave me my second foot massage. She creams my feet and rubs them tenderly—very nice. I’m almost a bit worried about myself being so lackadaisical. I wonder could the hepatitis have left such an effect on me? Gabrielle checked my liver (she’s a doctor, you know) but it wasn’t inflamed. Anyway, she says it may take a year to fully recover. I miss Judith. I think of her tender body, licking her tender pussy, and having her ask me for a kiss on her tender lips when I walk out the door.

Chapter 10
Running And Hiding From Rhinoceros In Chitwan National Park

March 16, 1984
Katmandu, Nepal

How can one assess all the myriad, the plethora of feelings that invade every pore of your being when traveling: pity on the poor, ashamed–ness at how hardworking the peasants are compared with the relative extravagance and decadence in your life, strength at the wind in your face, disappointment in your traveling plans, admiration in friends along the way, reassessment of one’s life, questions of the basis of life’s greater meaning, laughter, fighting.

Retrospect: Woke in Bahunpati and walked to the road in one and a half hours. Got a ride in the back of a closed truck and arrived in Katmandu about noon. I asked Gabrielle if she’d like to come to Chitwan with me and she said yes. We got a room for the day and night. The celebration of Holi has people throwing and smearing red (and other) color powder throughout the realm of Shiva. We had a pre-dinner drink and then we ate, returned to our hotel room and made love twice, and it was very nice. Then we sat outside and gazed at the moonlit house tops.

Nepal, Festival Of Holi, Ed Gets Color Bombed, 1984

March 17, 1984
Chitwan Park, Nepal

Retrospect: Awoke and dragged ourselves from bed. Got on the bus before 7 a.m. and rode to Narayangarh and got let off too soon. After delays, finally reached the side road down to the park. There we met two Dutch people whom we befriended, Ed and Mary. It was nice talking to them, for besides being good conversationalists, they’d been to Tanzania and have traveled around quite a bit, not your usual novice. We walked down to the park entrance, Ed and I had beer, then we all got situated in our two rooms. I went for a walk at dusk, which I enjoyed. On returning, I was good for nothing, and laid down and eventually fell asleep, not making love, nor hardly saying a word to Gabrielle. Dreams. Aztec-eyed sisters.

I feel caught between the need to achieve, my pride, and the uselessness of the pursuits. Especially useless achievements if you’re not enjoying the pursuit. I didn’t practice the guitar at all today. I dread looking forward to a future which is essentially identical to my past. I feel I need to ride the wave of success’ momentum. I miss Judith and I don’t know if I’ll ever see her the same way.

March 18, 1984
Chitwan Park, Nepal

Sunday morning: Boredom, blah! I awoke this morning feeling blah about traveling; all these Westerners talking about their experiences in the park…diary, it is so common to travel now, and the excitement has dissipated.…sure, there are still some places to escape society’s onslaught. I ask myself, “What am I here for? To see a wild animal so I can talk about it?” I am losing the meaning of this…take a bus from congregation to congregation (of Westerners)…even to do the extraordinary is now ordinary!

I feel bored stiff with all the goals and activities I’ve coerced myself into doing, as if they weren’t my idea at all, but the product of my achievement-oriented society. I’m ashamed at what I’ve become…smoking pot all the time…(before) I stole things….

Nepal, Festival Of Holi, Girls Block Car, 1984

Retrospect: Morning. Feeling as such…Gabrielle and I were talking in our room and one thing led to another…we’re passionate with each other. She and I made love. I came when she was on top. Before we left for the park, we made it again. We walked to the machan in the park (illegally) and thought we saw rhinos but couldn’t be sure. Later, Gabrielle, Ed, Mary and I walked to the river and along it, but saw nothing except a buffalo and maybe a rhino in the dark. We had dinner waiting for us at the hotel and ate outside while the moon was yellow. We talked of travel, Indonesia, politics, drank rakshi and smoked Nepali brown. We decided to wake up early for a walk. In our room, Gabrielle and I made love and I think she came before me. We made it again before sleep, very strongly, I pumped her hard and good. It was wonderful….

Nepal, Festival Of Holi, Girls Block Bus, 1984

Anecdote: In the machan, I threw a biscuit wrapper on the ground. On the 19th, next day, in the machan, Ed saw the wrapper and said, “I hate people who do things like that!” Gabrielle and I couldn’t stop laughing and Ed guessed correctly that it was me who did it!

March 19
Katmandu, Nepal

9 a.m. Well, I wanted to see an Indian One-Horned Rhinoceros, but this morning I had a physical confrontation with one!! There I was, running across the field of elephant grass with mamma rhino (and baby following) coming after me.

We’d gotten up ‘late’ at 6 a.m. Gabrielle, Ed, and I walked upriver, but after a ‘ways’ decided it was fruitless and headed to the machan. Way out in the field was a rhino. I got out my camera. Just then, Ed pointed out a rhino just below us walking away from the machan! I snapped a photo, then went down to get closer but could not find it. Back in the machan, I decide to go to the other out in the field, I was looking back at Ed and Gabrielle in the machan but their hand signal became confusing so I came back. They said I almost walked on top of it.

I was heading out again when they called out that there was a baby rhino with it and I shouldn’t go. I thought they were bull-shitting me, so I crept up to it. I had it in sight the whole way. I was silent, then stepped on a twig. The menacing beast looked around. I moved slowly about while she continued to graze. She rambled slowly towards me. I saw the baby rhino and I became afraid.

Nepal, Chitwan, Rhino Approached On Foot With 50 mm Lens, 1984

When I snapped a good photo, the she-rhino heard the shutter and took notice of me. I began to back off and she made for me. I ran, looking back. The rhino stopped, looked, and corrected her direction twice in pursuit and I leaped through the dry grass barefoot, being pursued by two tons of meat with a horn! I felt for the first time in my life, afraid for my life, afraid for my life because of a wild beast. As I reached the jungle cover, I made for the machan while the beast and her baby took off in the other direction. Gabrielle waited for me with a hug. Unfortunately, Ed didn’t get a picture of me with the rhino in pursuit. I took one last photo of the running rhino before reaching the machan.

I told Gabrielle that I wanted her to plead with me to take her suggestion of going to Katmandu and she said she was just going to beg me. We rode on top of the bus from Nara Yanganh to Katmandu. I was so comfortable in front with my own mattress. I described it was “land sailing.” At night, we had dinner, made love, and fell asleep, hard as I tried not to.

March 20, 1984
Machan in Chitwan, Nepal

Morning at Katmandu airport: I’m here to see Gabrielle off. I have my pack with me, and I am ready to travel. Some things I want, this is a tentative sketch.

(i) To move on from place to place with rapidity: I don’t mean rushing.
I mean to see a lot of places in the remaining time I have.
(ii) To practice my guitar a lot and create full compositions which I can
enjoy performing.
(iii) Do a lot of push-ups and a lot of invigorating exercises in general.
(iv) Do independent things like traveling to far out of the way places,
and do them efficiently, not dwelling in an area.
(v) Pursue all my good ideas to their ends.
(vi) Plan ahead, so that, for example, I will be in a position to flow from
interesting activity to another interesting activity without lulls and
avoiding complications.
(vii) Seek solutions.
(viii) Be relaxed about things and enjoy my time.
(ix) Places to go: Africa, Europe, Greece.
(x) Continue doing exploratory writing until I feel I have a feel for it
and feel my momentum solidly placed in the right direction.
(xi) Approach life with an I Can Win attitude!

Evening on bus to Chitwan before departure. Oh! the pain of parting! I don’t know how Gabrielle feels, but I wish she was traveling all the way with me! I opted to go the Narayangarh so I could see the rhinos again and maybe crocodile and tiger at Tiger Tops, so I could revel in my last days in Nepal. However, I was thinking to go to Darjeeling straight off and maybe head off Gabrielle in Calcutta by the twenty–fifth. I feel like sending a telegram to her: CHANGE YOUR TICKETS. COME WITH ME!

3 a.m.: In the machan, peaceful. I scared a barking deer on the way here. It ran across the stream after letting out a scream. Moon high in the sky. Hope I don’t get caught out here in the morning.

Retrospect: After sending off Gabrielle, I went back, shopped, Ed’s hotel wouldn’t give me the tent so I left without it. I spent time in Jamaly’s writing before I left. I rode on top of the bus to the Narayangarh. I yelled and cried out, “Gabrielle, thank you for giving me one of the nicest romances of my life! Thank you for being patient, loving, sensuous, thoughtful.” I yelled out a lot of things and felt good to get them all out. I fell asleep even though it was a bumpy ride. I got to the turn off for Chitwan and took a walk under the moon to the machan; on the way I scared the barking deer.

March 21, 1984
Chitwan, Nepal

Retrospect: Between Sariska and Chitwan, I have seen sambar (six point), chital [spotted deer] (eight point), nilgai (male and female), fox, rhinoceros. I woke in the machan, went to Christabelle’s.

I had a pleasant day sitting around, eating, doing chores, looking at maps with Ed. I met two Englishman, Graham and Steve, with whom I walked in the afternoon. We walked along the river. There was a Gaida (rhino) in the water! It got out of the water and I snapped a photo. We crossed the river and came to the elephant grass. As we made for the forest, through the grass, we spotted and heard several rhinos. At the forest, they, Graham and Steve, left me. It was getting dark. I heard some tourists and found the road. I took a bath in the river and returned at dark. Had dinner of dahl baht. Drank rakshi and smoked Steve’s hash, talked with he, Ed and Mary. Steve (nicknamed Blimey) had said he owned a cheap sail boat in Belize. I feel psyched about such an option. I can have a nice, small sail boat for under one thousand dollars.

March 22, 1984
Chitwan, Nepal

Used up the morning talking, smoking, sewing and having a pleasant time in general. Took my little raft down river but got off and walked before I got to the rhinoceros. They get themselves stuck in the mud in the shallow water near shore. I was within thirty feet of it when the children cross the river started yelling at me or the rhino. It reared its head and then started to back itself out of the mud. To get away, I had to move into its line of vision. I decided to run before it worked its way loose. We had a rerun of last night tonight, Ed, Mary and I in Steve’s room. We drank rakshi, but tonight it was really rice whisky. We passed the “peace pipe” continually. When I went to bed I felt half sick. I woke up vomiting in the middle of the night. After vomiting I realized I was laying in bed and had vomited in and on top of my pack! It was a nightmare. I had to get up and wash everything and clean up!! (See note March 8th; wife of climber here with woman friend. No action.)

March 23, 1984
Chitwan, Nepal

Morning: Conversation with Steve.

“I’ve got to get myself on the line.” This is the positive motivator. Whenever I set myself to a task, corner myself so I’ve got to act, then I perform.

“Until I’m desperate I’ll not use me brain.” Me: Always give the little extra effort. This thought has been helping me.

In machan: Out here by myself, no animals. About noon I’m hoping to take some photos today. I’m having short bursts of inspiration on motivation. I’ve been doing pushups in sets of twenty and pull-ups in sets of five. It is pretty good so far. I feel motivated to do them because I know how many I’ll have to do.

Retrospect: Graham left this morning for Darjeeling. I’m to meet him there. He loaned me fifty rupees with my watch as collateral. Steve and I have been talking about traveling together—he started talking about it last night when we were drunk. However, as I brought up practical consideration over morning coffee, it turns out that he is planning on spending more time than me in North India.

During the morning, starting at 11 a.m. I took a four hour walk. Local girl bathing bare breasted: nice. Then at 3 p.m., Ed, Mary and Steve and I went to see mongoose, but saw none. Saw nice birds. Drank more rakshi at night.

March 24, 1984
Chitwan, Nepal

Retrospect: Went out in morning with Steve and our guide, Bal. It was most exciting at first. We saw a hog deer and then a rhino. We followed the rhino and its baby. We climbed trees near the rhino. Bal and I were in one tree. The rhino heard us. It was directly below us with the baby. I had the AE lock depressed on my camera at 1/60th second using an eighty millimeter focal length, so I hope that the photos will come out because they must be fantastic!! The rhino was about sixteen feet away (six feet below us) facing the tree.

India, Kanchenjunga, 1984

7 p.m. Good news. Got Gangtok permit!! Arrived 23rd of March, five weeks that is. They say it usually takes eight weeks. Beautiful morning, Kanchenjunga. I applied for March 30th to April 5th for Gangtok. Got a shave. Got guitar picks. Got lock cut off bag. Changed fifty–five rupees for five US dollars. Bought four thousand rupees in Travelers Cheques. Now I’m watching the Rod Stewart concert “Tonight I’m Yours.” He’s electric. I’m taking notes. I’ve got to start emulating role models. I’m feeling so desperate about my self-image that I might even go for it. This is the focal point of my goals, my life mission, to being a performer on a concert rock stage. (I just hope girls, travel, money and success come with it.) I still have yet to boil it down to exactly which part I’m going to perform. It depends a lot on my capabilities/potentials. I’d like to sing, play guitar, write songs.

March 28, 1984
Darjeeling, India

Morning: Plan for today as written in (end of the) notes. Guitar scale work, sing one song out loud; clothes shopping, jewelry shopping, color scheme; make direct sexual advances, pull-ups, pushups till my arms give way; hop jumps, arching.

Afternoon: I’m at the zoo. They say these tigers are Siberian tigers, but I thought Siberian tigers were white. Looked for stylish clothes but saw only black leather jacket, but it’s too small. Diary, the one thing I’ve got in my favor is that I always wait till the last minute and then do a thing. Now is the figurative last minute. I’ve got to get serious for the first time in my life if I want to be a star.

Retrospect: I’ve got to return home and buy a video and start studying the people I want to emulate. All the info is there. I just feel so inept at conducting my personal business! I’m having such a difficulty getting it together! What am I? An adventurer or a musician? or a financier! Or a nothing! I want to feel good about myself. This is my problem: I’ve fallen out of favor in my own eyes. I’m taking a hard look at myself and I’m not so impressed. Actually I do have a grave concern that I’m wasting my life this way.

March 29, 1984
Darjeeling, India

Note: Tonight Blimey told me about his brilliant idea to start a colony of scientists, to lease Australia’s interior, make it flourish and eventually establish a country within a country!

Morning: I think that it will take me longer to develop my statement of mission. I think I have focused in on stage performer; this makes me realize the importance of compatible interests. I should incorporate fashion, music, management to further myself. I shall work on image, music, sociability (management), check my progress, and, if I am satisfied with my progress, to refine the definition of what I am about. I figure that if I don’t follow my own plans (daily), as outlined in my end-of-the-month notes, that I am just cheating myself.

Retrospect: This (previous) was an interesting statement, and I felt it strongly. If I can’t discipline myself both to good planning and to effective follow-up, then I’m afraid I’ve not even got a right to torment myself with dreams. I’ve got a real problem getting myself into a groove—once I’m in it, I’m O.K. I saw a Rolling Stones video and I took notes. I never realized Jagger is putting himself on the line each second. And they are Hard! Hard! Hard! It makes me reassess the way in which I’ve previously approached music and performing. How backwards I’ve been.

March 30, 1984
Darjeeling, India

Morning, Retrospect: Smoked brains out with Blimey. Listened to tunes. Walked about. Came back. Played guitar. Bought beers for Blimey’s birthday. Drank beers, got drunk (felt strong attraction for Linda), fell asleep. Washed clothes. Did chin-ups. Thought about pussy all day long. Diary, my state is great and shitty at the same time. Inside I know I’m bobbing out (i.e., doing a great thing by) traveling. My head is in the stars, my feet are on the ground. I’m trying to organize my life, and gain momentum, but I also feel lost and going nowhere. I really want a good pussy. (Maybe it would be good with Gabrielle along.) I feel a lot of anxiety. As I peer ever harder at myself, I become concerned with my values, character, habits, and general gap between myself and perfection. This is thus one of the hardest times of my life, yet still one of the greatest! I see such an enormous gap between my present state and the potential there is for enjoyment. And I wonder about my future state. The trouble with me is that I get myself in states in which I can’t be satisfied or content! Or maybe its going to be my saving grace.

Note: Blimey is a very interesting fellow to me in that he is continually traveling as I want to.

March 31, 1984
Gangtok, Sikkim

The thing I’ll remember Darjeeling for was the beef and pork momos available everywhere for 2.5 rupees with soup and for the fact that you can’t buy their best tea—it’s all exported.

3:30 p.m. in Gangtok, sitting in Blue Sheep Restaurant, just had fruit beer, a local Sikkimese non-alcoholic beverage, which I found delightful and immediately thought about importing. Import the brew and re-bottle it in San Francisco. They have special bottles which use marbles, which you push down. Just had a pipe bowl of marijuana in the bathroom and I feel better already. Feeling not so hot on the ride up. Played pentatonics on the way. Checked into Green Hotel. I think my physical state is the pits, and I’m wondering about achieving a mind state through physical manipulation. My fatigue took the form of remorse on choosing for music. My head full of doubts, I keep practicing. I think the tapes did me good to watch. I wonder if I’ve a mental barrier resisting a recurrence of the H.R.’s (the Hopeless Romantics, my former rock group). I want to be an expert at something. I’m all alone here in Sikkim. Now I speculate this may be good. I may apply for an extension.

I want to live life unafraid.

I’ve got to write a good song that people can listen to me sing and appreciate.

WHERE’S MY FUCKING FIGHT????

I’ve got to take responsibility for myself. Out for a walk: now I feel very intrigued with Sikkim. The foggy evening, green mountain sides and falling water, an atmosphere of Shangri-La.

I feel like taking off on a long trek.

April 01 & 2, 1984
Phodung, Sikkim

Re-awoke now. It’s after 11:00 p.m. I’m going to sew and think up my strategy planning session and jot down only conclusions. 12 p.m.: on a guided tour of Gangtok, since I have so little time. There’s bamboo to be found all over Gangtok, and the sound of rushing water; it lends much to the atmosphere.

(1) Government Cottage; Industries
(2) Archery Monastery
(3) Deer Park
(4) Stupa
(5) Tibetan Institute
(6) Orchid Park

The flora and fauna are what makes a place. The bird sounds here are marvelous. The flora is abundant. The deer park is behind the Secretariat. They had a leopard cat. What a beautiful animal it would be for a pet!! The Tibetan institute was interesting. They have thankas in silk. Only three sets outside of Tibet. Eighteen in a set. They are fine religious scenes of incredible workmanship. The orchid park was quite nice. I picked up two small blossoms off the ground. At the institute the man told me about a dried flower I saw near all the displays. It’s called the Noble Flower in Tibetan and there’s no English name for it (?). He said the flower got it’s name from the fact that it would be in full blossom and when Buddha came by it withered in his path and that’s the explanation of its characteristic. So it was the noblest flower.

I got a bus to Phodung and rode along in the very crowded bus. I went to Phodung so I could go far as allowed in North Sikkim. Its actually only 30 kilometers or so by road but as the crow flies, maybe only ten km. I enjoyed the ride quite a bit. The landscape is very steep. The valleys are deep and it is surprising how quickly they rise into peaks. Water crashes down the gorges. The greenery is superb. I even thought about taking a doctorate in Tibetan fauna so maybe I could get a study permit in some interesting places! We arrived in Phodung in the dark. Nice meal of fresh rice, dahl; all delicious, with freshly boiled local butter. Played the guitar and sang. Note: I’ve been playing the guitar on the buses as we motor along.

Note: Nice smelling orchid Cymbidium Ebernium (white with yellow).

April 3, 1984
Teesta, India

Note: If I imagine I’m singing from my heart, it gives me mental strength and it’s a sensible place to sing from physically. I want (strategy) to wear clothes that show off my body.

Retrospect: A long day. I woke in Phodung at 5 a.m. Walked to the monastery. It was a pleasant morning and I enjoyed the walk. Monastery nice, not spectacular. Monk inside chanting, beating drum as I peered through window. Walked back. Sign: Foreigners not allowed beyond this point.

Bused to Gangtok. Talked with inventor of the fruit beer, got address. Brought 750 ml whiskey, rum, 375 ml musk brandy, regular brandy, 750 ml corn whiskey, and small bottle coffee liqueur and cherry brandy. Total cost: 143.75 rupees, about eleven dollars and sixty cents.

Mailed cards and letters to Kelly, Judith, Gabrielle, Dad, Taylor, Dr. Harrell, Mandy. Get bus to Kalimpong. Pretended I lost permit so I could keep it. Got it. Noticed Darjeeling stamp included Kaziranga and Shillong!!!! But they are crossed out in red ink. If I can erase the ink but not the stamp maybe I can at last visit Assam as I said I’ve always wanted! Arrived Kalimpong late afternoon. Actually the check post just past Rangpo said I needed a permit, so I just said it was O.K. and walked out and got away with it! No sign of Steve in Kalimpong. I decided best go to Teesta or I may be hassled at check post in the morning. Started walking in the dark. Got motorcycle ride, free refreshment at house, then fast jeep ride. Fun. In Teesta, had dinner, fell asleep soon afterwards.

Notes: I realized that I always maintain that I want to enjoy my life; sometimes I postpone enjoyment. The point is that I realized enjoyment is a conscious effort. For example, one can eat a good meal without thinking of it, or one can savor each bite.

Retrospect: I notice that I seek other’s company, but when I am with others, I usually don’t have time to do all the things I should, such as play the guitar, sing, write and move on in a rapid way. Then I begin to feel that I should seek solitude. Then as soon as I’m alone, I seek friends.

April 4, 1984
Darjeeling

7:30 a.m.: Now in Teesta. I deduce Steve could not have gone to Kalimpong because his name is not in book in check post. Feeling pretty good. Awoke 6 a.m. decided to go to Darjeeling one hour by taxi. Maybe Mary is there. Maybe spend night or go on to Phuntsoling. It is an investment of time to discover what happened. Maybe sell jacket and long johns. Am making record: will not buy more drugs. Want to be powerful and sobriety makes me so. However maybe I’ll use recreationally.

Retrospect: Caught a ride to Darjeeling, fourteen rupees by syndicate jeep. It was a lovely ride. We first went up past a tea plantation, with so many people heading out to do their day’s tea leaf picking. We went through forested mountainside where one tree variety stood white with blossoms among the green. When we came to the other side, out of the Teesta valley, Mt. Kanchenjunga’s range was visible through the haze. The forests around this area are very serene, something special. When I returned to the Shamrock Hotel, I found that Ed, Mary and Steve were all still there. I washed my clothes, the day was fair. The whole area seemed so much different in the sun. In the afternoon, the wind blew fiercely. I was glad I returned because the day was so nice. I bought an eraser and tried to remove the red line in my passport stamp. In the evening, Steve and some new friends and I drank musk brandy and coffee liquor from Sikkim. A lot of laughs. (Smoked a lot of hash and ganja too. There’s a government ganja shop in town.)

April 5, 1984
Darjeeling

Morning: Sitting joking with the crowd. Don’t know my plans. Plan on leaving tomorrow.

Retrospect: I ended up getting drunk. Having all this liquor is really fun. Steve and I had some momos with Greg, a great Australian fellow [he’s told me some fascinating information on the seven sister states of India; especially Nagaland (and the former kingdom of Manipur)] [Nagaland used to be huge, but the British cut it in half and the Indians split it up, putting vast areas into surrounding states.] Greg and I had a brandy with our coffee. He offered to chip in on my corn whisky. Well, a party formed in Greg’s room with he, his girlfriend Jennifer, Margo, a girl from Britain with a mohawk (which I like), Steve, Ed and I.

After we finished one bottle we had another of special whiskey. We ended up dancing like madmen. On my way to dinner I cornered Linda (the pretty daughter of the land lord) on the steps outside and I tried to get her to kiss me and she ran away. (I don’t know if our lips ever met.) Passed that I don’t remember anything though I’ve been informed of the rest: Greg fell down the steps, I passed out on the couch, Ed fell asleep in his room, Steve defended me (sleeping) as Linda’s mom tried to get me up. I was in the main room—Linda was on a tirade on the evils of drunkenness, verbally assaulting Greg in the kitchen whilst he peeled peas.

April 6, 1984
Darjeeling

Morning: I awoke to hazy memories of last night. We all had a good laugh over things.

Afternoon: On Chowrasta hill in Darjeeling. Steve has to stay here for the doctor, so I think I’ll be going it alone to the south. Later: I had a great planning session. I’m going to try to be in Galle near Delhi in one month and five days.

Retrospect: I looked through a book on the bird of paradise and discovered there are five species of Bird-of-Paradise in one photo I’ve taken at the Kopiago Sing-Sing.

Note:
(1) Red Plumed
(2) King of Saxony
(3) Emperor of Germany
(4) Wilson’s (or Magnificent?)
(5) Black sickle-billed (33 inch with long tail?)

Retrospect: When I came “upstairs” this morning, I played when I saw Linda. I backed behind the pillar in mock-fear of what she might do to me.

Diary, at this period I am trying to “pull it all together” and begin pursuing the future in an organized, determined, logically planned and dynamic fashion.

Note: In the back of my mind, I want to find out about Steve’s idea for an oasis in Western Australia. It is a brilliant idea, I think.

April 7, 1984
Darjeeling

Retrospect: This night I attended a nice party at Lava’s place with the group, minus Margo whose leg is inflamed and whose fever is worse than mine. Today we bought weavings from Nagaland. Tonight Lava and friends (from that area) told us they cost forty rupees in Manipur. We paid fifty-five rupees. I must get the merchant’s address. As they are very nice weavings, maybe I can sell them for a profit. The party was quite interesting, the company consisting of us four and Lava and three other local men, one a tobacco company operator (whose guest house the party was in). We had drinks and a lovely dinner prepared by their cooks. The conversation expectedly revolved about politics (since that is the orientation of the group).

After breakfast [of delicious Tibetan bread with honey (sugar water) and yogurt, eggs etc.] we, Steve, Greg and I, took a walk to the Tibetan freedom press. I felt very tired. I bruised my hand the other night when I was drunk and it has become infected. In the afternoon, the hand became swollen and I came down with a fever. I had slept all afternoon and only at the last minute did I decide to go to the party. Note: I didn’t use this planning format today, but I am still feeling the system out, trial and error. It will take a lot of effort.

April 8, 1984
Darjeeling

Retrospect: “The desert hides from you,” says Steve during a discussion Greg, he and I had today, in which it was decided to form an organization to further the idea “created” by Steve—O.A.S.I.S. (Organization for the Assistance of Stabilized Irrigation Systems).

Retrospect: We went to dinner for Jennifer’s birthday, but I think we were all too tired to enjoy. As usual, had delicious momos today and smoked all day. Margo is still sick, she’s a real peach, that girl! She’s waiting for her boyfriend, otherwise, I might try to sink into her.

Chapter 12
Calcutta

April 9, 1984
On Train For Calcutta

Morning at Cafe Himalaya for breakfast with Greg, Jennifer and Steve leaving today. On my way down the hill now. I’m thinking about the future as always. I wanted to understand myself. I feel I wasted too much time the past two months. I realized now how I enjoyed myself: at times, I enjoy pushing myself. I detest laziness and need always to be occupied with something. I’ve got to have something for myself to do, or else how can I be happy? But because I want to be great, I feel so pressured for time and by time.

5:21 p.m. in Siliguiri—waiting for train to New Jaipalguiri (Toy Train): Whenever I leave friends I feel sad, then a burst of inspiration. Now my inspiration’s coming over me. I just bought a small water bottle to have water handy and save on drinks. (Note: When I was leaving, Linda held out her hand to me on the same steps that I kissed her on. I grasped her hand and said [as I walked by]: “I kiss you mentally!” She said, as I left, “If you get time write to me here.” I said I would for sure. I looked back from the alleyway and we said goodbye again. I feel some strong, warm vibes from that girl. She said she still had my address. I said she was always welcome.) I fantasized, perhaps accurately, that she had afterthoughts about turning me down. I could fall in love with Linda.

(Stoned) I feel I am intense. But I don’t know if I want to be or if I should use such intensity to a good, positive purpose, like singing for a living. (I just will never forget Helen, my stepmother, saying that I couldn’t sing.)

The birds are singing as dusk settles on this fair scene, watching the Indians in their many shapes and actions. I just sang all of Maggie May and I feel so good! I suddenly felt enveloped by a sensation of freshness and love! The birds are many. Then I thought of how it would be to fall in love with Linda, then it seemed possible. I could write to her and, if she was interested, she could write to me; I could always come back! Start off slow but interested. A wave of love came over me.

I thought of Kelly. Kelly is an example of someone I left while we were still in love, and then I considered how little that has comforted my loneliness. Later, heading south (used compass) singing, and I feel it from the heart. There’s pain there to relate to Maggie May. For the first time in a long time I feel overwhelmed at certain instants with a desire to perform. Come (I think of Linda) to think of it, in the back of my mind I’ve been attempting to unglue and reshape myself, a perceived need to get high a lot, let images come before me, break away from my own ties, ultimately to reform into a powerful and positive being. Fell asleep. Had a nice window berth. Decided to head straight to Calcutta after considering crossing to Bangladesh.

Intentions:

(1) To draw up declaration of intentions (OASIS) Not done
(2) Get to Siliguiri Done
(3) Practice scales half an hour Not done
(4) Create list of goals Not done
(5) Buy two Nagaland weavings Done
(6) Review last strategy plan session Not done
(7) Have strategy planning session Not done
(8) Review Jagger notes Cursory
(9) Sing a lot Yes
(10) Review travel plans Not done
(11) Try not to worry about anything It worked
(12) Get Margo’s address Gave her mine
(13) Copy Greg’s map of Nagaland Not done
(14) Get Birds-of-Paradise drawn Yes

April 10, 1984
Calcutta, India

2:49 p.m. In restaurant in Calcutta: Interesting! Today for example, I saw, for the first time, hand-drawn, human-drawn rickshaws. Calcutta is the first place I’ve seen little kid’s stomachs stick out (though no ribs). The atmosphere is different from other Indian cities I’ve visited.

7:00 p.m. (Stoned). I feel so much need to work now. Being social is pleasant, but I ache with desire to see results in the right direction.

7:10 p.m. I said at six past 7 p.m.:

“I’m going to lock myself into this room until eight o’clock.” Followed, by action. Then, “I’m going to finish my journal,” by which I mean my writing. (It helps me keep my sanity so far away from home.)

Otherwise I can’t discipline myself. I’ve felt a surge of momentum the last thirty three hours and growing today, and I want to keep it going so that I can pull it all together finally in my life. What I have in mind is this:

(1) To look into the future
(2) To be positive
(3) To go back (like I started in Nepal) and write down all my goals n detailed lists and sub-list them to see which are most important, assess it in a practical sense, then apply all I’ve learned to most efficiently and beautifully (in a sense of how thorough and well-analyzed the specific direction is, which is discovered which leads me to my highest aims while satisfying the most worthwhile set/combination of sub-goals) fulfill them.

Retrospect: Had a big dinner, then went to a brothel. Checked out girls. Left. Came back for the young one, but sent her out of my room because she was asking for baksheesh. Then grabbed beautiful Indian girl. Mm…mm…(as Blimey would say), fucked her twice (fell in love ?*#?!), came home and passed out on my bed writing. This girl, Mala, was one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever fucked. She was a dark Indian with long black hair, smallest tits, her cunt was brown/gray/black without hair really.

India, Calcutta, Scorpions, 1984

April 11, 1984
Calcutta, India

Retrospect: Pushed myself today. But first woke up, had a smoke with the New Zealand and Australian men who sold me a tola of fine Kerala pot. (It turned out they’d brought up twenty three kilos from Kerala and sold it all today.) I left the Modern Lodge at about 10:30 a.m. and walked to the Bangladesh Embassy, a nice place, where I was issued a visa at no charge. Talked with British man about boats in Bangladesh, which sounds quite interesting. Walked to zoo, on the way went to the Victoria Memorial, [saw plans of metro] where museum/exhibits, and some Indian man in the park told me about going to Andaman Islands, only now there’s a port strike.

To zoo: Wonderful is the White Tiger.

India, White Tiger,1984

Saw four or five of them. I said out loud to one: “I think it’s terrible what they have done to you. You are the king…of everything….” and the tiger’s blue eyes followed me till I was out of sight. Saw other interesting animals. It took a long time to reach the botanical gardens, where I walked to the Great Banyan Tree (400 meters in diameter). I laid under the magic influence of moving clouds swaying trees and let it lift me. Re-instill perception of the world’s beauty. I had Bengali sweets, Rasgolla and Sandesh on way home. Indian friend waiting for me. Had dinner, then bottle of Sikkim brandy. He told me that Sikkimese women fuck—I should always be trying. Smoked once again with New Zealand and British guys, they were happy, they’d sold their stash. Played guitar for forty-five minutes, just fucking around. My head is spinning with ideas.

Chapter 13
A Trip Across Bangladesh

April 12, 1984
En route to Dacca, Bangladesh

Thinking of Kelly.

Morning at breakfast: feeling good under a pall of tiredness which I should escape as soon as I have my coffee!….having second thoughts about going to Bangladesh. The simple fact is that I can spend that week in Burundi or ??

Retrospect: Well, what I ended up doing was writing Gabrielle and telling her to post a letter to Delhi, and writing a letter to the AmEx office asking them to hold mail till April 23rd. Then I decided, using the belief I CAN DO IT (re: Jack Roberts), I boarded a train for Bangaon (towards Bangladesh). I immediately felt good about the decision as the atmosphere in the train car made me feel like I was really traveling. (I’m trying to take the attitude to make each day count from now on and implement all the good ideas that I can.) I got to the end of the line, got a flat-bed rickshaw ten kilometers to the border, changing money on the way. The border was beautiful, serene, tree-lined. I had a delicious dinner of fish and rice and potatoes (six taka per plate—less than twenty-five cents). The most amazing thing happened at 7:30 p.m. when I boarded the bus. A man came and sat down next to me and said, “How are you.” I was trying to put off this stranger until I realized who it was: A.K. Khokan—the one and only, world famous… my only friend in Bangladesh. He said I could stay at his house in Dacca. It was a good meeting. We were both happy to see each other—I was surprised at my own gladness. The bus ride to Dacca lasted all night. Too many check posts, we took two ferry crossings. Lots of noise, people. I played guitar, fell asleep on and off later in the night. I’m on a “race” to Chittagong, Cox’s Bazaar. I feel like my “new” energetic attitude since I left Darjeeling means I’m over hepatitis.

Note: Thinking of Judith.

April 13, 1984
Dacca, Bangladesh

Bangladesh, Dock Workers, 1983

1:06 p.m.: Strange, good morning: Awoke. A nervous A.K. hustled me into a rickshaw. It seemed he wanted to get rid of me, but I called him on it and then we went to a hotel, had a (really) delicious chicken curry and fried bread for breakfast. I invited him to Chittagong with me. It was very exciting news to hear that one can go to Burma on a one hour steamer ride from Teknaf in the very south east tip of Bangladesh. I believe A.K. is legitimate. He showed me his papers of various sorts. I’ll try to help him into the U.S. Anyway, we’re to leave tomorrow for Teknaf, by bus. I’m thrilled at this intriguing itinerary. He says I can get across to Burma without a visa, but we’ll see. Now he went to visit wife. He promises to take me to a girl tonight. Yum. Sampling the women!!

Night: Chittagong to Cox’s Bazaar, eight hours to Teknaf, two hours.

April 14, 1984
Dacca, Bangladesh

2:47 a.m.: Note this, diary. An amazing day, I went out to the market and shopped. The atmosphere here is certainly unlike India. I love the serenity, the quiet of the streets, though one can hear distant squabbles or merriment. I noticed that although the folks are not visibly starving, they seem a bit more eager for takas than they do in India for rupees, although shopkeepers will stick to their prices. I gave away some clothes at a tea shop where I met some friends on my last visit to Dacca; now my load is lightened. I now feel a definite streamlined–ness. I wrote in the evening, an unusually peaceful one. A.K. came in with his son Ujjan and some family. Later some “friends” came by and we had some of my Sikkim rum. There were obnoxious and I finally had to ask them to leave. When they persisted, I was compelled to eject them bodily from the room and again from the premises, surprised by my own formidableness. (Comments such as: “I love you, don’t you love me?,” after I’d already lost my temper were intolerable!)

(A.K. said he’s still coming to Chittagong. Sleeping at home, he is.) Then I wrote a song, She’s a Spunk.

April 14, 1984
Chittagong, Bangladesh

11:21 p.m.: Dear Diary, I am making the bob-ly effort here from my hotel room in Chittagong, although I’m tired and would prefer sleep, I want to keep things going. My life is not short of fascinating since a wave of determination has passed over me in conjunction with my leaving Darjeeling. I basically want to “pull it all together” in my life for the first time, and I sense it requires a great deal of energy output. I am so intensely pleased with myself for taking this side trip into Bangladesh. It is turning out quite interesting, and I feel to be a real traveler.

I feel I am reaching out for the first time since my walk to Agra. So far, the situation is unfolding like this: I’m told they issue an eight-hour transit visa at Teknaf, that there’s no road to Mandalay, one must go by ship to Rangoon. Last year when I came through, I had no idea how to catch a boat to Rangoon, but it seems to be unfolding now. My plan is to proceed to Teknaf tomorrow, go into Burma as long as I can, and generally suss things out. I’ll probably spend a day or two down in the area. If it’s possible, I will return to Dacca, secure a Burmese visa, and go to Rangoon, then Mandalay and Pagan, but it seems unlikely. I note that I am now within one hundred and eighty miles of Pagan.

Today I woke late, at 7:10 a.m., went to A.K.’s place, and met his wife, no sign of him, got gear, rickshaw to bus, departed at 12:30 p.m. or so. Arrived here about eight, so the trip Dacca-Chittagong is about seven and a half hours by express bus. The driver drove madly. We made about two river crossings. Square-rigged wooden boats with two sets of oars rowing in unison spotted in river. Loads of melons (Thonmos, Baki and Kiráá) about. Purple-flowered lilies carpet waterways, surrounding wood boats. Very scenic.

I push, yell, smile and laugh and the people seem to love me. Generally speaking, I am very friendly. The people seem to accept my temper, I suppose because it is usually followed by a smile and often a laugh at myself. I will even join them laughing at me. I think this is a very good quality I’ve developed in Asia.

I am super-excited.

Note: Walking through market, here tonight was a trip: drum and trumpet music, much activity, loads of fruits, vegetables, fish and meat.

April 15, 1984
Teknaf, Bangladesh

1:20 a.m. Note: I am starting to get into the habit of washing out the clothes I wore (during day) at day’s end, dry for the morning. I’m adopting a policy of wearing a set of traveling clothes which I don’t care if they get ripped or dirty. I like wearing a T shirt with sleeves cut off at the shoulders. I’m wearing my Fender guitar pick about my neck on a string so I don’t lose it.

One of the things I like about Bangladesh is that there’s an abundance of water. I shower four to five times a day to remove sweat and refresh myself. P.S. —I think my body is unique and fantastically beautiful.

Note: I feel more energetic since I stopped smoking hash, now just grass.

2:15 a.m.: Here I am in Teknaf in the wee hours of the morning. I woke up at 1:20 a.m. and decided to finish the day’s chores now (such as washing out the new sarong I got). I woke up at 8:38 a.m. and paid my hotel bill (twenty-six taka) and was walking out at 9:01 a.m. Just outside the hotel, I stepped on to the bus, situated myself in the right front aisle seat (with leg rest) and no sooner settled than the bus began the express to Teknaf. “100 rupees a minute,” exclaimed the bus driver in regard to my demands for pit stops so I could relieve the water intake from a watermelon I ate for breakfast in the first half hour of the ride).

Rolling along. A little shut-eye. Yes, noted shrines again along the road, made of plaster about brick, within the last two hundred years. They remind me of Pagan (though I’ve never been there) now only two hundred sixty kilometers to the East. The Burma hills are just to the East now, calling me with their intrigue. Expanses of serene, green fields of rice, quiet, birds, there’s much bamboo and beauty in the countryside. In the waterways lay the wooden oar and sail galleys and smaller, roofed boats used sometimes to cart loads of watermelon (fifteen taka). Seems there is a timber/wood industry as we get past Cox Bazaar turn off towards Teknaf. We arrived about 5 p.m., I put my head under a hand pump for a well, got a hotel, learned how to tie the beauty of a Bangladesh sarong I bought yesterday. “Sussed” out trip into Burma. It seems I probably won’t be able to be let in with or without a visa. BDR (Bangladesh Rifle) people unfriendly [check post]. Boat came in from Burma, met a Chittagong man getting off it. He spoke good English and warned me against hiking into Burma (also warned me against swimming in ocean). Took me to friend’s house for a good meal: beef, curry, rice, eggs, tomato/onion, and a “Pakistani cordial” which I quite liked. Talked about Muslim religion. I walked back alone, in the moonlight, the melodic loudspeaker chanting of an old Muslim wafting across the warm night’s air. I am so happy I came back to Bangladesh.

April 16, 1984
St. Martin’s Island, Bangladesh
(683 Taka left)

I’m beginning to see the world’s potentials, solutions, rather than obstacles. There are at least three ways around any obstacle: to the left, the right and over it.

5:52 p.m.: The waves are lapping the shore, the world is beckoning me, I can feel it. I am being filled by the wind, blowing from the direction of the setting sun hiding behind the clouds. I am alone out here with the fishing villagers. Almost an emerald tint rests on the glimmering water, volcanic rock lines the shore. I am filled with a yearning to travel forever, time after time to find myself in a similar setting. To not have to be any place at any time. To not have to meet anyone or agree on where to go, I am free, I am free at last. Never on this trip have I felt so free. Free to go where I want, when I want, right now if I like. And this sets up a yearning. I want to go into Burma, but the law is not on my side. I consider all sorts of ways to go in; if I had the money, I would just fly to Rangoon. Now I am really interested to go to Pagan. My mind reels on the future: I’ll never stop till I die, from now on, I’ll keep things moving. I want to go every place on the globe that I can. (Now the orange globe of the sun drops from below the clouds.) I don’t feel lonely, I just feel space. I have wasted precious time, but I still have the time, if I am lucky, to go “everywhere” and to pursue many fields.

8:17 p.m.: I played my new song and danced on the beach at sunset. On the walk back I bought four fish on the beach where the fishermen were organizing their catch. The “restaurant” man (there’s no real restaurant here) is helping—he helped clean and now he’s cooking. For eight taka I have enough fish for a feast!! He’s frying it up with masala and ? . I could live like a king here for less than one dollar a day. It’s a far away place, you can see Burma across the water. I feel I could get work done here; I was literally performing on the beach at dusk, running and jumping with my guitar! I could set up a “house” on the far end of the island, cook fish on an open fire. Oil is 3.50 taka, cooking fee: 3 to 4 taka.

Retrospect: After a bang-up meal of catfish, I walked down to the oceanside beach and smoked ganja with BDR (Bangladesh Rifle) man. He began to sing Bengali songs, and I tried to follow him. I played a few songs also. We were really into it, sort of performing. The full moon was high over head. The songs he sang were quite beautiful and he had a nice voice. When he left, I blew up my pillow and fell asleep with my body against the sand and the lungee (that’s the name of the local “skirts” for men, like a sarong) over me.

April 17, 1984
On Fishing Boat—10 Miles South Of St. Martins Island, Bangladesh

10 a.m.: Morning, a few notes. Woke up where I fell asleep on the beach. I took a dip in the bay of Bengal. On the walk to the tea shop, I bought a ten–pound catfish and four lobsters, ten taka for the fish and three taka each, twenty–two taka total, or eighty–eight cents US!! Twelve cents for a fresh lobster!! The fishermen were cleaning their catch along the beach. Many fish are being hung up to dry, for when the rains come, I believe, fishing is not possible. The weather is balmy, scattered clouds.

Retrospect: Well, I had a lunch of four lobsters (forty–eight cents) and catfish (forty cents) [twenty four cents for oil and twelve cents cooking charge] cooked in a villager’s house with masala. I ate it savoring my good fortune. After lunch, the Bangladesh Rifle guy that I got stoned with last night (who was tagging along) and I walked down to the beach and had a couple of bowls of ganja. Before lunch I had completed my review of my notes on the Rolling Stones, so I was in an elevated state of mind. Walking down the north side of the Island, the wide expanses of flat beach seems like a stage. My musically inclined Bangladesh Rifle friend began dancing along to my antics as I danced down the shore singing and dancing. I felt superb.

The realization of how much work it would take to be a rock star hit me—but how great it would be to be a front man. Again, I could incorporate my desire for exercise (running, hopping, jumping) with music. As we neared the fishing fleet, villagers spotted me, and I did a few moves like I was performing, with sort of a beat and bass line going through my head.

The scene of the black fishing boats lapping in the waves, the remoteness of the area, the serenity, the constancy of their lives, all this filled me with a simple joy. The fishermen fixing their nets wanted a photo and one posed comically arching his back with arms outstretched like Caruso at the end of a performance. I waded out in the water and snapped photos of the boats and fishermen. The idea struck me to go fishing. I asked and a man said they were just going (about 4 p.m.). I ran back for some things but they were already in the dingy going to the boat when I returned. However, I persisted and I was on another boat attempting to go using their dingy when they said they were going fishing and I could come along. Soon we were pounding out to the Bay of Bengal! I was whooping and singing I’m So Hot, dancing on top of the boat, to the smiles and laughter of both boats crews. We continued out for about two hours.

I snapped photos of the boat and crew. It had a wooden tiller (wood tree 5” diameter), wooden hulls about thirty five feet long with a ten or twelve foot engine cabin which provided us with a good place to sit (on it’s roof). Some of the crew repaired the nets. They had wind meter made of two halves of a plastic bottle. Dried fish were hanging up.

When we were far away from the island (which was barely visible—I got a good look at the islets connected at low water to the main island) they threw out a buoy, and from this, a series of floats with a net attached, perhaps one thousand feet long. Then we ate supper of rice and fish.

Bangladesh, Teknaf Island, The Fisherman Prepare To Put Out The Nets, 1984

Then everyone bedded down. I had no lungee or anything to keep me warm, but I laid on top and looked at the stars (i.e., Dipper, Cassiopeia) and imagined what sort of beings lived out there, and pondered on the great number of stars. I figured there was a hierarchy of beings on every inhabited planet and wondered what man’s counterpart was.

The moon nearly full, rose from the east, and I wished so hard that in my lifetime I could explore it! It rose yellow/white above the black water, with the face tilted forty degrees to its right.

[Note: the water out there is a beautiful clear greenish blue. I had trouble sleeping, cold from the breezes and at one point I even unfolded my map as a cover but it started to tear. I finally asked for, and got, a thick cloth of jute to put over me, but soon afterwards they were all awake and ready to fish (2 a.m.?).

April 18, 1984
Far south islet of St. Martin’s Island, Eastern Bangladesh
(548 Taka Left)

Very early a.m.: Two or three men pulled in the rope and two or so men removed the fish (mostly catfish, one by one, from the net. The fish had three needle-like fins which were dangerous. I was looking on and they asked me to pull. I went up and pulled in the net for maybe half and hour, and then I helped to extricate the fish from the net. On average, about two or three fish come up per minute, not counting the small one or two that came up. They pulled in two stingrays, a large prawn, one yellow tail, and many, many catfish and another small one, which is their prized eating fish. I turned in while they continued. All in all they probably worked for three hours. I slept as best I could under the jute cloth (like burlap), probably with cockroaches running on me. I woke up when we reached St. Martin’s village, about 6:30 a.m. I refused to take a large yellow tail for baksheesh, but went down on the beach and bought four and a catfish, and had the funny–looking man go and cook them up for me. I was really tired. I went among the fishermen and their catches, noting a nice five–foot shark. I was invited back on the boat for a morning dinner of rice and fish. I spent the rest of the day waiting, transcribing my notes, washing clothes.

I went for lunch at about 3 p.m. The fish and rice was delicious. I offered five taka backsheesh but the funny-looking man wanted one hundred taka at first and then sixty taka, so I took my fish, gave him ten taka and left. I got some sweets and I packed my day pack and grabbed my guitar. My plan was to reach the far southern islet (the tide was low). As I walked, the sun sank below the horizon. The plants caught my lungee, so I removed it and walked nude. I crossed over one islet and reached another in the dark, where I made camp by the big shade tree by the tower (the purpose of which tower and could not divine). I was satisfied I’d gone about as far as I could. The whole way there I had been screaming out Rolling Stones and Rod Stewart songs, never having before put so much into it. When I got to a note I couldn’t hit, I forced it even if it turned into a rough scream. I felt slight ache in my forehead afterwards. Not long after I arrived, I prepared the sand, blew up the pillow and fell asleep with the pillow tied to my day pack. I woke up occasionally to see one hundred hermit crabs stealing my sweets which I finally threw out in the sand. Intermittently I woke up to re-wrap my lungee and rain tarp around me.

April 19, 1984
St. Martin’s Island, Bangladesh

I woke up on the beach at 8 a.m. or so, feeling groggy. I’m really wiped out. I think I have gotten a case of heat exhaustion. I feel so lazy! I walked out to the last point of land in Bangladesh, a small islet to the right. I decided to make it back to the main island as the tide was coming in. On the main island I found a yellow and black water snake which I bopped on the head, skinned and tied to a palm branch to dry it properly. I took a few swims on the walk back and laid down, feeling weak in the hot wind. I made it to the tea shop and fell asleep for one and a half hours after drinking a coconut. Now I am going to go back to Teknaf. The villagers have pestered me for three days about playing a song, but I can’t bring myself to do it (nothing prepared.) The Bangladesh Rifle man, the chief of police and island chairmen have asked me if I have permission to be here and I have lied and told them yes. (I didn’t know it was a restricted area when I got here.)

Retrospect: As it turned out, I was not able to return to Teknaf today. Rather, I will go in the morning. I did not discover until the evening why I felt so weak. It is because I had a fever. Consequently, I have not much to report on activities as I spent the evening resting. I did get a fair bit of writing down and worked on my Personal Mission Statement.

April 20, 1984
St. Martin’s Island, Bangladesh

Morning on St. Martin’s, 8:40 a.m.: I’m scheduled to leave at about 10 a.m. I finally found a perfect spot (on my last morning) for hanging out during the day (i.e., the morning). I’m on white sand in the shade of one of those strange fruit trees with a breeze blowing. I made my way here walking on the wide beach, singing my guts out. (Thought: you don’t need a “good” voice—what you do need is to turn the audience on.) Diary, this may sound crazy but what I’d really like to do is sing. It feels so good to belt it out like Jagger. The top priority is to sing with guts, heart, loud. I also thought that the reason I hesitate to open up in front of people musically has nothing to do with the logical reasons I’ve proposed (such as “embarrassment” or “not being practiced” or “not good enough”). What it really is, is just a foreign mode of behavior, which I am not accustomed to. I’m athletic, I could give people a good show for their money—moving energy. The children here follow me around, the people are very curious about me and my things. One virtually never sees a married woman out in public, only glimpses of them in their yards.

Retrospect: It turned out that there was no boat…just as well, it was one of the nicest days I spent on the island. I pretty much completed the second draft of my personal mission statement, which is astoundingly important for my future. There is a Bangladesh naval patrol boat anchored a mile off shore. The Captain and four men (one armed) came ashore. I was asked to produce my passport. A break: the Captain tells me that if I have a Burmese visa, I can get clearance to enter via Teknaf from Wing Commander, BDR in Cox’s Bazaar. He thinks I will have no trouble on the Burmese side. Furthermore, he informs me there is a train connecting Akyab with the rest of Burma!! On a walk about the island, I was shown the lighthouse, installed by a Briton: very nice. In the afternoon, I spent one hour eluding people (and finally a pack of kids) in order to smoke some ganja. In the evening, I had dinner with the chairman at his house. A pretty girl kept flashing her eyes from behind the doorway. The chairman speaks and writes in Arabic, Farsi, Bangla and Urdu! Back at the tea shop, I snuck out the back door.

On the beach, sometimes with no pants on, I practiced songs to sing for the villagers. I really put myself into it, drinking Sikkim rum under the rising yellow moon, just me and the wind and the waves. Beautiful. I had a good sleep on the beach. In the morning, I left without singing a song.

April 21, 1984
Cox’s Bazaar, Bangladesh

Morning, on boat, waiting to depart from St. Martin’s (engine starting): People are yelling from boat to shore. It’s really funny. These folks get very excited over the smallest things, like a few taka. For some reason, they all have trouble to keep from stuttering; they get their words glued to their tongues once they get angry and start yelling. (Pulling away now): Beautiful St. Martin’s, you have changed my life, here I have found myself! Now within half mile of Burma’s shore, the hazy white beach tipped by a belt of green, the hazy mountains in the background, scattered clouds above them, and a white to aqua spectrum of sky. I can see the palm leaves, the huts, a canoe.

Retrospect :

Note: on boat scene with coconut: I wanted them to split it. I finally had to go back, borrow the knife (and for their unhelpfulness) said, “See this?”, pointing to my ass. “Kiss it!” Thus, taking the knife and cutting clean through in one stroke.

Boat arrives. Catch bus soon after. Confrontation on bus. I push ticket man because he stood by and watched me running, struggling to get on bus and didn’t tell the driver. Arrive Cox’s Bazaar. Wing Commander BDR not in until tomorrow 9 a.m. Went to beach. A hotel (government) with seventy beds denied me a booking at 4:00 p.m., because “I didn’t have a booking.” Got angry—not enough sleep last night... I’m edgy.

Hung-out in beach-side tea shops. Some great spice tea. I got the recipe down on paper. I met a Dacca man who is in the air freight business. We talked. The upshot is that we are interested to make some money doing business. I’m very excited because the nature of our conversation leads me to believe: (1) he’s a legitimate business man, (2) honest, (3) knowledgeable, (4) we have agreement on the style of business (example, to provide honest value for profit, to have a high volume/flow-profit approach per item, to deal in dry goods.) He can shop personally and forward goods. Had a pleasant time in tea shop. Owner gave me some ganja. I went to sleep on the beach, but the mosquitoes were horrible. I finally returned to the hotel and yelled, screamed (being in serious need of one of their sixty free beds with a mosquito net) and I finally did get a comfortable bed through the kindly assistance of Bangladesh man. Slept like a rock that dreams.

April 22, 1984
Chittagong, Bangladesh
(Taka Balance: Zero)

Morning:
Note: Although human beings flock to Cox’s Bazaar for holiday, the mosquitoes seem to have a hold on the real estate.

Retrospect: I awoke in the room with the two old attendants seeking backsheesh. Gave ten taka. Went to beach, picked up bags. I am extremely tired. Got out to BDR at about 8 a.m. Waiting for Wing Commander, playing the guitar. About 9 a.m. the Wing Commander pulls up in a Nissan four wheel drive, pulls over a truck driver and beats him with his stick. The Wing Commander is surprisingly young. He looks weird in an aristocratic way. He’s about my age and having men his father’s age saluting him and stomping their feet in respect. We go in his office. I am informed the only provision for boat travel is Chittagong to Akyab. He wants to talk and orders tea, samosas and sweets. He’s actually a nice man. An endless procession of salutes, foot stomping, “Suh!”, at the end of cadet’s sentences. Well, I ‘rally’ must be running.

I take the bus to Ramu on the spur of the moment. I have a rickshaw man take me to the pagoda. I pedaled for awhile. I got out and walked, took a bath with villagers at the river crossing. The rickshaw man held my bags when I went in the pagoda, which was little more than a big Buddha in a room filled with incense. I sat copying the Buddha’s hand position and stared in his eyes a full minute. Walked and rode back through the countryside, which is quite beautiful. Caught bus to Chittagong, two bus breakdowns, then one change because the horn was too loud for me, so four buses later arrived in Chittagong after physical fights along the way. I am tired and easily antagonized.

I am losing my temper too frequently and too easily, and it worries me a great deal. I need a rest. Checked into Hotel Safina. At dinner, I realized that the rickshaw man had relieved me of my final 200 taka and now I am taka-less. I ranted. I told all the Bengali people about it and expressed my anger. What really bothered me was that I had been so good to the rickshaw man, getting out and walking, buying teas. I felt disillusioned. I wanted to cry and I wanted to kill!

I am told by the hotel men that there is only cargo service between here and Akyab. I went to my room and I had a rum and coke and fell fast and deep asleep.

April 23, 1984
Chittagong, Bangladesh

Morning: I am sure if Mohammed knew about betelnut he would have banned it.

Ate often and lightly, and I feel superb. Had a couple of rum and cokes too. I would love to indulge myself and go back to Ramu and beat the living shit out of the rickshaw man, but I would only be hurting myself by wasting precious time and money. Ate often and lightly and I feel superb. Had a couple of rum and cokes too. Yesterday was Easter and I didn’t know it …I forgot.

Night: 10:41 p.m. This is a banner day, and I must jot it all out before the inspiration escapes me. First, I went to the bank, searched and found the passport office. By yelling, I got the extension today, then went to the Indian High Commander and will pick up double entry visa at three tomorrow. I went to the port and found that tomorrow at 10:30 a.m. there is a berthing meeting where all the shipping lines will gather at the Port Authority. There, I can ask who’s plying to Burma and when, and can they take me and for how much. I may go and also ask about Mauritius. Then, I would have to get a permit from Dacca to enter the port. They do have customs available here for exit stamp.

This evening, I brought my guitar in for repair, and I will get it tomorrow or the next day. Sussed out trains to Dacca—leave 9 p.m..

Now, the real important issue. This morning I talked with a man from USA who I saw last night at ‘Reception’. I ignored him yesterday and thought to have a chat, so I began a conversation in the dining room. He’s devoted his life to living abroad, going to India to renew visa for Bangladesh, Dutch wife, five kids, one with him now. Coming from Dacca. Turns out he’s a Christian with a twist.

Naturally, I feel turned off by Jesus freaks, but he is quite together, even though he shares strange beliefs such as (Armageddon) with other Christians—I told him in detail my great drive towards “my aims.” I told him why I was turned off by Jesus freaks! (1) Sex: he says he thinks it’s perfectly O.K. if, as I suggested, I want to make it with ten girls at once (2) Money—O.K., to amass it (for good purposes) (3) O.K. to do what I want generally. He made me think differently about the whole thing.

I always refused to believe that a god would deny man sex, and he said ‘God created it!’ Anyway, it just makes me wonder... he says Jesus can help me achieve my ends. …Welling up inside of me are forgotten dogmas driven into me. He dispels my gravest objections to a force which I would otherwise cherish. He seems to support it from the Bible. He says Jesus was “ministered” by woman (sex)! My mind is blown! If I can lock into such great power while maintaining my whims, what a great aide (and compatible, as I want good things)!

Diary, what an astoundingly important thought it is that all along I have not displeased a God who, though I might have stopped admitting of Catholic beliefs, is believed in by the most inner recesses of my mind. If nothing else ever comes of these talks with Steve, this information alone has restored my confidence in myself. I consider my most deep-seated dreams…of becoming a prominent figure on Earth for my fulfillment and mankind’s betterment (increased happiness).

I’m surprised at myself! Singing in the mirror, looking at myself with my new hair….to think I could be both a super stud–rock star and a great lover of women and a financier and a holy man under God the Father who supports all those activities! My mind reels. I feel such a boost of inspiration, comfort and strength. And to think that it could be possible that in the past I’ve always been misled when people had me believe Jesus was opposed to fornication, for example!

Through any exploratory writing I’ve perceived a need in myself for great belief. I could only put my full belief in God if it coincided with my own assessment of what is good (sex in plenty for example) and I could only put the enormous faith needed in myself to achieve my aims if I believe I am a wholly good man, under the hand of God for example. The results of belief are what I seek, and if belief can generate realities which are defined then it matters not to me whether the beliefs are “real” to begin with (because they become real!). I feel such good power flow through me to think that my Father in heaven, (1) really exists and (2) wants to help me reach, a) control of immense capital (for proper good usage), b) women in plenty and variety, c) be a rock star, d) travel the world over.

April 24, 1984
Chittagong, Bangladesh

4:43 p.m.: I feel nice, clean, and gearing for a streamlined set of possessions which will be half as light and half as bulky as what I have now. I slept very well last night. I awoke at 5:15 a.m. and slept in till 7:30 a.m. I had my first light meal at 9 a.m. and before that, I was a ranting, raving scoundrel, but I felt a sudden change to complacency once I ate. I think that I should try to have a light meal the very first thing in the morning to save me from the frustration that sets me in a helpless, harried frame of mind when my belly is unsatisfied. I am now in the comfortable part of the hotel dining room enjoying a rum and coke. I’m trying to finish off the bottle before I leave tonight on the train. I am excited to be coming west. The word is that a boat for Mauritius is best caught from Madras, nix on Chittagong.

Note: Many Bengalis have told me I should speak more clearly. They are nearly insulting; the way they say it, one would think they are linguists, yet they have a barely intelligible vocabulary of an average of fifty words! This has been chronic, occurring at least, say, six times.

Retrospect: Leaving the hotel at 6:30 p.m.. I heard a voice: “Mr. Jeff, Mr. Jeff.” I turned around to face A.K. Khohan, who just happened to be here (at the Safina)!!!

Read Book Of John, Chapters One to Three in evening, slept at 9:30 p.m.

The whole of Chittagong is enveloped in rain.

Dream: I dreamt I was sitting in a room with about eight girls and the nearest one started kissing me while the others looked on. Eve from Katmandu was also in dream sequence.

April 25, 1984
On Ferry Docked On River Two Hours From Dacca
(Total Money $1085)

Morning. 10:15 a.m.: Sitting in dining room. When I review the maps I feel anxious, but I shouldn’t feel anything but pleasure with the excitement ahead. I just hope I can wing the cash part. I note Steve left hotel at 9:30 a.m. yesterday. Seems to have forgotten his mission to convert me which was initially important two nights ago!

[Note: I think he lost interest when he realized I was leaving. I feel a little depressed, maybe it’s the rain. I’m waiting in a tea shop for my guitar and heading straight to Dacca. There was a nude boy standing outside the tea shop just now, but they shooed him away. Sometimes you see nude men in the streets. I believe the people consider them crazy. I caught the bus to Dacca. It was raining at first but we finally left the bad weather and the plains became scenic .

More and more I realized how awful it would be to be a commoner in Bangladesh or in most cases; any profession is sort of awful: (1) low pay, (2) long hours, (3) repetitive-type labor, (4) strict social system, (5) can’t get out of the system (or you won’t eat!). Ugh! I see so many people that I look at and think: I wouldn’t want to be them!! I see beggars in the gutters at night (in Calcutta) sorting through garbage to look for meager things. The garbage doesn’t even look like “good” garbage. It’s even low grade garbage. In Chittagong, I saw a “lowly” street urchin sorting from amongst the most sickening pile of scraps of the “unused” portions of chicken bodies. Yuck!

India, Calcutta Food Line,1984

It’s all just coming to me; before I was removed, but now I see that it is no game, it is their lot, and they have no way out.

When I got to Dacca I got forty rupees from the owner of the bus because one of his men broke (I think) part of the trimming on my guitar. I demanded it because I was tired of people playing it against my will and breaking it. With this money, I bought a ticket to the border. On the way to Banepal nobody told me (that I recall) to get on the ferry and catch a new bus on the other end, so I missed it and had to spend the night on a ferry docked on the Dacca side. I was brought over in the morning and put on another bus.

Chapter 14
A Determination To Clean Up My Act, I Set My Sights Westward

April 26, 1984
Calcutta, India

Morning 10:30 a.m.: Diary, the worst has happened, but I am alive and I think I’ll pull through! Within the last hour you could have observed me chasing Muslims with great adroitness, through this jetty village, pouncing on them and doing my best to slug them in the face. This mad scene blew up from me trying to have a peaceful writing session while waiting for the bus, and it resulted in them taking sticks to me en masse and a bedlam ensued (with them shoving poles through the restaurant’s thatch wall, where I sought refuge, and a papaya was chucked on my head). I actually started hitting after a few chases. It started with me shooing them away. This escalated into me chasing them away, then roughing up one boy and so on; when water was tossed on me by one young man I felt bitterly antagonized and I tracked him down. I admit surprise at my own speed and agility. I finally got him in a bus and was only trying to scare him but did not hit him. I think they instantly thought I was trying to hurt him, and consequently I was hit with sticks. Another man slugged me from behind, so I went after him and he finally stumbled and I slugged him in the face a few times. The crowd descended on me and I tripped and fell, but I recovered and saved myself, and retreated to the restaurant. Now I am on the bus and waiting. I can laugh about it now. It seems I have only a few bruises though I am sure I’ll be sore tomorrow.

Diary, I swear from the bottom of my soul that from now on I will try to speak softly and be a peaceful man. I don’t ever want physical violence again: it’s not worth it, my jaw is sore, my right buttocks is sore, my arm is cut, my back scraped. Fortunately, it’s all slight. I still love myself, though I caused my own problem. Extreme anguish was upon me, but I recover quick.

Night: I am in Calcutta, I have pushed myself to an extreme. The rest of the day I said hardly a word to anyone. Diary, one thing I want above all and that is to make it back to San Francisco as myself, in one piece and not in any wise strange: for example, a Jesus or religious freak, a drug dealer or user, an overly aggressive person, etc., but my own normal, happy self.

I had to stop in Calcutta to wait for the train, and I needed a rest in any event. I am positively anxious to pull it together for Africa. Only through luck and hard work can I attempt it at this, late date. I plan to go to Varanasi on tomorrow’s 8:00 p.m. train, buy some silk and be in Delhi early next week. I’ll feel better once past Delhi and India. Bangladesh has really drained me. I need a woman. Today I perceived what a nightmare this poverty really is. It is not “quaint.” No problems on way here.

Diary, I’m really ashamed, but, in retrospect, it was bitchin’. Still, I hope not again.

Dream: I dreamt I was lip-locked with Irene Vidal. It was so real as we French kissed.

April 27, 1984
En route To Moghul Sarai, India

No smoke: start today.

Morning: I’ll be catching the 8:00 p.m. mail train tonight for Varanasi. I feel bad about what happened yesterday but let’s put it in the past. I feel a need to stop smoking ganja.

10:30 a.m.: Waiting for ticket reservation: Over breakfast, I envisioned a general strategy change from “HARD” to “EASY” and from “PUSH” to “ENDEAVOR.” As I contemplate the repercussions of such a philosophy in strategy. I can see them to be wondrous and perhaps what I need.

I spent the day (1) obtaining a train ticket to Moghul Sarai, near Varanasi, (2) Wandering about the Indian museum which was almost ridiculous in the plethora of useless specimens of fossils, rocks, etc. It made me think how it would be best just to leave all things in nature rather than hoarding them, and to leave all sculptures in their original settings, (3) The grand finale of my stay in Calcutta was the obtaining of a new guitar for two hundred and fifty rupees and my old guitar in trade. I bought my guitar in to have them clean the crud off of it that the incompetent repair man in Chittagong applied as trim (black putty which came off on my clothes). The repair man at Reynolds in Calcutta made a mess of the work, and I took the opportunity to make demands. After quite a hassle, with my train departure drawing closer, I ended up at the owner’s house with my guitar and double cut away white acoustic guitar (retail 425 rupees). I finally argued my way and dashed out, taxied to the rail station and took off for Moghul Sarai. I had a top bunk which, although not perfectly comfortable, allowed me some sleep.

(Note: offered four thousand and five hundred rupees for camera).

Note: the guitar I bought is playable right up to the last fret, which I need to simulate an electric guitar.

April 28, 1984
From Varanasi En route To Sonauli, India

Retrospect: This morning (28th) a nice Indian gentleman asked me about myself as the train rolled on to the bridge over the Ganges from which a sort of fabled view of Benares is obtained. One of the questions which he asked me is if I belonged to a religious sect. My reply was that I was free both in mind and body and not belonging to any religious order. We chatted shortly on how one must not surrender to ideas which entraps one. My body is free and my mind is free, and this is a wonderful thing.

7:00 p.m.: Travel hint India: A good meal (omelet three rupees, two toast with butter one rupees, pot of coffee 1.50 rupees) can be gotten at the local train stations. India can be expensive and I’ve found this bargain, as the Indian’s themselves must be provided with meals at a fair, fixed price.

Diary, I feel about five times better about myself. Being sober (un-stoned) gives me the feeling that I can do anything I set my mind to, and I have a clear perception of what needs to be done and what is just bullshit. I feel I’m getting too skinny and more than anything, I want to return home proud of what I’ve become. I want people to say “what a fine man he’s grown into.” I want to be healthy, a muscular physique, a ruddy complexion, clear eyes, of sharp mind, quick-witted. I want to look sharp, to be well groomed and to have clean and smart clothing and personal gear. I must start going at the exercise, and I must eat copiously in conjunction with the exercise.

Yesterday my thought was: To grow into the man I want to become, I’ve got to be good to myself.

Diary, there’s a 9:30 p.m. bus to the Nepal border. I plan to sell and condense my gear, and with the money, proceed to Delhi, get visa, go to Bombay, then Sri Lanka to look for a boat, buy a leather bag and search for mail from Kelly. I’ll leave Tuesday morning for Delhi if everything goes as planned.

Diary, I can’t help but feel that I am becoming very attractive to women. They seem to take notice. I feel hard and sexy.

I took a night bus which was crowded and uncomfortable. An intelligent Indian man sat next to me and we had a pleasant conversation, which made me enjoy the trip more than I would otherwise have.

April 29, 1984
Katmandu

I awoke rolling into Sonauli. I caught a bus to Katmandu and I made the best of the ride. I’ll make no pretenses of this era of dissatisfaction. I cannot help but feel it was a black day when I got hepatitis. Since then things have seemed to go wrong. I’m now in dire straits. I had two thousand dollars in January. I could have bought a new motorcycle and rode right around and out of India. I could have and should have gone to Africa. I think I can’t make it there now. I don’t want to dig myself a hole I can’t get out of. I am daily having my choices limited because my dollars are going down. I think when I get away from India, at least my direction will get straightened out.

I need a woman. I’m so horny my eyes are popping out. I’m gonna get rid of my bible… the whole thought of Christ and the Christian God freaks me out. I don’t want to even think about it. I got a nice room in the Hotel Asia. I think I need to go running. I need a release and I feel it. I love my new guitar, but already it is getting dented. Why does life have to be such a struggle? I need the comfort of friends. The fact that mine haven’t written to me really breaks my heart. I’ve spent $360 in the last month; where is it all going? I’ve been so foolish with my money. Etc. Etc. I looked through my stuff in my room and thought how nice it would be to get rid of it all so that my baggage is light.

April 30, 1984
Katmandu

I’m not able to dispose of my gear for a good price. I wish I was more shrewd with my money. Naturally I was so exhausted from traveling here that I fell asleep deeply. I suppose the moral of all this is to be happy with what you’ve got. I have fucked up, so what? Put it in the past, overcome the obstacles. I’ll keep what I have and waste no more time about moving on. I never thought I’d be here in May. Diary, please grant me your utmost forgiveness for my ineptness and complaining.

I feel despondent, which is why I have to write to you now. My life seems in a never-ending circle of trying to get what I want and only losing money, my plans I can’t seem to put through. I came here to sell off my things only to have them be virtually worthless; a slight exaggeration. I’m fucking up and I can’t figure out why. I feel desperate to leave to be free, but something is weighing me down…I can’t criticize my effort…I am trying as hard as I can…and yet maybe I am surviving. I’m down to I.C. 500 which means I’ll have to change dollars to leave. I am concerned, I feel like I’m in a vacuum. I’ve got to make my way.

Diary: A man in a shop became irate because I said “Bullshit.” It seems I am endlessly getting in hassles.

A funny thing happened. I met Blimey on Durbar Square. He had some really nice hash. I can’t figure out how he does it, but as he says, he’s spent a lot of time finding out these things. I asked him if I could travel with him to Delhi, because he’s going the same way as me. He said O.K. I asked him because I felt like I need some companionship.

I sold my sleeping bag which made me happy, even at six hundred and ten rupees.

I went out for dinner, and looking to save money, I found a new restaurant that was serving a free “opening night” dinner and free chang. I had four servings of rice (with chicken cashews) and some chicken curry and about eight big glasses of chang. The people were very nice, a Nepali man and his wife from the USA.

May 1, 1984
Katmandu

Morning Note: I like the number on this page. Diary, I vow to myself that this day begins the best month in my life, a time when I will work out the solution to all my dissatisfactions; I will find happiness philosophically.

Well, today turned out to be a wonderful day. I sold my pack and down jacket and I bought a new, small pack. In the evening, I overheard an American man and an American woman talking, and I asked if they could carry some film home for me. The man agreed to do so, and I made up a package for him of eight rolls of film, which takes a load off my mind. I bumped into Mike, the lawyer from Idaho I met who had taught me some Swahili. I stopped by in the evening and it was quite an interesting conversation. He’s read a lot of philosophy, and it was very interesting discussing writers and beliefs, assumptions, faultless logic. I had a guitar strap and inner bag made up today. I bought a sun hat. By the time I went to sleep it was very late and I have to get up at 5 a.m! I’m not getting proper rest.

May 2, 1984
Enroute To Lucknow, India

This morning began the fiasco. The hotel guys woke me up forty-two minutes late. I had to go dashing out without shower, unorganized. I just made the bus. Blimey wasn’t on it. Before we got out of town I thought I’d left my new books, The Greatest (Muhammed Ali) and Future Shock, back at the hotel. I left the bus, getting a one–half refund only to remember that I put them in my bag. I rebooked the bus, and left at 8 a.m. On the ride I read The Greatest. Ali had me in tears. I don’t know, diary, I feel such an affinity for greatness and I want it so badly but I don’t know where to turn. I feel as if I am cutting my own path.

I arrived in Sonauli, went through the border. On the bus to Gorakpur, two women sat down next to me. One from South Africa (white, twenty–five) and one from Canada (living in Italy). It was so nice just to be in female company! I practiced “eye contact” and “not being too eager,” the two maxims set forth by black Angelo, Clymer’s old roommate. In Gorakpur, we caught the train. The girls had berths reserved and I had not; they befriended me, and I ended up in Carolyn’s (South Africa) berth while she went to the lady’s compartment. They are an interesting pair.

May 3, 1984
En route To Agra, India

Patricia Camargo is thirty–two.
Carolyn Cross is twenty–five.

We arrived in Lucknow three hours late at 7:30 a.m., which meant we missed the connection to Delhi. The first four hours of the morning were a horrendous shuffling between ticket counters and offices, make reservations, canceling them, refunds—at one point I thought the girls had run off with my bag and I felt frantic. The outcome of it all was that we reserved sleepers on the night train to Agra. We had showers at the train station, and then we lunched. The girls would stop at fruit stands and sweets shops, and we ate our way up to a park where we laid in the grass and talked about food in Italy and elsewhere. I began to consider that Caroline had taken a liking to me. Only yesterday on the bus to Gorakpur did I have fantasies about licking their cunts and fucking them and every position we could get into.

We almost missed the train. It was wild; we were running every which way. In fact, the first hour they were stuck in another part of the train. In Kampur, I ran out and got some more beer. Patricia had a toothache and so Caroline and I partied by ourselves. I would have made a move but we could not escape the curious eyes of the Indian passengers.

May 4, 1984
New Delhi

Diary, I have had this cough since Bangladesh and I am run down from lack of rest. When I was woken up in Agra I could barely walk out of the train. The girls went on to see the Taj Mahal, but I stayed in the station and caught the 7:30 train to Delhi. They went on to Jaipur. I fell asleep on the train to Delhi and overshot it by twelve kilometers. I caught another train back to Delhi. I was so glad to finally get there! I went to the Amex office first. So, fortunately, there were thirteen letters from nearly all different people. I was called into the manager’s desk who informed me that my father was concerned about my safety and that I should call or telegram to him. I walked to the State Bank of India and I found out that I can cash dollar travelers cheques into cash by foregoing the difference between the buying and selling rates in $/Rupees. This hopefully means I can obtain dollars before going to Africa. I went to the General Post Office and found another letter from Judith (!). I got a room for twenty rupees and the remainder of the day I read letters, ate, ran and showered. I had bedtime at 10 p.m. I was overwhelmed by the letters. It means so much to me. People’s reactions to me vary, some critical (like Dad) but on the whole, loving. When I read that Taylor’s mom has cancer I cried. Then I cried more, just thinking of home. I’ve been sobbing a lot lately.

May 5, 1984
New Delhi

Morning, New Delhi, Iranian Embassy: I’m just here to check things out. I’m anxious about my travel plans. I want to move myself another forty degrees or sixty degrees West and soon. Taylor said that he’d lend money to me, no problem, which is an ace in the hole for me. I’ll be out of Delhi hopefully in a day.

Diary, last night I made a determination: from this day on, consider me “in training”; if I am serious about the type of greatness and achievement I desire, then I need to have everything going for me that I can; all mental and physical power. What I have in mind is this: running (road work) every day, exercise, lights out at 10 p.m., no smoking (pot or cigarettes), no alcohol, no artificial sugars, no coffee, no colas, no tea, lots of natural sugars in fruits, lots of protein: raw eggs, meats, milk. Just these disciplines alone, I believe, will help me put into action my plans. Thoughts to Actions. I think I’ll start getting into music more easily. I need every ounce of strength I can muster. Traveling hard, with poor rest and ingesting drugs has taught me that vitality is a matter of degree. I can no longer cheat myself of any part of that vitality which I can have and which I need. I’m not sure any individual idea set forward above is helpful, but all I can do is to place my bets with the odds.

The embassy did a favor and prepared my visa for me today. When I walked out of the embassy I felt as if a new world was opened up to me. I had an urge to head straight to Amritsar and enter Pakistan. I went to Baroda House and sat for a full forty minutes trying to decide if I should really book a ticket for Bombay or not. I finally booked a ticket, but I didn’t really savor the idea of going south, and the thought that I might have to retrace my steps yet another time to Delhi really didn’t appeal to me at all. I bought the ticket because I figured I could afford a few days in Bombay just to check things out. I talked with Ben (a guy I met last time) and his new girl about Iran. Ben’s been there, and it sounded pretty neat. I did some running today, drank raw eggs, had many delicious sugar cane juices, 1 liter of milk. I washed clothes. I feel more rested and better now.

May 6, 1984
New Delhi

1:21 p.m. (in phone office, trying to call Dad)

Diary, I really “sweated” over the decision on whether I should go to Iran. I finally ran down to the train station and got a refund on my ticket to Bombay. I want to book a ticket to Amritsar and “get it on” as Muhammed Ali and Joe Frazier would say! Now I feel a mixture of extreme excitement, relaxed, calculating and hoping that I’ll make it to Turkey all right. It’s what I really want. To see Persia, even if only for a week (I hope!!!!) is a dream I’ve long had.

I reached Dad. He sounded good. It sounds like the business is really taking off. I explained to him why my mail and plans have been screwed up. I told him I was going to go to Iran. He seemed quite calm about the whole thing. I explained how cooperative their embassy had been, and how I’d spoken to many travelers who had either been through themselves or who had talked to others who had been. Dad didn’t give me any static, just listened. I told him he could send me a computer manual if he needed to transfer the programs. (Diary, imagine after all this time the job is still not done!) He asked me when I’d be home. I said that I’d be home by December if not sooner. One of the last things I said, that received no reply, was that I was sorry that he’d said I’d never work for him again. He was telling me that ATS may do a job in Korea and one in Ireland. I asked if he will go to Ireland. He said, “I hope so!” About the last thing he said was “I love you” and I told him that too. During the conversation, I tried to explain to him that traveling in this part of the world is not so “certain” as in other places. …I left the phone office feeling psyched–up to know that my old man still loves me, and I was also wondering if I could land a job with him if ATS is really taking off. …with everything closed today, I couldn’t get much done. I took care of tasks and wrote letters, now that I’m “sure” where I’m going. In the evening, Bob, the owner, went into a rage saying “I’m superior….I’m an ex-ruler.” He even accused me of looking at his old wife, all over “nuthin!” What is the problem???

Last night I dreamt the ground rumbled and there was a one hundred foot high tidal wave coming in. I recall I had to leave two people (Dad and Helen) out in a boat house (or something) because there was nothing I could do.

May 7, 1984
New Delhi

In the morning, Bob, the owner, was gracious and said things were O.K. (regarding big beef last night). First I went to the American Embassy and got a letter for the Syrian and Sudanese Embassies. I went to the Syrian Embassy and put in my application which would be ready at the earliest tomorrow. I took my passport in the hopes of getting a Sudanese visa before the day was out, but when I got to the Sudanese Embassy, I had the first big blow to my new plans to go overland: Sudan had “recently” stopped issuing on-the-spot visas. They must send the applications to Khartoum for approval. They say it takes at least three weeks for approval to come and this means it may never. All of a sudden I am faced with the prospects I may get to Egypt and have to wait a month before I can get a visa to transit Sudan. Maybe I won’t be at all able. Yet, even still, the thought of turning back and going to Bombay is distasteful to me… I’ve already put the wheels in motion.

Some Sudanese students suggest that I go to Connaught Place and inquire to travel agents; they say I can find out from here about boats to Africa leaving from Bombay. So I go up to Connaught Place. There is no way to find out from here, I am told. Furthermore, I am advised to fly, since the boats will be more expensive than the planes and I have heard the minimum plane fare is $275. I consider that I can use that money and get all the way to Egypt. And so I weigh it with the fact that I may go to Bombay and spend time and money and not find a boat anyway, and that makes me still wanting to go overland. At least overland I can see seven countries on my way to Egypt. I tried an analysis yesterday by giving points to the two option’s various benefits. Overland: twenty–seven Bombay: twenty–six. Anyway, it was close, even if inaccurate. Wouldn’t you know it: whereas the other night, Ben was encouraging the idea, he seemed apprehensive when I said I was going overland. We had to laugh. I had some reflections about decisiveness and it occurred to me that maybe the secret of being decisive is to turn your back on the option you decided against. Otherwise, you can second-guess yourself indefinitely. Maybe the trick is to pour yourself into your new decision. (Sugar cane juice, mutton, rice, mulled around, slept.)

Chapter 15
Amritsar, Lahore, Peshawar And Quetta

May 8, 1984
New Delhi

(I wrote letters from 6:00 a.m. to 9:30 a.m.)

2:37 p.m. (waiting for a bus back from Syrian Embassy): Well, all my visas are ready. Pakistan is no visa, then Iran-ready, then Turkey-no visa, then Syria-ready, then Jordan-ready, then Israel-no visa. I plan to leave tomorrow night. In a quiet way, I’m exploding with excitement. I hope, I hope I traverse Iran without difficulty. Of course, it is a good feeling to finally be ready after all this time. Diary, I feel I waste so much time. The largest factor is that I often am forced to operate under incomplete information. Maybe I could have gotten my Iranian visa in a few days from Islamabad.

I go to Baroda house and obtain a ticket for Amritsar leaving tomorrow night. I talk to a Swedish girl who tells me that she got hers (visa i.e., her Iranian ) in two days by giving the Iranian embassy by a special letter from her embassy…(if I’d never gotten involved with [considering the deal with] Hans…if I would have proceeded south to Bombay to inquire about ships just after Judith went home….what would things look like now?…I’d probably already be in Africa…how will all this turn out??)….I went to Connaught Place and bought some sandals. On the way home, I saw some nice Indian-print sheets which I ordered to have sewn together into a “sleeping bag.” I got the whole deal for 86 rupees, which I think is a pretty good buy. I stopped round to the local market, had my rice, mutton and sugar cane juices and then went back to my place. I’m always intending on practicing my guitar but it seems one thing or another always occupies my attention. Tonight one of Bob’s (the owner) son’s told me about his problems—how he’s just lost a pretty girl because his parents didn’t want her around anymore. Things sound like a real bitch in India…in most countries…as far as women are concerned…in India it sounds like it is very hard (for an Indian man) to even get close to a woman. I’m sure glad I wasn’t brought up there.

P.S.: These Indian wives are gross with their fat bellies hanging out of their saris…there’s enough fat on them to cover the bones of all of India’s poor.

May 9, 1984
En route To Amritsar, India

I awoke early 5:30 a.m. and wrote letters.

Today, my chores were:

(1) to change dollars so I will have enough money to change on the black market in Africa…as it turned out, I successfully changed $320 in travelers checks into $320 in cash at a cost of ninety rupees ($8 or so). Of course, before the:

(2) sun went down, I met some people who told me I can change the same way in Egypt, which means that I didn’t have to change so much. The only concern here is that I don’t get ripped off.

(3) I got my “sleeping bag” sewn up properly and I picked up my pants and guitar bag from the tailor, the incompetent one whom I don’t know why I go to. After three days of being told to come back tomorrow, he still didn’t have it done right.

(4) I mailed the package with the Nagaland shawl in it.

(5) I finished sending off letters and I sent one to Dr. Mansinghka, one to Boysie, one to Amanda, and another to Gabrielle, for, at the last minute, I found yet another letter from her at Amex.

(6) I arranged to have my mail forwarded to Israel, but I don’t trust the people at Amex to do it.

I drank my last sugar cane juices at the fat, red-turbaned man’s stand. I met an old man, Alexander Jones, quite strange, who has six Bachelors Degrees and a Masters Degree and who is studying for a Ph.D. He told me how his cataracts are being cured by Tibetan medicine, and I wondered if Tibetan medicine might work to help Mrs. Taylor’s cancer…but the old man seemed blind as a bat still even though he claimed he’d regained his sight in his left eye…I went to his house before I got to the train station… a dirty, cluttered place… he forced some strange poetry on me, to have it published in the USA.

I raced to the train station, only to have the train arrive three and a half hours behind schedule. During the wait I met two Pakistanis who are going home to Peshawar. They seemed to be interested in involving me in drug trafficking, and though I remained totally non-committal, I am at heart not interested. When I boarded my car, the conductor jumped up, pushed me and told me I had no reservation. Startled and pissed off, I showered him with verbal abuse. I showed him my ticket. He admitted I was in the right car. His actions were totally unprovoked. I was so sleepy that I passed right out on my upper bunk.

Even with all the slight “unsmoothnesses” of the day, I maintained a fairly “bob” (cool) style and outlook.

May 10, 1984
Rawalpindi, Punjab, Pakistan

The train was rolling as I woke up. To pass the time, I finished sewing my new sleeping bag. I arrived in Amritsar around noon. Khalil was looking for me, so us three had something to eat in the train station. I caught an auto rickshaw to the Golden Temple. It was fantastic. I was required to wear a cloth (Sikh-style) on my head and wash my bare feet. The huge middle square, in the middle of which was a square “pond,” in the center of which was the conspicuous Golden Temple, constituted the site.

India, Punjab, Golden Temple Before Shootout,1984

I walked around the square to the left. Afraid to take photos I asked and was told it was O.K., then proceeded to shoot photos. There were colorful, turban-headed (blue and orange or yellow) “guards” with steel tipped javelin-like staffs who stood about. Many men carried swords. I went about and entered the Temple by the walkway across the water (three-quarters of the way around the square going left). Men inside sang and played hand organs and local instruments. I did all the bowing like the local men, watching the “fanners” (men waving fans on the musicians), looking at the Taj-Mahal-like inlay of semi-precious stones, and feeling skeptical about the gold of the temple’s construction.

COUNTRY NUMBER #41

Called on to eat some of the gruel they were handing out, I held on to it and dumped it once outside of eyeshot. Back at the station Khalil tried to convince me to carry their Sony Betamax across the border (but I declined). I was processed without problems. Lost sight of Alfedi and Khalil, so I walked down the road soaking up my entry into my forty–first country.

While looking for a hotel I chanced upon Khalil. The border police were holding their Betamax pending duty. We waited around until 8:30 p.m. when we boarded a “flying coach” to Pindi (Rawalpindi). We kept up a lively conversation much of the way. Khalil explained why it would have been better if Pakistan had not divided from India, for they each spent billions on defense against each other. Alfedi told us of his LSD trip, and I promised to mail him some more. (Later note: I have never tried it and never sent it.) The end of the bus ride was painful, for I wanted sleep so badly and could get none.

As we rolled into Pindi I was crying, as I was reading Muhammed Ali’s story and it filled me with an urge to resurrect all my greatest dreams. Once in Pindi, Alfedi caught a bus to Peshawar and Khalil and I shared a double room, and I fell into a deep sleep immediately.

Note: Those two were insisting on paying for me, possibly in the hopes of having me buy drugs. When it became apparent I wasn’t interested, I noticed a decrease of enthusiasm in Khalil’s manner.

May 11, 1984
Peshawar, NW Frontier Province, Pakistan

The fan was off and the sun making me double hot when I groggily awoke in Pindi. I showered. Khalil and I had breakfast in the room: eggs, toast and butter, tea. We caught a bus to Islamabad. He went to see a friend who wasn’t home. I at least caught a glimpse of the wide tree-lined streets of Islamabad on Holy Friday. We got a “flying coach” ticket to Peshawar and left at 1:45 p.m. The ride took us through the dry countryside. Many miles off I could see a hazy rim of mountains that perhaps signified the Khyber Pass frontier. On the way, Khalil told me more about his views on the corrupt government in Pakistan and some of the history, for e.g., of Swat. We rolled on, passing the border over the Indus river into North West Frontier Province, at which junction an old castle stands, of much the same design as in Rajasthan. As we rolled into Peshawar he completed a long sermon on the existence of God… diary, you know how religious talk bores me. The sky and air were the thickest haze of gray/brown, and atmosphere full of dust, amazing, opaque. We passed stretch of Afghani mud huts where thousands upon thousands of refugees stay. We passed scores of trunks labeled Afghan Refugee Fund (or something to that effect), which are used to bring water to the camps. Khalil pointed out that half of the men in the streets were Afghan refugees, wearing turbans and/or dress-like pants (like sarong-type)…. We said farewell at the bus stop.

I was then surrounded by Afghanis, one of whom asked me to go to Afghanistan with him… a Freedom Fighter. (The Russians are real bastards.) All the news is true. I walked through town. A very interesting atmosphere. I stopped into the police station to ask about permit to see the Khyber Pass. The sergeant asked me if I wanted to “fuck him,” pointing to his partner behind the desk. Startled, a quick and forceful “No!!!” was my reply. They got the message.

I found an austere room with a fan for ten rupees. I went out on an eating spree which I thoroughly enjoyed:

(1) Fresh chicken broth on the corner—two bowls (one rupee each).
(2) Sugar cane juice—one glass (two rupees, large)
(3) Fresh watermelons—one serving—rind removed (1.50 rupees)—sitting in hay, eating from basket
(4) Bought half kilogram tomatoes 1.5 rupees
(5) Three ground lamb meat and two chunky beef kebabs with tomatoes (four and a half rupees)
(6) Fresh egg (one rupee)
(7) Four beef kebabs fried with tomato/chili and “fresh egg” served with big delicious local “bread” (4.75 rupees)
(8) Sugar cane juice (1.5 rupees)
(9) Bought two bananas (one rupee)
(10) Had them mixed with fresh lassi and ice in a creamy shake (one rupee)

The landlord told me that Peshawar water is medicinal and gives one a good appetite! Slept.

May 12, 1984
Peshawar, Pakistan

Two minutes before midnight: Ah diary, nice to be with you before bed. This day has been, well, …I woke up late: 9:30 a.m., a real sleep in. I went down to the police offices and the Secretariat. Not only was I denied a Khyber Pass permit but also found I needed a permit for Kohat (on the direct route to Quetta) and I was denied that…which means that I have to backtrack all the way to Lahore. I’m so sick of being “forbidden by law” to go where I will…the trouble is that the law is backed by guns and jails…. I’ve got too much to live for. A bright note, now that I think of it, is that I may take a look at the historical sights of Lahore. I returned to my room. I slept.

I wrote and played the guitar and did pushups until about 8 p.m., when the door knocked. A German man introduced himself as Paul. He said he might be able to help me to go the Khyber Pass. He’s been living here for a year. He is wearing Paki clothes. He seems very nice, bright and sincere. He explains that going to the Pass is like a “sport” to him—he goes once every few days. We talked about things…guitar…art-smithing. He excuses himself for “five minutes to wash up” and that is the last I see of him all night. I go out to eat in the streets. Then I wash clothes, bathe and now I write, yearning for sleep.

Diary, I feel I have too much to do. The whole realm of music has me so concerned. Something is missing…a good instructor and some inspiration perhaps. I can’t seem to get really into it, for when I play, I mostly am aware of how poorly I play, and I consider that I may always stay this way… to be great I’ve got to have fire, and I must believe in myself. I experience too much doubt these days. I’ve got many things on my mind—travel and its many alternatives, keeping in proper health and developing my physique and physical prowess through exercise, learning how to play the guitar, deciding on exactly which role I’d like in a band…and the business of living, which seems so time consuming. In all of these activities I seem acutely aware of how little time I have and how little I accomplish in one day. I don’t deny I’ve got to keep trying to “pull it all together”, but it seems an overwhelming task. Maybe that’s what I wanted since high school—to succeed against all odds—a real challenge.

May 13, 1984
Lahore, The Punjab, Pakistan

It’s funny how fast the days goes! I wake up at 7:00 a.m. pack and it is 8 a.m. by the time I leave. I walk up to the Flying Coach. This is a bus service that must have popped up overnight with an investment of millions of dollars. I decided to try hitchhiking but soon changed my mind and caught a local bus to “Pindi” for half the price (twenty rupees). On the way I sat next to a battered, time–worn lady who was obviously sitting on a load of hashish or heroin. Her arms, legs and face were all very thin, but her butt was about four feet wide. In fact, you could see, through all her shawls, a sort of chair that was made inside her clothing. I noticed this because they were complaining that my guitar was taking up room. Then I complained about her until they were all content to leave me alone. On the ride I sometimes felt her “butt” which was, as I suspected, a padding material, quite thick. An English speaking Afghan man confirmed my suspicions about trafficking as we deboarded in “Pindi.” Four sugar cane juices, lunch of “Kema.” Flying Coach to Lahore sitting in Seat No. 1, with a good view. The Pakistan countryside in these parts and generally is quite dry, rocky, mountainous with sagebrush or desert type–shrubs. We pulled into Lahore in the dusk. My eyes were drawn to a gigantic mosque. I got off and took some photos of it with the moon rising, just before dark. What a stupendous piece of architecture. I vow to return to it tomorrow. I catch a coach to the railway station. The trains leave tomorrow. I find a tourist hotel with vacancy after quite a search. I have a dinner of “Kema” and sugar cane juices. For dessert, I have a delicious sweet in thick creamy sauce with nuts (two rupees, one piece). Back in my hotel I fall asleep early (10:15 p.m.). It’s funny, but riding on buses is exhausting. I feel as if I shouldn’t be tired, but I am. Every few days I have a little diarrhea and I pop one mexaform (a banned medicine in Nepal) and it goes away. I’m trying to maintain my rest.

May 14, 1984
Enroute From Lahore To Quetta Via Rohri, Pakistan

I awoke at 5:56 a.m. donned my running shoes and trotted, with my camera gear, over to the giant mosque which amazed me so much at dusk yesterday. Twenty–three minutes later, I borrowed a sarong and a Muslim cap and I entered the mosque. Turns our it is second to none in size in the world (intact, that is; there’s one bigger [in Simarra??], but it’s in ruins). The largest courtyard and towers in the world. It is very impressive. It was the last of the great monuments built by the Moghul emperor. The Sikhs used it as a stable in the 1700 and 1800’s. It was constructed in the 1630’s I think. I shot a few photos and ran back in seventeen minutes (shorter route). I showered.

The hotel manager was staring at me, made me feel uneasy. I went to the train station at eight. I had some sugar cane juice (1.5 rupees, tall glass), some beef kema with beans (a ground beef in sauce almost like you’d make spaghetti sauce, three rupees + .50 rupees, for bread). I mistakenly entered the first class compartment and got totally situated. When the train was full and rolling down the track, I found out I’d have to pay an extra eighty rupees to stay there. I’m proud of myself for coughing it up without argument. (This is out of character for me.) Otherwise I would have had to stand up in the second class compartment. So we rolled along.

The people in the car seemed friendly, but I was occasionally hassled about my short pants. Because I believe that a man should be able to do as he likes in regard to dress and personal habits, I refused to wear long pants. In Iran I will wear them, for my safety, so I want to enjoy the comfort of short pants now. I read Future Shock on the way. I was rather disappointed with the first one hundred pages. The author seems rather bent on seeing the world in a gloomy way, and I naturally resisted his hypotheses. Maybe the work is a bit dated now and I can see it with the experience of the last ten years. Many valid points are made, yet I feel he is stating the obvious. We rode past Multan in the early evening, then to the Indus (I suppose). During the day I talked and learned more of the life in Pakistan. At 10:00 p.m., I crawled inside my bag, removed my clothes—this is a nice aspect of the new “sleeping bag”.

May 15, 1984
Quetta, Baluchistan, Pakistan

4:24 p.m.: I’m not really tired, but I feel a need to relax after sitting on a train for twenty–eight hours. The ride was all right. I will be the first to admit I’m out in the middle of nowhere and I’ve got a hell-of-a-long stretch to do before reaching Israel… my God, it’s a long way. I can’t say I’m unhappy, ‘cause I’m not, yet I think need a woman to be totally happy. (Should I try aero-hitching here??) Since St. Martin’s Island I’ve traveled maybe 1500 miles West and maybe twice that by the road. I figure that my next four hundred or five hundred miles West will mark my half way point around the world!! A day to rejoice if, as I will be in Iran, I am safe. This morning we rose up about two thousand meters (a bit less, maybe) to reach Quetta. The terrain is as one would expect… bleak, dry, barren, mountainous. At first, there were countless thirty degree rifts, shelves rising from the ground. On top was a layer of hard rock and beneath that, it was soft, then sometimes four and five such layers stacked on top of each other; and everywhere as far as you could see, were identically sloped rifts. Later on, these were forty five degree shelfs, almost swirl-like, much greater in size, but with the same uniform angle, profusely jutting out from the floor of the plateau.

11:45 p.m.: I’ve been sleeping for hours and I just woke up an took a cold shower. Brrr! Quetta is about six thousand feet up, and though it’s still warm, the water is sort of cold. Now I’m buzzing. I fell asleep at about 9 p.m., after devouring some big bowls of cornflakes, milk and bananas. After my last entry, I played the guitar for twenty minutes or so, and I then went to the bus station. On the way a hooded small truck (‘taxi’) gave me a free lift—nice of the guy to offer. The buses leave at “all” hours during the day seven to twelve, three and six, it’s eighty five rupees and it’s a sixteen hour ride to Tuftan, six miles away from Murjeveh, Iran (!). Somehow, knowing I’m only a day away psyches me up!!! The mountains here have an allure…. I’m tempted to climb one, but I won’t. I walked around, in my short pants since Peshawar—everyone gives me looks, but I want to enjoy my trunks because once in Iran I’ll be wearing long pants. I had some delicious beef kebab—about six pieces to a skewer for one rupee (seventy–five cents US). The Afghani refugee have their tents all over. There was a dancer with a crowd in the bus area. Camels. All very authentic.

May 16
Quetta, Pakistan

About noon: Diary, I practiced the first hour of the morning…I can’t stand it!! It just drives home to me how hopelessly bad I am. I want the guitar to make me feel good, but it doesn’t. I feel like I’m getting old. I feel energy–less, not inspired, left behind. Yuk! I’m getting rest and food, but I feel blasé. I want to keep trying though. I’ll never give up. What is especially bugging me today is the clothes I had tailored all shrunk, so much so that they look ridiculous. I’m in one of those moods where I feel like I can’t do anything right. (Stop the world!!) So I pulled out of the uptown plastic restaurant (in this town that reeks of advertising ideals—one of those places that begins to get a taste of Western society but it seems out of place—it’s raunchy), and I find a local place where the rickshaw drivers eat. Here I have a delicious chicken (boiled with tomato sauce) lunch with squash in tomato sauce and bread, on a marble table, for half the price. I’m served immediately and I am reminded of Gam (my grandmother) talking of the good old days and I believe in them. This humble restaurant turns out home–cooked food. The other restaurant had an intercom and it took them fifteen minutes to serve me, and I had to reject what they brought.

6:00 p.m. I went down to the Afghan Consulate and spent well over an hour talking with the secretary who educated me on the situation there. Six years ago, the revolution overthrew the King. According to him, the USA supplied arms to the “non-revolutionists” and three years later, the Russians were invited in to “help out.” He showed me a Russian-printed book with photos of Russian soldiers laughing with Afghan children and a uniformed rock band of the most ludicrously Nazi–looking Russian performers. (How weird to see the antithesis of rock stars on stage with electric guitars) as “proof” of the friendship between Russians and Afghanistan. He wrote off the three million (or sixteen million) refugees, formerly landowners, as unwilling and unable to comply with the Agrarian reform (distribution of their land) imposed by the new government. Now that I know the truth, I am shocked to realize Russia has won another country.

11:55 p.m. Well, the latter half of the day has lifted my spirits. A Scot and I had tea and he told me of how his money was stolen. We talked pleasantly of politics. I went to the Tourist Hotel on his advice. There I saw a magician and then changed $20 for 9,700 Iranian rupees. I spoke with several nice travelers who came from IRAN. And I am psyched up to see Persepolis!!

Chapter 16
A Journey Of An American Across The Ayatollah Khomeini’s Iran

May 17, 1984
Enroute To Tuftan (Nokunde), In Bus, Pakistan

Travelers Cheques: 380
US dollars: 405
Pakistani rupees: 248
Iranian rials: 9700

Awoke 6:00 a.m. Bought ticket 6:20 a.m. Waited until 10:00 a.m. for bus to leave, during which time I shot photos—old Afghans, slaughtered goats, Pakis play-wrestling, crowd of people around a man with snakes and medicine. I went for a shave—it was fantastic. He lathered me for ten minutes and put in a new blade. Although the growth was two weeks old, I didn’t feel the slightest pull. Tipped one rupee. (He never massaged my eyebrows!!) Saw a small mountain of shelled almonds. Was given a handful free. Had a good seat on the bus. How can I describe the amazing mountains which I observed all day?? They are unique to my knowledge. The strata runs in swirls up around in circles on the mountain tops. It was as if the Creator made the swirls of strata in a block and then randomly carved mountains from it.

The lunch stop: I had some of the most amazingly delicious goat meat—tasted just like Gam’s lamb—a thick dark gravy. Saw camels grazing in the desert on grasses and shrubs. We drove among craggy rocks up and down into the next valley, time after time, descending onto wide plains. Off to my left I see an honest-to-goodness mirage, a lake, but it doesn’t fool me. Then another with sagebrush jutting up from the “water.” We pass oases with small ponds and acres of pink desert flowers in bloom. The wizened old driver takes the bus off the road into the “salt” flats and we speed along. In succeeding valleys the mountains on the right level off, then we come to areas of real sand dunes. The distant mountains abruptly rise appearing like Tolkien peaks.

At dusk, the bus unloads at a barren group of houses with a temple. They bow and kneel to Allah. I soak up the perfect dry air and the utter silence broken by invisible birds calling, the atmosphere of timelessness and space, and in my mind flows:

My arms outstretched my fingers rise through the desert floor, forming mountains that look like the tombs of colossal dinosaurs!

I drink the local tea for the first time and enjoyed it. Through the night the old man with a turban driver on. If a driver can be a genius at it, he’s it!! Nineteen and a half hours straight, we arrive at Tuftan at 5:00 a.m. I can only sum up, this day is a ten.

May 18, 1984
Tuftan, Baluchistan, (Bordering Iran) Pakistan

The sun set over Iran in a pink band in a gray sky. I can barely see the page as I lay on my air mattress atop a steel bed frame in the sand courtyard of my hotel here in Tuftan. All is well. There is a breeze jostling the warm air. There is peace. PERSIA tomorrow!!!

Diary, I know that lately I’ve been complaining, felt uninspired, but all that is going to change now. I’ve got my wits again, I can trip out on life every day, each moment. I can create, I can be inspired. I can make each page of you (diary) be inspiring. I can soak in the awesomeness of life. I can break the chains of mediocrity and boredom. I can “cut out the bullshit” and make every action count, make my possessions streamlined to my needs. I can pull it all together. I can be calm and cheerful under duress (as I’m proving under present conditions). I can create quickly and flowingly. I can dream and surprise myself with new achievement.

Last night, in the bumpy darkness of the bus, I was thinking that if I get back home (or anywhere where the foxes are) I’m gonna find myself a prettiest bombshell I can: big boobs, puckering lips, blond hair, so loving, tight cunt, fine ass and sold on me. I can do it! I believe it!! I was also thinking to call myself William Cook (of the Soul Rebels) if I ever make it on stage—because I well “Cook!” and I felt rebellious against all my wishy–washiness and drug taking in India. All the written words. I have half a mind to chuck all my books and I thought I should start all over in “assessing the future” now that I have a sober mind.

Note: I am making a change in my diet. I’m allowing myself one drug: tea with sugar—it turns my creativity on.

May 19, 1984
Under Stars In Desert Outside Of Bam, Iran

Travelers Cheques: 380
US Dollars: 365
Iranian Rials: 19700
Pakistani Rupees: 12

Retrospect: A change of Heart and Mind. My motto, my theme, my unshakable (as long as they continue to be) belief : THINGS ARE SO GOOD! I modified my pack; at 9:50 I checked out of Pakistan. The register showed (of about one thousand people) in the last six months, one other American has been through IRAN!!! Nothing but friendliness so far. I showed the border guards a letter from Dad calling Reagan crazy. Then: without trying, I got set up in a land rover, rolling down the road listening to Thin Lizzy. This Spanish guy (later found out, Ramon) gave me a lift to Zahedan. He also wanted to go to Persepolis, so I was along for the ride and we made it as far as Bam. Where after we pulled into a parking slot on the roadside. He slept in his land rover and I took my air mattress and bag and a blanket and I fell asleep under the stars.

LAND SAILING IN PERSIA 1: The hills have ears. I pour myself into the desert. My freckles become the polka–dotted hills in the distance, a hazy silhouette. There are camels that sit, a family that walks. The sitting ones must look at their domain through eyes of wisdom. The Western music on the stereo brings back to Persia something that the desert hills inspired eons ago. And the hills yearn to hear it. Land-sailing requires constant speed and the clouds above, even if they are mere angels of white, not threatening, they melt into the haze which settles on the mountains. If I only believe it, there is a family of black hills in the foreground. Poised, they stare at me from every angle. A whirling cloud of sand plays on the plains, a spirit here, then gone, skirting the sage that dots the plains, madly in harmony. I am not the only living thing sailing on the plains, on the plateau. The living rock observes our presence in as many moods as they have standpoints. To unlock the mind here is the key, unfettered creativity. Man is a creature of bondage, that has bonded animal and science and even himself. But the camel in the desert unlike her cousin pulling the cart in the city, sits with noble pride and envisions her own perceptions.

May 20, 1984
Under Stars In Desert Outside Of Neyriz, Iran

Retrospect: Slept O.K., a bit cold. Returned to Land Rover. The Spanish guy cooked up some Darjeeling tea before we got on the road. We slip on a tape first thing: Bob Dylan, Springsteen, The Stranglers, Cabaret Voltaire (Vandalis), Tom Watts, Joni Mitchell, Miles Davis and his list goes on. I got a comfy bucket seat and, happy as a clam, I scribble out some more lines of my new creation: Land Sailing in Persia; so far in it, I been talking about mountains being alive, etc. We stop for kebab on the way. Both being nuts, our conversation creates much jocularity (laughter), or we discuss the in(s)anity of covering up women with the black capes, so common here. There are photos of the Ayatollah everywhere. I read, write, sew and listen to tapes, also serving as map-reader/navigator. At 9 p.m., we pull off onto the roadside and once again I find me a patch of ground; only tonight, I bundle up and sleep like a baby.

LAND SAILING IN PERSIA 2: The morning mountains greet me Hello. I am filled up with Persian pear juice. The first fresh wind streams into the window as we begin. Things are so GOOD!. Woke up on the Earth at 4 a.m. The pre-morning desert wind making my ass cold. I slept till seven in the first warmth. The spectacles these mountains have witnessed, the ghosts of ancient caravans tread slowly beneath their moon—like a new babe, beginning to see light and shade, what will I envision when I see form, then detail. The mountains have time to wait. They puckered up from the surface, stood under a great ocean whose shifting tides ground mountains to rubble and sand, then departed, and withered in pools under the hot sun; and the mountains stood by gently, observed the desert that was left. And the camels walked out on the vast domain and winked at them from the desert plain.

May 21, 1984
Abedan, Iran

Again in the morning, Darjeeling tea, music. We made it to Shiraz in the morning. I bought a roll of AGFA/Chrome color slides (20) for 400 Rials (at black market, that’s eighty cents) and B&W AGFA 36 for 200 Rials. I’ll stock up on film before leaving. We visited mosque, lunched, then drove sixty kilometers to Persepolis where we moseyed around a few hours. It was not what we expected (it to be bigger), but it was still quite interesting. The relief’s in stones were plentiful and of top quality. The amazing symbology, especially the man in a circular cockpit on giant wings rising to the sky, found on two tombs and one other place, was most interesting.

Iran, Perspolis, Figure On Wings, 1984

We made it as far as Abedan, where I got a hotel room (970 Rials). I let Ramon use the shower, then he went out and slept in his car and I took my first hot bath in a year and slept like a baby.

LAND SAILING IN PERSIA 3: I went to sleep under the desert sky wishing science had not made the universe so rational, fantasizing being a nomad’s son who believes the constellations were spirits, eyeing me during the night, where, if austere, the world was never lonely, the mountains also being alive. Happy to wake up in such a well–decorated setting, the birds chirping and seeming curious as to the bundle of printed Indian cloth on the ground.

We left the motor sailer in Shiraz and went by foot-sailing around the mosque. Uniformed in black capes, the specters skirted the grounds and it was agreed, considering their revealed visages, that after all it was best to keep them covered that way (though they looked like they’d be strong in a fight). We also used foot-sailers around Takhet-e-jamship, otherwise known as Persepolis, once capital of Persia.

May 22, 1984
Esfahan, Iran

Iran, Esfahan Mosque,1984

Waking 5:30 a.m.
Sleeping: 10:00 p.m.

Retrospect: Morning tea. More music: Cabaret Voltaire. It’s such a great joy to listen to music. I really lucked out getting this ride. It’s great to be away from the crowds, to have a comfy seat, good music and be able to go where you will in a car.

Diesel Costs 2.5 Rial, per liter. ($0.025) at black market rate, that means two hundred liters for one dollar!! We made it to Esfahan. While sightseeing, we met a young man (wanting to buy my camera), who invited us to his house. His family was very nice. We laid on Persian carpets, which were laid wall to wall (13’ x 10’ each), and drank a delicious concoction made with cucumbers and sugar.

In the evening we all (along with Bernard an Aussie, talking about “shagging birds” in Kenya) walked about. Sahid tried to get me to help him pick up a black-caped woman, but I wouldn’t, as only minutes before, I was roughly ordered to button the button on my shirt by the Islamic Guard. Their policy regarding sex is incredibly strict. Again, I got a room (1200 Rials) and I let Ramon take a shower, and he went and slept on the street in his rover. I hit the sack at 10:00 p.m.

LAND SAILING IN PERSIA 4: The pilot is the only one who distinguishes between what is real is unreal. Let us get this straight. The real and unreal both exist. “Unreal, man!” The pilot is real, he looks upon the realm of thought as unreal. Much of what he sees is unreal. The pilot notices a thought flash by that suspects there are other pilots, a good half of them female, radiation is visible which would indicate this. However, the source can’t be seen in any fashion as it is completely invisible. Another thought streaks by, a wry one, which says that the notion of male and female pilots leaves a glib look, a burn look, a condescending look of pity for that misinformed thought, on the pilot’s face (if a pilot could have a visible face), expressive of a reaction one has when in view of a complete absurdity.

May 23, 1984
Esfahan, Iran

Awake: 5:30 a.m.

Iran, Esfahan Mosque Tiles, 1984

Morning 6:00 a.m.: Before breakfast, did pushups, played guitar almost an hour and wrote. Breakfast: cheese, local bread, butter, tea (165 Rials). Bernard, Ramon and I met Saheed at the office, got extension till June 9. Went to Swaying Minarets, which I should rename Fixed Miniaturets. Anyway, they were off limits. Had good lunch: yogurt, salad, soup, boiled chicken and rice and coke—about 600 Rials. Ramon got his car checked out. Saheed, he and I later walked to the big mosque. This is the most fantastic of places. I think it is one of the world’s most beautiful buildings. Only complaint is all the shit they desecrate its grandeur with: like ugly permanent scaffolding in the central spot on which they put sun curtains on hot days (there’s no excuse for the lack of imagination in design). Walked about the city. Sat on street corners watching girls go by. Had snacks: sandwich and coke for 150 Rials, ice-cream for 30 Rials. Walked to a park in the evening. On return bought post cards (15 Rials each) and photos of the Ayatollah for 50 Rials. Also window–shopped around. Bought Agfachrome CT18 with processing 20 exposure: 250 Rials each, (fifty cents) up-to-date. It was good company and a good day. Also went to Palace of Forty Columns which was lovely. So much of interest. Saw weird sport on TV, shawled news-casters, street paintings.

Iran, Esfahan, Woman In Mosque,1984

May 24, 1984
Tehran, Iran

Iran, Qom, Golden Mosque, 1984

We went to Royal Mosque, took photos. Hit the road. The most exciting part of the day was from the time we arrived in Qom until we left it. As we entered the city, a police escort guided us past the beautiful mosque. At an intersection, a white Mercedes slowed, a black bull was dragged in front of it and the bull’s throat was chopped in half, a pool of blood bathing the asphalt. We drove passed a gathering crowd and parked. They were paying tribute to a boy who’d lost both legs in the war (with Iraq). My knees trembled as the people stared at me, standing up in a truck bed shooting photos. We revisited the beautiful mosque.

Coming out of the mosque, we heard the noise of fanatics in the street. Three or four thousand people marched passed: military, clergy (Mulai) and black-caped women.

Iran, Women Demonstrating In Qom, 1984

They raised their fists and shouted responses to fanatical cheerleaders on the tops of trucks amidst the procession. Ramon heard them saying “(Marg Bar) America” and I was informed in broken English by an Iranian something about shooting an American plane or ??? We couldn’t decipher. The crowd was fanatical and I think if I’d said loudly American and pointed to myself that I’d probably be dead now. We drove the remaining one hundred and thirty kilometers to Tehran. I got a room at the Youth Hostel next to the toilet. Yuk!.

LAND SAILING IN PERSIA 5: The pilot probably desires me to be as conscious as I can be. I’m riding into a never-ending picture, pastel colored, the waves of tingling which stream through my fiber, my chest, my thighs, my back, in the muscle and sinew is the answer to my being good. Opening up to the flow of the Universe. Cruising into Qom, the place of fanatics. What we don’t know is that there is soon to be a demonstration. A police motor sailer escorts poised the picturesque mosque to an intersection where a black cow is dragged in front of an expensive white motor sailer of German manufacture, whereupon the neck is half cut off while blood spurts ten feet away and a massive red river lows in honor of the passenger.

May 25, 1984
Tehran, Iran

Today is a Friday, and thus, in Islam, not much is happening as far as stores being open. We walked about. Went into a carpet shop where a group of English tourists were (the only other tourists we are to see besides one other Russian in a government shop). We are to later find out that it is illegal to take carpets out of the country. The only way is to wire the money into the country in care of a shop owner. The money is exchanged at a rate of eighty rials (seventy-nine) per dollar, and this renders the price of the carpet exorbitant. Then the dealer can ship it to you. The government sells us rials at seventy–nine to the dollar, but if the locals want to buy dollars, they pay two hundred and ten!! We walked to the mosque at the college, but it was closed. We ate some pastries. In the evening, Ramon called his friends. We went to their house, and there we met Ali, Muhammed and their two sisters, one of whom I took an attraction for—her name, if I recall, is Nastan. For me, she has a peculiar beauty, most prevalent in her eyes and the way she smiles. At first we had nice eye contact, but later it seemed, from shyness, she looked at the floor. Diary, you and I both realize that I haven’t even seen a girl in so long that I’m an easy target for Cupid…but maybe I’d even feel warm to her in any setting…anyway, it seems just about impossible to do anything but look. They asked us to spend the night, but we declined; all my things are in the hotel room.

May 26, 1984
Tehran, Iran

We went to the tourist office today first thing.

Not surprisingly:

(1) The crown jewels have not been shown publicly since the revolution.
(2) Golestan Palace is closed.

We went to a travel agent, and happily collected fare prices from Tehran to New York. We went by the Russian Embassy but it was closed till Monday. During the afternoon, Ramon washed clothes and read on the balcony and I sewed and finished my new passport holder—Fort Knox—lined with wire screen and a guitar string in the neck strap. Ramon called our friends. When we got there, they had some buddies along who had a ‘big ole’ BUICK. They drove us up to the ritzy section of Tehran, up in the hills near the Hilton. Then we went back to the main part of Tehran, and were brought to Muhammed’s brother–in–law’s (sister’s) house where we were served a royal feast.

After dinner, we sat on the carpet (also on a carpet for dinner) and a huge tray of fruits was brought on, but everyone was so stuffed that we didn’t finish one-quarter of them. On the way back we were stopped by boys wearing military outfits. We were all amazed. They must have been fifteen years old. They wanted to know where we were going. (Muhammad: “Home! Silly boy.”) We stayed at Muhammed’s house. Ramon in car. I slept in the living room.

Iran, Ayatollah Poster, 1984

May 27, 1984
Tehran, Iran

Had breakfast with the girls there. Nastan has nice eyes.

Retrospect: Today was quite interesting. First we went to the museum of contemporary art. Almost with out exception, the art was war oriented with many “fine” anti-US works. There were some photos of the war with Iraq—explicit, bloody.

Iran, Poster of Martyr, 1984

Next we visited the adjacent carpet museum. The carpets were magnificent. From the early twentieth century, nineteenth, eighteenth, seventeenth!! The highlight was a carpet from Tabriz from the last quarter of the fifteenth century!!. The carpets ranged from about fifty–five/sixty knots per square centimeter to one hundred and fifty knots per square centimeter.

Iran, Occupied American Embassy 2, 1984

Later, we walked by the old American Embassy. I took three photos. An Islamic guard (whose headquarters is now the former embassy) ran out with a gun in his hand, wanted my film or my camera. But we were able to talk him out of it by saying I only took one photo of the words written on the wall (with the interpreting assistance of an Iranian man, and a small crowd). Lots of cakes, ice creams, pastries today while walking around. Bought twenty rolls 36 Agfachrome 100ASA for 480 rials each. Before I went to sleep I practiced the guitar for two hours, going over and over riffs as I pleased.

Iran, Occupied American Embassy, 1984

May 28, 1984
Tehran, Iran

This morning, we went to the Russian Embassy. The man (consul) was very friendly, articulate, even warm. It was enough to up our opinions one notch for the Russians. The word is that visas are obtainable in Istanbul but not here. It is possible to drive through Russia. We went out to the Shahyad monument. I went to the post office and mailed twenty four postcards (30 Rials each). During the afternoon, I finished sewing my new passport holder. In the evening, we went to Muhammed’s house for dinner. Nastan, his sister, pleased me with her eyes again and I fantasized about her, etc. The mother was returned from the mountains and she made a simple but nice dinner on short notice. We had a nice time, lots of laughs. We saw the Ayatollah on TV. After dinner we got into a political discussion which lasted until 12 a.m. I stated that I thought there would be one world government in an expected seventy years. Ramon and I both stated our disapproval of nationalism. Slept at Muhammed’s house.

Iran, Four Guys On A Motorbike, 1984

May 29, 1984
On Beach Outside of Chalous, On Caspian Sea, Iran

Woken early by Muhammed’s brother. Went to breakfast with family. Had my last look at Nastan, his sister, who I’d like to ball with fury. Thinking of writing and asking her to be my pen pal. Before we left, we retrieved my five dollars for customs from Darius Tobin’s shop. He showed us a camera with a 13×18 centimeters negative (10000 Rials for 11’x14’ with retouch).

Driving out of Tehran, into the mountains—up, up. Amir Kabir dam is quite nice. Caught a glimpse… could it be Mt. Damarand at 5601 meters (the highest in West Asia)? Going through tunnels…climbing. The air is chill. We reached the pass and descend. The rocky mountains have been cut by the bold hand of God. Clouds roll in from the Caspian. There is more green. Down, down, listening to David Byrne, Adrian Belew, Eno & Fripp.

Climbing higher and getting colder and Adrian Belew is getting hotter. Warmed by teas over the pass, soon to see the Caspian Sea. Mt. Damarand is behind us 5601 meters, 18000 ft. The Caspian green is on the mountains. Dragons stripped of their scales hang, waiting for the fire. Workmanship in wood creates an art deco fence beneath the canopy of swaying green. The thick smell of rich earth pervades my space. Walls of stone, rolling roads, bubbling streams, homes nestled in the green. Ego & Fripp complete the trip which ends out on the flat here in Chalous. The Pink Wind Cafe Orchestra drops us off. We do some shopping in Chalous. Then we drive to a spot on the beach. In the sand, I played the guitar for two hours and drop off to sleep at 11 p.m. …When I first saw the sea, I let out a whoop. When my toes first touched the water I yelled. Then I sent a message to my friends.

May 30, 1984
On Beach Outside Of Bandaré (Enzeli) On Caspian Sea, Iran

Greetings diary. I have a beach house to myself tonight, and I am laying down writing by lantern-light. I have just been drawing out all my travels in my atlas, and thinking about it evokes images in my mind of the places I have been and the moods and thoughts that occupied my psyche at the time. I awoke on and off while fishermen came to the concrete structure on which I slept starting at 4:00 or 5:00 a.m. Ramon and I had tea and then we got to work and cleaned out the land rover and washed it thoroughly. We went swimming and then bathed in a fresh stream that flows into the Caspian Sea. This is a banner time for me. This area is intriguing for me. It is twenty eight meters below sea level. We started off at 1 p.m., had lunch and continued.

Planting rice in the fields were strings of women and girls in aprons of differing design and color. The mountains are carpeted with trees. The towns along the road have photos and drawings of their war heroes. A lot of boys must have died there (in Iraq). Four men on a motorcycle (is not unusual here). Interesting propaganda art, some very well done. Cows on the Caspian Beach. The Caspian itself is like a sea, fairly cold. Nice swimming.

May 31, 1984
Tabriz, Iran

A few days ago (on the 27th), I thought: I am getting almost nowhere on the guitar. I can never seem to find a suitable time to practice. Having a 10 p.m., bedtime is fine, but with it, I never seem to get it on with the guitar. I thought: I love music so much, I am willing to sacrifice for it, if it means improper rest then I am willing to go for it. So I made this determination: every other day, I will practice, before I go to bed for a period which will complete two hours practice for the day. If I’ve not practiced at all in a day, then it means two whole hours.

We drove around the coast to Astara, the border with Russia. (Served bread in the morning by the friends who let me sleep in their beach hut.) From Astara (checked by a policeman in the street for my passport), we headed west to Tabriz. We could look into Russia for a time, and it filled me with intrigue. Afterwards, a series of watchtowers lined the border on the Russian side, but from a distance, they seemed uninhabited. We climbed on a gravel road, up, up to expansive green rolling mountains. Toward Russia were more jagged mountains covered with trees. Iran was pasture.… Over the pass and we are on a plateau. We drive through a rain storm (light) and reach Tabriz at 9:00 p.m. (We filled the diesel tanks.) I took a hotel. All day we listened to David Byrne, Adrian Belew, Cabaret Voltaire, Dylan. I really got the feeling of the changing format, the strange noises and free form of D. Byrne. When I got in my hotel room, I practiced for two hours. It seemed towards the end as if I was making progress. My approach was to play free form, like inventing a song on the spot. I tried to remain loose and creative. This approach enabled me to have more fun and also to create which makes me feel like I’m getting someplace (in a desired direction, rather than forcing myself into boredom).

Chapter 17
Cappadocia

June 1, 1984
Dogubayazit, Turkey

8:00 a.m. Again I make the determination that today is going to be the beginning of the best month in my life, if I can help it. Right now I can say: THINGS ARE SO GOOD!

I must mention what a great guy Ramon is. We get along about perfectly. He is considerate, humorous, intelligent and patient. He’s been telling me about his two trips through Africa in the land rover with his girlfriend. He’s a staunch adventurer. He owns a bar and a disco in Terassa, Spain and he seems to have a sound business strategy, which makes it no surprise that he is successful. He has a partner in each, though he started them on his own…this enables him to travel six months of the year.

Drive from Tabriz (Iran, after visit to Blue Mosque) to border. Today Ramadan month begins in Islam. The border took four hours to pass, two and a half in Iran and one and a half in Turkey. Still in all, I MADE IT THROUGH IRAN!!!!! (and let out a whoop which the Iranian border guard cheerfully imitated). We drove into Dogubayazit and I had a Winston in celebration (and bought Red Label, a liter for eight dollars). Got a room. We had a fabulous dinner. Two beers, stuffed green peppers, lamb in gravy, delicious bread: 600 lirasi (360 lirasi = $1). I was amazed it was so good. Tooted on the guitar before sleep.

June 2, 1984
Van, Turkey

A premier day, wonder-full! Breakfast: bread, butter, cheese, olives, jam, tea. Ishak Pasa, the mosque/palace on the hill above Dogubayazit offered spectacular views of the valley and itself was fairly wonderful, with a striped minaret, one which we were finally able to climb.

Turkey, Dougubayazit, 1984

Below in the valley (shot a clandestine photo of American tanks), Mt. Agri (i.e. Mt. Ararat), fabled spot where Noah’s Ark is said to have come down after the rain, offered nice photos and inspiration—someday I’d like to climb it. I think best of all was when we took the short cut to Chaldiran using the four Wheel Drive. The people were, to us, incredible, something that neither of us had ever seen the likes of. The women wore a fantastic array of colors. I think one of the best photos I’ve ever taken was of them running towards the car (three) with Mt. Agri behind, afar off. Their faces were strange, beautiful, ugly, almost unsettling. Twenty military checks on the way. Classic lava flow from Mt. , spread miles through the high valley. Drove along Lake Van, reaching Van. Kebab lunch with beer. I got a very nice room for 900 lirasi. As we drove, I wrote Day One of Rocket Rolling through Turkey. The road as marked on the map: “Impassable.”

Turkey, Camel Along Road, 1984

June 3, 1984
Diyabakir, Turkey

7:00 a.m. Woke
12:30 a.m. (June 4, 1984) Slept

Good morning. Mentions: I have defined a problem and a solution.

P: That I get distracted by Trivia.

S: By defining things as Trivia I can muster enough contempt to ignore them…. I notice my face getting fatter, which is good. I’m creaming my face to maintain youthful skin. One of my goals is to return home looking so bright-eyed and good that people will be amazed. (Later note: ironically, when I got home, the family thought I’d suffered brain damage!)

We went out to the immense but crumbling fortification near Lake Van, a few kilometers from town, begun in 895 B.C. U.S Military men were sightseeing. (T-shirted black man with Erzurum written on it, looking at a cow: “Cow, You Ugly! I ain’t gonna fuck wit ya tho!”) They and the fort were equally interesting as curiosities. Talking Southern slang, shaved heads, ignorant and arrogant. I can see why people (get the wrong impression and) hate Americans (on sight). We drove to Diyarbakir on an ailing road. The sun appeared as a visible ball through an atmosphere of dust. Had a delicious meal. Found cheap hotel. In response to Judith asking to write a book about our feelings, I jotted it out in lyrics and stayed up late writing music to it, but now, next morning, I feel refreshed.
June 4, 1984
Kahta, Near Nemrut Dage (Adiyaman), Turkey

6:30 a.m. Woke
10:45 p.m. Slept

Morning: Can I not account for these feelings: 1) confidence about my attractiveness and ability to please women 2) excitement about the future generally and about a possible resurgence of musical gusto.

Evening: Drove on a clear day to Khata, the turnoff to Nemrut Dagi (Mt. Nemrud); on the way, storks in nests, beekeepers keeping perhaps fifty spots. Seventy–one kilometers further to the archeological site. It was wondrous. The ancients (about two thousand years old) built fifty–meter–high cap on top of the mountain. In the East and on the West were statue arrays, the heads, about five feet high each, lay now on the ground. There were reliefs—quite nice. I climbed on top of where, perhaps, the stone head of Zeus once gazed to the East. Ramon shot two photos. Apollo, Zeus, Kings and their ladies were the heads of the stones, now cast to the earth. Made of marble, Zeus’ head is reputedly the largest sculpted head of Zeus in the world.

Turkey, Mt. Nemrud, 1984

Before leaving we had some French Cognac and a Winston. Back in Kahta, dinner. 1: string bean-tomato-eggplant-aubergine-lamb dish (A-l!) 2: Chicken shish kebab, very nice. 3: good bread 4: Pepsi. 5: Dessert: ice cream, sweet pastry and tea. I’m gonna get fat!!

June 5, 1984
Paris Camping Ground, Cappadocia, Turkey

Morning: Note. Again, diary, as of May 18th, I am making a second start on “Exploratory Writing”, only this time I’m calling it “Future Strategy Continuum.” It is my second effort under conditions of soberness (well, reasonably) because I felt that my previous writings were less than optimal. This morning the obvious has occurred to me: the prime Medium-Range goal I’ve set before me is to, “at least”, co-write and co-perform a No. 1 gold record single; let us say, specifically: Billboard No. 1.

Drove a long way, from Kahta to Paris Camping Ground, in Cappadocia near Urgub, about five hundred kilometers. As usual, listening to music. (Some diversity today: Motorhead, Iron Maiden, Hendrix, Bill Evans, Lou Reed.) Kayseri. Mt. Dagi, 3916 meters. Then, off on a dirt road from Incesu. The sun set at 8:00 p.m. We had a nice dinner in Urgub. We are both getting fat!! This seems the end of the line for my Land Rover ride. From here I go south to Syria and Ramon goes West to Greece. We got a camping site at Paris Camping. I slept by the pool. We are now in the heart of Cappadocia, two kilometers from Goreme.

Turkey, Cappadocia, Gnome Wall, 1984

June 6, 1984
Fairy Chimney, Goreme, Cappadocia, Turkey

A pretty fantastic day. We started out at Goreme amidst bus loads of tourists, strange alien beings. Then we walked a couple of hours in the surrounding countryside. Yes, this is the place. I first saw pictures of Cappadocia in “Scenic Wonders Of The World” in New Guinea last year. Probably unique in the world. I’m surprised these strange gnome houses cover such an expanse. Probably several hundred square miles.

Turkey, Cappadocia, Gnome Caps,1984

We drove into Nesehir for lunch and then went to Zelve, then to the place on the way back where pillars of rock have rocks on their tops. By the time we got back it was dark. We drove into Urgub for dinner. Before dinner we looked at Turkish Carpets. Persian carpets are much their superior. A 2 x 3 meter Turkish carpet, forty knots per square centimeter fairly nice: $2,600 asking; got down to $1000 and probably could buy for $1000. In Tehran, a carpet of same statistics would start at 300,000 Rials, ($500) and be much better, “perfect.” I went down to Goreme to sleep. I crawled through twenty feet of tunnel and then came into a cave with an opening as big as a car overlooking Goreme. Then I drank scotch and played the guitar.

Turkey, Cappadocia, Gnome Houses, 1984

June 7, 1984
Paris Camping, Near Goreme, Cappadocia, Turkey

Afternoon: As planned, today was a wash and rest day. Had breakfast: Darjeeling tea, cheese, bread butter on lawn in shade. Washed clothes. Beer with lunch—Cognac in Nescafe with Winston. I been laying by the pool. I’m doing that now, enjoying the hell out of the sun. Boy, this is the life!! Yesterday talked with someone from San Diego who’d heard they’re (terrorists with stockings on their heads!) pulling people out of taxis and blowing them full of lead in Syria if they think you’re American!!

Consequently, I worried last night about an early death. We joked about it… I’ve been thinking about Judith and I’m wanting to go see her in Holland but I’m not going to be weak. If she loves me she’ll understand I’ve got to go South first. Unlike Toniça (pronounced To-nitza, a Slovenian name, my old girlfriend from Metarie, Louisiana) and South America, I’m going to be strong, I’m determined. Anyway, Judith is an intelligent woman and she’s smart enough to realize how great our love is and was. Also, I have my mind on pussy quite a bit. And music and travel. And Dad/home, Amanda, sweet Kelly, and Israel and if I’ll see Gabrielle. …Beer for lunch, a Carajello (Cognac & Coffee) …Beer for dinner, and nearly split a liter of J. Walker Red Label. Later listening to Belew & Mark Knopler, talking about music and God. Great, but next morning, Ugh!

June 8, 1984
Paris Camping, Near Goreme, Cappadocia, Turkey

O.K. Diary, I got to tell it straight. I never knew that a Scotch hangover could affect me so deeply!! I felt bad and I felt mentally weakened. I started worrying about Syria a lot but coincidentally talked with some Hungarians who just came from Syria. They assured me there isn’t any such problem. Ramon and I went to the underground city at Kar . It was pretty big and fairly amazing. On the way back we visited a part of Goreme we’d not yet seen. We spent hours climbing the chimneys and actually got into a few. It was fantastic scenery and I was a little kid having a blast. By the way, I played the guitar before we left. I tried to compose a song and like all my efforts in past years, it was sketchy, but I’ll keep trying and I felt I made some progress. In the evening a New Zealander joined us for dinner and a carajello, and he talked with Americans who came (alive) from Syria.
Chapter 18
Green Hanab, A Mysterious Dream In The Ruins Of Palmyra

June 9, 1984
Ceyhan, Turkey

Sent Postcard to Dad and Judith. I am still not over the hangover. I felt like I was on the edge of losing my mind off and on today, and I felt so utterly bitchin (strong) previously. I am mad at myself for drinking like a fish!! Besides, today Ramon drove me as far as Neusehir and we said goodbye. I’ve had a lot of laughs and he’s been good company and a friend and I suppose I was sorry to see him go. I had some food and started walking towards Adana with my thumb out. I walked for an hour, which I liked (saw pot on roadside but didn’t take) and then I got a succession of rides which brought me to Torsus. The last of which was in a red Mercedes 230 for near two hundred kilometers with some nice people. Then I got a ride past Adana from a nice truck driver. I ended up in Ceyhan. He brought me to a friend’s house where in fifteen minutes we devoured a series of dishes brought in greater-than-restaurant rapidity: bread, two bowls of soup with noodles and big chunks of chicken, two or three sweet lassi, salad, some type of bread balls, de–rinded watermelon—big plate, and afterwards two chais (tea). Then I was brought (smiling) to an “Oteli”, where they paid for my place and said goodnight. It’s 4:00 a.m. and I have a bed on a noisy verandah and I can’t sleep.

June 10, 1984
Haleb, Syria

A few short hours ago, I would never have guessed—out on the street, energy–less, with diarrhea (again)—that I would give this day a ten, but once back in my hotel room, in the quiet, with fresh air, above the streets, with a balcony, I immediately felt revived. I’ve played the guitar all night and finally made the breakthrough of a solid tune for the first time in…? Surprising as it seems to me, I’ve actually been playing fairly regularly and, no doubt, that is what makes the difference. Granted I’ve been a manic/depressive for the past three days, but I feel all the difference in the world for having fun with the guitar for once. I don’t know why it’s been so hard, but I feel like I’ve finally broken through a barrier and I’ve just got to keep at it. Think I’m pretty hot these days…when I get women around me…I just can’t help but feel I’m going to have the ones I want in the palm of my….

Now: Today left at 4:30 a.m. Sunrise. Got a ride all the way to Reyhanli. Crossed into Syria around noon. Walked around old Aleppo. The people are 1) friendly 2) uncouth.

Note: Very nearly got into a head–on collision ten minutes into Syria. Luckily my driver swerved away—the other must have fallen asleep.

June 11, 1984
Homs, Syria
Hitchwalking

I’m tentatively going to arrive in Jerusalem in about a week. My proposed itinerary: departing the12th, Palmyra, Damascus, Amman, Petra, Red Sea, Dead Sea, Jerusalem, arriving the 18th. Adventuring on the Asteroid of Syrie (Ciri). Went to the Citadel. Went to the Aleppo Museum. Very interesting archaeologically. Got a map; had lunch, then a merienda. Finally got walking 4:00 p.m. Series of rides. Rich brown dry earth. Cherries. Giant insects (three and a half meters high) gobbling up the crops. Men riding on them. Razor sharp teeth. Flora: connected by wire like vines lining the highway. The setting sun sent flickering fire into my head. In Homs, men having dinner break outside Patisserie. I must have seemed hungry so they asked me to eat—amongst the most delicious meals since I left home. From strangers for free: 1) Potatoes, meat, eggplant, tomato, etc. 2) Salad, cucumbers, thin pastry, etc. 3) Best bread yet in Ciri. 4) Water, then tea.

Nice hotel. Long hot shower. (Dream: Met Mick Jagger in my hotel room (ceiling five meters high). I was sleeping. I asked if he got tired on stage …he said he wondered when it would be over and what kept him going was the hundreds of thousands of dollars…said he knew 200-300 songs …had a beautiful veiled girlfriend…impressed me as normal.)

June 12, 1984
Palmyra (Todhmor), Syria

Good morning, I’m Groggy! Practiced for an hour in the morning before I left. I hitched to Palmyra in the hot sun. Arrived about 3 p.m. Had good lunch. “The ruins are superb.” Wow! I certainly never saw the likes of this! I spent the afternoon sneaking into the Temple Bel, a huge walled square. I walked up through the complex at dusk, catching a wonderful sight and picture in the rising moon among four four columned arrays. I felt quite inspired by the ruins and sang as I walked up to the last temple. There’s a shepherd living in the ruins and his daughters pulled me in their courtyard reeking of animals to have tea. Two daughters were ripe and had smooth skin and gold teeth, and poured me three cups of tea while Mama, shaped like a cone (tip up) gorged herself, probably as usual. They had a TV in the open air and the moon hid behind a wall. They warmed me with their eyes. It felt like home, reminded me of Toniça. I went to my hotel to sleep, and had a sensational dream at dawn in which a real and very rich man revealed a glimpse of his mastery of organization.

June 13, 1984
Damascus, Syria

Good evening ladies and gentlemen here at midnight. My dreams about Green Hanab’s Guest Houses was too real. I woke up feeling like the ghosts of Palmyra were about, the wind blowing through open windows. After 9:00 a.m., I took pictures around Palmyra, went to the Arab Castle on the hill, took a dip in the Sulphur spring, dashed out at three and was walking to Damascus when a bus picked me up and two young Syrian ladies beckoned me to sit next to them. They offered me candies and cigarettes and their hands in marriage by the end of the ride. “Como usual.” I looked for a restaurant. I found a great place. I had one of the best meals in a year: 1) Scrumptious roasted chicken half, 2) Salad with tomatoes, cucumbers, rich olive oil and dressing, 3) Delicious lentil soups, 4) Pickles. (18 Syrian Pounds.) When I tried to pay, the Libyan people at my table wouldn’t let me. Now I checked into a room. Sharing with a geography student (three beds to a room here). I been playing my guitar up on the roof. I been practicing more lately but I make slow progress. Prediction I made to myself on the 11th: I’ll meet a woman within a week.

Chapter 19
Jailed In Jordan

June 14, 1984
Bosra, Syria

Walked around old Damascus, but frankly there’s not too much exciting to see of the “oldest continuously inhabited city in the world.” I sent a few postcards. I must report some of the foxiest women in recent memory. Lord E. Be. Had an interesting pizza type lunch (0.75 Syrian pounds): some onion/tomato/other, a yellow egg? Went to the National Museum. I only had about twenty minutes before it closed but what I did see was fantastic. They had some exquisite sculpture from the Romans, Pre Roman (?) wall murals ( paint) and delicately painted Greek Amphore (4 or 5” tall). I checked out, had a chicken dinner and was “on the road” just before 5:00 p.m. I got a ride to Deraa arriving at sunset. Then I hitched to Bosra, only it got dark thirteen kilometers before I got there and I had delays until a taxi finally rolled by at 9:30 p.m. (Sunset was at 8 p.m.) There were some military in the taxi, who were very friendly, open, spoke good English and discussed politics fairly and intelligently. (Why is the U.S. making enemies anyway? I think I see a better path.) One befriended me, Muhammed. He was on 48 hours leave from Aleppo. There being little or no accommodation in Bosra, I went on invite to his house where his mom prepared a late meal and we discussed history. He taught me a lot about the history of Israel.

June 15, 1984
Amman (Via Jerash), Jordan

I can’t say I haven’t had a full day. Breakfast with Muhammed in Bosra. A walk to the Roman theater and Arab Castle used against the crusaders. I walked around ruined Bosra and then hitched to Jordan. On my way to Amman I stopped in Jerash. Again, a Roman theater and marvelous columns, some made of a fascinating conglomerate. A Czech gave me a ride into Amman. He was nice, pro Russian. He dropped me off in town. I had dinner, then tea. A man, Muhammed (again!), was rather persistent about helping me and letting me stay at his house. I went all the way out to Jerash only to end up coming back to Amman since he lived in a dump and lied to me about having a shower. Hassled by police on the way back. They took my passport until I got a crowd around me vowing publicly to see my embassy in the morning, and they gave it back. Glad, I returned. I got a comfy bed for 1 ½ dinar. I washed clothes, took a hot shower, and practiced 1 ½ hours up on the roof in view of the Roman amphitheater here in Amman, the third today I’ve seen.

June 16, 1984
In Jail, Aqaba on the Red Sea, Jordan

Chai. Got a lift to third circle, Egyptian Embassy. Big crowd. Guard with gun getting pushy no good reason. I fought back: “What’s wrong with you people?” They put me at the head of the line. Wait. In the sun. They let me in. Wait. Consular shows up at 11:30 a.m. Apply for visa. Four dinar!! (7 for others!!! Note organized crime.) While waiting, met interesting fellow named Peter. Canadian. Travels. Africa, he and I walk to… wrong direction… taxi… Interior Circle. He gets his “West Bank Permit.” Room 34… 10… 11… 37… 34… Finish. I apply. Two day wait. I decided to head for Petra. He wants to come along. We lunch at Ragadan Hotel on roof where he stays (one dinar). Muslims share lunch… note Ramadan… they’re in the sun lunching while below in the street people are starving themselves religiously. We catch series of rides culminating in a truck going to Aqaba… so we decide to see Aqaba. Outside the city the police check for our passports which the Egyptian Embassy are holding. They are bastards! We are accompanied to police HQ. I am hungry. It’s 11 or 12:00 a.m. They bring us to the jail and open the door. Some truck drivers without proper license are brought in. One’s mother brings a marvelous meal of olives, cheese, olive oil, bread, tea with mint (?); I eat until I can’t even take a piece of the cake and I’m so sleepy… I go to Dreamland. $1.00 US = 0.382 Jordan Dinar.

June 17, 1984
Shobuck (Ash Shawbak), Jordan, Via Petra

Peter is good to have along because he’s being calm, so I am too. I take a hand shower. 8:15 a.m. I ask the guard: “They said we go at seven thirty.” To our surprise and relief we are taken out and brought to HQ again. The day captain seems to understand. We are escorted up to the outpost, and catch a ride north. At the Petra turnoff, I leave Peter, who goes to Amman. Ride straight to Petra. Hassled at Tourist Rest House overcharged for lunch. Walking down the canyon road to Petra. The Treasury (shown in the tourist photos) is before me.

Jordan, Petra, The Treasury, 1984

I continued past the old theater. Tourist baubles. Tea shops. Tourist restaurant with motor humming in a cave. I walk on and on. Come to another huge edifice carved in rock. I go off the trail one half hour through a gorge. Come out to a cliff. Way below, a cultivated gorge. On all sides, towering, jagged mountains. Echo delays one second. Feet dangling off the edge. Sun shines on me. The wind flaps my white pants, sounds in my ears. There is no need to move. I perceive a need to wander in the sacred lands. For solitude. This spot is sacred. I find a way down, climbing. Walked through stream. Remove clothes, submerge. Pink oasis, flowers in water. Beef (i.e., fight) with people from Jordanian TV filming (in Petra) on way back. Hitch to Shobuck. I knock on door. Am fed and sleep in stranger’s house.

Chapter 20
Missed Date With Gabrielle In Jerusalem

June 18, 1984
Amman, Jordan

Slept in comfy bed. Last night, I stood on road in the dark. Finally knocked on a door and was immediately invited to stay. (No hotels, rests). Fed. Tea. Nice talk with two brothers. This morning we went to nearby Shobuck castle. On a hill. There is a well. A 365 step tunnel. Down. We hold a bat by its wings. It squeals and writhes. There is water at the bottom. (Twelve minutes descent with flashlights.) I am shown their gardens. Plums, Apples, Pomegranates, Apricots, Pears, Grapes, Olives. They pack me a lunch. Series of cars to Karak where I lunch at 3:00 p.m. Ride to Madaba. See mosaics in Apostolic church. Girl (seventeen) invites me into her home. I chat with her and her mom, who lived seven years in Detroit. Ride into Amman, arriving at night. Find Peter at the Ragadan. We go out for chai and pastries, laugh a lot…about the way things are…about tourists. When he leaves I am alone on the roof…my bed is under the stars—I wash my clothes and clean up. I played the guitar for awhile before sleep.

June 19, 1984
Amman, Jordan

Yuk! I thought I was leaving today but that’s not the way it turned out. I got my passport back from the Egyptian Embassy. Then I got extra pages in my passport at the U.S. Embassy. I also talked to the vice consul about our problem in Aqaba and the police generally. The most salient point was that I am guaranteed the right by treaty to call my Embassy (even at night), and this right was denied to me. I met Peter at The American Center, waited reading/looking at Ansel Adam’s portfolio. I admire he has some extraordinary photos. “Art is an affirmation of life,” said Alfred Steiglitz. Peter and I pored over maps. He showed me the sundry places he’s been to in Canada’s Northern Territory. Again, walking, a mistake in direction put me at the Interior Ministry at closing time. I waited too long. I was very disappointed. I straggled back to the Ragadan at 6:00 p.m. I was weak from improper diet during Ramadan today—I just ate sweets and felt physically terrible until I’d finish ½ a chicken. I played the guitar on the roof. Note: I read People Magazine and felt green with envy at Michael Jackson and Rod Stewart. I got to get “Up” there, but I don’t know how.

June 20, 1984
Jerusalem

Accounting: $540 liquid assets. From New Delhi ($875), I’ve spent $335 in forty–three days and traveled about 4500 miles and bought 36 rolls of film (all but seven with processing). Woke early. Got to the Ministry before it opened. Got permit. Hitched/walked/bussed to border, arrive approximately 11 a.m. The man checked my permit. One is required to take a bus ride, about three k.m., across a 50’ bridge, sandbags and soldiers on either side and (now you’re in “Israel”) brought to the customs on the other side. About two dollars per mile, most expensive ride I ever had. Customs friendly. “Attractive” Jewish girls. Money changer closed. They won’t let me walk, you’ve got to cab out of the area. Delay… 1 hour… finally the attractive customs girl comes out and talks to the cab driver and it is agreed all around on a fare to Jerusalem with luggage for 400 shekels (300 is the posted rate). Ride with a movie producer from US who lived before in Tehran, who just came from Cannes …Gernert. Outside the Intercontinental the cabbie demands 1300 shekels… I’m being cool. He grabs for my money pouch… snaps the guitar string. I would love to smack him one but there is a hotel and a man supporting him. They’re going to call the police and my innocence ain’t worth a dime, so I run, I throw the five hundred shekels on the ground and run, and they don’t follow, yet I “high–tail it” to the old city. I walk to the new city. Amex is closed. Back to the old city. I stay on the floor at Mr. A’s for 250 shekels. He’s an “alchy,” it turns out. I walk around the new and old city in late afternoon, dusk and night, and music runs in me and I sing, return and sleep.

June 21, 1984
Jerusalem

The first thing I did was simultaneously get kicked out and leave from Mr. A’s. On my way to the Citadel, a new hostel. I passed some Jewish Israeli girls. A fairly nice looking one looked at me and my guitar. She made the O.K. sign and said, “Beautiful,” as she walked by. I, stunned, turned and said, “You Too!”, and we both walked on.

Yuk!! Guess what? Gabrielle left this morning for Cairo. How nice it would have been to spend some time together here. When I went to Amex, I got a note saying she was here, but the hotel notified me she’d left this morning for Cairo. Everyone had heard of me, the Amex girl, the hotel guy. I felt good thinking I’d see her and I’ll admit it to you diary, that the thought of having some nice warm… seems so wonderful. If only… there weren’t delays in Amman. I’m mad at myself. It’s all my fault. I booked a ticket to Cairo for Sunday and I hope she’s still there and that she’s) left a message when I get there. She’s been “conscientious,” gotten a tent, stove… We’ll see what happens. Got fifty dollars from Mom and Dad and cashed it!! Dad’s gonna do a million dollars in business this year and he, as far as I can tell, isn’t going to let me work for him on my return. It makes me feel he’s ungrateful… I feel like he’s holding a grudge. But I hope he does well whatever (his decision). Judith claims she’s still in love with me. I hope that girl is happy, whatever happens. She’s so unusual. I love her, but I’m not expecting anything. I just did business today. (Fifty push ups.) Played guitar. I feel strong, horny and pent up. Determined.

June 22, 1984
Jerusalem, via Bethlehem, Dead Sea, Jericho

Today was one of those fantastic days (though when I awoke I didn’t feel so hot). I went to Bethlehem with Peter after sending a telegram to Gabrielle in Cairo. The Church of the Nativity was a tourist joke, “shameless”, so many folks clicking their Instamatics down there, pushing. I bussed back to Jerusalem and then walked/hitched to En Gedi on the Dead Sea. A Norwegian girl with her (ugly) girlfriend also hitching: we shared a ride after some time standing on the road together. I considered giving up everything and going to Eilat with her. I felt a strong, natural attraction between us, blond, tall, thin, nice looks, tan, sexy jean shorts, twisted front teeth and friendly. I laid in the water at En Gedi and I wrote a letter to Judith. What a terrific sensation it was laying on your back in the water. I hitched to Jericho and listened to tour girls explain, “…oldest defensive structure on the face of the earth,” point to the cliff behind and say “…place where the devil tempted Jesus.” Back to Jerusalem. Damascus Gate. I exchanged a look with a girl. (Though I’ll never tell her) She reminds me of Toniça. I buy a falafel and watch her walk up the steps. Flash. I’m tired of letting beautiful women walk right past me. I casually follow her but I’m so far behind I lose sight of her. I have to track her with my wits. Around a turn I come upon her. “Do you know where the Ragadan Hotel is? …Are you going home to your husband?…Boyfriend? Where do you live?” (A: San Francisco.) I tell her why I followed her. We have soda water on her tab at her nice hotel. Later, I came and slipped note under her door. Political argument back at hostel. Laughs. I amaze myself. Sleep. 2 a.m.?

June 23, 1984
Jerusalem

I had left a note with “Pammy” to go somewhere 8 a.m. Woke twenty past 9 a.m. Among the activities of the day: I walked along the Via Dolorasa slowly, trying to envision Christ’s walk. In the chapel at the 2nd station, I sat, feeling some mystery, for twenty minutes. Across paving stones that may have been those Christ walked on (3rd station). At the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Previously I had visited the (Western) Wailing Wall, but to my dismay no one could be seen, or heard, even simpering, let along wailing. I dropped a letter off for Judith at the post and I tried to pen one to Dad but was not satisfied with it. At 6 p.m., I went by Pam’s Hotel and found her there. I got her address and asked her if she’d like to be my sailing partner. (Waves her hand, says ‘I volunteer.’) (She) Met a college friend and was going to dinner with his parents and he. Said if she’d known it was me last night she would have answered phone but she thought it was someone else. Dragged myself out to Champ’s Bar with friends in evening. Watched videos of Simon and Garfunkle, Rod Stewart, Men At Work, Super Tramp, etc. Noticed how much movement there is always. Thought it good to employ this method (as in hitchhiking). Tried to call Pam. Phone out of order. I went to her room and she let me in. I noticed my card (from Iran) on her desk. She said she’d just been reading my card. I said I was drunk. She sitting on bed. I grabbed her hair and kissed her. Though she said No, I was forceful. We talked of why it wasn’t right (yet) for me to spend the night. Of esoteric things. I bear hugged her long goodnight. Laughs at hostel.

Chapter 21
I Sleep On The Great Pyramid
Gabrielle Breaks My Heart And Then We Travel To Luxor

June 24, 1984
Cairo, Egypt

Somehow managed to get up and out and caught the Mercedes, which brought me out of Jerusalem some distance where we caught a bus. Then we rode to the border, crossed and drove near the beach of the Sinai bordering the Mediterranean. We came to Cairo, checked into the Marwa Palace Hotel at night. The people who were along were a different class of tourist than me. One guy my age was a Reagan man, pro military. A J.A.P. (Jewish American Princess) named Cindy was flirting with me, a self proclaimed “C.T.” (Cock Teaser). We all had dinner, then some of us went for drink at the Meridien Hotel on the water. It was nice, the wind, the water, but in fact I felt most uncomfortable and bored there. Back at the Hotel I called Cindy on the house phone and convinced her to let me serenade her. I came down and turned off the light, while she “slept” in the bed, I practiced. When I was through I crawled in with her. “Jeff, where are you?” “I’m here.” She cuddled up to me and through the night we at times held hands and cuddle but I deliberately left it at that. Maybe I should’ve gone aggressive.

June 25, 1984
Cairo

The pain and disappointment felt upon finding that Gabrielle had left last night on the train to Aswan… I was thinking I’d be fucking…I felt fate had played a cruel joke on me. My outlook, dimmed by tiredness and the heat, was not bright… a closing in, sense of despair and loneliness and the (trite) thought: ‘When the going gets tough, the Tough get going.’ And the love for Adventure, the realization that sacrifice goes in hand with accomplishment (= realization of dreams) and most of all the bottom line not to let it get to me, not to give up. It is what prevents people from doing what they want to do: hard times. Spent late afternoon at Sphinx, Great Pyramid, and surrounding pyramids. At night I returned before the Sound and Light show began.

Egypt, Lights Chefren,1984

I climbed the Great Pyramid of Egypt. I sat on top considering that my troubles were not so bad when I could experience such fantastic things. Then the light show started and I was really elated. The pyramid turned blue, the Sphinx was yellow. I whipped out my camera and finished what was left of the roll. I waved to the audience when the Great Pyramid was lit in yellow. When I returned to the Marwa I phoned Cindy. She reluctantly let me in. I slept on the floor and later crawled in with her.

June 26, 1984
Cairo

We awoke at 6:20 a.m. and had a nice chat till 7 a.m. She said she was cramping from her period so I gave her a back rub. I went down to the Hotel Select and checked in.

Night No. 3: Well, today a mood of relaxation came over me. I was given a room with two girls (I turned down the first room they showed me) and this place, Hotel Select, has a good room for writing, the people are friendly and there are plenty of European girls here. There’s a nice girl and her nice girlfriend from Holland and I had a long talk with her tonight and she relaxed me to that point where I didn’t care if we ever made love at all. Some French chick is shooting a wide open shot of her panties, as she did this afternoon sitting across from my writing table with her boyfriend. As you can tell diary, I am a ravenous animal amidst food. How I love and want women and my wish upon a star is to get laid all the time by women, to have them give it to me. I love when they are warm to me. I have been practicing exposing my beautiful body more and more and I have gotten scores of women looking at me, even veiled Muslims whose eyes bend in the slits. The Dutch girl asked me if I was in athletics. She also said that Judith lived in a very nice place and described Amsterdam in such a way that I really long to see it. I applied for my Sudanese visa today. I decided to relax and do things at my pleasure pace.

June 27, 1984
Cairo

Good morning. I’ll spend the day leisurely, and I’ll pull myself out of this. I wish I could pull my life together. I reflected Taylor once said “Know your limitations.” Maybe this is a new bent. Maybe I can use a limiting approach instead of the all out method I’ve used for so long. I need to concentrate.

Night: I feel considerably better tonight than I did in the morning. Most of the day I’ve been occupied writing my folks: to Dad I explained my thoughts on working again for ATS and I made a request to buy another nine thousand shares of Mac’s portion. To Mom just a general letter, four pages. I played the guitar for two or three hours.

Now I’m racking my brains to figure out how to get the Dutch girl to pillow with me. She’s named her price: one piastre, but I don’t have any change. I only have five piastre coin, and I don’t know if I have enough energy for that, but I’m willing to give it a try. I let her read this but other than a good laugh it did not make the desired affect.

June 28, 1984
Cairo

I’m feeling fairly biffy (i.e., great) today, bordering on godly. I got Marjon’s Amsterdam address. I sent letters to Dad and a letter to Mom from the Nile Hilton. I got an ISIC Student card from Cairo University. (I didn’t even have to show proof of I.D.) A pretty girl gave me the card. I boldly asked for her phone number. She said No but I felt good anyway. At least I’m trying. That’s the fourth girl I’ve gone for in seven days. (Pamela, Cindy, Marjon and her), not counting all the flirting and effort to attract others. My room on the corner of the building was cool last night, and I had it all to myself. I had a good sleep. I’m feeling human and normal and thrilled to be here now… psyche UP!

In the evening I had a talk with a fellow named Jeshua who filled me in on some of the aspects of trying to go through Sudan. I am enjoying hanging around here. I really need a vacation from this vacation!! I slept forty three different places in the sixty five days between St. Martin’s Island and Cairo. That’s quite a lot of moving. I played the guitar out on the balcony today. A song Find Me came out which I attributed to Rue De La Pomp. I thought it was pretty good… I cried… I’ve been wanting for so long to have something good flow from my fingers and lips.

June 29, 1984
Cairo

Yesterday morning I wrote an eleven page letter to Gam. Yesterday I packed Judith’s paintbrush, and tonight I wrote a letter to Mike Taylor, and a note of condolence to his father Mr. Taylor. I felt very strongly about the loss of Mrs. Taylor, and my eyes were a bit watered thinking about it. I described her as I remember her: gracious and good. Today Jeshua and I walked out to the City Of The Dead, which was not all that fascinating. It was a place where people had moved into the house like mausoleums in and around tomb markers. It looked more like a slum than a cemetery. Walked up to the Citadel but didn’t walk in. On the way back Jeshua took me to a place that had strawberry juice full with half a glass of strawberries (fifty piastres—ice cold. It was a first for me and delicious. I later took him to a place where we had mango (twenty five piastres) juice which was the best either of us ever had. Tonight Ramadan ended. Tomorrow is a feast. I played the guitar but wasn’t as inspired as last night, still I note I am definitely getting better. It will be nice if I meet Gabrielle, but I’m really enjoying just being here, resting, living, enjoying my own time. I love Cairo.

June 30, 1984
Top Of Cheops Pyramid, Giza, Egypt

1:00 p.m. I’m sitting on the water side of the Nile under trees in the breeze below the Meridean Hotel. Jeshua is meditating over on the wall. Trees, hotels, boats plying upriver. The water ripples and sags, plants set adrift bob up and down in the water. Hums, water, strange birds, the noises, wind on my ears. I think I could live a life in Africa.…

I went to the pyramids with Jeshua. We went inside the Great Pyramid. I went up the corridor to the tomb deep in the heart of the pyramid, a square granite room four meters high, fourteen meters in the sarcophagus when all the tourists had gone. Soaking it up. We walked around the pyramids, the Sphinx. Had falafels and tamarindo in town. We gazed to the top to Chepren pyramid (which still has its cap on it) figuring out if it was feasible to climb it. I went to the Marwa Palace at 6 p.m., and found Bill and Dan there. I asked if he’d bring my film back with him. I went to the Select Hotel and got my things. (I was supposed to meet Jeshua at the top of Cheops and in the morning we were to head towards Bahariya Oases), then returned to the Marwa. I ended up walking with Bill and Dan for hours. We had a good time. I started climbing Cheops about 1:00 a.m. Because of guards near the corner, I had to climb up the center of the pyramid with my guitar on, pack and bag. Rocks crumbled in my hands and under my feet. Precariously balanced, I inched my way up for one and a half hours. There was no one at the top but me. I played the guitar with my bottom naked, rocking on the top of the Great Pyramid.

July 1, 1984
Cairo

Woke on top of the Great Pyramid. My sleep was on and off. My ass was like cold steel. I noticed day light coming on fast. I packed and descended while three British youths were ascending. I took fifteen photos of first light on the Sphinx.

Egypt, Sphinx And Pyramid ,1984

I returned to the hotel, figured maybe Jeshua was there. We took a walk to the zoo, so crowded, and took a water bus back to the Select. I noticed my notes missing & sure ‘nough Gabrielle had arrived. I took a shower and went in to meet her. We happily greeted one another. It good to see her! We laid down and talked and kissed, then she and I made love. I moved in.

We were sharing a room with a Dutch girl, Anne, who works at the Dutch consulate in San Francisco. Our preliminary conversation sort of pointed to an agreement that it was better to fly to Nairobi than spend weeks on anticipation and money over Sudan. She showed me all the things she’d brought, which were considerable. In the evening we were making love, her on top, when Anne walked in; we scrambled. Anne was very understanding, explaining how she’d rented a room at another hotel last time she stayed here to get privacy. Gabrielle and I are both excited to be with each other. Went to Felfella’s for dinner. She came to kiss me goodnight. I motioned her to my bed. I was incredibly horny and I wanted so bad to fuck. But she said goodnight. I took the hint and she went back to her bed.

July 2, 1984
Cairo

When the Dutch girl left the room in the morning I went to Gabrielle’s bed to say “morning.” Gabrielle and I made love . I didn’t feel so hot during the day, on the verge of a cold and with a new case of diarrhea. We got our own room on the edge of the building looking eight floors to the street below. She came over to my bed and rubbed me with cream and soon we were slithering our bodies together in love’s exultation. In the afternoon we went with Jeshua to change money, it took us a while to find someone, today being the last day of Ramadan feast.

In the evening, Gabrielle and I soaked our feet and used the rubbing stone to remove the calluses from each other’s feet, mine especially; my feet have been a mess since Iran, and now I have new feet. We had a spectacular conversation about love and ourselves. Obviously she had a few men in Europe, which I am glad of. [Later note: Looking back, I cannot understand what I should be glad about that.] I had revelations about how the world should be sexually liberated. When I turned out the light I went to her bed. We made very nice, affectionate love, then I brought her to my bed to cool off. We recounted how we met, how nice and romantic it was, and what could’ve happened differently. Then she kissed my face the longest time and we made the most passionate love. She made familiar (from July 2nd) noises, as I’d remember from Nepal the distinct sounds of pleasure. After, I came. We fell asleep on my bed. It must have been about 4 a.m.

I played the guitar on and off all day. I am finally getting into it.

July 3, 1984
Cairo

What can I say diary except Things Are So Good, and I mean it. With our combined momentum dedicated to the pursuit of Africa, mutual pleasure, mutual support for the preservation of freedom, maintenance of humor, and exploratory sensuality, with Gabrielle’s preparation: tent, book on stars, on Swahili, film, information, good guide, etc., with all this and more we are enthusiastically looking forward to four months (or less) of adventure packed travels on the Dark Continent. Will we be fated to realize our optimism? Will we negotiate the difficulties en route??

We didn’t awoke until 11 am. Gabrielle went shopping for brunch, we ate. Back in our room, I went to her bed. We began kissing and got into a hot fire session of love, first laying on our sides, then I held her bottom from above and pumped sensuously even long after my orgasm, until her whimpering and noise rose and fell. Outside changed money. Mango juice. Found a travel agent with flights to Nairobi for 272 pounds (approximately $228 on black market). Lunch at Felfella’s: Foul (beans) with Dakka (spicy garlic sauce) – eggplant – aubergines – bread. Non eventful evening. Diary writing. Guitar playing. Bed time. I “tuck” Gabrielle in. We made very nice love. Her noises rise and fall. We talked. Again she and I make love before I go to my bed and we sleep. I always especially like in the third or fourth time in a day.

July 4, 1984
Cairo

Afternoon: Stripped off her orange jumpsuit on the far bed. We really get into it.

Evening (second time in evening): She creams my body and my crotch and sucks, mounts me and pumps until I turned her on her back until I came. We talked in the darkness. It seems that I gain alertness spontaneously from my drowsy state. It all flows together, love and rest… my memory is indistinct… we were covered with lotion, sweat, sopped from head to toe hair glistening and wet. The first time we did it tonight I went to the bottom of the bed and licked her, stroking up and up. Then we fucked.

There’s a whole scam here to buy cheap air tickets. There’s a guy who changes our bank receipts because the Government enforces a rule you much show bank receipts for the ticket amount. Bank gives 82.3 piastres per dollar but we changed for 122.25 on the black market today ($500).

Jeshua left this morning and left a note. Among the things he taught me was that “basically, the secret of dancing is to move every part of your body, even your toes.”

July 5, 1984
Cairo

We’ve had a relaxing evening, and it seems we have sketched out our plans into a mutually satisfactory picture. To book for a July 24 ticket to Nairobi. Till then, the Sinai, then Luxor. From Nairobi, south to Tanzania, Zanzibar, Malawi, Zambia, Zimbabwe, Botswana, South Africa, Swaziland, Durban, Lesotho.
Diary, I realized that I hadn’t planned such an extensive itinerary earlier, but it seems feasible and lord knows how I would love it. Gabrielle agrees to lend me funds till Taylor can telex them to Nairobi. We shall move at a constant steady pace, sort of like I did from Bangladesh to here. Though we tried we fucked up getting our ticket today; we’ll try tomorrow. We did get our Yellow Fever vaccinations today. I was tired during the day, and until the evening we both felt a little dragged out. Gabrielle and I made love in the afternoon. Now that we’re planning on flying later, we both feel the pressure off of us. I think of Judith and I wonder how she’ll take the news; I’ll obviously be later than Sept. We’ll look for sail craft in Durban.

She jokes with me about being eleven years over my sexual prime. I referred to her as the young hussy, thus ‘Huss’ for short. And she called me little Jeff. It is nice to know she cares for me. I think we’re very happy to be together.

July 6, 1984
Cairo

Until 2:30 p.m., we spent our time booking to a flight to Nairobi on the 24th then getting our Kenyan visa. We returned home. I read the Kenyan section in our guide book and admittedly it fired me up. We headed out to Son Et Lumiere at the Giza Pyramids but I took the long way to the river and the water bus wasn’t running. So we went and paid Andy for doctoring our bank receipts and went back home, figuring we were too late to catch the show from the Pyramid top. Among our day’s activities; she creamed my body and we made love with her on top for quite awhile in the afternoon. At night I crawled on a slumbering Gabrielle and kissed her goodnight for the longest time on the vagina and we made love, only I don’t think she got completely off though gasping sighs.

July 7, 1984
Cairo

We went to Saqqara and climbed the Step Pyramid. From the top we could see eleven Pyramids over a distance of thirty kilometers or so, from the three in Giza to Pipi II. It was an unusual scene. We were eventually (after 30 45 minutes) kicked off. We were shown into the Oanus Pyramid. Though it looked like a pile of rubble from outside, it contained two impressive rooms. Hieroglyphics covered the white walls and stars on the white ceilings. The ride back to Giza was very nice purple lilies in the canal, the Alw Syr Pyramids in the distance. We walked around Giza and then headed back to Cairo.

Egypt, Hieroglyphics ,1984

July 8, 1984
Cairo

Over tea with myself I jotted out “strategy” for the coming week. I note that this sort of effort pays off. When Gabrielle and I went out for dinner we discussed our ideals for the coming months and this led also to a discussion of our sexual interaction which was very interesting. This in turn opened up communication for a lovely night cap. When we returned we sat on our balcony, had a bit of hash, then stripped and fucked beautifully on ‘her’ bed. It was one of those lovemaking sessions where everything seemed perfect; her breath, her temperature, the moistness of her skin, our caresses; my touching, my body felt strong. She came, then me. After we had a shorter fuck then fell asleep in the same bed. The experience left me feeling relaxed and revitalized. I did sixty pushups tonight for the first time in my life. Before, in the afternoon, we tried making love with out me moving. Miscommunication (about who was supposed to get off) led to our discussion.

July 9, 1984
Cairo

I’m trying to make today a ten. So far, I dragged myself around Cairo Museum today and noticed how Tut’s Symbol was on all his funerary pieces. I am glad I took a hard second look around the museum. I wrote to Taylor asking for all or part of $600. And I postcarded Cappa, Gam, Pamela, Kelly and Bill. I paid six E.L. to ‘register myself’ which is totally against my principles anyway. I argued with them about it but later came to the conclusion that it’s not worth it: society’s momentum is overwhelming.

After a rough day I got home at 8 p.m. Gabrielle and I read Swahili and talked, ate in our room. When we went to bed we had another very fine lovemaking experience. We came simultaneously. Hers was strong, but mine was not.

July 10, 1984
Cairo

Made love in the morning. Nice, but I shouldn’t have held my first rising to orgasm back. A leisurely morning for a change. I enjoyed not having to rush out. I went to get out bus tickets and Gabrielle went to call her parents. We met back at the Hotel in the afternoon. I went out again to change money for our trip into the Sinai and she shopped for groceries. Water shut off at hotel. Children throwing rocks from roof of opposite building. At night a man peeps from that roof into our room and the room of the people (girls) next door. We go over a few minutes of Swahili. Sit on the balcony and smoke a joint. We go to Felfellas late and have a last big meal in Cairo which really left us feeling both a bit sick (next morning). Made love before we slept.

July 11, 1984
Na‘ama Bay, Sinai Egypt

I will make an effort in future pages to write creative descriptive writing in this journal. I’d like a diary that people can read and enjoy. But for today. I felt awful. We got the bus O.K., both suffering from diarrhea a little. I felt sick and I felt I need more exercise. A series of unfortunate events occur: disoriented in Sharm on arrival we get off bus without my shoes and socks. Go to find them at Na’ama Bay then try to get to Ras Mohammed to learn that there’s thirteen kilometers of dirt road leading out to a place with no accommodation. So we head back to Na’ama where the bus went in the first place, and fall asleep in the sand next to the Aquanaut Center. Today I had the weight of the world on my shoulders: why my Dad treated me unfairly, why my friends won’t write, why the world is like it is, people are cruel, uncaring, Moses wandering in the Sinai an outcast, and a large dose of unfounded personal insecurity to boot! One scene, to recall was the Mercedes coming over the bend, the axle busted and the tire flew off.

July 12, 1984
Na‘ama Bay, The Sinai, Egypt

Boy, it is great to be in the water!! Gabrielle and I made love, sweating in the hot tent and cooled off with a dip. We had leisurely morning coffees, rented mask snorkel and fins. We walked along the north shore and found a beach in the vicinity of Near Garden. Submerged. Ahh!! The water is beautifully clear and not uncomfortably cold. There is a bank of shallow water which leads to the edge of the reef where it drops off to varying depths. Parrot fish chomps on the coral. Hundreds of small orange fish in schools. Starfish with flat ultra red spikes holding them securely in a cranny. Bright yellow fish with blue lateral lines. Puff fish bloat along. Alligator gars. The occasional larger more bleakly colored fish. Coral fish hanging out in anemones. Soft coral wave. Hard brain corals. I chance the occasional thirty (or even forty?) foot dive. Gabrielle and I complete a circuit around the reef. Later, after a hit of hash, I go diving with German novices. Water shimmers in psychedelic geometric movement. Later I dive a third time. A nice big lion fish spread one foot in either direction. Dinner in Shaim at Bedouin café. Living in the moment. Making love in the tent looking out to the white moon.

July 13, 1984
Na’ama Bay, The Sinai, Egypt

Ras Mohammed. Caught buses to turn off. Walked ½ kilometers and then got a ride to R.M. The reef drops off between 25 and 100 meters from shore. The water is colder than in Na’ama Bay. Without describing the sundry species of coral, fish, plants and other living things, which I can’t name anyway, I can only say that it is quite lush and gorgeous. The reef forms a wall of between five and twenty meters virtually straight down. The visibility is about twenty meters. I took Gabrielle out, but we didn’t stay long cuz she was cold, so I brought her to shore, relaxed, then went out again with two sets of clothing on. There are many parrot fish of varying purples, greens, blues about two feet long. When we went to leave we walked further to the point where a wreck is half out of the water in order to secure a ride back, since there are no buses. While waiting I dove again. Here it was even better, spectacular, unbelievable rife with coral and thousands of small orange fish. I taunted a moray eel and got an equivalent eye from three or four barracuda. We got a rid back to Na‘ama. Had good fish dinner in Sharm. Made sweet love, slept deep.

Fifteen foot wire like plants. Flat corals jetting out six ft. in diameter Sea horse like worms?

July 14, 1984
Na‘ama Bay, Sinai

Good morning. Comparing Ras Mohammed and Uepi Island in the Solomon’s, I can only think that the giant clams and six foot fan corals of Uepi give it a slight edge in one way, but Ras is a bit more lush. I’ll still have to see. During the morning we sort of hung about the club. We went out to the Near Garden area to go diving. I felt tremendously horny. We sat in a ‘secluded’ place on the water’s edge. I muzzled my nose into her crotch pulling aside her swim suit. Some Egyptians were coming by and I think one might have seen me before I pulled away. When they passed, I made love quickly I had been rubbing Gabrielle so much she was quite horny and she wanted me to continue. After awhile I resumed and when she came we stopped. We went out to the water. I saw a dorsal fin above the water looking under, I say a four or four and a half foot stingray with its head fishing something out of a rock. It flew away beautifully. Continuing around the reef, we say a four foot reef shark. After diving, we had a smoke and walked back. We showered. Then we went to town, had spaghetti for eighty piastres., then returned to Na‘ama Bay. When Gabrielle got the tent, we laid down for awhile…mid night.

July 15
Na‘ama Bay, Sinai

Twenty-ninth Birthday: 12, 1984 a.m. Noon high in the sky. Gabrielle, in honor of my birthday, gave me a sorely needed neck, back and head rub. My neck has been tense for, say, a month. It has been the cause of discomfort. She massaged to my groans, sighs, exclamations and instruction. I felt like I had a new neck! Then she creamed me, sucked me and got on top of me. She fucked me beautifully until, all at once, I was blessed with one of my life’s best orgasms. A flash of light went through my body, perceived through my closed eyes.

Morning: I went diving at Ras Umm Sid. There was a school of perhaps ten sharks visible from the surface, but unfortunately I saw only one once in the water. We dove to 30 meters. It was O.K., but I felt rushed – three guides and myself, no others. In the afternoon (I did forty minutes concrete work for the club) Gabrielle and I went up to Near Gardens and did a snorkel. A small fish that bit her was bright yellow, red, purple and green with a subtle blue on the underside. When I came out of the water, Gabrielle, who had come in early, presented a bag of freshly chilled plums (5), peaches (5) and oranges (1) on ice which a US military man gave her. We devoured them on the spot. We had a pleasant walk back, talking. Then we went to town. I had a big spaghetti and chicken dinner. Returned and slept.

July 16, 1984
Na‘ama Bay, Sinai

Went to the road head of Ras Mohammed and waited for cars, but none showed. On the flats, Gabrielle gave me a hand job, but, not being able to get me off, suggested I put it in, which worked. We returned to Na‘ama and went off to Near Gardens with wet suits. Gabrielle spotted a blue spotted stingray at the end, which was the highlight of the dive. Went out of the water. She walked back while I stared at the ocean. I reflected: ‘why can’t life be perfect.’ And looking at the lapping ultra blue ocean and the stark orange of the coast and Tiran Island I realized I was mistaken. It is perfect. Man seems to be the one anomaly, as of he were sent to destroy this paradise. I deduced that my desire is to maximize the satisfaction of the continual set of states. We’ve been eating good meals at local places in Sharm. Back at the tent Gabrielle and I made love while the moon was rising. Then the local outside band plays Disco for the second time in the night.

July 17, 1984
Na‘ama Bay, Sinai

Woke but no one at center ‘til 9 a.m., and then realized it was too late to go to Ras. (Always, the coast road is on my mind. I wish I wouldn’t listen to stories of land mines). Went snorkeling at Near Garden. Diving, looking at the animals, I got the most wonderful feelings of questioning about the theory of evolution and, sober and sane, I have serious doubts about its validity. I almost felt as if these underwater creatures were of a higher order than me and of a special intelligence. The beauty and grace of the underwater ecology the simplicity and beauty of their lives, as if they were more content, happy, and at grace than the humans floating around in their scuba and snorkeling gear, chipping away the coral and spoiling their home. I thought it would be a good idea to have the reefs of the world tended and watched after by underwater gardeners who cared for and protected these places and maybe even create reefs in places where they’d perished.

July 18, 1984
En route to Cairo on bus, Egypt

A flawless day, like clockwork. Arrived at Ras Mohammed about 11:30 a.m. I took two long dives (two and a half hours and one and one quarter hours). The first was indeed the best of my life: Sea turtle (shell 3’ long) feeding in rocks. Four reef sharks circling thirty-five meters below me (7’). Eight foot shark (nurse?) six meters away checking me out. Stingray in open sea (5’). All this from one spot. One hundred 3-foot fish darting around me. Thousands of 2-foot fish in school. School of puffers being blown around a corner by the current looked like they were being blown in the wind surreal. twenty 2-foot tan and aqua parrot fish. Barracuda six foot (and greater) fan corals.

Second dive: Five and a half foot moray eel. 400-500 skipjack tuna. Followed (1- foot body, 2-foot tail) Blue spotted stingray. Four sharks. Red and white (7”) lion fish. A shipwreck containers of toilets. Formations of small fish into shape changing masses. Many of the big gray fish showing teeth. A school of tan fish with blue tails filled my line of vision shimmering in the sun. Met Gabrielle back at the Na‘ama and caught bus in Sharm to Cairo.
July 19, 1984
En route to Luxor, Egypt

The news Gabrielle just gave me about the plane flight maybe not being O.K. really threw me. I feel as if everything would have been so much better if I’d met her in Jerusalem. Again, the fact that she’d never applied for her Sudanese visa comes into the picture.

After an awful bus ride, bus ride, got to Cairo at 7 a.m. Bought 1st class A.C. ticket to Luxor for tonight’s 8:30 p.m., train. Went to Pension Famille for a rest. Gabrielle picked up my mail from Amex. The back mail from Dad, mail from Delhi and a letter from Judith providing an interesting package. Letters from Billy Bal Kamane and a postcard with Gunawe, his father, on it; letter from Tom Kundin, our helper to Lake Kutubu; a letter from Fred Billy, a string bilum from Sundaun Handicrafts from our South Pacific days. A letter from Paul Creasy describing his smuggling success. One from Kelly, bless her soul. One from Ma: Judith’s was perfunctory. Gabrielle and I had sex twice, caught the train. The cars are very nice.

July 20, 1984
Luxor, Egypt

On train, having a lovely rest, sleeping on and off and feeling like a rose. In Luxor, my new motto is Life Is Bliss, until such time as it’s not true. I have Gabrielle with me, which is wonderful. She’s constant and soft. I’ve done a lot of important writing today, etching out the rational I’ve developed for my goals and their relation to the concept of the Global Man.

We arrived in Luxor about 5 p.m. I had really enjoyed the train being late because we were in Air Conditioned First Class and I slept and wrote on and off all day. I needed the rest, really. It’s such a long time now without proper rest. (The problem is I’m never in total comfort or I don’t rest long enough.) We went to the Grand Hotel. We had a macaroni dinner—mine about thirty cents. We walked to the Nile. Back at the Hotel, we fucked (she came). Then we tried to sleep, but having a hard time of it, I fucked her from behind, then it was easier.

Egypt, Obelisk,1984

July 21, 1984
Luxor, Egypt

Busy day. I got up while Gabrielle stayed in bed. I had breakfast, rented a bike and took the ferry to the west bank. I rode past the “Collosi of Mennar” (two statues). I rode to the Valley of the Kings. I went inside Ramses III, Tutankamen, Ramses I (newly opened), Ramses IX, Amenophis II, Seti II, and other (Tuthmosis). I left the valley, went to the temple of Hatchtput and then returned to Luxor. Later I walked around the temple of Karnak. In the evening Gabrielle and I unfortunately ended up in a discussion about Judith/(Gabrielle’s) affairs in Europe and I got rather upset about her fucking guys in Europe. Over dinner we talked about our plans for Africa. We did not draw any conclusions, but we both seem to want to get “off the beaten path.” On returning, I passed out on my bed.

In between Valley of the Kings and Karnak, Gabrielle (who stayed the whole day in bed) and I made love once. My reflections are: I’m not so impressed with the ruins, though I admit, they’re fantastic; I hope that Tut and the gang forgive me for violating their tombs.

Egypt, Statue, 1984

July 22, 1984
En route To Cairo on Train, Egypt

Stack, frozen, waking numb to the rhythms of the day, staring at the ceiling, both of us. Wanting to reject her, needing to be close; we have it out. She explains about a two-night stand in Greece with some guy. Awful as I felt, I felt I could tolerate it. She refuses to go on and I say fine, I’ll leave her. It finally hits me: she had an affair in Jerusalem. She corrects me: in Jericho. With an Arab. I leap away from her touch Don’t Tough Me – Ugh! She honestly says they were fond of each other. I grow sick. I can’t bear it. For ten days. In fact, I extract the note she’d left me. It had his phone as a contact. I’d actually spoken with him; he told me she’d left for Cairo. They went on picnics. With each new piece of information, with my perception of the implications, my male pride is pierced and slashed.

I go to the Nile and write letters. At night I write a song This Boy Ain’t So Smart. We catch the train at 1 a.m. I sing through the streets and the station. Exultation in a song. Tonight on the train, Gabrielle made a vow that even if I left her, she would not make love to any other man for a year (unless she found someone she loved more than me). No matter how I told her, I didn’t want that, she insisted it was true.

July 23, 1984
Cairo, Egypt

The air conditioned first class cars provided a good sleep in the reclining seats. I just couldn’t get happy about Gabrielle. She pleads with me, says she is desperate, that I can’t leave her, she’ll hold me, take something of mine. She breaks down and I hide her under my Indian bed sheet. She says she’ll do anything I want her to do. I grow intensely warm in my bowels with thoughts of having control of a woman’s body in an absolute sense. I toot about on my guitar Two pyramids on the way. In Cairo we go to the Pension de Famille. There is a heavy, silent love, some pain to add intense sweetness to our kisses. And we love, and again, have dinner at Felfella’s for the last time, and love and yet still a fourth time. My debates about what to do, my bitterness, these harangue me; my singing and guitar playing all afternoon and night, these brace me. But peculiarly, pain-releasing closeness is the only cure.

Chapter 22
Nairobi
Gabrielle Comes With Me To Nairobi Under New Terms
Further Revelations From Her Diary Cause Me Misery
I Meet Sweet Agnes

July 24, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

Groggy, sunlight through the window, the softness of my Indian cloth sheets, I open my eyes viewing the world from the mattress on the floor. Gabrielle takes me between her lips, teeth and tongue. I feel convinced, healed from so much true loving last night. Outside, Sudan has had no approvals in four weeks. Love is diffusing in our room. A taxi ride smoking the last of our hash to the airport. A few beers and lunch before we boarded at 5:30 p.m.

Lift off. Halfway through the flight I find out Gabrielle did give Isam a blow job, and it is more than I can bear. I vow to leave her. Before we land, we talk and decide to go one night to a bar and she will solicit young ladies for me. There is tension, release, a cavalcade of feelings marching through our relationship. Groggy, cold, half aware I rest in the Kenya Airways van that stops and goes while Gabrielle gets out and searches in dimly lit streets for a hotel. When she and I made love, her orgasm is signaled by erect legs and vagina which locks my penis into place. It feels like a smattering of electric vibrations prior to an explosion. We talk all night about womanizing. Made love: woke up with my cock in her mouth.

July 25, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

Didn’t fall asleep until maybe 3-4 a.m. Noise outside at 7 a.m., slept till 10 a.m. My state is this: Sometimes I feel dismayed about Gabrielle but in my inner heart I know it’s not justified. She loves me more than just about anyone and she shows it. Still, I feel strong about going on my own. I feel, in my innermost of that the truth is that, for me, it is INCREDIBLY BITCHIN TO BE IN (DEEP) AFRICA! Because it just is. When I consider the possibilities of the next few months I feel a secret, selfish joy. Nairobi is lovely. The Arab world is noisy and irritating and uptight and perverted. What a contrast to land here: the streets have a quiet, even with a thousand people walking around. Gentle laughter, serious faces, I frankly take a cotton to black folks. I love them. Softness. No one hassling us on the streets – what a change. At night, I felt down on Gabrielle, and when a black whore, Esta, propositioned me, I went off and spent the night with her, leaving Gabrielle at home. I fucked Esta once after I inspected her. She taught me some Swahili. Then I fucked her from behind before we slept.

July 26, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

I woke in Esta’s room. She hassled me for money. I gave her seventy Shillings, in all. I cried for the lonely whore. I went home to Gabrielle. The look on her face, the motions to hug me, a look as if she’d been so worried about me and was relieved to see me, full of love and no spite, giving, all mine, almost frantic from the loneliness of missing me; “I want to wash thoroughly before I lay a hand on your sweet body” I said. She said she didn’t care and she took me to bed. I said “I don’t want you to think I did anything great. Last night I spent the night with a whore. I gave her a three minute visual and manual inspection.” We laid down. Gabrielle and I kissed and kissed. She got up and washed me while I lay on the bed naked. She soaped me and toweled me clean, going over my hands, face and crotch a second time on my request. She took my cock in her mouth and sucked it for the longest time to date (about ten minutes) until I pulled her to me. We fucked so good. It felt so good to hold her. She said, “I don’t want to have an orgasm. I want only to give you pleasure… would you like to come in my mouth?” When I reached the point of climax, I withdrew and quickly put it in her mouth. She tasted my cum and swallowed all of it. Then she got up and peeled a grapefruit completely and place each slice in my mouth. I took it in half way and she took the other half in hers and we kissed, the juice running down my chin.

Her actions this morning spelled out to me how sincere she is, how much she loves me. I feel deeply touched. We spent the day at embassies and travel seems wide open. Before a James Bond flick, Man With The Golden Gun, Gabrielle again washed me a few times. She is forever good to me, sweet, affectionate, constant, thoughtful, generous, with my best interest at heart. We’ve had a wonderful day. Lots of laughing and good conversation; coffee, good food. Nairobi is lovely. After the show Gabrielle and I made some of the best love ever. It was a joyful experience letting out exclamations of every kind. Her body felt to incredibly good to me. I suggested I’d like to come in her mouth and she welcomed the thought. I decided, however to come in her vagina. Just as I came, I had the most overpowering feeling of love and joy and excitement that this was Gabrielle I was coming into. She was disappointed I didn’t come in her mouth.

July 27, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

Today I picked up my Tanzanian visa. We went to the Sudanese Embassy but it seems impossible to get a visa for traveling by land. The grounds at the Zambian Embassy have some stunning Kenyan flowers. It made a yearning pass through me to get out into the country side. I searched for and found a large air mattress, though I didn’t buy (yet). Before sleep Gabrielle and I made love twice and both times it was very good. We went to sleep feeling blissful. All night I woke on and off, feeling her warm body so nice next to me.

July 28, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

From an initial waking feeling of bliss, my suspicions which were going to lead to final discoveries, arousal a day long saga of conversations which included being able to read her diary, her worst secrets exposed. If my worth, even in sexual terms, can see me through the following quotes, then it doesn’t really matter.

GABRIELLE’S JOURNAL—————————————————————————-
Gabrielle wrote June 15: I’m in Jericho, with Isam, making love with him often, it’s very good.
Gabrielle wrote June 16: “I feel very flat emotionally re Jeff but I would love to see him again.

Gabrielle wrote June 17: (She wrote about Isam: “I find him immensely sexually attractive so maybe it’s better to have a break from him before seeing Jeff again. I know that if I saw Jeff now I wouldn’t want to make love with him—the difference between an erect penis and non erect penis is too extreme. I know if Isam wanted to come to Cairo I couldn’t refuse, I’ve been practically begging him to come…if by chance Jeff is in a state of mind to continue that magical relationship we had started maybe it will be a pity that it probably can’t be that way anymore for me.”

Gabrielle wrote June 18: “I’m falling in love with Isam, with his sexual attractiveness, his charm, his culture, his depth. God knows how I’ll react to Jeff now if I see him again his lesser sexual appeal, his American boyishness. I feel there might not be any more room in my heart for him. I also feel that I don’t care anymore at all whether not see I see him and go to Africa.”

Reprinted by permission.
END OF GABRIELLE’S JOURNAL—————————————————————

If anything could shatter me it would be these words she wrote. I said: The search for strength is never ending and is the opposite of what you think it always is. The final cap on a zero day was discovering a small black growth on my penis which made me feel on sleeping that it was a possibility my dick would rot off.

July 29, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

Decisions are meaningless if action is everything. Today was strange like yesterday but in a more positive sense. Gabrielle and I made love four times, being interspersed from morning until 2 a.m. I played my guitar in the late night and once even danced around for ten minutes in from of Gabrielle singing Shattered. But I’m not writing this chronologically. The discussion continued from morning. (My jungle rot subsided and faded during the day). We took a matatu to Mrs. Roche’s and Aga Khan Hosp, the first time leaving central Nairobi since we’ve been here.

Back in town we had two pots of coffee and worked out some pretty amazing life direction oriented conversation which reinstated Gabrielle in my eyes for her worth as a companion. We delineated sexual ends like living fantasies out, etc. Back in our room she showed me two last pages of her diary and got her thrown-away letters to Isam out of the trash, which included such niceties as:

GABRIELLE’S JOURNAL—————————————————————————-
Gabrielle wrote: “I even find myself dreaming that Jeff will disappear and I will be reunited with Isam. It’s quite a significant realization for me in real terms, that Jeff is not the only man in the world. I never would have thought I’d end up feeling so deeply for another man. Hard to reconcile myself to the loss of Isam from a sexual point of view. He really is the most sexually attractive man I’ve ever encountered for me. The chemistry certainly was right.”
Reprinted by permission.
END OF GABRIELLE’S JOURNAL—————————————————————

I just continue to refuse to see how I can even value her love as real and whole. In bed, Gabrielle told me she was mine all mine, my whore to use I like, and I did and will.

July 30, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya
Morning: So much has happened over the weekend. I just awoke and I feel strange about things. Somehow, I feel like it’s all been switched around, somehow I feel some sadness at losing something I never really wanted anyway. Somehow, I just want to go back to being me or to go on being me, to travel in the wilds in Africa. Ultimately, I want to feel freedom from worry, exultation in living.
I went to apply for my visa at midday. Like every day, we’ve spent an inordinate amount of time lashing out all the implications of the recent past. Like every day there have been highs and lows, but today it all sort of came to a head; I really wanted to leave her but as I walked outside I realized that things can be so good for me if I let her love me, if we share love. I came back to the hotel and she and I cried together. She’s so hard on herself sometimes. When we went to bed, it felt so nice and warm. Gabrielle and I fucked three times back to back. (She came the first two times).

July 31, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya
6:30 p.m.: Just finished making love to Gabrielle (she manages to eke out an orgasm, and we made it a few minutes earlier. Now in the morning before we went out, she gives me so many blow jobs that I can surely say I’ve never had so many before. We bought some clothes today, I got my Ugandan visa. Gabrielle and I talked. I felt bad until I read some of her earlier thoughts and now I finally realize that she’s been telling me along: that she still feels the same about me as she did before. I’m hoping that it can work out.

Bed time: Diary, I truly believe and hope that my turmoil has found the way back to a state of bob ly bitchiness in this: the pages I’ve read which changed my mind was that Gabrielle, although she saw potential for “unimaginable heights” in lovemaking with me, that she had been not all that impressed with sex in Nepal (that my erection came and went she took personally) . This made me realize:
(1) 1 haven’t lost anything I didn’t have before
(2) that if this girl practically worships me (and cares for me and gives me her body to my whim) she has seen in me something which is in my character, something she must think is very great and that this feeling in her has never really left her.
I had assumed before she felt the way she did because of sex (only) and now I feel all of a sudden a huge wonderful revelation that (although sex has it’s true importance) the pressure is off of me, and I feel joyful to think that she loves me for something greater than that in me.
August 1, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

Note: I did sixty four pushups last night. As Gabrielle said, “You’re getting more average by the minute”, referring to the axiom that I am “twice as average as the average guy?” Note also: Despite the “horrible” quotes I quoted from Gabrielle’s diary that was the worst of the worst, and to be fair, the vast majority of her writing about is idol worship or infatuated. I want to prepare myself to Dream Purely, (goodly and godly and affirmatively). Note: Last night we went to bed thinking we wouldn’t have any sex, but it turned out that we had the most wonderful sex. It lifted us both to great heights. We could only keep exclaiming how wonderful it was. When we awoke, we didn’t make love right away. We just wrote letters. When she started enticing me, I fucked her for awhile but hopped off and she said, “So that’s it?” She made me, us breakfast , as usual. Letter writing. She came to me and we made it. Later, after we finished writing she was in bed with me again. This time she suggested we go very slowly. I felt her up for the longest time and she was in ecstasy by the time I put it in her. I wasn’t that excited and she was in heaven. I pretended I was doing Renada, Tonica’s little sister. We came in close proximity. After we were finished, Gabrielle said to me: “I feel like that’s the first time I was ever made love to by a man… how do they say ‘you play me like an instrument, a violin’. I felt like you were controlling my orgasm.” We went out and did some shopping, had tea and coffee, bought an air mattress. I mailed a $1000 request to Gam. When we returned I ordered her to give me a blow job. I licked her after she was doing her first attempt at deep throating me (and then Gabrielle and I fucked). We went out, the conversation turned sour. On return she gave me an exquisite back rub comprised of kisses and nudges that put me to sleep.

August 2, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

Morning: Diary, though “everything is O.K.,” I just wish for something else. I’m sort of sorry things have gotten so fucked up. All that has happened gets in the way of our relationship. I’ve felt a loss despite what I’ve said. There’s a lot of doubts and confusion. Maybe me own attitude is now fucking things up but it’s hard to ignore some things. I wish I was alone or at least that I could be myself around her. I wish I could draw back and just be myself and untie my emotions, let her do what she does, but to pour any energy which is going out to her back into myself, be my own man, continue to develop. 10:30 am, just made love (6).

Midnight: Diary, I feel like heaven. I think I’m falling in love with Gabrielle. No matter anything else the fact is that I am, I believe, lucky beyond belief. It is the first time in my life I’ve had a girl who is totally obedient. Per instructions, when we enter the room she removes my pants and sucks my dick. She is my self professed sex kitten. When we are in bed she is there for my pleasure. Out of bed (where she will perform to my whim) she makes food and drink to my whim. She massages me body, at times like an artist. She massages with her mouth and face. She’s lending me money until I can get mine. She shops as well. We went to see “Ghana” tonight. What a fantastic movie, I feel inspired to lead for worldwide freedom. Before the show Gabrielle and I played in bed. It was some of the nicest sex I ever had (9.5) because I felt totally relaxed and did not fantasize and was very glad it was she who was in bed with me. After the show Gabrielle and I made love again twice. I was exhilarated beyond my own belief. Note: I met a girl named Melanie, a British girl who’s lived her whole life in Kenya.

I felt that through Gabrielle’s caring and affection, she has helped me reach back to the only romantically carefree time of my life: age three, four maybe five. We didn’t get to sleep till about 3:00 a.m.

August 3, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

I slept until noon today. I was just so exhausted. We put $500 in an envelope at Barclays’ Bank for storage. We got a mosquito net, had our new pants altered, bought long johns and did quite a bit grocery shopping, plus checked out packs and rain tarps, all in preparation of leaving.

I fucked her in the afternoon. My sex kitten is under orders to remove my trousers and suck me whenever we arrive home. For me the fucking was relaxed and good. This evening we had some sex gut no orgasms, mostly learning how to touch her and some fucking and getting sucked. Now its about 8:30 p.m., and she is preparing dinner. In shower, black girl grabs my dick. I go to Gabrielle, have dinner (avocado delicious). I tell Gabrielle about the girl in the shower (they are communal), go upstairs. But girl wants money for rent. I refuse. When I go to bed with Gabrielle, I sodomize her. She hates it, but I don’t. I don’t wash. I have her kiss me there. Then make love to her before we sleep. The rule is for me to take what I want. I can’t help feeling that underneath she loves it.

August 4, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

Today is a 10. I find the solution to all my worrying: Be Future oriented. In the morning I take Gabrielle and fuck her, she comes. In the afternoon, I take her again, she comes. In the evening, I tell her she’s free to do what she wants. She tries to “escape.” But I am determined we fuck, and she comes again.
We finished out outfitting today just about completely. We had coffee at the New Stanley afterwards and discussed our trip. It was a very good discussion. Today, when I thought of unpleasant memories about Gabrielle I simply held her hand tighter and loved her more. Things seem on the right track again. I am going to keep looking towards the future. We bought a pack and got two free T shirts (60 Shillings each) when we asked the man for a ten Shilling discount for the street people. Before we went to sleep, Gabrielle and I fucked for a fourth time and she came for a fourth time today.

August 5, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

In the morning Gabrielle and I made love twice, the first time she came and the second time I laid on bottom and she didn’t but I did. Then we went out to Bomers of Kenya, out first step outside Nairobi since we got here twelve days ago. It was very touristy, the dancing was interesting. There was a session of acrobats or tumbling in which limbo dancers danced under the limbo stick at a height of a bottle of Coca Cola and then a bottle of liqueur truly incredible.
On our return, Gabrielle went down on me but wanted me to shower because I was raunchy. Instead I just fucked her. It was one of those seedy fucks where I was getting so much raw pleasure. We had avocado for supper and later she wanted to make love. She was really horny for me and I was tired so I rolled off her and went to sleep. I had dreamed of an intense, strange order that I had to win her back from Mr. Frolich (high school teacher) and, in South Africa, oppressed people.

August 6, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

6:00 p.m.: Alone drinking beer at bar. Tried to get a hold of Melanie today but she hadn’t shown at her work the one time I got through. Still taking care of chores, getting closer to departure each day. Made love with Gabrielle once so far today, visualized it was Melanie. I had Gabrielle put on perfume. It is nice to lay in bed with Gabrielle. I must admit, diary, I have no rational reason for feeling anything but fantastic. I’m in Africa, I have adequate funds, and I have a girl who, whatever theoretical contradictions are present, clearly adores me.
I had another beer. Gabrielle was home late and I was angry, intentionally. Well, we split a bottle of wine and I went off to sleep earlier.
I’m writing this now days later. I don’t recall how much Gabrielle and I made love today but figure three times since that’s the minimum we ever do it. I’ll just note here how intense our relationship is, what high highs and low lows we go through. How open we are: how even crazy I can get, even admitting to her that lately thoughts of marrying her have gone through my mind. Tonight I went on and on with I love you’s while we made it.

August 7, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

Ha! What a wonderful morning. Gabrielle and I awoke at 5:30 am. She and I made love as the sky came light. Warmth. Softness. Together. Sharing love. Cozy. Gabrielle and I made love a second time in the early morning. We were so happy in love going about town. I took off on my own and I called Melanie. She wanted to know if I could come to a party on Saturday. I said I didn’t know. We made a date for lunch tomorrow at 12:30 p.m. at the Thorn Tree; when I met up with Gabrielle, she could see I was gloating. I told her about Melanie, and she was none too happy, also because that means we can’t leave tomorrow as planned. Later, she coached me about what she thought I should do with Melanie, about how I should stay in control. Gabrielle was getting into it intellectually, though later she felt bad. She and I made love twice before sleep.

August 8, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

Felt awful in the morning. Didn’t take chloroquines last night so took them in early morning and we both felt ill. I felt weird about the way we talked about Melanie like she was an object, how people can treat each other so coldly. Gabrielle and I made love (I ordered) before I went out. I met Melanie on time. There she was, pretty as a picture. We had lunch at the Thorn Tree. I felt quite reserved, but she didn’t seem at all uncomfortable or lost for words. She seemed so interested to have me at the party (why?) but I sort of let on I would be leaving before Saturday. At the end of lunch, I said (per instructions), “Can I persuade you to take the afternoon off?” She couldn’t. “So meet me after work for a drink.” She couldn’t. She said to ring her next time I was in Nairobi (if I couldn’t make it to the party). We parted looking in each other’s eyes, friendly. I met Gabrielle at the room. It was a very difficult time, she was resentful, didn’t like talking so much about Melanie. We made it once on return. I wanted to sodomize her but couldn’t bring myself to assert control.

August 9, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

Happy. Resolved: to go Saturday to the party and call Melanie tomorrow to tell her. Resolved to assert the authority Gabrielle has given me sexually. It is very difficult to do at times, and it makes me realize how much I need to develop this ability: it requires real interpersonal and personal strength. And when I take what has been offered, then I am happy that I did and I am happy because I’m sexually satisfied and she is happy because I am. Now she is fixing grilled cheese sandwiches. She comes over, kisses, we hold each other. She is in panties and a big T shirt. We feel happy and in love. Butter lettuce, tomatoes, avocado mashed with lemon!! Grilled ham and cheese on mild bread. Fantastico!! A certain state of bliss!! Today we booked our plane flight to London/Amsterdam respectively for November 17th. Everything looks, feels, smells right about Gabrielle tonight. Beautiful words pass between us: She says “It’s my wildest imagination.” She suggests we go to bed. We made beautiful love. At one point I was so aware of all touch sensations I felt I was floating in a sea. A feeling of joy emanating from Gabrielle. I am sensitive enough to sense, intelligent enough to appreciate it and enough of a lover to want to give it. “I will wear your acceptance like an aura for the rest of my life.” Gabrielle and I made love twice in the morning.

August 10, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

12:15 am: It’s useless to try to keep a record of all the blow jobs she’s been giving me. It’s just all the time. Diary, the moments that pass between us are really beautiful, the words, the deep feeling. She said: “I want to give you an aura that will protect you from the rest of the world. “Today was a day where we alternated between me making painful accusations and overpowering love and intensity. I felt bad that she had ruined the chances of fucking her after three month’s abstinence. She tried everything to make me feel better, but I ran off on her at one point and I generally was very insulting to her and resentful. I just can’t cope with the thought of her getting it on with someone else (even if it was before she saw me). I feel it interferes with our sex life. Well, eventually we lashed it out and then, as I said at the beginning, we had some very beautiful moments. We made love about four times today. We got pretty much all the rest of our outfitting done, and we are planning on leaving Sunday morning.

August 11, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

Start one of the fantastic days of my life. Woke feeling less horny than in a while. Made it with Gabrielle. We took care of chores in the morning. In the early afternoon, a young man named Philip was watching a Rwandan girl trying to entice me. He told me that the young girl (Agnes) who works at the Hotel said to him that she wanted me. I didn’t really believe that it was true, but he said she feared Gabrielle. He said she’d meet me in a hotel room. He and I went out and found a room for me to bring the girl to, then we walked to buy some pot. While we were waiting for his friend to return with the pot I spied a young beauty with an incredible body with three other girls. We flirted back and forth. Philip and I talked with them and I keyed on the one. We arranged to meet them at five o’clock at Wimpy’s.
We returned to the hotel. We met Agnes. She came with me to the Fuita Lodge. (Meanwhile, Gabrielle was back in our room.) Philip said good bye. Agnes and I were alone. Hardly a minute passed before she undressed. (Her panties were pink, with the word “Love” on them.) I felt her cunt, dripping wet. We kissed wildly. It was some time before I could fantasize to get excited/ (Like I said, I felt no sexual drive today.) Agnes and I fucked, but I came soon. We laid around. She had small beautiful tits. Later I got excited and we fucked again. This time a little longer. We both had to go.
I saw Gabrielle for a few minutes, then I went to meet Philip. We waited for a while, then the girls showed up.
For lack of better plan, I decided to go home with them to find out where this girl Margaret lived. I was crushed against her in the matatu, feeling her arms, my finger against the side of her breast, holding her hand. We went to PUMWANI to BONDENI estate house 83.

Margaret, who’s African name was Njambi, and who’s nicknames included Maggie and Mengie.

I was welcomed into her house, met her sisters and mother. When I left she walked me to the matatu stop, told me when I returned from Tanzania she would cook me a fish dinner. Lord, do I want her. Philip and I returned to Nairobi. (We’d tried to get Maggie and a friend to come to town but the mother would know.)
I saw Gabrielle again. I got out to Melanie’s party at a rich estate at about 10:15 p.m., on Murishu Road. Food was laid out, the grounds were fabulous, a free bar, and the “beautiful people” (sarcastic) were huddled around it. Without going into details, I drank a fair bit, smoked pot, flirted with the girls, and mostly I did a lot of dancing by myself, really into it. I danced and pranced, an enigma, in my Blade Runner outfit with sunglasses. I ended up leaving with a guy named Mike. We drove to the Carnivore to find women. Within ten to fifteen minutes, I stopped a foxy black girl as she was leaving. I told her to come home with me.

August 12, 1984
Nairobi. Kenya

Continued from August 11. [The night became the next day…. ] She told me to get into the taxi with her three sisters. We dropped two of them off and went into town. Philip was sleeping in the room I had rented for Agnes (hotel girl). I brought them there. Followed a big hassle with the taxi driver, mediation by the police, and I finally paid him two thirds of what he asked. By the time I got back to the room the girls were afraid and wanted to go home. Only by sending Philip to another room, one sister went to one bed to sleep and I took “Sweets” (Aywanda) to another bed. She has an incredible body and is very, very sexy, pretty features, a real fox, nice clothes. I had to tell her that she was the first black girl I’d ever been with. She was about to take off her shirt when Philip knocked on the door. Then she refused. I told Philip if he bothered me again I’d kick the shit out of him. I finally got her undressed and I fucked her with a fury. She was so sexy, though I wasn’t my best. I licked her some more but didn’t come. She’s so fucking sexy. Her tits are magnificent. Philip knocked on the door! I kept pulling her back to bed and wrestling with her and she was saying she had to go. Because of some comments I asked if she was a whore. She got so pissed off she wouldn’t speak to me. I just left. I told Philip I didn’t want to go through with our plan to go see the Margaret (nicknamed Maggie) and I went home. Later he came by with a note from “Sweets” with her phone number. (It read: Hi Jeff, Lots LUV 564233 Sweets GO FUCK! I DIG U)
I fucked Gabrielle very hotly twice (before I slept in till 4:00 p.m.) I got so hot fucking her tender white pussy, feeling really horny for the first time in two days. Later we went out to see Lady and The Tramp. Now we’re home. I feel bitchin’, great, but I promised we’d leave tomorrow and I feel as if Margaret has caught my heart. Fresher, even sexier than Sweets, she made me feel like Toniça did. I feel in love and in lust, and she’d be the greatest prize I ever had and it’s there to take. I’m sorry I didn’t go for it today. I don’t know how to tell Gabrielle, but right now, I wish I was on my own so I could woo Maggie and sleep with her a few nights. Gabrielle gave me a list she wrote yesterday of all the things she wants to be to me.

August 13, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

The end of today leaves me feeling sort of in love or at least infatuated with Maggie. Her family is so friendly, it makes me feel like I felt with Toniça. I awoke and Gabrielle and I were slow getting up (making love). I talked to her about how I felt and it was to her credit to say we could spend a extra day so I could go see Maggie. Gabrielle and I took care of the final details: we change for Tanzanian shillings, and then we went to the train station. We found out that there’s a train leaving at 7:00 p.m. tomorrow, so we booked ourselves on second class, which looks fantastic the cars are really nice. I went out to Purnwani at about 4:00 p.m.. Peris, the elder sister, talked to me inside and after some time Maggie showed up. Well, I sat around and acted casually, wanting to get her alone but biding my time. After quite a while I stood up and suggested I’d like to walk in the market. Eventually Maggie and two others and I went walking. To my surprise they said if you want to take Maggie to Mombasa, Mother will let you. The catch is that I’d have to take a sister along.
When it came to say good bye, Maggie and I walked to the bus stop. I stood alone with her, feeling her clandestinely, then brought her away to the side of the road where I kissed and hugged her and got my hand inside her bra on her warm, enormous breasts. I asked her to ask her Mom if she could come alone to the show with me. It seemed it would be difficult to manage but she would try. It was dark. Anne came up to warn us that a group of men were surrounding us, I grabbed a big rock and we eventually moved away. We parted, all of them waving good bye, so warm and friendly. Anne complemented me on “my bravery,” which could just be flattery. So I rode the bus home feeling in love with Maggie and her family. I went to town, walking about, feeling like a stud for the first time in so many years.
[Maggie has a] …gorgeous body. (I touched her rear, her crotch, waist.) She’d said she’d miss me, that when she missed people, she dreams about them. She seems as sweet and sincere.
I came home to Gabrielle, made love without coming.

Chapter 23
Mount Kilimanjaro
The First Of My Seven Summits
Adventure In Africa Begins

August 14, 1984
En route (On Train) To Voi, Kenya

Made it with Gabrielle in the morning but didn’t come. She’s staring into space wondering how she feels about things, but her pussy is nice and wet. I’m practicing holding back ejaculation to study it’s effects. Well, no matter. I walk about with Gabrielle to sort things out. I discover a flaw in my plan, so to avoid suspicion, I rent a room at the Fuita Lodge in case I can get Maggie back here.
I wasted time inevitably and arrived in Pumwani an hour late. They gave me a glass of flour porridge which I drank. Peris, the elder sister, told me that Cynthia (next sister) and Muthoni would be coming to the show with us, which pleased me not in the least. They said they were going to come to see me and ‘my friend’ off at the train station. I tried to hide my discomfort.
We went to town. I excused myself while they had chips and found Agnes and tried to explain I would come for her at 3:00 p.m. I walked to the cinema with the three girls, pulling Maggie behind and telling her I didn’t want to take her whole family out!! After trying unsuccessfully to get her away, I resigned myself to getting her in another section of seats. Try as she did to be good, I got my hand inside her panties. I got ready to leave and seeing her renewed interest, I took the liberty of putting her hand inside my trousers, which she took to.
With my finger in the hot well of her vagina, and her hand thus, I felt a wave of romantic inspiration, which manifested itself in a shower of words to the effect of how I liked her and wanted her. I gave a pitch about how she’ll have to arrange to meet me in Nairobi alone when I return. I told them not to come to the train station because my friend had a new white girlfriend who was coming and would be suspicious. I took leave of them during the movie. Agnes had left by the time I returned at 4:00 p.m..
Gabrielle and I got the show on the road. The second class train was the best I’ve been on, though they sleep men in different compartments from women, even their wives. At 10:00 p.m. we had one of the best meals in the A 1, starched-linen dining car. The waiter earned a tip (almost 50 percent) by making a great pork, fish, fruit salad, soup, veggies and potato dinner, an all you can eat, and undercharging me one beer After, Gabrielle and I had a most erotic fuck standing up in the toilet. Made it once before sleep.

August 15, 1984
Moshi, Tanzania

We’re in a six-seater compartment with wood paneling, all to ourselves. A truly banner day. Roll on. Roll on, as my eyes will slide the countryside. My first look at Africa. Red earth. TSAVO NATL PARK. Dry shrubs. Low lying trees. IMPALAS. Groups of 30. Black sky. The Serengeti Plains of Kenya. We awoken at a bit before 4:00 a.m., and waited three hours in Voi. In our ‘private coach,’ Gabrielle and I got lusty in the top bunk. The movement of the train makes me horny. The compartment we had this morning was an older model than before. However we had the whole thing to ourselves and it was walled with wood and really quite elegant. It was old world, very well kept up. Having a compartment all alone makes all the difference in the world. Gabrielle and I made it very nicely, on the top bunk. From Taveta, we hired a minibus for 150 Shillings (Tanzanian) which took us to the border, waited for us there, and then brought us to the YMCA in Moshi.
Gabrielle and I got a double room. When we went to bed it was very exciting: To think where we were, to think about the coming days. Gabrielle got incredibly turned on. She could have come just from our movements laying there. I too felt wonderfully excited, especially at first. When I put it in, her pussy was creaming. When we finished she exclaimed: “That was the most fantastic sex I ever had.”

August 16, 1984
Moshi, Tanzania

We had decided to use our first day for exploring. We didn’t get out on the road until about 4:00 p.m., though we walked about town in the morning. We walked down the highway to the Golden Showers restaurant. I had a beer (40 cents big bottle) and we set off up a local road towards Kilimanjaro. It was so good to get out again into the countryside. The people are friendly. So many greens. The road is paved. A young boy walked across from us for kilometers. When we decided to go off road I called him over and gave him five shillings. Gabrielle said the look on his face when he turned away was once of utter surprise and joy. Since we’re changing on the black market, we can afford to be generous. We went off track for awhile and turned back ‘cause Gabrielle was getting blisters and it was getting late. In the evening, we met a young man named Sett who’d taught English in a seminary in Malawi for three years. I had a couple of beers with him in the evening. He talked about whether he should go after some girls he was traveling with. He hasn’t gotten laid in three years.

August 17, 1984
Moshi, Tanzania

At about 4:00 p.m., we finally got out to walk, going up a new road. On the way, we bought avocados and ate them on the spot very delicious, costing about four cents each. We walked around the bush, smelling the overpowering aroma amongst the trees, to hear rushing water. We’ve been studying our Swahili quite a bit. Occasionally, it’s even coming in handy. The folks along the road are quire friendly. In the morning I’d booked us for a climb on Mt. Kilimanjaro for Monday. We paid and our bank receipts passed the first obstacle. 2300 Shillings each. including food.
Gabrielle and I got along fairly well. I like her, but it’s certainly not one of those romantic heavies as maybe it is for her. Sometimes I think about being in Africa alone and how it would be. We ate dinner at the Moshi Hotel. It was quite good.

August 18, 1984
Moshi, Tanzania

In the morning she did the wash. I went out to change money (65 to 1). We went out in the afternoon for a walk-run. She seemed so out of shape when it came to running but she walks well nevertheless. On our way back, three girls with local booze on their breath approached us and invited us to their place. One was making advances to Gabrielle, touching her breast, saying “Love me” in Swahili. It was getting dark and I said we had to go, but minutes later I was angry with myself, for I realized how very easy it would have been to fuck one of them, thus adding to my experience. We had dinner downstairs and turned in fairly early. We’d discussed my dreams and their evolution over dinner. Diary, it seems Gabrielle might be pregnant. Her breast are getting so much bigger. Her complexion is awful and if I could barely tolerate her looks (as my girl) before, then now it is really bothering me. I feel like a loser sometimes, in terms of having an unattractive girl. She tries harder than any girl I ever had but in terms of real satisfaction, I’m feeling it lacking considerably.

August 19, 1984
Park Gate, Kilimanjaro National Park. Tanzania

Well, really, I didn’t feel terribly great today. We got things together in the morning and bribed the cleaning people not to charge us for an extra day since check out is at 10:00 a.m. and we stayed till 1:30 p.m. Gabrielle and I made it before leaving. We had coffee downstairs (and got a bit stoned).
A guy who was flying home to Amsterdam in a week took a note from me to Judith.
When we got to the bus station, the bus was just leaving and they wouldn’t let us on, so we took a taxi to the point past Marangu where the road branches off, still five kilometers to the park gate. We got stoned in the taxi and that, combined with the petrol fumes, made me nauseous. We walked part way and got a ride part way. I was telling Gabrielle how I wanted to break up with her because I couldn’t stand what she’d written about me.
Gabrielle and I got a ten-bed room to ourselves. Made it once before dinner. Over dinner, we discussed the evolution of my dreams. The dinner was excellent: Short grain rice and a hearty stew sauce. We retired after dinner. I did it to her (with a condom) in the rear. During the night I awoke over and again; strange dreams: gods and disappearances, Clymer, Henya, girls, struggles.

August 20, 1984
Mandara Hut, Mt. Kilimanjaro

Also during the night I told Gabrielle I wanted to be alone (for good). I told her I didn’t believe her stories. I finally got some sleep by myself. I changed beds. Morning: She comes over and makes love to my sleepy self. She puts herself into it. After we discover her period came, which is a good note for sure….
Now we are in Mandara Hut. This is like a tourist hotel. I even just had a beer. Diary, I feel ambivalent. On one hand I feel so lucky to be here and on the other I feel sick about being with Gabrielle. I can do better for sure.
The rain forest was lovely on the two and a half hour walk up here. It was fairly easy. Tomorrow we go to Horombo Hut. I feel very confident to make it to Uhuru Peak (and do 50 pushups). Note: Good dinner, prepared by guide. Before dinner we had a talk in which I revealed to Gabrielle the nature of some of my fears and fantasies which I have never before revealed in work, written or spoken. I have revealed about one fifth of all the “terrible things” that have gone through my mind in my life, and she is understanding. I think that on the day I have fully revealed myself to her that I will feel relieved. I think I will be better able to enjoy my life and have more peace of mind. After dinner, I told her everything I’ve feared and been ashamed of.

August 21, 1984
Horombo Hut, Mt. Kilimanjaro, Tanzania, East Africa

What a lovely day. The breakfast was good and the skies clear. I was able to see Mt. Kilimanjaro from Maundi …. only fifteen minutes out from where we slept. A first: sighting Mt. Kilimanjaro. The walk took us gradually up to 12,340 ft. across alpine meadows with giant plants, viewing the giant cloud banks surrounding this vast countryside which they call Mount Kilimanjaro. Dried flowers, grasses, shrubs, evergreen bushes, snow on distant peaks, the crystal air, the austere beauty which accompanies heights. We bathed in an alpine stream in the sun. The clear skies were with us all day. My body feels fit. Gabrielle and I made love before leaving at 10:00 a.m. We walked two and a half hours, rested two hours (in spots) and walked half mile more to Horombo.

Tanzania, Mount Kilimanjaro, Horombo Huts, 1984

After dinner, Gabrielle and I retired to our cabin. She and I made love. I had a real true breakthrough. I “made love” for the first time in my life. Love comes from innocence. I perceived that I am totally innocent.

August 22, 1984
Kibo Hut, Ascent On Mt. Kilimanjaro

As a lover, if I can achieve a being of Total Innocence (which I am entitled to) I will be the greatest lover in the world. I feel like I deserve the title, like I am a king dethroned. I believe it is my heritage, which I have fought to regain.
We walked in just under three hours to Kibo Hut at 15,520 feet. The wind biting cold. For the implied insult of her PLO association I slapped her on our final yards to Kibo. Afterwards, she said the slap seemed “appropriate.”
I slept a few hours, talked with a POM (named Richard) who’s recently been to Peru Bolivia. (Now 4500 Soles to a dollar, 250 five years ago!) We had a big dinner.
Then Gabrielle and I were alone in a twelve-bed room. We went to bed. She and I fucked (but she didn’t come). Then somehow back on the subject of us regarding her affair, we (I) talked for hours, but the outcome was that we had to fuck once again, so she came finally; and we fell asleep at about 10-1030 p.m. in separate beds.
Later, at 12:00 am: Slept in till about 12:30 when the guide woke us up. Gabrielle prepared porridge and the guide brought tea. We dressed in layers. At 2:00 a.m., Gabrielle, the guide, Richard and I set out for Kibo Hut for our ascent. Within minutes the wind blew the lantern out and we four relied on our only flash light. The trail went up continuously. Lights ahead and behind… signs of other climbers. Half way up we stopped for a rest at a cave, then continued up the scree slope, footing insecure in the rubble, using the switch backs. The cold went completely through even the best dressed, and we stopped every few minutes to catch our gasping breath. Some cashews and orange drink revived us. I finally gave the guide the heavier green pack and took the lighter blue.
I had some chocolate and I scrambled ahead to Gilman’s Point (18,640 feet), leaving the rest to follow. The sky was lightening but dawn was not yet upon us. When Richard came to the top, his face turned purple and when Gabrielle followed, herself a blanched white, I took the blanket from her and put it around him…. [continued August 23rd through the night]

August 23, 1984
Uhuru Peak, Horombo Hut, Mt. K, Tanzania

The stars are incredible—the Milky Way so visible, like a band of white.

Gabrielle, feeling sick, valiantly heated the chocolate drink (now iced) on the cooker and I distributed half to Richard and half to her, both in dire need of the warmth. Though Gabrielle wanted to go on she decided to go back as she was nauseous. I forced her to take some honey, chocolate and tea. Richard wanted me to take a photo of him before his hypothermia went away, which it eventually did.

Tanzania, Mount Kilimanjaro, Richard McGill With Hypothermia, 1984

The sun came through the sea of clouds, a sea which seemed three hundred miles from side to side. The “guide” was resting.
I walked Gabrielle down perhaps 200 feet, where as agreed, I became the first man to get a blow job at 18,400 ft! I undid my pants behind some rocks and she took it in her mouth for a short while (till I got hard and then some). I sent her off down the trail. I went back up, prepared some awful tea, then sent the “guide” down [to look] after her. After a while, Richard and I took a slow walk up to Uhuru Peak, the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro at 19,340 feet. We spent about an hour or more up top, three fellows came and went. First, I made a new Uhuru Peak 19,340 feet and 3” by squatting. Richard was practically sleeping and I rested. Then I ate some honey and did 64 pushups!

Tanzania, Mount Kilimanjaro, J Jeff Shea From The USA, Doing 64 Push-ups OnTop Of Mt. K, 1984

We signed the register book. (Richard wrote, “A Rootin Stootin Tootin reet Stootir, though a bit of a weed at times”—nearly died too!”) I took a hit of a joint, then left the rest in the box with Richard’s suggested note: “California’s contribution to world peace and understanding.” And I made a godly oo oooh! for thirty seconds or so. I put a “god symbol” on the back of a wood plaque. Richard wrote something obnoxious about being the first from his university to climb Mt. K.
We made our way down, feeling the effects of the altitude, the clouds floating over ice terraces and misty glaciers. We rested every so often and came to Gilman’s Point. When we came to the scree slope we ignored the switch backs and rubble skied effortlessly (nearly) down in about 9 percent of the time taken to ascend. I would skid to a halt, lay back and close my eyes until I could hear the oncoming Pommy Jummy, momentarily followed by a cloud of dust and rubble invading my space as he skidded to a halt buffering his body with my camera bag. Therein followed in ten minutes sleep, another photo of Mawenzis classic volcano shape and five more minutes of rubble skiing.

Tanzania, Mount Kilimanjaro, Mawenzi Peak, 1984

We arrived (after repeating this algorithm twenty times) at Kibo at 1:00 p.m. After reviving ourselves, we set out to Horombo at 2:30 p.m., the three of us marching in single file: me, Gabrielle and Richard, like the three musketeers at the rapid pace.

August 24, 1984
Marangu, Park Gate Hostel, Mt. Kilimanjaro, Tanzania

Waves of well being passed through me, the climb successful, such good company in these two, and on our way down, the wind cold, the sun hot, the terrain black, red, brown, green in spots and beautiful, the sky and Mawenzi, jagged peaked with ice, beautiful. Figuring we were just minutes away from Horombo we went down and down and felt unnerved as time went on and we found nothing so we decided we were lost and wasted about a half hour before we luckily came across a guide who showed us we’d been on the right track. Gabrielle and I got a hut to ourselves. She and I made beautiful love in our cozy bunk. I had a new fantasy; that her parents (and all the world was in this way) supported and invited me to have sex with her. The result was fantastic. She’s an expert at sucking me off. Dreams in a deep sleep. Woke to piss at intervals.
Morning: Gabrielle and I awoke. We were both feeling romantic and started to fuck. The people in the adjacent side of our hut began to snicker at her gasping but we happily kept right on and made ourselves feel well. We were served breakfast in our hut.
We left with Richard at about 9:30 am. We had a grand time walking along to Marangu, arriving at about 5:00 p.m. at the park gate. There’s no way to recount the great time we have. We had a terrific and continuous time of laughter and discussions. We began today by talking about pop music, then got into movies and books, then even religion, comedy, movies again, (the ridiculous aspects of Christianity), Marilyn Monroe.
I took many photos, a lot of them of alpine botany, which is quite fascinating and varying. At Marangu, Gabrielle and I got a room to ourselves. We had dinner with Richard and had a howling time.
When we went to our room, Gabrielle and I made brilliant love. (She and I had made it once before dinner as well.) It felt so wonderful, I lost all doubt as to who her best lover might be. It felt so perfect that I was in ecstasy. We both came but my dick stayed fairly hard in her and she was so desirous that we continued fucking until she came a second time (the first time she’d done so in her life) and I eventually did too. She said it felt like the first time she’d ever made love in her life, like she was a virgin.
Sleep came on. I had fantastic dreams: thousands of six foot. three hundred pound swans diving into the sea, huge fish forty feet long and twenty-five foot high, gloating, glimmering, sitting on the shore. A family reunion where there were three in law female sisters, all of whom wanted me, and I fucked two and almost came in the great looking one (but held back) Then someone came in, and I had to go see the others at the party. My Dad was going away on a trip of his own right on the heels of mine, we were angry with each other, he almost hit me, then suddenly we were in a warm embrace, the strongest father and son feelings flowing awoke in pre dawn feeling, scared and overwhelmed that Dad would die before I’d see him again.

August 25, 1984
YMCA, Moshi, Tanzania

Diary, since we climbed the mountain, the most wonderful feelings of love have flowed between Gabrielle and I. This is in conjunction with my confession of my disturbing thoughts and acts. I can feel an overwhelming change in my life, a deep seated change that is central to my life. I get the most pure feelings of warmth, love and affection (towards and) from Gabrielle. I feel love for the fact she’s helped me achieve this. I feel so happy that I’m alive and have someone to love me. I don’t think I felt so pure since I was three.
When we returned Gabrielle and I returned to our room and made it again she came (this morning she didn’t) strong. She’s been fixing me avocado (between 1 ½ cents and five cents each), tea, spaghetti, etc. I feel so overwhelmed with joy to think Gabrielle and I can love each other without restriction. A great load had been lifted from my mind. Through confession. This is the same joy of loving I felt as a child of four. Gabrielle grows more beautiful in my eyes each hour. At night she and I made it good before sleeping.

August 26, 1984
YMCA, Moshi, Tanzania

In the middle of the night I ravaged (i.e., made love to) Gabrielle untenderly. Morning. Gabrielle and I made it first thing in the morning.
Leisurely morning; I sewed my passport holder finally (which was ripped off my neck by an Arab taxi driver my first hour in Jerusalem). I cleaned up the room. I spent the afternoon getting about and Gabrielle did all the washing and I ended up in her pants again in late morning.
Downstairs Rich and I chatted over coffees and sambusys (samosas). Some black dude wanted to sell us some stones. “Rose” was what he called them. R suggested they were rubies. I got a sample and arranged to meet the guy next Sunday in the event I find out they’re real. Richard, Gabrielle and I went to the Golden Showers [true name] restaurant for dinner and then went to town to see Shaki (with Amitabh Bachen)—one of the most terrible, boring films ever,. R left before intermission, and Gabrielle and I left before it was over, walking alone through the streets back to the Y. I had my stick ready to beat off would be dragons and we hid behind a tree when a truck came by. We made it back safely. But the MOST SPECTACULAR thing came at about dusk. BEFORE WE WENT TO DINNER: as we walked out from our room I looked up and said something like Holy Fuck! When lo and behold in front of us loomed mighty Mt. Kilimanjaro. Visible for the first time from Moshi since we’ve been there. It is worth saying that our trip to Africa would be incomplete without having seen this spectacular sight in the Sunset.

P.S. Gabrielle and I made it before sleep. I imagined she was the girl on June 22nd to En Gedi.

August 27, 1984
YMCA Moshi, Tanzania

Gabrielle and I got up for breakfast and we ate a soursop (or custard apple) which we’ve been ripening for two days.
Richard said goodbye. During the course of the day, I found out that the “rose” was not a “ruby” and that it sells by the kilo so there is no reason to come back to Moshi next Sunday. I changed $100 for 65/$ and I changed 500 KS for 4.4/KS. I got a permit certificate for the ivory necklace I bought yesterday, and I bought a Maasai head carved out of a tusk for 1000 TS about $15.50 (7” tall). We walked around Moshi we go to the market where there is a splendid assortment of onions, tomatoes, garlic, potatoes, papaya, avocado, carrots, pomegranates, limes, bananas, cabbage, lettuces, beans, eggplants, poultry, aubergines, egg, fish, meat, cucumbers, green peppers, oranges, virunguu (custard apples), watercress, rice, spices, peanuts, etc. An occasional Maasai comes around. Gabrielle cooked up a fine meal of lentil soups and avocado with onions. I played the guitar looking out at Mount Kilimanjaro, which was revealed for the second evening in a row. I packed up the bags while she rested. When I came to bed, Gabrielle and I fucked, then slept. (Before breakfast we had as well, and finished with her getting it from behind. She came both times.)

August 28, 1984
Moshi YMCA, Tanzania

We decided to spend one more day at the YMCA with the intention of relaxing, writing letters, etc. We went to the post office and to Tanzanian Airways. I am excited about the prospects of using plane travel to further the sight. Gabrielle, on the other hand, seems distracted by the whole idea. I wrote letters to Pamela King, Mandy, Gam and Maggie, and I think this disturbed Gabrielle. I decided to buy a carved tusk about 1 ½ feet long (equivalent 75 cents). In the evening I wrote Ed and Mary and packaged some custard apple seeds to Clymer.
Gabrielle and I made it before sleep after having an interesting dinner at the Moshi Hotel: I induced Gabrielle to try and captivate for me the attentions of a well stacked British woman having dinner at the next table. It was an experiment that failed.

August 29, 1984
Arusha, Tanzania

We did well. We woke with intention of leaving straight away. I went to buy the ivory and realized it was not an export permit at all that they gave me. We all went up to the HQ and got the ‘proper’ documents and I bought the ivory “historia” 4800 sh. (on tusk). We had lunch at the Y. We finally got to the bus station about 3 p.m. After an hour’s wait, we got helped into the driver’s door of a bus amidst bedlam — a fight began on our bus and went out into the station at large, one man chasing another. It reminded me of myself in Bangladesh. We rode along the road past corn and corn and corn, verdant craters and cattle with their tenders. We spent the night in the (Arusha) Safari Hotel, and had dinner downstairs. Gabrielle and I made love (number three) before going to sleep, ready to wake before 6 a.m., to get a bus to Ngorongoro.

Chapter 24
Ngorongoro Crater, Olduvai Gorge, Manyara and Tarangire

August 30, 1984
Ngorongoro Village Guest House, Tanzania

Arusha bus station: morning: Woke 5:45 am. Got to bus station at 6:45 am. Waited until 9 a.m. Finally bus arrives. Depart 9:45 am. Stop 1: Mto wa Mbu (Place of Mosquitoes) at about 11:30 a.m. One look around market ebony, ivory, amber beads on man, Maasai ornaments—quite impressive. On the way we saw giraffes running in the open plain (with baby). Left Mto wa Mbu. Baboons along the roadside. Arrived in Karatu about 1 p.m. Sat on roadside for hours. Finally got a bus to Nija Panda at 5 p.m. Caught up with the truck that brought us to Ngorongoro Crater Village.
Now Gabrielle and I are in a room with no electricity a great house the cheapest place in the park. Saw buffaloes in dark on way here. They look pretty mean. Caught good glimpses of the Crater at dusk. It looks fantastic. We’re both quite excited to be here. Today we saw a lot of tribes people, presumably Maasai, cloth around them, distended earlobes which they wrap around their upper ear from time to time, ten inches of arm bands. Some women, bright beaded circles like Saturn’s rings about their necks, carrying beautiful gourds. Made love to Gabrielle before sleep.

August 31, 1984
Ngorongoro, Village Guest House, Tanzania

10 p.m.: Laying in bed now. (Recap of lovemaking: once in middle of the night. In morning, once. Twice later in the morning. And she and I just made it again starting at 8:30 p.m.) Not a very eventful day, but quite nice all the same. Our room being extremely dark, we overslept, awaking at nine. I went to check out Land Rovers and, it being late, it seemed best to wait till tomorrow morning and get an early start.
Gabrielle and I read Swahili and had a lot of sex. In the afternoon we walked to the Crater Lodge. The view is fantastic, the crater spreading out below. Herds of game can be seen afar off, looking like clumps of trees in the plain. The lake is just about dry.
Some German ecology workers spoke with us about the local area and I learned a lot in a short time. We are both very excited about tomorrow’s prospects and those of the near future. We may go through the Serengeti to Mara Maasai. We had a walk back and cheap dinner. I crushed our Kenyan coffee beans with a stick; we had delicious coffee.

September 1, 1984
Ngorongoro Crater, Tanzania

Ngorongoro Crater: Awaking, luckily, we immediately found five people wishing to share expenses and their Land Rover. We had breakfast and went down [into the crater] about 9:30 am. We came upon some Maasai herding cattle in the crater (photo). Next, a maned lion who posed for us twenty feet away. We saw warthogs on our way to seven more female lions, who started stalking and surrounding a small herd of zebras; but gave up when they saw the zebra were being too cautious.

Tanzania, Zebra And Wildebeeste,1987

We drove up to a herd of wildebeests hundreds strong. To the lake where a thousand flamingo juxtaposed a herd of buffalo. A few hyenas had been spotted, but on our way to the hippo pond one hyena slowly walked in front of us. I got out of the land rover to snap photos of twenty hippos (baby), some snorting like GMC trucks starting up. We saw an occasional jackal. Next we drove to another maned lion (awesome). This time there was a mother with two cubs.

Tanzania, Lioness And Cubs, 1984

We got a good view of their domestic life, then drove to the lunch spot at a pond across from which several hippos lay or grazed out of the water. A bird cleverly dived-bombed on my piece of chicken and made off with it. Later it tried for my roast beef sandwich, but it only scratched my hand. After lunch our first sight was three rhinos. We stayed twenty meters away for ten minutes as I snapped. We were on our way back when the day’s most magnificent sight occurred. We found two cheetahs eating a young wildebeest, half of it in their gorged bellies. We stayed twelve meters from them for ½ an hour. Their bellies were enormous; they panted with blood smeared all around their faces. They picked at the wildebeest but were so full they could hardly move. (I shot about 25 photos.)

Tanzania, Cheetahs With Kill Close-up, 1984

We spied two elephants on our way back.
Andrew, one of the fellows with us, has done much the same trip as me. Note that he flew to Djibouti and traveled overland to Kenya via Somalia (visa in Cairo). We’d smoked at lunch and I had a beer.
Crazily, after dinner, I walked from the Crater Lodge towards our guest house a mile and a quarter away, but stopped at some buffalo, hid, turned back and caught a ride, avoiding some elephant and a pack of hyenas as well. Made love with Gabrielle.

September 2, 1984
Ngorongoro Crater Lodge, Tanzania

Woke up late (at 10 a.m.) feeling drained by both yesterday’s excitement, last night’s craziness, late hours and weird inter personal vibes. I wanted sex. Gabrielle and I laid around and made love twice, O.K., but of a forced fantasy variety, for me at any rate. The morning lasted until 3 p.m., when we finally got out and walked down to the junction. There were some fellows there who’d been waiting since 10 a.m., for a ride to Seronera. We toyed with the idea of walking to Olduvai and spent a rather difficult time analyzing our best move. Finally we decided to go back and get our room, which we did. We plan to wake really early tomorrow and try to find a ride there. We would walk but it’s illegal, though I am personally not afraid of lions chasing me. Gabrielle fixed some spaghetti. She and I laid in the dark and made love, which felt pretty good. Among recent thoughts are: what’s happening with my music? My push ups?

September 3, 1984
(Olduvai Gorge!!) Lake Manyara Campsite, Tanzania.

Another fantastic day!! Awoke 7 a.m., packed a light load and went to the Crater Lodge. I asked all the people leaving the lodge after breakfast if they were going to Olduvai Gorge. The last people were very nice and said they were going there and back by lunch time, were only four and would be glad to take us for free!! We had breakfast and lift at 9 a.m. On the way were some really big giraffes and the biggest was only 35 meters from us. We saw a Cokes Hartebeest and a herd of Eland in the distance, and Maasai tending their cattle. We descended onto the eastern part of the Serengeti plains seeing giraffes, five here, three there. The plains were very dry. We came to the turnoff to Olduvai five and a half kilometers off the main road.
To look at the gorge is not particularly impressive for scenery, but hearing the facts told by a ranger and visiting the small museum and knowing that this is a place where man and animal have lived and perished in many forms and species for millions of years made it a stunning experience. The gorge itself runs for 50 kilometers or so. The remarkable hominoid foot prints in hardened ash at Laetoli preserve is excellent evidence of upright man living 3.6 millions years ago. Knowing Olduvai is in the midst of Serengeti and Ngorongoro, seeing the evidence of several species of early hominoids and the fragmentary skulls of extinct giraffes, rhinos, elephants, and many more, lends a more complete and awesome atmosphere to the whole region. It has been intact for millions upon millions of years.

Tanzania, Jeff Shea At Olduvai Gorge, 1984

On the return trip (we didn’t go into the gorge but stared at it from above), we came fairly close to ostriches, saw three giraffes with one baby, one giraffe and four babies (one baby at a time only) and about fifteen giraffes in all. We saw about twenty Hartebeest up on a hill ridge as well. We lunched at the lodge, went to our room, where Gabrielle and I made fine love, pretending kissing was verboten. We packed, went to the road and happily got a ride (250 sh each) in ten minutes all the way to Lake Manyara campsite (saw five elephants on the way), admiring the pale yellow, tree and grass greens, red earth and pale blue clouded sky which characterized the area. Gabrielle and I had a spat. We made up, and then she and I made joyful love and had lentil/pasta and good coffee. Lovely here. Before sleep, a fantasy fuck and very warm loving words.

September 4, 1984
Lake Manyara Campsite, Tanzania

Lake Manyara National Park: Our luck continued today. Gabrielle and I made love in the morning. Oh yes, we awoke at 7 a.m.
I invited a guy, Ken, in for tea. He’s working for a wild life conservation team. He explained how badly the elephant population has been decimated in Uganda, Kenya (150K to 50K) and elsewhere since 1972. In the CAR they have a campaign to shoot them to gain revenue. In Manyara, half the impales have died in the last few months of Anthrax. Also, Manyara has the highest concentration of elephants in Africa. Ken left.
Gabrielle and I made love. Before we left I spoke with some Wazungu (white people) who had been traveling around Africa two years in a big truck. He said it was best to have a big truck as they can travel self contained for three or four thousand kilometers. He said Ghana was his favorite country friendly people.
Gabrielle and I went to the park entrance. The second group of people we asked were a young couple from Los Angeles in a van to themselves with a tour driver. For a tip to the driver of T Sh 400 we got to ride around the park from about 9:45 a.m. until 2:15 p.m. The first great sight was about one hundred hippos in a river on a plain with wildebeests behind them. We stayed for about one hour, at the end of which time a herd of buffaloes passed us on our rear. The hippos ranged in size from tiny calves to big bulls. A mixed variety of twenty or fifty heaped in a pile on shore while groups of twenty or so laid on top of each other, eyes and noses only sticking out of the water. They sounded like trucks as the snorting went from group to group. There was an occasional skirmish between the hippos or, in one case, between a few birds and three baby hippos who crawled out of the water and were scared by them.
The occasional hippo would crawl in or out of the water. They seemed to fight for the warmed-up patch of ground on the river bank, and a big hippo would chase the smaller away, who’d have to search for another place. They were funny and we amused ourselves with jokes. We didn’t see a tree climbing lion [which Lake Manyara is famous for].
The driver brought us to the hot spring (boring). On the way we saw many giraffe and I got some good color photos of some baby Maasai giraffe. Though we saw Reticulated giraffes as well, a bachelor herd of four big tuskers crossed our path and we had some exciting moments as, feeling cornered, a big elephant faced us and flapped his ears, threatening I hope I got a good photo.

Tanzania, Threatened Elephants 1, 1984

Tanzania, Threatened Elephants 2,1984

On the way we also had a dikdik run swiftly across the road. On the way back, we parked near a delightful big elephant and got some photos. We also saw some waterbuck. We went to Mto Wa Mbu market them came home. Gabrielle and I made love. Gabrielle made a dinner of spaghetti and then an onion omelet. We’re cooking (and writing ) outside. (A girl came in while I was showering….) This is a very nice place, moonlight, breeze and running water, and a pleasant smell from the firewood. After dinner, I talked to people on a Tracks tour. Gabriele waited by a fire for me patiently, and we made it afterwards.

September 5, 1984
Tarangire Lodge, Tarangire National Park

I really could have stayed a few days at Lake Manyara; nevertheless, we woke at 7:30 a.m., and, after making love, eating and packing, Gabrielle and I departed at 9:20 a.m. under our heavy baggage. We walked to Mto Wa Mbu and got an old Leyland bus, which was being repaired when we found it and broke down three miles from Makuyreni, the road junction. Though uncomfortable, I was able to make a close study of Maasai women, whom I find beautiful in their own right. One seemed to carry on a running conversation which another would fill in the pauses with mmmms and ooohs in dry drawn out monotone, which I took to be the equivalent of our uh huhs. I also observed one Maasai lady pissing standing up in a robe, hitting the ground squarely.
We crammed on to two more buses which brought us to the head road of Tarangire National Park. We rested. A man made us coffee. We saw adolescent Maasai boys, recently circumcised and wearing the appropriate white paint and feathers. We walked a mile or so, collapsed under a shade tree, and were to brought into the park by a Pakistani accountant. A gregarious Muslim appointed for two years in Tanzania, and I spent the afternoon looking out into the plains below, filled with game; and I drank beer with one Mr. Oliver Makone, who spent the last six years studying in Leningrad. Gabrielle and I were given a splendid cottage with a nice view.

September 6, 1984
Tarangire Lodge, Tanzania

Tarangire National Park: Evening. It is blissful this evening, presumably our last at such a wonderful park setting this time in Tanzania. The crickets of the Maasai Steppe keep a gentle hum, like sounds equivalent of the night light. There’s a lion out by the water hole. Its growl gave me a start, them Gabrielle came out and we heard it purr. It’s so pleasant out here, but I admit that now I feel a bit unsettled. The moon is three quarters full, and when I turn out this outside light, a blue glow pervades the scenery.
We sat through the late afternoon right here, drinking coffee, smoking, chatting and feeding out spirits through our eyes and through our skin, which felt the gentle heat of the day and the zephyrs. At sunset we walked over to the rhino skull. I removed a chip of its molar as a souvenir, and I took a photo of a glowing red sun against a foreground dominated by the silhouette of Baobab tree.
In the morning, I drove around the park in a passenger seat. We saw a dikdik, lions, an oryx, a vulture, a jackal, herds of zebra, wildebeest and elephant and occasional giraffe, wart hogs and impala.

September 7, 1984
Namanga, Kenya

We were supposed to be picked up at about 9:00 a.m., but didn’t get a lift until 12:00 p.m. So we spent the morning soaking up the pleasant atmosphere. The sun grew hot. Gabrielle and I crept up to within 50 meters of thirty water buck drinking at the waterhole, slithered into our cabin and made love, walked openly to the lodge central where I had a second beer. On the ride out an ostrich out raced our Rover; we saw two oryx running and lion in a shady spot. We got to Arusha by bus. Mt. Meru was crystal clear in the fresh Arusha air. I coped a clandestine photo of it in the back ground of the bus station. (Police are touchy here and refused me a permission I subsequently requested.) A local shared taxi, miserable with carbon dioxide fume, brought us to the border. To our delight, we passed through in the evening, with no questions too embarrassing asked of us. Gabrielle and I booked into the hotel there and retired easily, we made love, both feeling good. In the middle of the night I did it to her again unwelcomed. We are Bob!!! [a term my friends and I coined meaning ‘great’, or something of the sort.] Tanzania was a smashing success.

September 8, 1984
Amboseli National Park, Kenya

We flagged a tour car down, thus getting a ride from Marnanga to Amboseli Park. On the way we caught our first glimpse of a few gerenuk, a gazelle with a giraffe like neck. In the mid afternoon I treated myself to a huge buffet lunch of which the components were almost without exception, delicious. Properly stuffed, I was accompanied by Gabrielle to the “other’ (than Okstulai) lodge (the Serena) getting a ride from its female manager. No sooner did we arrive (at 4:30 p.m.) than a fleet of vans were departing for an afternoon “game viewing.” Gabrielle asked a Swiss couple, who allowed us to come along. The most significant sights of the afternoon were the simple scenes of zebras and wildebeest grazing in verdant fields, their coats agitated by a soft wind. As the dusk grew, Kilimanjaro’s upper reaches became more visible, setting a backdrop for troupes of elephants marching their young home, a lion playing casual but presumably stalking two nearby unaware zebra, elephants half sunk in a mud swamp eating. We slept in the driver’s bandas. They gave us an empty one, so we had a banda to ourselves. In the night, a growl and elephants munching near us under the blue glow of a (nearly) full moon, the others across the partition were audible. Did so in middle of night to a sleepy, uninterested Gabrielle.
Chapter 25
Nairobi Again
I Meet Maggie Again

September 9, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

We were suppose to have gotten a ride promised to us all the way to Nairobi but John, the driver, didn’t come get us; consequently, we lost other rides while waiting. We recovered, getting a lift to Namanga in a Petrol truck. We lunched at a great local place (beans, rice, potatoes and meat) and had a surprisingly comfortable ride through the (unnoticeable) Rift Valley, arriving in Nairobi under a bleak sky, both agreeing we had that “end of holiday feeling.” We arrived about 4:00 p.m.. We walked directly to out previous habitation The Nyandarua Lodge, and directly to our old room. In the evening we went to see Chuck Norris in The Octagon, which was quite a good flick. I’m writing this a week later and I can’t say for sure, but I’m pretty sure Gabrielle and I made love before we went to the pictures and again as well as afterwards. I’m sure. (The girl in the movie turned me on.)

September 10, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

Today Philip came by. He interpreted to Agnes for me and we made plans to go to her other place of work in the evening. Gabrielle and I went to see Staying Alive, which I liked fairly well. After the show, we got into a long conversation with the manager(s). He was a most liberated thinker and I concurred on most issues. He had coffee brought in for us. Interesting points: a man (Maasai) can place a spear in front of his “age mate’s” hut and sleep with his wife, no problem. Tribal people here can point to a specific tree or place of the origin of their people. After the talk, Gabrielle and I returned home. I found Philip in the bar. He had worked up a bill. I told some guy off, and he threw a punch at me and frankly I can’t say how, but he ended up on his ass. Philip brought me to Agnes. Agnes and I got a room. We fucked brilliantly the first time. Then we fucked and fucked and I held back until, after, several lulls, I came. I had gotten very stoned beforehand.
I left Thuita Lodge at 4:00 a.m. to Gabrielle. She didn’t want to make it.

September 11, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

I can recall few days that were as sexually satisfying as this one. In the afternoon, Gabrielle (wearing her red and black sarong and pink Minnie-mouse laced top and black underwear) got more wet than I’ve ever felt a woman get. We made it wonderful. After a time, we made it again. She had two orgasms back to back. For me, it was superb up to her first “0” of the second time and great till her second. In the evening, we went to see “In Praise of Older Women”, a sexually oriented light story. Afterwards, we got coffee and juice upstairs at the New Stanley. Gabrielle told me that I am the most sexually attractive man she’s ever been with. (She changed her mind). I dropped her off at home. I went to the Khardum, had a beer with Agnes. We got a room and we had a fabulous fuck. I felt so turned on (without fantasizing) and came while holding her, thinking “Agnes!” (…about half an hour long….) She took off her watch and gave it to me but I gave it back. I bought her dinner and returned home.
Gabrielle got out of the bed and made me some food. We made really sexual love. Again I was fantastically excited (without fantasy). My penis felt so large inside of her. I feel I’ve been “released” sexually and that I’m coming into my own.
Applied for Zaire visas.

September 12, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

Gabrielle and I made love in the morning. It was not bad yet not fantastic. I had planned on going out to see Maggie but I never got around to it. We packed, sent packages, sorted through our things, and picked up out Zaire visa at 4:00 p.m. At 8:00 p.m., we saw Chuck Norris in Forced Vengeance. Perhaps it was not his best movie but I enjoyed it quite well. When we got home, we worked some more at packing/organizing. Late, I lit a candle. Gabrielle and I didn’t even really feel like making love at first, but by the time we started, there were fireworks and, once again, it was perfect. Not to mention that in the afternoon, she and I made love and she had two orgasms again for the second day in a row. During the evening’s love I said, “I worship you.” This thought made it all the more special and hot. I feel like my penis is a great gift, a pleasing thing for women. Diary, this is such a great revelation: It’s not bad, nothing to feel guilty about, it’s good! !! I thought about her cunt enveloping my dick. About how she wants it.

September 13, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

This morning Gabrielle and I made love before we went out. It was fantastic. Again in the afternoon it was “perfect.” Gabrielle said if I ever questioned her again about who her “hottest” lover or “best” lover was “on average” that I would be a crazy fool. She loves it and I love it. It is idyllic sex. Her encouragement only serves to fuel the fire. I feel so sexy, like my initial childhood drive for sex has been released. Now its late. We just made hot love again.
This afternoon I went to Mengie’s (Maggie’s Kenyan name) house. They were all glad to see me and vice versa. When I left I told Mengie to meet me at Wimpy’s. She couldn’t come tomorrow. No, it’s got to be twelve noon, Saturday. She said she’d not “failed” me. She’s got such enormous tits. Her body—Oh la la—I get hot thinking of it.
This evening Gabrielle and I went out. We spied a most exquisite Kenyan girl. Gabrielle let me go. I followed the girl. We had wine, me and Shranda. I said Be My Lover. I think she’d like that. But her boyfriend owns the restaurant and I saw them drive off together. She works at Game Trackers. Note: For three days no fantasies during this, the best, sex.

September 14, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

I made love to a sleepy Gabrielle in the morning. We spent the day writing and reading at the American Cultural Center. Both of us have been keeping late hours and were tired. It’s about 6 or 7 p.m., now. Gabrielle and I just made love again and it was fantastically hot. This is the fourth day in a row of sexual heights. We can’t really pinpoint the reason but suspect part of it is that I’ve been nicer to her lately, and it could be partly attributed to a subconscious release on my part as a result of conversations on sexual nature. Also, the encouragement of good sex is self perpetuating. Gabrielle says I am the most sexually attractive man she’s ever had, I’m so fuckable. I feel driven by a sexual hunger created by being thought I’m sexy, being told I’m sexy, feeling sexy, worshipping my lover and her touch, feeling deeply that giving myself is good, that it’s natural for a woman to cherish love and need a penis, that I turn her on immensely, that my penis is sexy and desirable, that when I asked her: “Please fuck me,” it was as if for the first time in my life all of me wanted to be given—like its the beginning of my whole hearted sexual life. I just feel so immensely excited, like sex is an exciting exchange NOT as if I’m taking something.
Note: I went by to see Shranda but she didn’t seem too friendly—only civil. We went to dinner at Trattorias and discussed Shranda and then music. (Shranda’s owner-boyfriend sat across from us.) Then Gabrielle and I came home and I got very stoned before going to see Agnes.
I walked out the door and I spied a woman I see around here lately. I stared at her sexually and would not take my eyes off her. She went in her room, then looked out and beckoned me in. She had a friend. She herself had a cataract over one eye and was unattractive but nevertheless I felt like fucking her. She was about twenty-three years old and had a baby. Her friend was surprised and left. The girl undressed and I was quite excited and fucked her for ten or fifteen minutes and came. She asked once for some money for her baby but didn’t hassle me. I left (without paying). It was a very erotic experience.
I went to Agnes but didn’t want to fuck. After a beer, we walked back and she really wanted to sleep with me, so we left and got a room. We had great sex. I felt so sexy. I fucked her incredibly well until she was gasping and just loving it. Finally, I finished after some time. I wanted to return to Gabrielle but I was so tired I just fell asleep.

September 15, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

In the morning Agnes wanted a rerun but me, I didn’t. However, I fucked anyway though I was wanting to be with Gabrielle. So when I got back Gabrielle looked terrible. I felt guilty. We had breakfast at the cappuccino cafe.
At 12 p.m., I went to wait for Maggie at Wimpy’s. She finally showed up about 12:40 p.m.. We sat and discussed Swahili for hours. She’s so sweet (a tender voice). When we left she said something about seeing my room. We went to the Thuita Lodge room 5. I wasted little time about getting her pants and panties off, her bra unbuttoned and her shirt unbuttoned. However, she wanted it on. I had to wrestle to get on top of her. She made it clear she was afraid of getting pregnant and was not wanting sex. So I found myself between her lips but unable to get turned on cause she’d keep saying ‘Jeff, I have to go’ and such things.

If I had been excited, I’d have fucked her but she was so jumpy, I couldn’t relax. We wrestled and then she said she had to go. I had to finally take the tact to let her go but not to cooperate unless she was good to me. The final outcome of hours of negotiation was that she’d meet me Monday at twelve at the same room. She promised to have sex with me. I promised to come Monday evening to her parent’s house. She was also bugging me for 200 Shillings for a new dress. But she’s a good girl.

I returned at 6 or 7 p.m. to a depressed, neglected Gabrielle. I suggested we just lay nude as therapy. Not surprisingly she and I made love. It was great (as usual). I got terribly physically excited. Probably the difference was that she wanted me where Maggie was being negative. Gabrielle loved me tenderly. We ate at Flora’s and then went to see I, The Jury. It was suspenseful and scary. We returned home and fell asleep (after cold showers) in each other’s arms.

September 16, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

Now its midnight a quick run down. Had sex in the morning. Later we made it for a long time. She came three times and I came with her on the last one!! My penis was so hard, it was throbbing and purple and it was wonderful. I kept it from coming all that time (forty minutes) by breathing in deep breaths every time I was about to come. That seemed to stop it. Note: We started this most fantastic session when I asked her if I could piss in her cunt. The thought excited me. I never did piss. The thoughts which turned me on, the facts her legs were spread inviting me, and her arms holding on to me that she wanted it, that love making can just go on and on.
Before we went to dinner, she asked me to fuck her. I gave it to her good till she came. My excitement dropped then. We tried to analyze that it might be a thought I had but could not subsequently recall what may have caused it. So she went down on me and fucked me from top and then came, then I turned her over and I got on top and came. We had dinner at Tavorini’s and returned . We went to bed and made it well till she came. I very excited then felt un excited. She’s sucked me off and we did various things. I got on her and came. The last time the problem was that we had taken our chloroquine and both felt nauseous. Anyway, it was a lovely day as far as sex is concerned. The highs were firsts. Besides sex, we had a very, very lovely and exciting day.
We discussed pop music philosophy for hours. I played her my songs, a few of which she liked. Interestingly enough, her favorite song was Spunky. I wrote the lyrics (and these were the only ones) using motivational meditation, thinking “I AM THE BEST LYRICIST IN THE WORLD.” Funny she should like these best. I had decided to write for the people what they want, lots of sex for instance.”) The other songs she liked was Dropping Out and also the lyrics to Glorify War. She even added suggestions to the latter, which were quite good. She’s got an abundance of relevant insights; I am surprised and pleased.

September 17, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

I was supposed to meet Maggie but she didn’t come. (Gabrielle and I made it in the morning. For a change, it was quite good for a morning fuck.) I got stoned and drank beer while waiting [for Maggie]. I went out to her house and found her there. She said she had come to town at 10:00 a.m., and couldn’t find it, so returned home. I took photos of all the women. Then I asked her to meet me in the morning tomorrow and she said she’d come. I returned home to Gabrielle. When I said we’d be waiting till tomorrow she screamed, “You fucking bastard!” and hit me. I slapped her on both cheeks. We calmed down, sorry. We dinned at the Trattoria discussing and arguing about lyrical trends.

September 18, 1984
Kenya, en route To Malaba

Gabrielle and I had a good breakfast after making love: we couldn’t help ourselves. (I was feeling hot. When we were done, she said, “So let’s go.” I said she was callous. She flew into a temper tantrum. But after that things were calm and we had a nice morning and she was encouraging and loving.) I was all souped up for Maggie. She showed at 11:15 a.m. with Muthoni, who left. Maggie was quiet and disturbed. She didn’t want to go to a room, but nevertheless we walked to the Thuita Lodge and she reluctantly followed me to a room. She sat on the end of the bed and said she couldn’t make it because she had a headache. She’d hardly communicate. Finally, after all tactics failed, I wrestled myself on top of her, but it was no use—she was determined. I refused to give her my address because she said she was leaving. She did just that, ran away from me. I had pretty much said I wouldn’t see her anymore. Unless she’d fuck me. She made her exit. I went back to Gabrielle. She was very loving. I told her what happened.
I went down and bought train tickets. When I returned Gabrielle and I made love. We taxi down to the station, in a hurry. Note that I didn’t check all around the room like I normally do. The train ride began at 3:00 p.m., en route to Malaba on the border with Uganda. It was simply lovely. We were astonished at the beauty of the countryside. At dusk we rode past the Kedong Valley and Lake Naivasha. I wrote the letter to my father and Gabrielle helped me.
We also talked about Maggie. We had a very nice dinner in the buffet car our only co passenger of compartment C Car 2325 was [out] having beer, so Gabrielle and I drew the shades and had a good bout of sex. Later, we bedded down and caught a few winks. I awoke in Eldoret at 4:30 a.m., and I discovered that I had left my passport and all my money under the bed in our room at the Nyandarua Hotel. We had to get off the train prematurely.

September 19, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

We sat in the cold till 7:15 a.m., at which time we caught a matatu towards Nairobi. The ride back was plain awful, stopping every ten minutes, being told to cram over so they could fit one more person into the vehicle. We were switched to an even worse vehicle in Nakuru and didn’t arrive until 3:00 p.m. in Nairobi. The land from Eldoret to Equator (above Nakuru) is absolutely gorgeous. I walked straight into our room at Nyandarua and looked under the bed. I was overjoyed to see that my passport and 1150 Shillings were untouched. Gabrielle and I made it. I was incredibly horny—the motion and vibration of the ride makes me so. Gabrielle came twice, but it was unfulfilling. I went out to see Maggie, but just talked to her sister Pele (‘Paylay’), since Maggie never showed. Gabrielle and I had dinner at Flora’s Coffee and Cake at Nusa’s and saw Blue Thunder at the movie theater.

Chapter 26
The Mountains Of The Moon

September 20, 1984
Kitale, Kenya

A wonderful day except now (1 a.m.) I’m getting crabby. Woke up, Gabrielle and I made it. Went to Cappuccino Cafe for breakfast. On the way I picked up a letter from Mandy. She sent me some photos. It was good to hear from her. We booked for an 11:30 a.m. bus to Kitale. I sent the letter to Dad and a postcard to Mandy.
The bus ride was fantastic; light, comfortable, airy. The countryside from Nakuru to Kitale is gorgeous. High elevation, green planes and rolling hills, farmland. We saw one of the last remaining Rothschild giraffes near Soy, walking across the main road. We got into Kitale at dark.
Gabrielle and I made love in our own room at the Executive Lodge (50 Sh) it was so natural. She had two orgasms without effort. We’ve been discussing our travel plans and it seems we both want to cover some ground and head west straight into Zaire. Gabrielle and I spatted in evening, and inevitably ended up having great sex before sleeping.
[Saw a derailed train somewhat before Eldoret.]
Around Soy I took a photo and was told by two passengers not to military installation. That really ticked me off. Gabrielle and I got into an argument; I claimed I should be able to take photo. It’s only cause they have something to hide that they fear.

September 21, 1984
Tororo, Uganda

Upon awaking, we discovered (ha ha!) that I have crabs (which, no doubt, I got from the woman at the Nyandarua)! We picked them off of me and even Gabrielle [helped], including the eggs. Interesting creatures. Gabrielle and I made good loving, both having orgasms. We decided to go on to Uganda. The countryside was continuously gorgeous. Note that on the way there was a road block. They wanted to see my receipt for road tax payment of 30 Shillings. I held tough. An armed man told me to alight from the matatu. They were going to take me to the “D.C.” I said I was afraid of their guns. I said their government didn’t want me to pay. Finally, they let me go.
Prices at the market in Webuye are cheap. We got to the border. Between the border we changed 500 Kenyan Shillings for 16,000 Ugandan Shilling, then three more times we changed 500 Kenyan Shillings for 21,500. We got through the border without incident. We caught a matatu to Tororo. We got room at the Roof Garden Hotel.
Gabrielle and I had a very nice hot love making session, showers, then dinner. After dinner we had an early night, both being exhausted from the lack of sleep last night. I had a long and restful night’s rest, with smooth, continuous dreaming. I had one dream where: I entered a room, a very beautiful and foxy dream girl laid there, beguiling.. My penis was rock hard and I at once began fucking her. I also dreamed that Jeff, Gary and Marty got blown up by the police in a van and Judith tried to turn me in as an accomplice.

September 22, 1984
Kampala, Uganda

Laying around our hotel room this evening. We came from Tororo to Kampala in about six hours. I caught my first glimpse of (beautiful) Lake Victoria coming into Jinja. Several identity checks on the way. The rolling grasslands, forested hills make the scenery a marvel. There is a hush over Uganda even in the midst of noise. We passed sections of beautiful hardwood trees in a jungle setting. One noticeable custom is the “busuti” dress that many of the women wear, with puffed sleeves. Note: Big blue bird with black crested head and others.
While I was looking for a hotel, a black Mercedes drove by with four men in red berets, three with machine guns hanging out the window and one with a bazooka!! (There was also a Land Rover with two men, and even the driver’s free arm was hanging outside, rifle in hand.) (Gabrielle heard) They made a shot at something down the street. There’s no water in our hotel. Only a bucket in each room. Garbage heaped off the sidewalk. It must’ve been a lovely place before the trouble. In the middle of the night there was gunfire echoing through Kampala. Another ten rounds went off. Shortly after, men with rifles—I could see them in a reflection of our window. I saw one hit the sidewalk when a shot went off. I was paranoid they were going to break into our hotel and shoot us.

September 23, 1984
En route To Kasese, Uganda

Uganda, Elephant Sign, 1984

In the morning fucked I her. I was great, really hot, until when I just didn’t feel turned on. We talked about it as a point of interest. We got out on the street by ten and got our first class tickets to Kasese for 3:00 p.m. We had lunch and then went out of town to the Kasubi tombs. This is where the last four of the Ugandan kings, or Kabaka’s, are buried. The thatched building was their former palace. We got the train. It was lovely having our own compartment to ourselves as we rode along. I was just feeling thrilled because the countryside was so similar to the “real Africa” I’ve envisioned.
Uganda is very green and very beautiful. Between 3 p.m. and when we went to sleep at 11 p.m. or 12 a.m., Gabrielle and I did things like make love, talk, I played the guitar, had tea in the dining car, went over Swahili. The first hour or so we had a fantasy. I walked in the cabin and she played like stranger who was playing the “dice game” and had to make love to a man within five minutes of meeting. I fucked her until she came. Then I sat her down on the seat and went at it. Sex was very hot and enjoyable. My foot had kicked open the door to our cabin, letting light in from the adjoining cabin. Gabrielle jolted but I assured her I had locked the other cabin door. However, she appeared paranoid and she stopped moving. I thought she was turning off (she wasn’t). Alas, but I lost my excitement.
I played the guitar in the adjoining cabin while Gabrielle rested in ours. I went over Spunky and Love’s Paradox and Ban Love, but predominantly, Spunky. It was great playing as the train kept time. About 8:00 p.m., we came to a stop where the most amazing insects sounded their tune—incredible. I would love to record them. At about 9:00 p.m. or a bit before, we came to a dinner stop where I went out to candlelit moonshine pads and BBQ spit. I had a glass of white whiskey for 50 Shillings (7.5 cents) and brought two big skewers of delicious beef back to our compartment. Before we slept, I took Gabrielle down on the big sofa and made love to her (felt normal). I played guitar in the night and at an early hour of the new day in the other compartment. I’m feeling like I may need to build a sound proof room just so I can let go. [Note: the man in the ticket office said the army has taken over the more recent Kabaka’s palace and that they are “unruly, like school boys.”]

September 24, 1984
Ibanda, Uganda

In the early morning, I woke up with a hard on and Gabrielle spread her legs. I fantasized she was a young lady escorted by an older man on a train and he (I) was taking advantage of her. I concentrated on my own pleasure.
Gabrielle and I alighted from the train in the morning about 7:30 am. We walked straight to the bus park and got a track to the junction for Ibanda, and we walked towards Ibanda thirteen kilometers away. It was a nice walk but the pack is tremendously heavy and towards the end I was too worn out to enjoy it and wishing I wasn’t carrying it. We slogged our way to the Ibanda school yard. I bought some sugar cane.
John Maate’s son picked us up [i.e., walked with us] on our way a small lad about seven or eight. We had fresh roasted pork and banana beer at a grassy spot where they have a little pit set up and a stand of bamboo where a pig is cut up and covered with banana leaves. The pork tasted good as can be. (Pork, half a kilo, cooked 200 Shillings, for about half liter or maybe more.) We got to the defunct Mountain Club of Uganda, John Maate’s house. We put our bags in a room and returned down, where I had more pork.
Back again at our room (which smelled of rat droppings and has a dirt floor), I passed out on the bed and called Gabrielle a slut for walking around in her sarong. It was childish of me seems I am resenting on and off since we left Nairobi. She tried to make love with me and fucked me, her on top. The little boy came in, embarrassed we stopped. I wasn’t turned on anymore.
Gabrielle made popcorn for me in the early evening. Gabrielle felt really sick from the pork. She ate so much this afternoon. She felt really awful and not like doing much. In the evening, she and I made love. It was very nice for me at any rate. I felt like I was in Mexico fucking a local woman, a “bad” girl who liked sex. Played the guitar a bit.

September 25, 1984
Ibanda, Uganda

We didn’t end up going this morning. They had to do shopping for the food. A German fellow named Tilman showed up at about 1:00 p.m., or so.
In the late morning Gabrielle and I were laying down. I didn’t feel very sexual but I was rubbing up against her and got excited until I took the time to take her pants off and lock the door. Then she and I made love, but I felt weak sexually. Again I went down for a pork feed and banana beer, good as usual. I felt edgy again today (note: 26th: lack of exercise). We sat up our tent and air mattress for the first time. It was really nice that air mattress. When I read a book of John Maate’s, I realized the highest peak, Mt. Stanley’s Margurite can be climbed without too much difficulty. So guess what? I’m now planning on going to the top of the Ruwenzoris!!
Gabrielle and I had dinner on our cooker and were in bed early. We laid there the longest time and nothing happened to me physically. It’s one of the most uncomfortable feeling I can imagine to be next to a woman and not feel turned on. It was getting later and later and I was stoned and couldn’t sleep. Finally I told her I was going to fantasize and Gabrielle and I made love which felt very good, however actually I didn’t fantasize at all, but I thought of how much I love her.

Uganda, Ruwenzori Mountains In Distance, 1984

September 26, 1984
Nyabitaba Hut, Uganda (2651m)

Now on our way at noon at the pumping station. It feels good to jot thoughts, as it allows me to declare that I’m determined to buck up because happy to be where I am and who I’m with. I am racking my brains to figure lines, especially what to add to “She’s a new wave, a little heart breaker.” I say this because I’ve been complaining a lot about what Gabrielle did, yet I know full well that the important thing is how she acts now, which is all right.
Waiting now for the others at a river. The trail is “real bush” the first such kind since New Guinea. There’s an awesome black and red black crested bird in the trees right now. Across from us, not three miles from here, are the Portal Peaks, some 2000 meters above us.

Uganda, Mountains Of The Moon, Peak, 1984

7:40 p.m., now by candlelight outside…. Love report: Gabrielle and I made it in the morning, only I got off. Good hike. Gabrielle is cooking soup next to me. There was a romantic scene at the rock shelter. We went there alone, Gabrielle and I. We were kissing, I put her hand on my dick, then she sucked me off. I’ve smoked two and a half joints this afternoon and I’m super hot and enjoyed the experience. My penis felt like a tingling cold/hot rod. She looked lovely, laying in grass, beautiful, loving Gabrielle. It was idyllic. I laid her down on the grass under the rock, her jacket under her bum. I fucked her. She came just after me, straining, clutching, gasping. She enjoyed it a lot too, though maybe not as much as me. After dinner we came down. We both had orgasms. It was a really great fuck. I told her it was in my mind that this is how she wanted me (it) to be in Nepal.
(No response).

September 27, 1984
Nyamiliju Hut, Uganda (3322m)

The Ruwenzoris are the best of their kind I’ve ever seen. It is just like New Guinea except that the concentration of spectacular peaks rising steeply is greater. Now its evening and we are all under the rock shelter. The day went as follows: And idyllic beginning, Gabrielle and I waking up on our mattress looking out on the forest and peaks. It was warm. I wanted to ball her before we left, so I did and I felt as hot as last night. I was getting close to coming but I just lost it pressure to go she seemed liking it but not loving it…. I got pissed and tried to blame it on her.
The hike was fantastic, across a pounding river, up through nettles, bamboo, over moss covered rocks and root networks coming out to a higher trail, where we could stand below and see peaks go straight above us, all covered by water and vegetation. We could see up the valley and also a small silver square (Nyabitaba Hut) reflect the sun across the expanse from which we’d come. The trees had lichen hanging like Spanish beards.

Uganda, MountainsMoon, Valley, 1984

As we rose, they were decorated with colonies of moss which bulged out like poodle fur. We got to the rock shelters. Giant lobelias and groundsels are making their appearance. Gabrielle and I set up our mattress in the silver hut. (She and I made love since we got here. It was really wonderful.) We hiked the last hour and a half behind the others. It was much better, stopping, kissing, talking. Had food problems with guides but seems to be straightening out. White and brown jagged peaks visible though clouds from here. Gabrielle and I made love again at night. She had a double orgasm. Gabrielle looks so beautiful and womanly to me. I love looking at her when we make it. Saw a tree full of colobus monkeys swinging.

September 28, 1984
Ejuku Hut (3962m), Uganda

Stoned out of my head here in the most incredible landscape imaginable. Forests of giant groundsels cling to soaring peaks (above 12,000 feet). Mist moves in and out of the valleys, thunder occasionally dominates the audible spectrum. Rushing water, waterfalls and creeks crash through valleys. A very occasional bird. Giant plants, lobelias, groundsel, heather and others (unidentified). The guides and porters chop wood and cut up the smoked bush buck legs we bought from a hunter with a spear. Today we walked through bogs of caryx sedge, hopping from one to the next. My camera is going wild, everything just looks so beautiful. Mosses carpet granite inclines, tress and boulders. We woke up, ate, packed and were walking at 9:00 am. It is the best hike I’ve ever done for sure.

Uganda, Jeff Shea With Giant Groundsels, 1984

Time: 7:15 p.m.… Jesus, it’s snowing outside!! Snow on giant groundsel plants!! We’ve got a fire in a stove, but since it started snowing the temperature has dropped. Snow in Africa! When we got here, Gabrielle and I sat outside on our air mattress. Then we brought it inside. We got into bed—in an attempt to relieve the suppression I feel Gabrielle is under, I played her master me slave. I found it very erotic anyway, but mostly done tongue-in-cheek. (Tell me what to do master!) Oh God! I’m getting ridiculous in my old age. Experiment, for its own sake. The loving was excellent, her orgasm first and afterwards mine. It was of great interest to see exactly what she did want. I am really glad to be here but unhappy over the arrangements involving other people. Gabrielle and I made it again at bed time, me entering her [vagina] from behind. She said it was the first time she ever felt a man come, and [there was] a repeat in the middle of the night. Both times were wonderful.

September 29, 1984
Ejuku Hut (3962m), Uganda

Made love with Gabrielle first thing in the morning from the front. Again, it was very nice, both coming at the same time. Had a big argument over several points with Tilman and the porters and guides. (1) No rope was brought. (2) Only two blankets were actually “rented” of four—the guides put the money, 2000 Shillings—in their pockets. (3) They shared the meat we bought them with Tilman, giving none to us. (4) They didn’t bring fire wood after four requests last night, even though they have six meter of log in their hut. We had the most difficult time communicating with them about how to go about the day. The guide refuses to sleep at Elena Hut; they even suggested we climb the mountain by ourselves without a guide. We talked the morning away, and I finally decided to sleep here again tonight and go for the lot tomorrow from here early to Elena and try to get to Marguerite and then on to Kitandara. The rest of the afternoon I have puttered around trying to make sure we are warm tonight (by putting plastic over the holes in the hut). Gabrielle and I made it. We tried to be quiet. My orgasm was incredible.
Diary, the scenery here is just out of this world. The groundsels, five meters high, dominate the (botanical) landscape. I’m sure there is no place on earth like this. We sit and have popcorn and coffee and local tobacco and review love’s dilemmas. Diary, I am bobbing out to the max [i.e., doing something really great] just to be here.
Bedtime: Gabrielle and I had some time alone this evening. We had some reassuring words pass between us and caressed each other. She and I crawled into bed by candlelight and made beautiful love. I felt wanted romantically and physically. There’s a warm fire in here tonight. Such things make all the difference.

Uganda, Jeff Shea In Hut Ruwenzori Mountains,1984

September 30, 1984
Kitandara Hut (via Elena Hut 4584m), Uganda

4:00 p.m.: Just back from an awesome hike. I almost got killed by a rock traveling at terminal velocity. Gabrielle said she missed me so much today that she declared she couldn’t live without me and that she’d have to ask me to marry her. (It’s a leap year, girls are allowed.) I said, “When are you going to ask?” She said, “Right now.” I said, “Can I have some time to think about it (hugging each other the whole time).” She laughed happily and so did I when she said, “Of course!”
Diary, it was one of the greatest thrills of my life. I felt so happy that she really loved me enough to say that. It is as if suddenly I can believe all her pleas of love, that she did think I’m her best lover I feel now I can forgive her and treat her right, like she deserves. In fact, she said, “I don’t think I can live without you, so you have to forgive me for my past and just love me.” I said immediately, ”It’s done.”
The whole idea to go to Marguerite from Bujuku then here is absurd. Maybe the weather is too foul—after all, it is pretty miserable.
Awoke at 5:10 a.m. The guide was ready at 7:10 a.m. We two climbed to Elena Hut, arriving about 10:10 a.m. The walk was fantastic. The groundsels never cease to amaze me. We climbed on rocks and snow to the hut just before Stanley’s Glacier. The weather was bleak. It seemed impractical [to climb to the top], and anyway the guide refused to take me. The Kitandara trail, it was much longer than I expected. After coffee and meat, we departed at about noon. In a thick fog, we once lost our way and got on to the Kitandara trail.

Uganda, Mountains Of The Moon, 1984

We walked among groundsel forests, then up a steep creek over a pass covered in snow and down to the Kitandara Lakes. On my way past the granite face of immense proportion of Mt. Baker, I heard the terrifying whir of a rock the size of a soccer ball dropping 500 meters. I turned away as it smashed a giant groundsel down. I flailed for cover. Painful toes to Kitandara, Gabrielle proposes marriage to me. Evening drying clothes and eating. Made love with Gabrielle. It’s all good!

October 1, 1984
Nyabitaba Hut (2651 m), Uganda

Had sex first thing in the morning. Open her long johns from behind is the easiest way. It’s always good. I had to smoke a number even before rising just to get myself up! (Yesterday was a long walk). Ugh! Up, breakfast.
The porters were anxious to get going because they wanted to get all the way to Nyabitaba. In fact, they ate up all the extra food early and were thus compelled to act.
We departed at 9:20 am. We climbed over Freshfield pass in about two hours and proceeded down, climbing over rocks and sloshing though the ever present boggy mud, found even on the steep slopes in the form of pockets of water and mud between rocks. Everyone went ahead of us, Gabrielle and I both feeling worn out from yesterday. I stayed with her, assisting her along the way. This continued for hours until we arrived at Bujunale Rock Shelter, where she and I had some bush buck to revive ourselves. Half an hour down we came upon the group at Kabamba Rock Shelter (3779 m), although at the time we were misinformed (purposefully) by Manuel that we were still an hour from there. We all continued down, arriving at a very poor, unleveled, wet shelter at 2:30 p.m., and we were told that this was Kabamba and [asked], would we like to spend the night? Obviously it was unstable for camping. We were told by Manuel that it was two and a half or three hours to Nyabitaba from there, so everyone wanted to go. Of course, this was all a deception in order to get on to Nyabitaba, since for four hours and thirty five minutes we raced as fast as we had ever walked, arriving at Nyabitaba at 7:05 p.m.. It was an extremely uncomfortable walk at that pace. We climbed down rock faces, sloshed through shin-deep bogs, over root and moss covered rock maze works, across the Mubuki river, continuing right up to dark. Gabrielle started crying at one point. (Me: Manuel, You’ll pay for this!!) Arriving, we were given tea and peanuts, which was a treat.
Gabrielle and I slept under the rock shelter again, an idyllic spot. She and I made beautiful love before sleep. In the middle of the night, I had her give me head and then fucked her from behind (in the vagina). It was most erotic.

October 2, 1984
Ibanda, Uganda

Gabrielle’s birthday today. Wished her a happy birthday as we opened our eyes. A wonderful way to wake up, this is, clutching each other lovingly, being happy. Manuel made a story at breakfast, how “all” the cassava had gotten wet, and although last night I told them they could eat up the seven extra fish we had left, they (it seems) went hungry since they had eaten it some days ago. We didn’t leave until almost noon, all feeling cheery about going back. Uncomfortably, a torrential downpour came upon us within an hour, and to my despair, although the guide with our pack waited for us, he had removed our rain tarp and given it to his subordinates who were now far ahead. In consequence, I had to remove each article from the pack and put them in plastic bags. I was irate, uncomfortable, and I yelled at Gabrielle because she was watching me instead of helping. The walk was miserable, but the arrival correspondingly relieving. We all felt wonderful walking from Nyakalengya (the pumps station) to Ibanda, Tilman, Gabrielle and I. We all slept in the room provided by John Maate. I went over each point of complaint with John. As it turned out, the guide should have slept at Elena Hut. I paid what I owed but no more. (They wanted two days pay for yesterday but we refused.) Gabrielle wanted to give them a tip but I was opposed, solely because they had been dishonest (and uncooperative at important times). We had our clothes washed by a boy (for less than one dollar) and a dinner of cassava, banana and cabbage.
When they lights went out, Gabrielle and I “attacked” [i.e., loved] each other as quietly as possible. Erotic love.

Chapter 27
The Moving Zoo

October 3, 1984
Kasindi, Zaire

I am very happily sitting on a stool outside room surrounded by the cutest six-year-olds looking out on a magnificent view of Virunga National Park the early evening sun beaming as from heaven through the clouds after a refreshing rain. These kids are awesome. The view is awesome. To the east of the plain, rows of mountains rise, mist gray, through the clouds. Some waterbuck graze in the lime green grass on the hill opposite us, eighty meters away. The rain falls as the sun shines. Gabrielle and I made love about 5:00 a.m. to start the day. This romance is getting better all the time. We breakfasted on cassava and beans brought to us at 6:45 a.m.; we gave John a tip, said goodbye to Tilman and got on the truck (market day bringing bundles of green bananas to Kasese). I spiked my Marlboro and thought of lyrics to Spunky on the way. We left the early morning view of white Mt. Speke to arrive in Kasese for a snack of coffee and eggs, then boarded a share taxi for the borer of Zaire.
We passed Ruwenzori National Park. (Noted elephant warning signs.) At the border we sat under trees where yellow birds built two part nests on the outer limbs by the hundreds in a single tree. We dried our things in the sun. We got a ride hours later in a lorry the few miles to Kasindi (getting pulled out of the mud by a caterpillar on the way), Zaire’s border town. After a thorough baggage check, we crossed, giving a souvenir to the check-post officials. After cleaning, Gabrielle and I closed the door to our room and made love that was incredible, hot and wonderful. I feel so wanted and sexy. Again after dinner she and I had very hot loving, only the bed creaked miserably for all to hear, since we half-broke it the first time.

October 4, 1984
Kasindi, Zaire

Some fantastic feelings flowing through me. Gabrielle and I made sexy love, I’m at my prime. I admitted to her that I’m a whore i.e., would fuck most women, providing they were acceptable. We spent the evening outside, first smoking a joint with a Kenyan boy, then just the two of us, marveling at the moonlit cloudy landscape. I think I may try to postpone my trip, send a telex from Beni. Sell my plane ticket. Go back via Cameroon and the Sahara.
I’m getting wonderful visions of Zaire. Gabrielle agreed its as if it’s the center of the Earth. (A better wording for my goal to visit every country would be “To become Intimate with the Earth.”) Sat in a potato patch looking at Virunga Park and hills beyond in the early evening visions of Studio in the Congo – fly in only generator really out there. Took a walk “to say hello” around Kasindi before setting up on the hill at 10:30 p.m.—whorish women, exuberant children, “Bon Socis.” She said, “Being in Zaire has changed you back into the Jeff I knew in Nepal.” Tilman came across the border today. We’ll all be leaving here in the morning. Didn’t leave today because of no transport. Found out interesting places to go: Mohoyo (pygmies), Epulu (Okapi). Had sex thrice with Gabrielle, tonight the best.

October 5, 1984
Beni, Zaire
6:00 am: Up, ready to go. Waiting for the restaurant to open. We finally left for Beni at precisely 11:00 a.m., crammed into the back of a pick up truck. (We spent the morning having chai’s, walking around the bustling market; we bought a very tasty smoked fish, onions, tomatoes and bread. I smoked a joint, which made me too out of it.) We went very fast though Park Virunga, and we didn’t see any animals. After last night’s vigil looking out over the panorama in awe, the ride (at last) into the Congo was a little anticlimactic, but it was quite beautiful. From the opposite gate one could look out (back) and see the tremendous blues of the sky and greens of the grasses and trees. We had rain on the way and used our tarp to cover us and everyone else. We got a really cramped room in Beni, and I changed $100 for 4400 Z which came in a six-inch wide stack. Tilman and I went into town. I bought some wine and treats for Gabrielle for her birthday.
When I returned, Gabrielle and I had a failed attempt at making love (largely because I was irritable). We fell asleep, both really tired. Last night was really fantastic but this day was in contrastingly frustrating. (Gabrielle and I made love before sleep, had to fantasize.)

October 6
Junction To Mt. Hoya, Zaire

4:00 p.m.: En route to Mohoyo. We’ve blown a tire on the way. This day was better than yesterday, but ended in a weird, unsettling way (though not too bad). The effects of (1) being stoned, (2) without privacy (3) people laughing at me (us), (4) being uncomfortable, (5) Gabrielle feeling blah and sick all are combining to make me feeling confused and irritated and sexually frustrated. The morning was quite happy. I stayed in a good frame of mind while we ate, packed, waited until about twelve noon for a truck to Oysha (Wicha).
The 30 kilometers took about two hours. There we had lunch and waited until 4:00 p.m., when we got another ride to the junction (13 kilometers before Komanda) to Mohoyo, arriving at about 9:00 p.m. On the way, the truck blew a tire. I smoked a number then, which enhanced the trip. I remained in a good frame of mind, even despite the antipathy projected by a mother who kept crowding her way into my knee. The last half an hour, I felt the ass of a pretty woman (who seemed not to mind) who sat next to me. A French speaking black man gave us a room to sleep in. All O.K. Went outside and had a smoke, first with Tilman, then with Gabrielle. Not feeling good, fell asleep.

October 7, 1984
Mt. Hoyo, Zaire

Made it before getting up. Tilman asked for a cup of coffee and I felt resentful because Gabrielle always caters to him (not true, it’s because we’re always giving to him and he doesn’t really reciprocate). I feel harassed about my behavior even though the complaints are valid. I think it’s easier to be alone. (Recount next day:) I left the junction and marched solo up the road for forty minutes, whereupon some pygmies offered me some ndizi (bananas), which I bought for twelve Zaires. Sitting against their house in the shade, I stuffed myself, and behold: Gabrielle was stomping like a soldier only fifteen minutes behind. We watched the pygmies (ugly as hell) make mafuta, i.e. palm oil, by crushing palm nuts. Somewhat further up the road, we pulled into a shelter while it rained. We had tea and I played the guitar. When the rain stopped, a man came to us with a big sore on his arm—ugh! Gabrielle put some ointment on his sore. He gave us a (monkey-fur lined) pygmy bow with two beautiful arrows as a gift. We then gave him a shirt.
On our way to the hotel grounds an OAT (Overland Adventure Tours) truck with fifteen passengers picked us up half kilometer up the road. They got stuck in the mud. After half an hour (with all the pygmies trying to sell things) we walked on and got the best camping spot, under a large clump of beautiful bamboo with a view of the Congo beyond. Before the night was out, Gabrielle and I had bought two leopard teeth, obtained avocados, eggs and chicken. We smoked out of little gourd bongs with uzo inside. I passed out without making it when Gabrielle and I retired. All in all, a good day. Bob [i.e., great] place.

October 8, 1984
Mt. Hoyo, Zaire

4:00 p.m.: We are sitting in out tent, the birds are starting to sing again, the rain is lightening up and we survived one of those awesome storms. The burst of thunder above us was frightening. Twenty minutes ago we were sorting out our things on the (*) lawn, when zap! the thunder starts. (Oh, now while I am writing this, the (*) denotes the point at which Gabrielle flashed her vagina to me and I leaped on top of her among all our possessions heaped up on the air mattress and fucked her till she was making loud sounds of pleasure. Now we are resuming our activities huddled in our tent while the rain trickles away.)
We moved to the little house as the tent was not very dry or nice. We had two-thirds of a bottle of Bordeaux wine and passed out on the bed (air mattress). In the morning today we went to see the pygmies dance. It was sort of disappointing. The OAT people acted like assholes, yelling: “Three cheers to the chief! Hip-hip-hooray,” three times in a row. I should note however that the pygmies here are like weird little gnomes. Like seven-year-old children turned into little adults. This place is a bit weird. Gabrielle and I both slept very deeply after the wine. Walking outside to piss at night, drowsy, seeing the fireflies like in a fairy tale, and feeling like the whole of the mountain was once very dark and mysterious. Early morning dreams about a wealthy Chattanooga man King of Agamemnon. Plenty of beautiful women.
Today the most unlikely accident happened. Gabrielle was making popcorn while I lay close by with my shirt off. When she opened the lid, a hot unpopped kernel flew into my belly button! It burned the skin badly before I had a chance to realize what it was and removed it!

October 9, 1984
Mt. Hoyo, Zaire

The answer for me not to concern myself with what people like to hear in music; rather, I should endeavor to produce the best music my abilities will allow. The premise I will employ here is that what we all want in music is merely quality. I will change program wording from Axiom to PREMISES. Gabrielle is enticing me. she is appearing so lovely and I am finding myself infatuated with her. This makes me happy no end. Decided we this morning that as far as fantasizing goes, it is best to allow “streams of thought and pictures to flow through our mind” as long as they do flow freely and are not “forced in order to get excited.” Beautiful Congo sunset, birds sing by day, crickets and fireflies electrify the air by night. Relaxed day. Deciding to go to Kisangani next, “The Center of The Earth.” Did a lot of trading today, which I enjoy. I traded a compass and the air mattress (lower section) for guide fees (600Z) to visit grotto tomorrow.

October 10, 1984
Mt. Hoyo, Zaire

Discussion while waiting for rain to stop so we can visit caves:
PARANOIA. Layman’s definition. Obsession: worrying not based in reality or way beyond reality. “You are a little quick to jump to the worst possible conclusion.” With mechanical objects your attitude doesn’t alter reality, but with human beings it can alter reality. “Lack of perspective.” Stems from self centered attitude or a lack of tolerance for reality being different than what I want. “You’re not very pragmatic in you approach.” My paranoia is being afraid of being caught unaware. Determined to confront the worst possible reality. Cause: Having being hurt in the past. If I place the reason as being negative or positive I could be imagining or not seeing the whole truth, interpreting the worst possible reasons behind behavior.
We visit the caves at noon. Of only mild interest. The waterfall was another place we were taken it was worth seeing.
Sexually I’m at a low, I’m not certain why. Lack of proper exercise and diet perhaps. This girl of mine, however, is fantastic. She looks after me. I am, however, argumentative when I’m discontent. We’ve spent about $8 a day since Beni. No singing. Tooting about a bit on guitar. No lyrics.
Success: Would be to go to Kisangani, ride on the Congo, get my necklace back, see the gorillas, visit Rwanda, Burundi, Zambia via the Lake & ZANZIBAR.

October 11, 1984
Beni, Zaire

3:30 am: Sitting up. As it turned out, I stayed up. I smoked a long joint and then I went out in the moonlit night and played the guitar in the grass. Gabrielle got up and made me coffee. We were walking by 6:00 a.m., but didn’t get to the bottom until about 11:00 am. On the way we stopped[for Gabrielle] to rebandage the man’s arm and also to have pineapple and bananas at the plantation. (Note: Upon leaving Mt. Hoyo I slipped the man 50Z rather than pay him 160Z for accommodation). We soon got a ride on a fast truck and arrived about 4:00 p.m. in Beni. We more or less returned to Beni because it was just as easy as going 52 kilometers east towards Bunia to change money, and the ride came along going that way. Fortunately, we arrived alive through treacherous rain and high speeds. Upon returning to the hotel, I was overjoyed to find my necklace on the (owner’s) wife’s arm. Gabrielle and I did what shopping we could. Before sleeping, She and I made nice love. The bed was hard but we slept very deeply. I dreamt deeply.

October 12, 1984
Komanda, Haut-Zaire, Zaire

After two days of riding in the back of pickup trucks full of people, holding on for dear life, through thunderstorms (with rain tarps clutched desperately over us) we are back where we should have been a week ago. The most amusing sight of the day was the man stepping out on the roadside in a wide-brimmed hat, whose “mustache” (like two thin caterpillars crawling out of his nose vertically on an otherwise bare upper lip) was cause for spontaneous cackling. Otherwise the day was the pits. Well, the morning was O.K. shopping and changing money in Beni. But we argued as we began six hours of uncomfortable rides. I felt like a loser like “why am I doing something so un enjoyable!” It’s a real workout just holding on to the damn truck! By the time we got to a room in Komanda Gabrielle and I had good sex and just passed out.

October 13, 1984
Epulu, Haut-Zaire, Zaire

Six month anniversary of writing Spunky….
Today there were wondrous moments. It was a truly enjoyable day. We were fortunate in finding a truck in the morning going to Kisangani. We waited till about 10:00 a.m., sitting outside. A group of children came marching along singing songs. We soon crossed the Ituri River and proceeded through the wondrous Congo (westward all day), where the light falls in a unique way. It is the highly oxidized air or the intensity of the equatorial sun? The greens are greener, the images more clear, the sky is a fantastic blue. There is a strange, good quality here, mysterious, different, yet wonderful and subtle. On the way some pygmy girls took their skirts off to pose for my camera for 5Z.
The men with the truck are very helpful and friendly. Gabrielle and I staked our territory out in the front right of the high Mercedes trailer. The ride was very comfortable, perched up there. We finished our 164 kilometers by crossing the dual bridges over the Epulu river. Gabrielle and I made love after dinner in our circular bungalow nice. In love. A pleasant day. Excited to get to Kisangani. Success: to arrive Kisangani, find a way to Kinshasa on boats, make plans for creative future, to feel virile sexually, revitalize myself write a song.

October 14, 1984
Kilometer 57, Brothel, Zaire
57 kilometers from Kisangani: We were awoken in the early morning. We packed right away and made some coffee while waiting for the truck. The day went by just fine, arriving in Nia-Nia (Nyah-Nyah) before noon and racing along past the rivers and towns through tunnels of bamboo trees. The next in a string of unlikely accidents (see popcorn kernel in the belly button of October 8th) I got squarely bopped in the head by some overhanging bamboo after having avoided thousands of would-be collisions. We rode passed the Ituri River again today. We first sighted it just outside of Komanda yesterday and now it crosses the road again only this time larger and more intriguing. Another wondrous evening ride, fireflies about, clouds speaking to me in sign language and cryptograms. The guys on the truck kept to their story the whole day that we would sleep at “Kilometer 57” and with good reason. On the way we stopped by village of dancing people. A firefly got on the truck and sat in front of me and Gabrielle huddled in our little space, giving it the aspect of a cockpit. The all girl staff at the Km 57 hotel and the painting of a man and a woman on the wall tipped me off that it’s a brothel. Not surprisingly, the bed was super comfortable and we had hot, perfect loving before sleep.
[Note: a story not included in the original diary was that when we arrived, the truck driver asked me if I wanted a girl, right in front of Gabrielle! I politely declined.]

October 15, 1984
Kisangani, Zaire

We left “Km 57” in a mad start, ducking under killer bamboo, reaching the tarmac road and rolling into Kisangani by 7:30. At the Olympia Hotel we found the OAT folks and Tilman all waiting for the boat which is due to arrive tomorrow. Of course, this is all a bright note. For one thing, we could not have really saved any time if we had rushed from Mt. Hoyo or not gone back to Beni to retrieve my necklace. Secondly, this means we have a good opportunity to take the boat—since it only runs once a week or so, an inconvenient schedule could curtail our plans.
We walked around in the afternoon and checked out airplane fares and such. I went to PROCURE, and bought some hippo-bone carvings pendants for the neck. I also bought a “fetish” for 100Z from a young man (who later tried to sell ‘gold’ to me). A German named Stephen who befriended Tilman proved a very interesting conversationalist. He’s spent a year in Zaire and three years in Afghanistan. He’s walked into a gorilla in the forest and eaten gorilla, elephant, chimp, monkey, etc. in a thousand kilometer walk in Kivu. He says the Dinkas scar their entire body and knock out their front teeth and wear huge thorn bracelets. He says a canoe cost 1000Z for a 10m dugout and takes four to five days to build (in Kisangani). He’s supposedly the manager of a diamond mine here.
Gabrielle and I made wonderful hot love before sleeping. she turns me on. I feel relaxed when feel wanted. Slept in the tent.

October 16, 1984
Kisangani, Zaire

Great day: the boat arrived and we bought our tickets to Kinshasa. Furthermore, we discovered that with Amiza we can fly for about $50 cheaper. Also, at Procure, a mission place, they sell exquisite ivory at very low prices, as well as other artifacts: wood carvings, malachite, hippo-bone carvings, etc. I couldn’t resist buying various pieces: two hippo bone carvings (Z25,25), two beautiful ivory carvings (Z230,230), one wood fetish (Z50), seven hippo bone pendant masks (each Z15), two ivory necklaces (Z60,60). At the hotel I bought one hippo bone necklace (Z40) and one (old) hippo bone fetish (Z30). Among the days activities were drinking three beers, making it in the morning with Gabrielle, going to an out-of-the-way local restaurant and having monkey meat (tasted O.K.). I felt so damn thrilled with the thoughts of being able to actually pay for my travels through importation of artifacts. The Englishman (of Trans-Africa ‘84 London Botswana) with Eugene (a fixer) changed our $100 at Z43/$1, but we were unable to change more than that today and we will have a lot to do tomorrow before the boat leaves. Gabrielle and I had excellent loving in the early evening and again at night, though tonight we stopped after she came (because I had more than a little beer in me and couldn’t come, though I/we went on and on).

October 17, 1984
On Colonel Ebeya, en route To Bumba, Congo River, Zaire

5:00 p.m.: Well, we made it. I think this will be one of the most memorable parts of my whole trip. This is really fantastic. We are en route to Bumba. Last night we had to drag our tent out of the rain and got very little sleep in all. We awoke about 5:20 a.m. and headed straight to the port. Having taken a wrong turn we lost a crucial minute in which the other group (OAT) got in front of us. Having arrived moments before us at Immigration we had to wait until the lot of them had gone through. They [the Immigration], to my surprise, checked our baggage and found our souvenir money from Uganda but not my hidden $100 and one hundred DM, although he came so close. It was confiscated afterwards gave him Z200 to get it back. We were uncertain as to when the boat was going to depart and the officers seemed to think it was going to be soon. Instead of going off to change money under the assumption that we would leave apres midi, I forced myself to pay dollars for our air ticket. The boat left at 11:32 a.m. I probably could have changed in time but every one asked said, Avant-midi and one said Tout-suite, so I couldn’t take the chance. I also went to Procure, but the gorgeous ivory had just been bought by a black man who had a suitcase full of ivory. The plane tickets unfortunately cost $45 more, total. Despite this unfortunate circumstance, Gabrielle and I had an extremely good piece of luck in getting a cabin in the second class on the upper deck of the front ship (barge), and the very front cabin as well. It’s probably the best place on the whole assembly of cabled together vessels.

Congo Zaire, Riverboat Barges, 1984

The beginning of the trip was exhilarating, the sun shinning and a quick clip down the long river, talking to Tilman, hanging over the railing.

October 18, 1984
Bumba, Equateur, Zaire

How great it would be to speak Lingala. I speak with the people of the Congo. A good way to become friends with people is to express interest in their affairs by helping them. I spent the day repairing and organizing my things and playing the guitar. It is wonderful to have free time to do things. The ship reached Bumba at about sunset and it stayed there all night long.

Congo Zaire, Riverboat Sunset, 1984

Gabrielle and I made love in the morning. It was fantastic. First, she got off then, I laid with my dick inside her without moving it felt like her pussy was melting around it. Then we started moving and both came at the same time.
There were lots of dead monkeys on the boat today. They smelled awful, and their eyes bulged out of their heads. I took photos. The OAT people got off at Bumba, the truck having arrived in twenty driving hours at a fast clip. I took photos about sunset. I drank beer and smoked pot in the evening with Tilman. Gabrielle is feeling unwell and laid on the bed all day. (I estimated it would take ten to twenty days to reach Lisala from Kisangani by canoe and maybe two to three months to Kinshasa.) The people sell and eat grubs on the boat. I saw two crocodiles on board as well. One man was skinning a monkey by singeing it’s hair and scraping.

October 19, 1984
Lisala, Equateur, Zaire

Good morning. Diary, the sex has been so good lately since I took the attitude that I don’t care if we make love or not. It seems it happens so naturally now. It gives Gabrielle a chance to work up her desire. Obviously sex is better if she is wanting it a lot. Made love with Gabrielle this morning so good! Tilman walked in on us, apologized, and left. The water in the Congo appears a mud brown and, when disturbed, it has an orange tint. We came into Lisala in late afternoon. I took some photos but was forced to expose them by a plain-clothes policeman. Tilman left for the mission. Gabrielle and I went into town and bought a few food items (8 inch pineapple Z15).
Another barge was added to our convoy. Gabrielle and I sat just below the bridge and watched them maneuver it on by spotlight in the night. Colorful is the word to describe this moving city. We had a hassle over the extra bed in our room (since Tilman’s departure—PS: he says he is going to try to get to Ouagadougou (Wagadagoo)). I solved the problem by putting the bed outside our room and then paying Z100 to the Bangole “steward” to remove it, which he did straight away. Now Gabrielle and I have a cabin to ourselves.
There is so much life, hustle and bustle on the boat. One day they load on a ton of dead monkeys, the next hordes of catfish, some five feet long.

Congo Zaire, Dead Monkeys Used As Food, 1984

Dried fish are stored in flat elliptical baskets, weighing from one and a half to five kilos (estimate). Three kilos could cost $10. Hopefully, we will be able to keep this cabin until we arrive in Kinshasa. I am still trying to work out a “perfect” rough sketch of Spunky.

October 20, 1984
En route To Mbandaka, Equateur, Zaire

Congo Zaire, Baboon On Riverboat, 1984

Fish, monkeys, bananas and booze
Laundry on the line, spiky hairdos.
Talking Lingala at such a fierce speed,
the sweet aroma of Congolese weed.
Zairoise, Wazungu,
all heaped together on this moving zoo.
Local whiskey by candlelight,
vending, trading into the night.
French fashion, second hand clothes,
Women mind children,
Men polish their toes.
Ten dollar stereo in the bar.
Pumps out static, voice and guitar.
Monkeys, deer, pig, smoked to taste,
ten foot crocodile lashed in place.
An endless procession of dugout canoes,
Beams of light cut the night
in the land of voodoo.

Congo Zaire, Roasted Monkey On Riverboat, 1984

Today was a full day. We had breakfast of bread, avocados and coffee. The coffee is all right, however, being that our fresh water from Lisala is finished, we have to resort to Congo River water, which looks awful and probably is, considering, for e.g., that the ship dumps its waste in it – apparently there’s bilharzia in it as well! Avocados cost Z3 to 5 each and are a rare treat. I spent a lot of the morning playing the guitar. Gabrielle and I made it as well. Lunch was of rice and sombe (a spinach like green which, at its best, is delicious). It is normally served at about 2:00 p.m. to 3:00 p.m. (rather than 12:00 p.m. to 1:00 p.m.). After lunch, the barges floated into a small island, facing upstream for repairs.

Congo Zaire, Riverboat Barge Hits Land, 1984

The people hacked off leafy branches which they fed to their goats. Gabrielle and I sat just below the bridge again and looked out on the barges, now five in number not including the tug, Colonel Ebeya.
The beautiful glowing light of the sunset gave the fanfare spectacular a timeless hue.

Congo Zaire, Riverboat Sunset, 1984

Gab’e made peanuts, avocado and rice (from lunch) dinner. I gave her a buck up buck a roo [i.e., just saying the words ‘buck-up-buckaroo’ to be silly] and left suddenly when she said something about making my own coffee!! I went downstairs where I was offered a hit of good grass. Gabrielle found me. We got some local whiskey (Z5/shot) and sat below the bridge. I thought. The major thrust was:
(As ridiculous as the Pilot would consider this) Bitchiness is emulating the Pilot. It is the practice of looking at all perceptions of the body as illusions detaching yourself from your mind and body.
Gabrielle went to the cabin. I sat with a married woman, Marie, and felt her legs till she pushed my hand away from her cunt. I went to sleep under the bridge on a bench until Gabrielle found me and asked me back. Gabrielle and I retained to our room, had sex and slept.

October 21, 1984
En route To Mbandaka, Equateur, Zaire

1:30 p.m.: Sitting out on my favorite seat again at last, and the sun is beaming down. Today the river appears like a lake with islets scattered all over – it no longer has the semblance of a river. The hot sun graces the greens, the sky is a pale, beautiful blue, cumulus clouds scatter as if over the ocean.

Congo Zaire, The Colonel Ebeya Steamboat, 1984

Heaps of dried fish are spread on the foredeck in their baskets, ideal for the purpose, being only 2” to 3” thick but averaging 3 feet long and 1 -1/2 inches wide.
We are traveling at a more pleasant speed – maybe fifteen kilometers an hour (nine knots), which is about ten kilometers over the surface of the water. We cruise within 50 meters of the shore of islets. We have cut speed because one engine is out. Now we are in between Bolombo and Lulonga, and I note the river and islets are quite scenic in the sun. The music blares on in the bar as cold beer is sipped and occasional people dance.
(Late afternoon) Black boys sit next to me and sing the popular African Song. It is a perfect day. I find satisfaction in taking advantage of the day’s sights, sounds and sun. If I was inside, I’d feel like I was missing out on everything. In retaliation of Gab’e’s comment, I was up and out to “find my own tea” (though she was pleading to make me some [coffee]).
I breakfasted with the two Dutch girls and a Zairoise. I read up on Congo, Equatorial Guinea, and then Gabrielle came and sat with me. We patched things up. I’ve been writing since then. I went on a photo safari around the barges. I took photos of the face of a roasted monkey, a captive ten foot crocodile, the pretty Zairoise (Captain’s wife?) who sports one of the classic Zairoise [‘Zair-wa-zay’] hair styles of the spike variety.

Congo Zaire, Zairose Spiky Hair, 1984

Now I’m just finishing off a Primus beer (72 cl). During the evening, I told Gabrielle I wanted to be alone. I walked around the ship. I met two girls Mavera, Majane. I sat with the manager’s (not the Captain’s) wife, watching her husband settle a dispute involving dried fish, army men and handcuffs. I came back to the cabin, had a riff with G and talked to a college girl named Eme. Back to our cabin and G[abrielle]. DANCING IS A SERIOUS BUSINESS!

October 22, 1984
Mbandaka, En route To Kinshasa, Zaire

We woke in the middle of the night to see this zoo rolling up to a stop in Mbandaka. I had a walk about town. A man showed me a small female chimpanzee and offered to sell it for Z2000. (Bank yield Z30 = $1, black market yield Z44 = $1) The ship sounds its horn (steel trembles) and we swung back around downstream. The ship always docks facing upstream. I was reading (below the bridge) Africa on the Shoestring (Mauritania, Mali [Dogons], Niger, Morocco, Sao Tome and Principe). A British girl was attempting to join us in our room, so Gabrielle was telling me. The crisis ended when Gabrielle handled it well, twice locking the door behind herself and later explaining how we’d paid extra.
We had lunch with the Dutch girls. In the afternoon, Gabrielle and I went on the top of the adjacent barge. We did [i.e., studied] our Swahili into the dark, and we marveled at the blues of the sky, the green of the jungle, the blotch of pink where the sun went down. I went to the cabin to roll a joint, returned, but we lost it during our long interval of communication there in the dark. We came down, some guy offered me a hit of a joint, then some guy gave me some excellent sensemillion [i.e., weed without seeds]. Gabrielle and I had a smoke, then (her in Mickey Mouse T shirt and my sarong) we went to the bar. The bartender, in upturned painter’s cap) voiced accompaniment and another shook metal bean carachas. Gabrielle said, “This is my First Night in Africa.” The lively music blared, I handled a caracha. The caracha man danced me onto the floor and visiting bar folk roared with pleasure. I shake some hip and they roared again. Gabrielle comes on, the guest of an African (it is possible to earn their respect) and they roared again. Back at the bar, I swing my shirt off and they roared again. The excellent caracha man brings me out for a third dance. The children dance like geniuses. The man plays a Primus bottle. Arm in arm, then dancing apart. We experience an incredible video, live. Children sleeping on the bar floor.
Gabrielle and I make it, drunk, fall asleep.

October 23, 1984
En route To Kinshasa, Zaire

1:30 p.m.: We are sun baking up here atop the _________, the barge next door to us folks on the Banglore. Cruising slowly is wonderful (six knots). The music from the bar is wonderful too, like Calypso (?), black male harmonies and staccato electric guitar, drifting up between the Banglore and the ________ on the wind, back to us, sitting against the smoke stack. (No smoke, as it’s being pushed by the Colonel Ebeya on one engine.) On top of the Banglore, men have spread out fishes and monkeys for drying… Old steamboats out of commission… I can imagine them smoking up the Congo River. When islands aren’t blocking the way, we have a clear view of _________.
Last night was fantastic. This trip just gets better and better.
(Anecdote: Somehow, I just pissed in bed last night. Gabrielle woke me up and asked me if I urinated. (“Nope,” said I). But telltale evidence showed I had. I must have been awfully drunk. She laughed. We can hardly stop laughing when it’s mentioned.
Sex this morning. I felt like it was the first time as a total Animal. There was just this body next to me. I washed out the sleeping sheet in the morning. We went on top of the barge. I had a beer and was stoned. I went down to the electrician’s to replace the pot Gabrielle mistakenly threw out, and he and I smoked a ‘j’ [a marijuana cigarette].
We sat up there. Gabrielle had to leave, it was so hot. Later she brought lunch up (chicken). We went up to first class to return Africa On The Cheap to the Dutch girls. We did our Swahili.
In the evening, a storm brewed up as if we were on the ocean. The pilot pulled up to an island and broke the motor mount off of an angry villager’s canoe. The boat laid up to the island most of the night. The winds were very high and the water was swelling. Gabrielle and I went to bed early.

October 24, 1984
Bolombo, En route to Kinshasa, Zaire

Even though we were still docked against the island in early morning, we awoke in the morning to find our ship in Bolombo. I bought ten mangoes for Z8 (20 cents) and some fresh peanut butter from a pot full. In the morning we went over Spunky. The refrain had to be done over. We went to take showers and stood in line. I used a technique: to write down anything and everything that came to mind until something good come up:
Minnie T shirt Bounce in place,
Beauty marks Smiling Face,
What’s Behind It?
Loosely fastened cloth sarong
No need to say what’s going on
Resign to It.

I shot clandestine of a women with hair in one foot spike.

Congo Zaire, Longest Spiky Hair, 1984

A fight broke out on the side barge. Bottles being broken as weapons. I had my camera handy and I snapped photos of a soldier with a knife in had, another man with a bottle, ten men holding them back and half the people on the boat jammed against the rails on looking.

Congo Zaire, Fight On Riverboat, 1984

We bought a dried fish for Z120 and could eat only one quarter of the delicious meat. We took photos of soldiers eagerly posing on top of the barge. We traded for an “Operation Manta: Tchad” medallion from a Zairois soldier for Tanzanian Shillings (worth Z200) and a lighter on top of the side barge under the stars. We smoke with the electrician downstairs. We go drinking Malafu with the soldier and John. The bars are closed down (since the afternoon fight). Out of beer. At the end of the night, the manager and wife ask us to breakfast.

October 25, 1984
155 Vinto Ceng, Kinshasa, Zaire

We climbed up on to of the barge to watch the sunrise. We had breakfast in the first class dining as the manager and wife seemed oblivious of their invitation of last night. Watching them haul out the dead monkeys from the refrigerator was totally gross. They used hand brooms to brush off the maggots, which clung to their decomposing blue flesh and matted fur.

Congo Zaire, Brushing Off The Maggots, 1984

We were pulled into the Immigration. The man searching the bags held up Gabrielle’s tampons and only put them away when laughed at. The Bihai girl brought us to a place for ice cream and cappuccino. (In order to get out we had Police baton the locals at the gate.)
The search for the Burundi Embassy was a long, successful walk, but they had closed. The Catholic mission turned us down for making a tent, and the hotels were too far away. The Protestant Mission had to wait for the director, and it got dark and we had no place to stay. As a last resort, I went to search for Lode’s brother. Only doors away from No.13, I stopped a couple in a car just leaving their big beautiful house. They were Americans. When I explained our circumstances, they invited us to pitch our tents in their yard, then to sleep in the house. They made us delicious tuna fish sandwiches. We watched a movie on video, Velvet…. We were given beds to sleep in.

October 26, 1984
Kinshasa. Zaire

We came downstairs (after greeting each other on her bed) a fine breakfast Rice Krispies, coffee, raisin bread, etc. Jim dropped us off at Av. De La Gombe and we applied for our Burundi visas, being told to return at 12:30 p.m.. Gabrielle and I confirmed our flight Sunday on Scibe. Told to return at 1:30 p.m., we looked for Lode’s brother but there was a school there instead. Turns out the consular locked up our passports and his car down on the way to the bank, and so they ask us to return on Monday. They finally agreed to return them tomorrow. The Dutch girls tried to get their visas extended but ended up having Immigration man arrested for theft. We walked back to the Comer’s house. We were about to leave but she [the wife] graciously asked us to stay. Guests came for dinner, two older missionary couple and one businessman in his thirties. We had a very nice dinner: pork ribs, salad with mayonnaise, potato salad, baked beans, iced tea, dessert of pumpkin pie and coffee, and conversation about: Angola (possible to go), air freight procedures. We all turned to the video to watch 60 minutes on Mobutu and then the longer: The Congo I Knew filmed by Armand Denis in 1935, in an amazing overland trip. Awesome. Inspiring. The real Africa gone forever. I made love to Gabrielle on the rug in her room, then laid on it and wrote the beginning of a solid manifest I’ve been looking for outlining my personal mission.

October 27, 1984
Kinshasa, Zaire

5:00 p.m.: So somehow I’ve gone for four days without writing, I guess it’s all been pretty wonderful (though I always want more). Now I sit in this beautiful home watching The Incredible Shrinking Woman.

Jim brought us down to the Burundi Embassy, and luckily we received our passports with our stamps (visas). Mobutu was supposed to go around the town today but he feared danger and changed his route to our dismay. Sue brought us to the market (through a deserted city) but I bought nothing: the prices asked were ten times those of Kisangani and the work was no better if not inferior. She drove us by the Royal Palace. From a distance we could see the Okapi inside, about the height of a zebra. We could see Brazzaville clearly across the river and the beginning of the rapids. We had brownies on our return, then Gabrielle and I took a few short walks. In the evening we watched The Incredible Shrinking Woman. Then we shared a dinner of chicken and seasoned rice with two of their friends who had come to report that a son of some missionaries had been washed into the rapids of the river. To my delight, we watched The Congo I Knew again, and I took notes, absorbing much more. Gabrielle and I made it enjoyably before sleeping.

Chapter 28
Gorillas

October 28, 1984
Gisenye, Rwanda

20,000 feet: Full of dreams. Walk across the Congo. 7:50 in the morning. Drinking beer. My future is an unknown. What separates me between the attainment of my dreams and the present.
Arrived in Goma at ten o’clock (Goma time) after a two hour flight. First we passed over tree sparse flat lands, then across the Kasai River. Up to the Kasai, the land looked odd like veins, green with forests, in a flat, grassed expanse. After we crossed the Kasai, the “endless” Ituri Forest began, then cloud cover, until we came out to the forest hills west of Lake Kivu (which was pretty). From Goma, we walked until the border. We crossed into Rwanda without event and walked along the lake and then inland to the mission hostel. Gabrielle and I made it when we entered the mission hostel and slept a bit, got up, ate in town. In the evening, we sat outside and smoked a joint and talked and I played Spunky, which seems to be improving. We had sex twice before sleeping.

October 29, 1984
Kigali, Rwanda

3:30 p.m.: Diary, I’m sitting in the Kenyan Embassy waiting for my visa here in Kigali. Gabrielle and I both feel sort of blah about being in “civilization” and, considering the films of less than 50 years ago, it is depressing and shocking to realize that it is all gone. I had a packet from Dad with a letter. Amongst other things, he’s selling the shares to Joe and doesn’t recall the half-percent he promised me (plus he’s blaming a small lawsuit on me). I feel let down by him once too much. As for Gabrielle, she’s got her job and is going to be going home to work. As for me, I don’t feel good about going home. I wonder about Judith: no word from her since Cairo. I just feel like there’s nothing to look forward to on the trip back, I don’t like the idea of flying. I don’t know when I’ll have a chance to get back. And I feel bored with the States. I have my dreams. I feel like I need a break. I need to find the right girl and break to start me on a career suited to me.
[Notations: November 10, Zanzibar:] In retrospect, I can never really completely understand myself. I’m the most confusing person. I’ve always (even as a boy) been very unusual. I was on a real high on the boat, but since the flight to Goma there is a depression because of the realization that I’m leaving a place I want to stay. I wonder at the draw of home there’s the practical aspect of debts. It would seem a profitable move from the standpoint of business. I can earn some money and travel and do music. (A female companion is a nice asset as well.)]

October 30, 1984
Kigali, Rwanda

In and about Kigali today (Notations Nov. 12: Zanzibar) I suppose today I’m mentioning it too much to Gabrielle about shaving her at this point or maybe a few days hence. It probably made her uneasy since she’s naturally prone to worry. She’s intelligent, reliable, sexy when in a good mood, willing, fair, generous & practical. She’s thoughtful, she’s got soft skin and a delicate way, she’s physically strong (though she’s a bit dozy at times!). Her brown hair is beginning to curl, and she looks at me with girlish brown eyes. Her breasts often look beautiful and when she smiles her whole face lights up and she takes on her most beautiful aspect. At these times her beauty delights me. She’s very affectionate. She’s strong of mind, pretty and kind. She is one of the kindest people I’ve known. (P.S. And she loves back rubs.) I, on the other hand, am ornery, sexy a lot of the time, incredibly soppy, and have moments of extreme compassion for my fellow humans and the world’s creatures. I have doubts alternating in periods of intensity. I have light side which taunts all seriousness and stuffiness and authority. I both look at myself in despair when I’m upset or in awe when I experience the exultation of fulfilling a dream, such as this excursion of Africa.

October 31, 1984
Parc du Volcans, Rwanda

Today marks, at 9 p.m., my two year anniversary away from home. Gabrielle and I made our reservation to see the gorillas: ”Group Susa”, to view them starting tomorrow at noon this group requires an overnight stay. I mailed the pygmy bow and arrow. We decided not to buy the pointed basket traditional to Rwanda yet. I searched all over town but I could not find 400 film. We took a taxi to Ruhengeri; there, we lunched, then walked and hitched the ten kilometers to the Park headquarters, arriving at night. Once there, in an old structure, we had brochettes of beef and I had a beer. We met two other travelers: Dave from England (whose father said, when he was living with his Rwandese girlfriend in England, “Your mother and I based our relationship on a “common background”, to which his mother commented, “I thought we were in love!”) and Simon, also from Britain. We drank beer and had a good time. Dave related a story of Wilfred Thesiger [re: The Last Nomad], the famous modern adventurer, who made in his residence in a hut in a Kenyan village. He was invited by a young lad he picked up hitchhiking: “Would you like to come to a female circumcision ceremony??” I live with Wilfred Thesiger!”

Gabrielle and I set up our air mattress on the floor.

November 1, 1984
Parc du Volcans, Rwanda

Yesterday, we didn’t realize that we’d have to walk around another twenty kilometers today! I did it to Gabrielle from behind just before dawn. We lounged around while people buzzed about. The people for the other groups came and went – and, luckily for me, I asked and a Belgian man and woman gave me a free roll of Ektachrome 400 film. This fellow Simon decided to come along. Gabrielle and I hired porters for the fifteen kilometers walk to the Visohe Parc Station. Then we all, with a guide, were taken to our sleeping place another 1½ hours away. Note: the pyrethrum plants (daisy like flowers) growing a natural insecticide for export. Simon was good company and we had some laughs on the way on the sloping green plain beneath the volcanoes. Our hut was on a ridge. A man there sold us some charcoal and made a fire and even cooked our potatoes. We shared our food: cheese, fish, bread and potatoes with him and gave him coffee as well. It was quite a pleasant evening, though cold outside. We turned in, Gabrielle and I on our air mattress, but I could not sleep. I lit a candle and wrote a serious letter to Gam about Dad and had a smoke. I fucked Gabrielle twice from behind, once before I wrote and once after, before I could get to sleep.

Simon says that in Zaire if a man goes without sex for two or three days, it is considered a marathon endurance test of celibacy.

November 2, 1984
Ruhengeri, Rwanda

Gorillas! The man came in at six and started the charcoal fire again and cooked potatoes while Simon, Gabrielle and I packed our things. We gave him one hundred Francs before we left. Simon went on ahead but I stayed back to wait for the rain to stop. Gabrielle and I had sex quickly, then she went off ahead. Following, I heard her scream, but she was only crying out as she slipped and skidded down the steep muddy slopes. We met up with Simon and the guides just before nine and went off up into the thick bush. The trail (if you could call it that) was overgrown with nettles, and it rained. I had forgotten my thick trousers and Simon had to lend me one of his because I was in utter agony and could not go on through the nettles. We climbed for two hours and were freezing when we found the gorillas: two silver backs and about eight others. When I saw how enormous the males were, I could scarcely believe it!! We slowly encroached on them and they stared back or snorted (and made a very strange flapping sound) and then moved off. Unfortunately, Gabrielle and Simon just about had hypothermia. We did a complete circle around some trees (two gorillas hugged each other), then followed them off to some other turf. They move easily through the wet thick green vegetation and the silverbacks are capable to crush and rip their way through it like a steamroller. We ate some potatoes and stood behind a small rise of bush looking down at a silver back just below us. I stood up to get a photo and he took alarm. The look on his face: like a thug who’d lost his temper. He changed expressions again as he moved closer a bit, and I became alarmed. Suddenly, the huge beast leaped forward. I instinctively leapt backwards and down the ground. In a flash all of us found the giant primate just before us, mouth open, teeth bared, screaming a horrible warning. Needless to say, it was truly AWESOME! In a flash it was over. Simon says: that was worth it!! We hung around a while longer but there was not much action and it was terribly cold, so we left the huge beast munching on grasses and casting dark glances at us. We got down (Gabrielle crying when I left her alone; ahead of me) and waited for two hours for a lift back to Ruhengeri. Simon and I sat on top of a spud truck (I was stoned and) I enjoyed the ride – good shocks, slow driver – in the night. Gabrielle and I booked into a room and had a good meal of beans, frites and banana beer.

November 3, 1984
Kigali, Rwanda

Awoke, then returned to bed, sleeping in until 9:20 a.m. “My toenail ripped off last night! Did you hear me cry out?” Simon says: “I thought it was a Frog having a wet dream!” I operated, removing my toenail. A new one has started underneath. It was midday by the time we got tea at the roadside restaurant in Ruhengeri. Simon gave us the address of a man in Nairobi for flogging our gear. Of the photo of the Hulis in the sing sing he said: “A picture and ½!” We said goodbye and whisked off to Gisenye. A bad moment when it became apparent that the boat wouldn’t leave till Wednesday and the road via Kibuye was an extra day. We left our last view of Lake Kivu and rode to Ruhengeri in the front seat. With the 800 setting (ASA), I hung out the window shooting photos with my 80 200 mm of the surprisingly colorful, old world people coming home from the fields. We marveled at what hadn’t noticed our first two times down this road. We got a free ride into Kigali in the dark from two friendly German folks. The woman: “Not to pry, but where did you meet??” At the Hotel Moderne, we were greeted with a hug by the friendly black man. Gabrielle and I had dinner then retired, making love twice.

Chapter 29
The African Queen And Across Tanzania Eastward

November 4, 1984
Bujumbura, Burundi

I look forward to only two weeks left in Africa. Today we’ll try to get to Burundi, to Bujumbura. I fucked Gabrielle first thing upon waking. We breakfasted at the Hotel Moderne, then got to the bus station, where we were swarmed by men from the taxis. We drove through a rather uneventful countryside and I noticed most of the people wore Western clothing (as opposed to between Gisenye and Ruhengeri, where the road is just recently improved). We waited some time in Butari for a ride. (We bought two spice holders – wood of a unique design, from an old, poor man.) We got a lift in a bus being delivered to Bujumbura to the border in the rain. I had a hit of pot on the way. We went through the border without incident and waited some time for a lift. One man was poorly clothed and shivering. We gave him a kilo of rice and my white T shirt. He was overjoyed. We asked a woman for a ride to Bujumbura and she said, “Why not?” We rode down, down to Lake Tanganyika under raining skies. We didn’t speak with the woman (mzungu) who spoke French (nor with her well dressed black driver). Getting out of the Land Cruiser, I commented on her beautiful three strings of beads. She said they were from Mali! When I noted their beauty, she took off two and gave them as a gift! Fantastic!! I refused only once. I was overjoyed. Gabrielle and I each took one. We went into the Central Hotel at 5:30 p.m. When I asked an Mzungu if we could change money, he immediately whisked away to his home nearby.
Having beer, we asked if he knew Lode Van Houtte (who I’d met in Thailand, who lived here sixteen years). It turned out Lode was his childhood friend!!! Grand celebration. We drank four bottles of Primus. Gabrielle and I took baths (my first real bath in 1½ years!—since Mt. Hagen), then we went to a nearby hangout for whiskies and beef brochettes. I took a fancy to a black female friend of Luc’s, and sent Gabrielle home with Luc. I grabbed her and hugged her on the way back to Luc’s (since we had nowhere else to go). Gabrielle was in her bed, and Luc took over with the woman where I left off, and I went to bed with Gabrielle (who had been good—I only left her alone fifteen minutes). Luc puked and I snuck out and kissed the woman and I said I’d meet her outside, but I ended up making love with the sweet Gabrielle and promptly drifted off to sleep!

November 5, 1984
Bujumbura, Burundi

Tonight we had dinner at Luc’s brother’s house, after a long day of traipsing back and forth around town trying to secure a visa for Tanzania and making a decision about where to go—which will probably be on the MV Liemba to Kigoma. I’m feeling sort of ill from last night—A/C on and too much booze. Bujumbura is a lovely town. I don’t much like this colonial attitude in Luc’s house. (Everything in my house—“chez moi, prope, tout et prope.”) P.S. – I’ve got to learn how to speak French. He introduced us to Bruno Jamain, the guy whose address Lode (incorrectly) gave to me. Somehow, it’s important for me to have Gabrielle shave her pussy, and she’s reluctant. Had to pay Luc’s bar bill but he says he’ll pay it back. The boat leaves tomorrow five p.m.

November 6, 1984
On MV Liemba, En route To Kigoma, In Burundi Waters

Diary, this guy Luc is a real jerk. As it turns out, we were glad to leave. Not only did we end up paying for all the beers and whiskey and food, but he wanted to borrow one hundred Francs this morning and when he came to the boat at 4:30 p.m. and we were one hundred F short of tax and were about to get kicked off, he didn’t even ask his brother (who was present) for the money or shell it out himself. Finally, the captain bailed us out and I repaid him later. The boat departed at five p.m. It is a terrific ship: clean, un crowded. We drank beer with the Captain of the African Queen on the upper deck. [Before, in the day, we had mangoes at the market, large, 20 cents each (overcharged one hundred percent) and I photographed the huge baskets of multicolored beans]. We took 3rd class. We met a man named Jackson with whom I discussed the possibility of import/export, as he says he has Tanzanian export permits. We ate in the dining room. Gabrielle said a young black lady was eyeing me. After dinner, we sat on the upper deck. I chatted the girl up and we all made friends with a guy named Maneno and others. I thought this girl was mine when she said she’d get a room in Kigoma with me tomorrow. But she slept in Maneno’s first class cabin and I saw them fucking through his window as we were invited into the next cabin, #6. A huge storm came up. It was like the ocean—giant swells, sleeting rain. I knocked on Maneno’s door just to get the girl back as she had lied to me about her sleeping arrangements. Gabrielle and I slept in an extra bed in 1st class.

November 7, 1984
On Train, En route To Tabora, Tanzania

We de boarded at 8 a.m. Antoinette played dumb to my questions. I took a few clandestine photos of the African Queen. At immigration I met two Dutch men who were on a venture to canoe up a good deal of the lakes of Africa and from the source of the Nile to Alexandria. I was fascinated talking to them and befriended them immediately. There were some awkward moments with Jackson, Antoinette, Gabrielle, Maneno and another guy all around and I’m trying to get Antoinette to a separate room. The Dutch men and Jackson, Gabrielle and me had lunch together at the hotel on the lake. I managed to get one 1st class and one 2nd class as far as Tabora and as we already had two 3rd class tickets to DSM (Dar Es Salam). We decided to give the 3rd class tickets to the Dutch men. Jackson never did get a seat. The 3rd class filled up and was very crowded. I had originally booked the two men in the 1st and 2nd class to Tabora, so when Gabrielle took the tickets it caused the complication that she was in a cabin “with men” (a man) and in East Africa this is not acceptable. We were waiting quite some time for this problem to be cleared up, looking out the windows in the corridor, watching as we left Kigoma harbor, the African Queen rolling away into the sunset southbound and the terrific and Nile-like scenery. We rolled into a nice village in the dark. G wanted to see what the 3rd class looked like. (Maybe we’d change and clear up the problem.) We got out of the train but 3rd class was so crowded, we couldn’t get in and the train started moving, so we trotted back to 1st class. I was going to let Gabrielle go first but instead I climbed in and as I was about to help her up, she fell back and screamed. It took a moment to figure out that thieves had grabbed her bag. I put my bag on the floor and leaped out after them. I was gaining on them but I soon realized our calls for “stop the train” were not being responded to, and I had to turn back and get on. On the train, six men pulled on the chain to stop it but it was to no avail – the train kept rolling. Gabrielle and I recounted everything that was in the bag and figured most of it was covered by insurance. (The Tchad badge was stolen.) In the end, we got 1st class cabins each. She came to mine and I fucked her before bedding down alone under blankets and sheets, cozy and tired, dreaming of thieves, and waking in a start when the shade flew up by itself.

Chapter 30
Zanibar

November 8, 1984
On Train, En route To Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania

In the morning we rolled into Tabora. The Dutch men got off, Gabrielle went to the privy and I hustled to get us on 2nd class cabins. (Thank God, for, as the Dutch men, Jeron Boeijinga and Jan Sieliakus, said, 3rd class was unbearable.) I asked Jeron (the younger of the two), inquiring if I could travel by kayak down the Nile with him: “Just for interest’s sake, would you consider having me as partner until Khartoum??” He said: “I don’t mind.” We made this arrangement: that if I wanted to go, I would leave my address (of the hotel in Nairobi) at Poste Restante, GPO Nairobi, where he is planning on arriving 3 4 weeks. The plan is to try to get the visa legally and, if not, to go anyway.
Gabrielle and I left Tabora with the police report. (Note: Sign in the Police Station: TRUST NO ONE, SUSPECT EVERYONE.) We breakfasted in the dining car and we chatted there after they stopped serving. We had a talk about what has been going wrong between us. The talk was going quite good but when we came to the topic of shaving her [pubic] hair all the way, she became melancholy and unpleasant to be with. We did some Swahili, had tea at 6:30 p.m. We bought a bunch of wooden spoons for five and ten Shillings. And in the evening we bought cane-swords (140 Shillings) and sambusas. The moon rose just after dusk. Villages wore cream shawls and boys rode the outside of the train for the first one hundred meters and jumped off. Gabrielle and I talked and talked. It seemed to clear up then go bad again. When most people had gone to sleep, Gabrielle and I tried to find a place to make love. We argued because she would only do it in a toilet compartment but I wanted another, cleaner, more conspicuous place. I took it as a battle of wills and I lost, finally going to a compartment. I stood up and I fucked her for 10 15 minutes, probably the most totally erotic fuck ever.

November 9, 1984
Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania

Morning, the train is jerking! Bought cashews (Korosho).
2 pm. Gabrielle and I don’t get along anymore. This is the 3rd girl in a row who I traveled with that “has to get home” for some reason or another on a particular date. In this case, it is destroying us, and making a farce of our efforts to enjoy the last weeks. Anyway, by the time I write this everything has changed. I decided (over Kenyan coffee at the Embassy Hotel) that I really want Gabrielle to invite me to New Zealand, and I decided to be more gentle, understanding and enthusiastic with her. It seems we can get her a (temporary) emergency passport from Tanzania immigration (Commonwealth) tomorrow. We got 80=1 on black market for a “c” note [i.e., a US $100 bill]. We booked for flight to Zanzibar for Sunday morn, return Monday or Tuesday and fly to Nairobi Wednesday or Thursday. We’ll find out if we can be confirmed Mañana. The good thing about today was talking to JUDITH by phone, 25 minutes for less than $16 (1228 Tanzanian Shillings)! Judith said she can book me for a flight if I wanted. She said she wrote me a letter saying she didn’t want to see me any more. I talked to her explaining my side of the story from not wanting to change my plans for a woman, re: Toniça, to how I’d already changed my plans when I found out she was trying to change hers (in September). After twenty minutes I had to call back (no more time granted). When I told her I’d see her December, she asked me if I still want to meet her in Greece, in Rhodes, about December 9th. I said I’d love to. We made a date and we are to keep in touch on it till then!! The sound of her voice was calm and brought joy to my heart. Back in our room at the Clock Tower, I shaved Gabrielle’s pussy completely. She was really bummed but, now she seems to be cheering up. Fucked her three times since we got back.
Note: When Gabrielle and I made love the first time (before I shaved her) her orgasm was incredibly long (perhaps 30 seconds) accompanied by whimpers, clutching, catching her breath. It was just like in Nepal. She said it happens like that when I start and stop, preventing her from coming.

November 10, 1984
On M.V. Salama. En route To Zanzibar, Tanzania

The end of the day finds me piloting a dhow of a hundred feet on a cause of 3100 to Zanzibar, then turning over the helm and sitting on the bowsprit as we approached closer to the island and its lighted quarters. The full moon hung over the scene, spreading its rays in the beautiful way that it does.
My first thought upon waking was that I really didn’t feel like getting up, but that if I wanted to got to Zanzibar I might never make it unless I did.
We went to the lawyer’s office and then to immigration. Gabrielle had the idea to change Shillings back to dollars. I went to the travel agent, and back to immigration where I got her new Emergency Travel Documents. Then to the Embassy Hotel where I called to Appel Travel in Nairobi and got our ticket changed to the 24th. We didn’t get on a flight to Zanzibar, so I went to the dhow harbor and found a (motorized) dhow going to Zanzibar tonight. We did our immigration at 1 p.m. and planned to be back at 8 p.m. to catch the boat. We lunched at the Salamander, then returned to our hotel where she and I slept a few hours. When we awoke, Gabrielle and I made love . We sent some telegrams, had a snack at the Embassy and then went to the wharf. We took a place up in the fore deck. I helped pull up the anchor after getting stoned. The weed was passed freely between crew and passengers. I marveled at the fantastic feeling of being on the ocean again, and I got the idea to go to Athens and try to hang around yachts until I meet Judith. When everyone had gone to sleep, I roamed around the boat, ending up in the cockpit, where I felt up a resting lady, when I took the helm over for about twenty minutes.
I broke down and sobbed quietly. A nod to the vendor of outdated magazines. His friendly, humble nod back. My heart goes out to the working people trying earnestly to make enough to eat. I said to Gabrielle: “I’ve got to change the world…this society.”

November 11, 1984
Zanzibar, Tanzania

ZANZIBAR IS SO BITCHIN!
Woke up and peered over the side of the boat to behold the awesome spectacle of the waterfront buildings of ancient and graceful architecture. Seaward were a pair of miniature dhows in the foreground backed by a cargo vessel of half a thousand feet with its running lights in early dawn, with a backdrop of a moon above cloud masses of distinct grays of various hues. Island side, we motor past a hundred foot vessel bearing the name M.V. MAENDELED under-scribed by the word “Zanzibar.” Sneaking past customs, we are greeted by the strong smell of cloves, and stepping onto the street we buy rich and delicious black coffee in china cups for one Shilling apiece and have a muffin (whereupon the old vendor snuck away on his bicycle with five Shillings of my change). We where led to this, the Malindi Hotel, by a bare-footed, duck-stepped man with the air of the wharf in his gait and a proper Muslim hat.
Booked into the Malindi Guest House, which is nice. Bruno from Berkeley took us around to the market we watched them slaughter chickens (and the eyes blink) at the market, bought Mandarins fifteen for ten Shillings. Ate at the Bwawani Hotel buffet. Slept six hours in the afternoon.

November 12, 1984
Malindi Guest House, Zanzibar City, Zanzibar, Tanzania

I first smoke about 1 gram of good Tanzanian weed, not too much, not too little. I picked up the guitar and played Spunky which is finally coming together. Gabrielle said the chorus sounds nice. Then I read my Congo Boat poem, which she liked. I want to put it to music. I got a Zanzibar stamp in my passport. A few weeks ago, I was feeling down after landing in Goma, but I’m on the upswing once again. Bought eleven old Zanzibar 1 piastre (pes) coins dated 1299 Mohammeden (now 1402) or 1881 A.D. for one hundred Shillings. They are in very good condition. The evening is full of food vendors and ship lights just offshore. Today we spoke with the women from the two couples I pointed out last night (at dinner at the Bwawani) as probably being off a yacht. Their thirteen meter French ketch was, from my view onshore, very much like the Sugar Bear (the yacht on which I crossed the Pacific Ocean). They left France three years ago. (One couple lives in Kenya.) They will go next to Madagascar (if they get a lengthy visa). I sort of wish I could go, but it seems they don’t need crew. Gabrielle is really getting into reading. She says she’s an avid reader at home and never realized how starved she is for a good book, until now.

November 13, 1984
Zanzibar, Tanzania

Today Gabrielle and had a lovely day, trouble free, fight free. She and I made it in the morning, went to the post office, roamed around, saw the sailing yacht motoring to Dar [Es Salam]. During the day we ate and ate and ate, 1 9 Shillings for roast corn, 2 3 Shillings, for roasted kebabs of beef, 2 7 Shillings for roasted cassava, five Shillings for orange juice, ½ Shilling for ½ china cup full of delicious coffee, ten Shillings for an eight ounce cup of ice cream, 3 6 Shillings for delicious oranges, two and three Shillings for excellent, slightly sweet “bread.”
Gabrielle and I made it again, did our Swahili, then we went about town. I took a map off the bulletin board at the tourist office in Livingston House. We cruised through the hodgepodge streets, like one big junk store. I took B&W photos of the big tree in the old Slave Market site. We went by People’s Garden and along the waterfront, where unkempt buildings signaled a former glory of rich Arab trader’s villas. We came to the site of the Slave pit. Dusk settled in, dhows a plenty in the distance. We went by Africa House, The Zanzibar Hotel, and down Suicide Alley to Janitor Gardens where gas lights flickered over vendors’ corn and beef on the grill.

November 14, 1984
Zanzibar, Tanzania

This is the life. Rich black coffee for less than a penny, food from the street stalls, cheap and hearty, roasted beef with sweet fat, even a nice girl to keep me company. We went off to the Russian Embassy, but in lieu of a visa the youngish man there loaded us down with self admitted propaganda but the pamphlet on Ronnie boy had quotes from reliable sources, and once again my view of the fellow is reinforced.
At the market I pour coffee into five Shilling cups of ice cream, yielding a most scrumptious dessert. We catch what I call a “woody,” which are these wagons made of wood that seat thirty to forty people fairly comfortably, and we go where it goes, being let off at Mwangapani. A young man takes us to his house and sells us some cloves (the government of Zanzibar is the only other buyer, at 25 Shillings per kilo), and we see how they look on the trees. He guides us to the Slave Cave, a former holding prison for slaves freshly brought from the mainland on their way to market. We ride back. (On entering town, a man yells, “Put on your shirt! You’re in town.” I yell back “No!” He says, “Naked! We don’t want naked!” I say “Yes, Naked! Good! We want Naked!” He tries again and I say No! and again… Finally everybody is laughing, including him, and we go on our way. Gabrielle and I go back to our room and rest. At 8 p.m., we go out again to eat. We get in a tiny riff because she thinks my political ideas won’t work, and I say she looks Dumpy and Ugly. She goes home and I go eat some more. When I get back she’s looking sexy in black panties and the Kenya T shirt with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders. Gabrielle and I pack so we’re ready to leave tomorrow, we tuck in our mosquito net and make love. (She comes so quickly.)

Chapter 31
Europe Bound
The Last Time I Made Love To Gabrielle

November 15, 1984
Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania

(Sitting on the roof of the MV JAMILA:) On our way into the breakwater near Dar Es Salam, I don’t know what my future will hold or if I’ll even have one, but I know that it must be full of travel and adventure. I don’t ever want to stop now. The sun is beaming down on me, I have only trunks on. The sailing skiffs have triangular sails. It is a perfect day for sailing up or down the coast, as the winds blow from the East, towards the African continent, just a mile or so to my left. I went to spend a lot of time on sailing boats and on the ocean in general. I would envision myself back in these very parts in the not so-distant future. It is still a sailing community, this, the far west end of the western Indian Ocean, the water a beautiful, deep blue of aqua tint, carrying no less than fourteen of the wood and cotton sail-cloth vessels in my range of vision, there, cutting the horizon like lonely giant white-tipped sharks. The wind blows strong. Our own boat pumps soot into the wind out of a chugging vertical muffler pipe. I toy with plans 1A to 4B and I just might take the riskiest of all ventures to go back home for Xmas. The return I hope to yield is arranging my affairs to allow a continuation of this like in an even more proper manner. On arrival, I raced to the Clock House to see if Jackson was there, but he wasn’t and there seemed to be no messages about. We dined in the room on rice on rice and beans. Note: Today the captain’s son helped Gabrielle up to the roof (with me) and grabbed her tit, so she told me. I there upon grabbed his tit and twisted it in retaliation though he acted innocent and I apologized.
How was it that Reagan got reelected?

November 16, 1984
Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania

The end of the day. I am happy. My life is very wonderful and I am lucky enough to realize how special a time it is. I think I’ve already spoke of my contentedness to be a loft on the sea of Adventure with a good female companion.
Today we booked on a train to Tanga (which I applied for before we went to Zanzibar). We took care of what business could. We spent a few hours in the afternoon at the American Cultural Center. I studies the Times World Atlas, and I read the US papers on the election outcomes. (The ACC can be found in most capital cities and are nice to go for reading and relaxing). We saw the film Suzanne, which was fairly good for passing time but not much better than that. Note: Gabrielle and I are getting along good these days, though I sometimes crab and she worries. I’m happy that we’re going via Mombasa—I like to see as much as I can while I’m in the area.

November 17, 1984
En route To Tanga, Tanzania

Gabrielle and I checked out of the room early then went about our business. We went to the bank and each received $22 US for 800 Tanzanian Shillings, which we were quite pleased about. Gabrielle losing her bag has had some positive benefits anyway. We went to the Embassy Hotel and drank coffee and talked things over. Later, she went back with me while I photographed at the dhow harbor. Then she went back to the Clock Tower and I walked to the ocean side. Lobsters were being sold, so I finally struck a deal wherein I bought a one kilo lobster with a $5 bill, receiving one hundred Shillings change. I had it boiled on the beach and napped photos of dhow skiffs sailing to shore. I had to run back, meeting Gabrielle on the way, because I nearly missed the train. We got on it safely and settled in to our first class cabin (tattered couch covers). We left just after 3 p.m. Gabrielle and I made the best of it, finishing the lobster I hadn’t yet eaten and topping it off with pineapple slices hawked by a little girl at a station stop. We ate cold rice and beans for dinner and quaffed down some hot tea from the kitchen. I note I had an argument with a guy in the kitchen who thought my short pants immodest. I stated my amazement of how they found offense at it when, just until recently, they ran about practically naked!!

November 18, 1984
Mombasa, Kenya

I’m having a good time while Gabrielle is having a hard time of it. She’s bawling over one thing or another. On the ride here from Lunga Lunga, sitting in the front of the Mitsubishi P.S.V., I felt freed realizing I’m on my way easily to Nairobi on reliable transport and from there (presumably) my life will open up no matter which path I choose: go to Greece, then home or, do the totally balls-out thing and go for the gusto and do the Nile from end to end in a canoe! Going home will be exciting if I opt for that. Today was pretty rough. Off the train at 7 a.m., haul our bags to the bus station, ride for three hours in an old Leyland bus on the window edge, wait in blistering heat (a handful of roast cashews one shilling, carbonated coconuts), a ride in a taxi to the Tanzanian border, a seven kilometer walk to the Kenyan border. But after all this, it was a breeze. The ride in the front of the truck was comfy. I had time to think and relax and enjoy the scenery. I was in one of those great ‘think sessions’ where I’m getting the big picture. I felt that certain thrill when we took the ferry across to Mombasa, dark out now, wind rushing by from ocean side. We were luck, at the bleak moment of Gabrielle’s depression, to find the Hotel, a clean room, shower and towel, and the efficient well-lighted coffee shop adjacent to it, where we now sit contentedly feeding ourselves and drinking cold, sweet passion fruit juices.

November 19, 1984
En route To Nairobi On Train, Kenya

Repeated showers in the awful hot night. Gabrielle and I had sex in the morning but it was awful. We breakfasted downstairs and then changed all the remaining money we could get together: ten Swiss Francs, twenty Dutch Guilders, my “old faithful” AMEX traveler check which I’ve had for over two years and used for free mail service. I quite like Mombasa. Some English fellows we met say that it is said that in Mombasa “people’s feet are glued to the pavement,” as a way of saying that the pace is relaxed. We had numerous coffees in china cups (just like in Zanzibar) for 30 cents each. We were lucky to get a second class cabin together, for they normally separate men and women. In the afternoon we bought a T shirt at the market and then walked to the old Harbor and up a stretch of coast to the Indian ocean side past Fort Jesus. The reputation of Kenya’s coast is not surprising, as it presented a most beautiful panorama. We found a cave where clear salt water lapped against the rocks. I went in nude and Gabrielle went in with panties and a bra. We frolicked in the water (to our ribs) and I often took her to me, she wrapping her long legs around my body. After a time we started making love standing up in the water, the sun illuminating the blush on her cheeks. She had an orgasm and then I did some minutes later. Shortly after, a fisherman came along. We got our clothes on, walked to the old harbor port and then to our hotel. We rinsed off and then walked to the train station. As it turned out, we got the 4 seater cabin all to ourselves. We had a marvelous chicken, mashed potato dinner and a very cozy evening with privacy.

November 20, 1984
Nairobi, Tanzania

Good morning, here in Nairobi!! Brought tea service at 6:30 a.m. Gabrielle and I made love on the way in. Dis-boarded after a wonderful ride, and, upon leaving the station, I lied about not having our tickets. The station workers were bloody unreasonable, saying we’d have to pay for new tickets. I escaped through the restaurant. Gabrielle was confused as to my whereabouts and twenty minutes later found me in a coffee shop. She was boiling mad. We’ve checked back to a hearty greeting at the Nyandarua and are now about to tackle business. Life looks exciting.
Before bed: I lay here naked while Gabrielle is napping on the other bed. We just made beautiful love. It was so special because we are being so positive on each other these last few days and it really creates a nice atmosphere for lovemaking. I just feel like it when we lay down and kiss and hug and say nice things to each other. (She and I also made love in the afternoon.) We just came back from seeing Midnight Express. What a horrifying experience it depicted!!
I think Gabrielle and I will miss each other an awful lot. More and more I find joy in realizing what a special girl she is and how precious she is to me. I got a bunch of old back mail from Cairo and two other letters, but I’m not going to open Judith’s “Dear John” letter [YET]. I checked out plane flight information today. I’m really undecided on what I should do. I’ll probably postpone my African departure another week. I need time and information to sort things out.
P.S. I got a card from Lynda in Darjeeling today. I was very pleased.

November 21, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

Lots to do. I read Judith’s letter just now. Anyway, I feel strong enough to cope with any eventuality. I went to the Sudanese Embassy this morning. It sort of put me off going to Sudan. As far as organizing things smoothly, the best idea may be able to just go on to Amsterdam. I mean, I appreciate the magnitude of the moment, the chance to go down the Nile, but the CONVENIENCE factor is overwhelming for going to S.F. I met an extraordinarily pretty/beautiful woman at the Sudanese reception. I asked her if she wanted to meet me for a drink, but since she was bitch, I did so with the intention of not showing up. However, I snuck out and ran by the Hilton to see if she came, but I did not see her. Anyway, Gabrielle and I went to see Revenge Of The Nerds. It was a delightful movie. We both enjoyed it thoroughly.
Diary, I can not say enough about the complex emotions I feel for Gabrielle. Of course, I basically feel a stream of positive things—of love, of appreciation. But I worry about our fate together. I worry about what she really thinks and about her potential for happiness with me. I feel sorry for her going back to isolation in New Zealand, working in an asylum at a post for incurable loonies. I hope she’s going to be all right. Dear Gabrielle, you are the most precious thing in my world. In the night, I went out to take a wee. As I was walking back in, a woman with big breasts came after me. She saw Gabrielle in my room and left. But it got me so horny, I went back to the woman’s room and knocked but the door wasn’t answered.

November 22, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

Thursday. Laying naked alone on our bed, thinking while thumbing through a Newsweek article on Music (on the Stones, McCartney, etc.) that I don’t need to pay any attention to all the cultural crap in this magazine you can leave America and never really even miss its presence I can lose myself in much kinder world.
Today was just about the happiest time I ever spent with Gabrielle. We are always saying You Sweet Thing, You Sexy Thing, You Gorgeous Thing. It is so great to see her happy. I always knew in my heart how easy she was to get along with if I just treated her right. It will be awful to part. Today we went to the tailor and sold our gear. As it turned our, I owed Gabrielle money because she had originally put up money for the pack and tent. It seems our days are full of business and there’s not much time to just plain relax. We were eppervescently happy today and I really burst the bubble. I left to take a shower. Gabrielle was enormously happy. I knocked on the door and a “nice” black woman who I’ve chatted to before was naked and invited me in. I went in and in an attempt to turn her on I went down and tongued the outside of her pussy. I went to her room and found out she wanted money (i.e., she was a whore)! Ugh!! I left. I felt ashamed and embarrassed but I had to tell the truth to Gabrielle. The look of disappointment was crushing. Poor thing!! Poor me!! The bubble of happiness was burst. We went to eat at Flora’s and I left to go see the last half of CONAN THE BARBARIAN while she waited outside. We returned to Flora’s, ate, and then went home. Gabrielle and I made love.

November 23, 1984
Nairobi, Kenya

“To be a great lover, first you have to become a total liar, then, you have to learn to be totally sincere at one and the same time,” said Ladamor [a character I’d invented long ago]. “Love makes us feel good about ourselves and each other. I am willing to give the sweetest of my heart and soul to a woman, and ask only one thing—that there be no restrictions to the number I am allowed to give to.”
Yesterday I experienced some of my happiest moments ever with Gabrielle. Ever since they day we left for Zanzibar I have endeavored to rectify the way I’ve treated her. I decided to do so on two counts: one, to ensure that we can meet each other in New Zealand, because I thought that would be nice and (2) mostly, because I need a friend like her. It was dumb of me to go after that black bitch. I don’t blame her [Gabrielle] for feeling bad. But I’m disappointed because I don’t expect she’ll ever feel so loved and joyful as yesterday at least I don’t expect her to feel that way before we part this time (on Sunday).
Today we picked up the bags from Atul’s. We bought seven half kilograms of coffee for gifts. We went to the American Cultural Center and read books. I read Rolling Stone, but I find the mood of the magazine as really off putting. Sort of glamorous trash. Tonight we went to see BREAK DANCE. The dancing was great the girl was cute, the plot was O.K. but the story was terrible in some essential ways. We had coffee out in the street after taking a look inside the Green Bar (i.e., “The Modern Green”) on our last night here.
Since I’m writing this a week later, I don’t recall how many times Gabrielle and I made it, but I’m guessing about two. Anyway, things had an edge on them I guess we realize that our time together is drawing to a close. I feel a touch of sadness.

November 24, 1984
En route To Moscow, Aeroflot Plane

I can’t exactly say this was a banner day. No! We went about our business but really didn’t end up with much leisure time. Gabrielle and I made love before we left, both having orgasms which is usual when she and I have sex. We got a taxi to the airport and sorted out the pre flight formalities. We boarded the plane as dusk came on. I went back to speak to a Russian man and got involved in a small party with him, a Brit, a Yugoslav and two bottles of Johnnie Walker Red.
I went off to sleep and awoke feeling really horny and loving towards Gabrielle. Unfortunately, as expected, she felt very put off by the idea of going to the toilet. My mood was fragile and she turned me right off with her frown. She came with me everyone was asleep. For the life of me I couldn’t get excited, even though moments before I was rock hard. I grew outraged because I knew it was her attitude that put me off. It was an awful scene. I ended up yelling something about Isam (of all people) and she rightfully left crying. I was sorry. Back in our seats, I played as if it was over between us, but we made up, of course. She lent me another $20 and gave me an Xmas gift of $20 as we stepped onto the icy airfield of Moscow. In the airport, we had several hours delay. It was difficult saying goodbye like that. I felt insecure and discontent, our last goodbye was done with a nice hug and warm words. Goodbye precious Gabrielle.
I was delayed even more, but finally we were sent to the Aeroflot Hotel outside the airport. I finagled my own double room.

Chapter 32
Amsterdam
Reunited With Judith

November 25, 1984
Moscow, USSR

Even though I missed the tour today (being misdirected by a lady as to where to wait for the bus), I still feel quite good and even as if I’ve gotten an impression of Russia – pale-faced soldiers, order, serenity.
Even though our last hours together were miserable, I feel warm towards Gabrielle and hoping with all my heart that I see her again and that we are in a happy love. I thank you, Gabrielle, for being patient, for being strong, for loving me with a wholeness of heart that I never experienced before.
The white, birch tree forest across the road stands in snow. It is my only view of Russia, but there is much information just in the atmosphere of a place. I had a pleasant day here. I tried to chat up a 43-year old woman at the desk.
I miss Gabrielle’s sweet brown eyes, girlish happiness and soft skin.

November 26, 1984
Amsterdam, The Netherlands

Today was the premier day of my life. I cannot express the zenith I reached, not only arriving in Europe for the first time in nine years and being in the Netherlands for the first time, but to come to Judith’s beautiful home and for her and I to discover that we are very much in love with each other; and, to feel the accompanying thrust of sheer ecstasy of looking at her, kissing her, playing with her, fucking her, and talking.
I awoke – or was awoken before 6 a.m. in Moscow. The plane departed at 8 a.m. There were only six passengers from Warsaw to Amsterdam. I took the Metro to Amstel Station, changed my clothes in the bushes and found Amstelkade, toting my luggage awkwardly along one hundred and eleven houses before coming to Judith’s apartment [No. 112, floor III] facing a canal, white birds flocking over the water and stack branches reaching out.
Judith’s head and hair hung over the balcony above me up the staircase. She said, “Hello!” I said nothing, but rushed up the stairs and hugged her. I said, “Hug Me! Even if you don’t like me,” and I kissed her. She welcomed me in and firstly offered me food to which I [politely] said I wasn’t hungry. We communed through delicate responses in a poetic interchange of eye contact, touch, and slowly coming out to a position which had her in my arms, my leg between hers and my hand on her soft, firm ass, feeling her pussy through her underwear (growing warm and wet) I realized it would be hard to refute the hypothesis that she wanted to be fucked by me. I eventually had to abandon my thought that I didn’t care to have sex today, looking at her breast and fucking her on her sheepskin rug near the heater (where I now lay), feeling her womanliness, yielding in the way only Judith can it was brief and sweet. The whole rest of the afternoon from 1 p.m. to 9 p.m. – from when I arrived until she had to go out – we just exchanged our mutual affection. She went out after we ate a simple dinner. I cleaned up and was fast asleep by 10 p.m.
At 2 a.m., Judith came home. I was awaken out of a sound sleep. We awoke at 5:30 a.m., and started the day laying in bed and holding each other. I fucked her briefly and excitedly. Then we rubbed by semen on her tummy (and face) and talked in bed until 8:45 a.m. She and I kissed and were happy and said I Love You’s (the stuff of which romance is made). She went out at 9:08 a.m., and her mother followed shortly thereafter. I took care of the house and I went out to the shops, which I delighted in doing, since they were so full of good things and quite reasonable in price. This day was a blur. Judith came, and then she left again. I was asleep when she came home.

November 28, 1984
Amsterdam

Judith sits across from me in a red night shirt/cloak, legs crossed; across the view of cheese and bread, herring, butter and tea in Wedgwood cups, her dark pussy in between olive/white legs, her quick glistening eyes, cheeks of rose, pink, wide lips, flows of dark brown hair. Not only is she the most beautiful woman I have ever loved, but she loves me greater than any other. Her love is a wide expanse of girlish joy and unashamed womanly desires. I have been transported into heaven.
Tonight I went running at about 6:00 pm. Judith was due home at 6:30 p.m. It felt so good, I kept running along the canals, past lighted shops and people on foot and bicycles. I was about to return when I noticed a church in the distance and, as is often my habit, I felt obligated to myself to go there. I walked to around it and did a series of sprints back to Amstel, only finding out when I got there that it wasn’t “there” at all, but deep into Centrym Haarlemmer Dijk. I had been running virtually 1800 away from Amstelkade. I went back, having looked at a map in a shop, along Heren Gracht (Canal), Vijzelstraat and Ferdinand Bolstraat, feeling the pounding my legs and knees had taken in the last hour and a half on the hard pavement. Needless to say, Judith and I never got around to dancing like we said we were going to. Instead she and I made love.
By way of explanation, even though it was really needed and generally a good idea, I had been prompted to stuff my face and go running because I have not really been in the mood for sex. I don’t actually attribute it to the fact that I am still “Gabrielle-ized”—it is just that I haven’t got the steam built up. I know how my body works eat eggs, milk, bread, cheese, meat, etc., sugar, coffee, wear myself out exercising, stretching, then determine to let go totally in the bedroom let my mind drift where it will – and Voila! Beautiful sex comes on totally horny. So tonight Judith and I had the first real sexual bout that was in keeping with our fine sexual experiences in Nepal and India.

November 29, 1984
Amsterdam

Judith and I have told each other that we are the best lovers each of us has ever had. She tells me how pretty and beautiful I am. She said that I have the body of an Adonis.
This evening Judith had a small group of women over to teach them how to use a speculum. I would have been welcome to stay in the outer rooms, but I decided to go out instead. I walked around, then caught the metro to the center of town. I went to McDonald’s. Then I was walking about when I ran into Klaus, the fellow I’d met in Moscow who had left Germany to avoid the military. We went to The Bulldog, a refreshment place where, to my surprise, they had a sign up, reading: “Nepali 1.5 gram F1.25, Afghan 1.8 grams F1.25 etc.!!!” I didn’t smoke though. I’m sort of off drugs, alcohol and cigarettes. I’m enjoying being healthy.
Altered States was playing on a big screen above the pool table, so I watched it until the boring part where he turns into The Primeval Fluid. I said goodbye to Klaus and had coffee at the restaurant in the Central Train Station. I went and sat with a cute girl. She was friendly but left to catch her train. I feel really confident now of my attractiveness. I figure that, basically, most women do, or should, find me attractive at least if they would just open their minds and/or eyes.
I wrote letters there, the last one to Gabrielle. I had to leave cause they were closing, but I finished Gabrielle’s letter on a park bench on the Amstel Canal. I was crying my eyes out the more I thought about how much I love her and wishing our relationship had been less complex, more simple.
When I got back at 11 p.m., I felt totally refreshed from all that crying, and I really felt like making love to Judith. It was really nice, only she, of course, wanted to continue after I’d come after fifteen or twenty minutes. After, (I guess) I helped her have an orgasm, and after a rest, we decided to make love some more. It went on and on until 3 a.m., when we finished and went to the kitchen to get a snack.
She has got the sweetest pussy I ever tasted in effect, it is the perfect pussy. It tastes so good and clean and juicy and is always full of kwim (female juices). I really adhere to her belief about diet affecting the Ph balance in a pussy for example, sugar upsets this balance. (She even knows how to exercise to abort a pregnancy I believe her.) We also alternated with her getting on top of me, which she likes to do. She rode me for a long time and she had an incredible movement in which she effectively really pumped me. It felt really new and quite wonderful.
Note: On the ride home I saw a touchingly beautiful young girl (with an aquiline nose) with a black man. I imagined meeting her again and what a story it would make.

November 30, 1984
Amsterdam

I haven’t been writing much in my diary lately, but I’ll catch up today. Judith just told me (at midnight) that she told her mother what a good lover I am. She told her that we would spend half the day making love (in India) if we got a chance and that even though she masturbated to orgasm (because her clit is deep inside) that I always satisfied her because I took my time. She said that we are the same in temperament and both very romantic.
When we went to bed at night she went on about me (a happy time). “You’re cock is always nice and hard. It’s so hard!” We made fantastic love. It’s just getting better and better and better, and now that the momentum is going, I feel as if I am always ready to make love.
In the morning, we took photographs of each other lounging in the nude. I have to admit I am getting to be quite an exhibitionist I really love to think of myself being photographed naked form head to toe. The more I become aware of the sexiness of my person, the more I become confident of the fact I’m really beautiful, all of which verifies my earliest hunches about my physical being.
Note Judith’s fourteen-year-old house girl came today to clean up she is quite cute

December 1, 1984
Amsterdam

Evening: I am feeling very happy, relaxed and excited as I cruise in smoothly to the last month of the year. Judith wants me to stay during Xmas time and until the 8th of January since she doesn’t start work again until then! I am really tempted because I am discovering the potentials of staying here: just now I was playing my guitar and I realized how much work I need to do and that I can be inspired here. Judith is a very good influence in that respect. She’s very positive and I feel comfortable creating around her. The sun comes in through the back windows and I feel I’m starting to collect a lot of experience and ideas.
Judith even is quite amenable to the notion about having one of her girlfriends sleep with us if we can arrange it.
By the way, we have told each other about our time apart. She slept with Hank, the 44 year old photographer, when they went to Sri Lanka they have known each other for years. But she feels bad because he had fallen in love with her and she can’t return the same feelings to him. She loves him but she says not in the way she loves me. She says, when I comment on how compatible we are and how open she is sexually, that she is only that way to me. When I told her about Gabrielle and I today and I told her about what Gabrielle said about “the difference between erect and non erect penis” Judith just laughed in disbelief. (I have to admit I get optimally hard with Judith.)
Later, Judith and I were indulging ourselves in a bit of sex play. Her Mom and friends were in the other room and we were afraid they’d walk in. Nevertheless, I stuck my hard dick in Judith for a few minutes, and when I pulled it out, it stood tall and large and red (we’ve been fucking so much) and glistening (from her juice). She exclaimed, “It’s so beautiful! It’s so big!” I said, “It gets bigger the more we do it (true).” She said, “Yes, it wasn’t so big the first days you were here.” I said,”…and I’m more relaxed now, so it’s harder too.” She exclaimed: “Yes, its really hard. You know, your penis is very hard.”
If I think of the possibilities of living with Judith I am overwhelmed by happiness. Her rent is only 460 Guilders per month! And the electric about 195 Guilders. What a fantastic life I could have being here with a girl who is my greatest love, in a beautiful, affordable neighborhood, creating and writing, making music, jaunting to and fro around the world!!
Judith is good for me diary, as you can tell. She makes me feel like a very sexually arousing male. She encourages the sort of freeness of mind, body and spirit that I long to develop into a lifestyle. She wants to travel and write articles with me.
Also, Judith has talked about visiting San Francisco after Easter. What a treat!!!!
And lastly, you know, diary, I feel and have felt for the time since I left I home that I have achieved a nice degree of inner strength, because I am not afraid of letting go. I feel I can let go of romances and of job and security, of anything virtually. I am not afraid of going hungry and I am not afraid of facing the world without the security of friends, money, job. I only want freedom and health, and beyond that I feel I know how to treat people and I think I made friends easily. I think I have a nice way of approaching endeavors very systematically – almost as if I cannot fail.
I thought, as I approached Judith’s apartment on the 26th of November, I felt a moment of anxiety and I thought, “You know, I feel like I can’t fail. I feel that if she doesn’t want me, then that is her shortcoming and loss – my heart is open and I am happy to travel Europe alone in the cold without money. I am willing to work for my bread and with the knowledge that people respond to helpfulness. I am armed against the world’s woes. I am willing to be helpful to people, and in a way I feel there is more beauty in that one word than almost any other social ideal – And of course, if Judith was to love me, I could not be happier be the evening.”
P.S. Although I only have one song I’m working on, I have high hopes for Spunky.

December 2, 1984
Amsterdam

Let this be remembered as one of, if not the, happiest moments I’ve passed in the river of Life. Do you know what Judith said to me today? She said that in Varanasi, when she was deciding to go either with me to Delhi or to seek God (at an Ashram?) that she decided that the path to God was through me (i.e. to travel with me)! A couple of nights ago she said she went to Nepal to find God and… (she left the sentence open but I smiled as the communication was made.) I said, “Ahh!” and hugged her. I felt as if she was in a way implying that through me she had found God! She is so enthusiastic!! She has also said that I am the best lover she ever had, that she’s never had so much sex before, and that , if I recall correctly, saying stuff sort of like, “You’re worth five men!” Or something like that.
Today we went for a bicycle ride. We went all the way down the Amstel Canal, finally ending up in a small town, and then we rode even further. The weather was cold and overcast. It was a very pleasant ride. We stopped at one windmill, and saw another across the Amstel. There was a fine sailing craft which I shot pictures of. Judith went on towards home and I didn’t catch up with her till we were almost home. (She was cold and wanted to keep moving.) We went down over to Gabrielle’s house (her friend Gabrielle not to be confused) for dinner. It was a lovely vegetarian meal. I had 1½ beers. I was seducing Gabrielle with my eyes because Judith has been talking about a menage a trois, but when Judith asked me, “What are you doing?” (when Gabrielle left the table to get the phone) I stopped doing it (though I think Gabrielle enjoys it).
When we got home, I joked with Judith about how she never likes to do dishes, but… [she said] “I think I did it because I couldn’t think of a positive way to handle it.” I think it bothered her a bit. (I assume Judith and I made it before sleeping.

Chapter 33
The Haag And Back
I Visit Ed and Mary
Drug Party

December 3, 1984
Den Haag

Rolling along on the train to Den Haag now from Lieden. Afar off, I just saw my first sight of a working windmill….
Today I had a classic “welcome,” thus leaving me a state of total devastation!! I got to Ed’s place at about 1 p.m. He picked me up from Holland Station. We drove to his home. Mary was outside. We all went in, I gave him the Kenyan coffee and they made me a cup of espresso. We went to the ocean side to walk their dog, Tramp. It was bitterly cold on the beach. Ed pointed out to me that the Rotterdam harbor is the world’s biggest. He said he was planning on opening a vegetarian restaurant next summer.
Mary (a diabetic) needed something to eat, so we went by a small snack shop (vegetarian), newly opened. (On the way Ed also showed me where he works, which was a very nice it’s closed on Monday.) A girl cleaning the rest rooms there was really foxy. I fell in love immediately. She left on a bicycle in a hurry. I was just about to go ask her for her number but I didn’t. Maybe I’ll never see her again. It was something that may changed my life but I didn’t take the opportunity. I was feeling (and I am feeling) pretty “hot” where women are concerned.
We went back to Ed and Mary’s and we had a bottle of Italian white wine. Ed recounted his recent trip to Portugal, which I found of interest. We walked down to a Pizzeria and had dinner of clams, wine and pizza. There, we met Frank and Monique a young couple who are some of their good fiends. We drank more and more wine while they ate.
I told Ed that Judith was also a vegetarian and didn’t smoke or drink, and he said, “She only fucks, right?” And I said, “She’s a sex freak.” We were pretty drunk when we left. They mentioned getting something to snort. We drove to a pot/coffee shop. We had some refreshments and Mary bought F1.65 worth of hash. No matter how much I tried to pay for all this, they wouldn’t let me!! Then we drove out some place and parked. Frank went out and bought F200-worth of cocaine (one gram). We got back to Ed and Mary’s and put on some music The Fall, The Clash, B 52s, etc. we snorted the gram until 4 a.m., when Frank and Monique left. Then we had another line amongst ourselves. I didn’t get to bed until about 5:30 a.m. I masturbated quite a long time in order that I could sleep.
Note: Monique was very attractive. Her hips were very shapely and her stomach as flat as a board. I felt I put her (she has two-tone hair, brown in back and blond in front, cut short) on the spot when we were looking through a Marilyn Monroe (Norman Mailer) book and I said—I think you’re more beautiful than Marilyn Monroe—matter-of-factly.
I may also have unsettled them at one point late in the night when, after going to the kitchen and thinking of Gabrielle and really crying hard, full of love and messages for her. I refused to wipe the tears from my eyes and I returned to the living room in that state.
Anyway, so goes it when I am thoroughly wasted (for the first time in a while). It just reconfirms my dislike for cocaine.
Anyway, I appreciated the grand welcome they gave me.

December 4, 1984
Amsterdam

I didn’t wake until about noon. Ed and I took Tramp for a long walk. (I said goodbye to Mary before I left, giving her hugs and kisses.) After an hour or so Ed let me off at the tram way. We embraced goodbye and I rode to the station Central and caught the train back to the Rai, the station near Judith’s apartment. When I walked in, she barely looked up at me from her books. I stood there and put my arms out and said, “Aren’t you going to give me a big kiss??” She said (in an unbeguiling way), “Why don’t you come here?” I felt pushed out of shape at this, for the angry attitude I had expected (or considered as a possibility) was proving true. I, on the other hand, had been missing her and I wanted to get passionate straight away, but instead now (stupidly) got angry and stormed off. Soon, however, she came up to me apologetically and at the first opportunity (as her mom had walked in [we waited till she left]), Judith and I had some quite hot sex.

December 5, 1984
Amsterdam

The big event of the day was going to the Rijks Museum. For me, the big attraction were the many Rembrandts, in particular The Night Watch. Among others, The Last Self Portrait, The Dutch Guild, the Jewish Bride, Portrait of his Aging Mother, and perhaps twenty others (e.g., Anatomy Lesson). Then there were quite a few of Franz Hal’s work, a Goya, and a slew of other masters whose names I’ve yet learned. I watched the (explanatory) slide show. In all I spent about three hours there.
I received my Agfa slides back, eight rolls in all. Although I could only look at them by holding them up to the light, I could see pretty much how they turned out, which was all in all, quite good, though until they are put on the screen I won’t be able to see if any are fantastic. I don’t think that any are of the caliber of the Kopiago Sing Sing shot, but, then again, a subject like that comes along rarely. I’m looking forward to getting a projector.
I ran up to the Rijks Museum and back. My calves were very tightened up, presumably from doing so much running on the sidewalk last week. I was planning on going dancing with Judith and going out to dinner but she started cooking her vegetables and I got tired and fell asleep actually it was part discouragement.
I’m sure if we’d been communicating properly that I would have been enthusiastic. It just seemed that every little thing that went between us went awry. Later, she asked me, when we were in bed together, if a change had come over me because of the “drugs.” She just said, “Is it drugs??” I thought she was being ridiculous, so I said, “Yes! Its the drugs!!” But apparently she took my jest seriously.
I woke up in the middle of the night and she was just coming to bed. Apparently she had just gotten a call and was informed that she had to finish one of her articles on Sri Lanka before Friday night, so she’s stayed up until late writing.
She was obviously really pissed off and I found out that she had had an irrational 1800 change in opinion. She pointed to drugs as the big culprit. I explained that I had been facetious in my agreement earlier, to no avail. She asked me to leave in the morning, then added “…until you have sobered up!” I readily agreed to respect her wishes, then I tried to patch things up. As she felt her anger dissipate, she clutched on to her solution, saying “O.K., but you have to promise to leave tomorrow even if we made things better.” She and I ultimately ended up making good loving, but not before falling asleep probably well after 4 a.m., if not 5 a.m.
Note: I note what ultimately happened is that I never left. I stayed, talking her out of it, and we made things good again.

December 6, 1984
Amsterdam

Evening: All is quiet in the house. Judith is resting. I am in one of these positive moods I can get myself into by living clean, and having the day to make the apartment in order and take care of chores. Ate well in the afternoon and had a couple of coffees/milk during the early evening.
I just figured out the cost of this trip to be about $12.50 per day, all inclusive. Now I am happily contemplating my situation. I am allowing in my mind the possibility of going as far as Yugoslavia (or Greece??) even in the short time I have left.
When it finally came time to go to bed with Judith, it was a very thrilling experience.
She wanted to hear a song, and I sang Spunky to her. During it she hopped off the bed/couch and laid on the floor in front of me. As I sang, it seemed to have a magical effect on her, and she clambered up to me until we were eye to eye only six inches apart. When I finished she said, “Is it over??” She asked me about the song and asked to hear the lyrics out loud. “Tax me, blaring love, white hot… Let me drain all of you she said….” Then I moved forward and she laid down. I pulled her black dress (with the jagged bottom) up and I licked her, then started fucking her deeply. I felt like I was fucking Spunky herself. She enjoyed the deep thrusts.
When we fucked, I went crazy. I lost myself in wild pumping, really letting go!! That means not about proper movement at all but being a friggin’ animal!! Of course, she liked that. I think women (sometimes) need to feel the animal in a man and also to know that he is responding directly to her body without considering if what he is doing is going to please her or if it is “good rhythm.” She said: “Use my body!” Which set me into a frenzy. We went to sleep side by side.
I didn’t get up until about noon, I went in and wrote a bit and had something to eat. Judith went out at 1:30 p.m. but before she did I talked with her about me leaving “to sober up.” I told her that I felt things were O.K. now and I could stay that it would be better for me to stay because if I went away and came back and we got along, then we would attribute it to having been away from each other, and we would see splitting up as the solution in the future. I said it would be better if we worked it out and realized we could before I left. She agreed to let me stay.

December 7, 1984
Amsterdam

Judith spent the day (in between lovemaking with me) finishing writing her article, and delivering it. I was happy that she had successfully completed it. I played the guitar during the day and I read the book on the Khambas (fascinating). We prepared a light dinner and by about 9 p.m., Judith and I set out for the KOSMOS to go dancing. It was an interesting place − they have a book shop, a sauna, dance hall, restaurant, etc. It cost F10.50 to get in. The first thing she did was take me up to a comfortable, matted room, where we joined a spiritual dance session which was a lot of fun considering half of the people were out of their minds!!
We sang Al lah, Al lah and Hare Krishna and Hare Rambda and danced around in circles and got on our knees and sang Spirit…I love you (etc.) We danced, boy-girl, boy-girl, feeling the Ying/Yang polarity and did an assortment of other spiritual exercises that had the more intense practitioners so worked up that I had to chuckle to myself. To beat it all was some guy who looked totally spaced out, about 50 years old, walking in the center in a robe beating a little Tibetan drum with a wooden spoon/mallet. You can imagine, diary, how ridiculous some of these characters look dancing around gaily trying to feel the Ying (female in themselves) singing Krishsa Krishna, Hare Hare and fluttering their arms around.
I found the whole thing very amusing and entertaining and I think I greatly pleased Judith by being so cooperative!! Afterwards we went into the dance hall where Amsterdamers wildly flung their arms and bodies about in ungraceful moments (presumably based on the theory that to enjoy oneself one has to “let oneself go!”) which, in my mood, oddly contrasted with the Zaire men who danced so gracefully and full of rhythm and pride that it filled me with joy and put a smile on my face and made me want to dance. (I [had] tried to match such graceful movements though I’m sure I did not come close, I still at times felt quite good moving.) Some of us even did the pogo for a while. Things were going great and I was having a good time.
Judith and I danced, held each other, laughed, talked on the floor. (The music could have been better, and then she looked seductively at one of the men from the spiritual dance class and went to him without saying a word to me. It was rude, but I tried to ignore it. I danced by myself for two full dances and even into a third. She kept right on talking to him, laughing, even touching arms or on the back. I wasn’t having fun, so I left, succumbing to my jealousy and indignance. I went down to the restaurant. Judith found me there shortly afterwards, I felt like getting angry but instead was just cool. She said she just came down to find me, whereupon, she left.
I was looking at photos on the wall and some guy sitting under it rudely pushed me away. He made a “federal case” out of what was a 30-second task of looking at the caption. I decided to leave and saw Judith talking to another guy from the dance class. I loudly declared my departure. She come momentarily and asked me what was wrong. When I told her, in an excited way, she immediately said “I’m really sorry. It will never happen again, I promise.” I was surprised and pleased that she could be so gracious and understanding at once. So, in the end, after half laying on the couch, we finally went back upstairs.
I was so full of love for her (and she for me) that, I danced in bliss. We danced till the last dance.

December 8, 1984
Amsterdam

Because it was the full moon, Judith planned to do nothing today, which was quite nice.
Judith and I awoke late (after last night) and spent the first hour and a half making love with each other. We tried something new this morning. She tried to finger herself first and then have me fuck her. Afterwards we started our day. We somehow didn’t get out of the house until about 3:30 p.m. We went up to the big market where stalls line the streets. Some girl had her hand on Judith’s ass but Judith noticed it in time and scolded the girl.
The market was great I bought scallops and salmon, chicken. We also got some food at the health natural food store. I bought some Greek feta cheese and some Spanish olives; both were delicious. We came home.
When we got home it was probably the best sex we ever had. I pounded her hard. I rode up high on her stimulation her deep clit. She loved it. I did too. It was one of the best times we ever had.

December 9, 1984
Amsterdam

Morning: Judith and I are sitting in the sun on her porch. We are so in love. It is really fantastic.
You know diary, it has occurred to me that I am learning that, when traveling, notifying people of your arrival is very important − it all seems to work out better. I feel good that Dad knows I’ll be coming directly into San Francisco at a particular time. It makes me feel like he’ll have time to consider what he feels and perhaps he’ll have something for me to do at that time in the way of work, at least he’ll have time to figure it out and so he’ll feel more relaxed about seeing me. Things worked out well with Judith with only four days notice. I think things would have been nicer, much nicer, if Gabrielle had know for sure I was coming. If only we’d arranged that I’d be able to write to her at American Express.
11:00 p.m. So far today Judith and I have only made it once (plus she mounted me in the morning because she was horny, but I was barely awake) − we have had another fantastic day together. We got up and made some breakfast − for her only popcorn − we sat out on the balcony. I photographed her on the chair against the foreground of her beautiful room. To me, her place is just about the most perfect place I could ever hope to stay − I’d love to live here on and off. I fixed us some mashed potatoes for lunch. I practiced Dropout over and over. I feel its a good piece but I’ll seek opinions. (Spunky, I think, will survive.) (I’ve read a lot in that great book Cavaliers of Kham by Michel Persel).
Judith and I had dinner together and analyzed if Judith should come to the States with me. We decided ultimately that we’ll assume she’s coming, but this is only a tentative decision. I played the guitar again in the evening. I never got around to the writing I was planning on doing. When we went to bed I fucked Judith “intensely;” I was fantasizing about that anonymous beautiful girl I saw on the Metro that night back from Centrum.

December 10, 1984
Den Haag

It’s 5:23 p.m. I’m planning to go to Den Haag tonight and to Luxembourg tomorrow hitchhiking. But I think Judith wants me to stay so I’ll go talk with her. She and I made love on waking, and have both been writing a lot in the afternoon. (I cooked an excellent chicken.) Her Mom came home last night. She’s a nice lady. I like her.
I came in a little while ago and as she obviously wanted to fuck. I teased her and grabbed her and after ten minutes of this I finally de pants’ her [i.e., took off her pants] and fucked her silly for about ten minutes, pounding her on her Mom’s soft bed. It was very, very hot.
I tried to leave but Judith got upset. A woman called her and said not to trust me. She broke down and cried. I reassured her, but by that time it was 9:00 p.m. We parted in the greatest good feelings. I kissed her at the downstairs door and once on the pussy so she wouldn’t forget. On the road: I couldn’t really believe that here I was in Europe again after all these years, traveling on my own. It was a grand feeling.
I caught the train to Den Haag and the tram to Van Speykstraat and walked to #206. Ed answered the door. Mary was also there. We watched a video of the recent Dutch expedition to Mt. Everest. This was of great interest. I think I could climb that one. The technical part doesn’t look too bad − it’s only the altitude, and I think I could handle it (from my experience on 6200 m Island Peak). The film was fine but they ended it much too abruptly, showing the leaders 300m from the top, walking up. (The camera woman had to turn back at that point.) Even more interesting was the next film Ed showed, which was on termites in Africa. The film was done by three Dutch, two men and a woman. They call themselves the Rutts or something. The film was one of the most fabulous wildlife documentaries I’ve ever seen. It showed the entire life cycle inside the mounds, the predators (the aardvark, army ants, Kenyan tribes people, etc). It showed monitor lizards preying on a spitting cobra, slow-motion films of the cobra spitting, pygmy mongoose, etc.
After the film he showed one on George Orwell, but I fell asleep and he turned off the movie and we said goodnight. I slept, as requested, on the couch down stairs. Tramp slept on the floor.

Chapter 34
A Short Loveless Trip To Luxembourg

December 11, 1984
En route to Luxembourg

I woke Ed and Mary up to say goodbye to them. Mary ended up making coffee, and we talked for a bit. I asked Ed for a good book, and he gave me Africa Dances by Geoffrey Borer (1935) (1983). I set off with Judith’s scarf around my head, I felt free, unhindered. Just as last night, I could scarcely believe that here I was in Europe, alone and free. I caught the tram to the outskirts of the Haag and then walked on the freeway until a nice young man stopped and gave me a lift to Rotterdam. I forget Judith’s scarf in the car. Though it was a small thing, I felt denuded without it, because I felt that I’d looked good in it. I felt good with it on. Almost like an omen, it was, for I got no other rides that day.
Some pudgy obnoxious motorcycle “politic” caught me twice on the freeway. I finally caught a train to Brussels. This is a symbolic trip. I walked to the Gran Place, then walked around it. This marked my return to Europe! I retraced the steps I’d made nine years ago when I was on my 48-hour quest, Lille-Brussels-Munich-Bolzano via Austria. I noticed the flags were not up, which considerably lessened the effect of the magnificent buildings. I shot some night photos. I asked a policeman and found the bus to Kroonlaan where, to my surprise, I found Lode cutting jam jar covers in his apartment (444 Kroonlaan) where he lives with his girlfriend. (He’s started a jam business as a supplement to his business studies.) He and I and his schoolmate/business partner, Nicholas, went to a local pub to get a beer. Some totally nutty lady wanted to speak English with us. (It turned out she had actually spent two years in an asylum.)
When she left, Lode told me how in love he was with his live in. He gave me a ride to the road out of town where we said goodbye.
Shortly afterward, I got a ride. I was let off in some unknown place, and I walked off some of my drunkenness in the middle of the night past a plant where a solitary machine among thousands of others yawned its jaws as if exercising. I got a ride after walking four or five kilometers and got left off again. I walked quite a way − no one would pick me up − then finally a truck stopped and brought me another 30 kilometers. Again I walked for a long time, feeling damn cold. (I’d slept a bit in the truck.) I could feel morning coming on, though it would still be dark for hours. A nurse picked me up on her way to work. If she hadn’t been… well, I was feeling terribly horny… again, once I was let off I had to walk a long way. I was thinking of finding a place to sleep but it was wet.

December 12, 1984
Dudelange, Luxembourg

In Aberloup, I was given a ride by a man who worked for the police. The dropped me off for an “identity check.” Two men brought me down to the Bureau and went through my possessions carefully to look for hashish. I politely protested this invasion of my personal freedom. They released me ten minutes after I entered, as they promised. It scares me to realize, as these two were very mannerly and friendly, that people can both be very good, and, in my opinion, misled. To revolt violently against a system composed of such people would be (in my opinion) a crime. But how can such nice people be made to see that they are committing a crime against me, unprovoked? (Now in Arlon….) And how “nice” would they appear, I wonder, if I simply refuse to let them detain me!
I am getting the strangest feeling, being the only one on the train, this bullet shooting me through the countryside of oval green hills and patch houses on this day which never seems to start (the sun stays at morning height doing little to thaw the chill). I have lived eons in hours in a time bend, from age to age, in a different country, walking all night. I’ve not eaten properly. The waves in my mind foam, they seethe. But I don’t feel tired. I fell asleep for half hour from Bastogne to Libramont (by bus). The fields are frozen – every color tinted with the white of iced dew. It is so quiet here. (….Just passed a magnificent red house with gilded gold trimming.) [Leaving Marbehan.]
In Aspelt, at 3:30: It is so lovely here! My God! I wish I would have come at an earlier time, a few days earlier!! This is really fantastic!! The houses: some of them are very old farmhouses. It is quiet: green, rolling hills, scenic waterways (creeks), all “done” with taste.
After the “identity check,” I got coffee in a little shop across the street. It seemed there were no buses just then to Libramont, wherever that was!! − the place the police told me I could catch a train from. I watched the sun just peeping over the iced fields. If I had thought it was possible to get a picture worthy of the subtle tones, I would have. The sun was pink and blue, the rolling field was all the soft colors, hay, lavender, pink, pale green. The landscape was frozen in soft water colors. The police brought me back up to the road. There, the two rather gruff-looking men that had opened the coffee shop for me came by in a rather bent up car. They were friendly, though we could only communicate very little. One was from Luxembourg and one from Germany.
They let me off in Bastogne. I was impressed with the looks of this Belgian town. It was cold, so I decided to take public transport. I missed the train to Libramont by less than a minute, and finally caught a bus there, on which I took a nap. There, I caught the train to Luxembourg. (I didn’t know that I had to actually go out of my way to get to Libramont.)
I had to wait an hour in Arlon, which I was thankful for. Since yesterday, I got to walk for an hour in Rotterdam, Brussels, and now Arlon. It is really the first look that I’ve gotten at Belgium. Now I have sort of an image of what the countryside looks like. One thing which I can’t help noticing is that there are so many “bars!” It seems that it is a custom to have drinks during the day. I noticed two thirteen year old school lads having a beer in midday. We sure would have liked it if we could have done that during lunch break at Mills High School! (Come to think of it, some people did − but not legally anyway.)
The cathedral at Arlon was an impressive structure. I found the town quite scenic.
It didn’t take as long to reach Luxembourg. I can’t say I noticed any great change in the features of the geographical, architectural or demographic landscapes.
The first thing I did at the Luxembourg central train station was to go to the shower rooms, where I cleaned up thoroughly. I made the discovery that I had written a letter to the wrong (old) address of Isabelle’s when I had tried to notify her of my coming from Amsterdam. Thus, she was not expecting my arrival and furthermore, though I had her new address, I did not have her new phone number. I called the old number. Had I realized it was her mother I would have asked for the new phone number at home, but she seemed not to have it and instead gave me her work phone number.
I called to her work Monforts Casino (sp?). They said she’d be in at 6:30 p.m. Rather than wait I decided to go out to her house, so I got on a bus and went to Aspelt. I was shocked to realized what a glorious place she lived in. I found a house with two names on it, Ferber and Isabelle Braun. No one was there, so I left a note and walked around the village. There were old farmhouses and a manor estate.
I was getting very tired. I returned to Isabelle’s after my refreshing walk (during which time I thought about the possibility of walking across Luxembourg − maybe next summer). No one was there. I caught a bus back to the station and I called Isabelle at 6:20 p.m. I heard her voice. She apologized that she had to work until 2:00 a.m. She asked me to call her at work then and she’d come and get me. So I decided to do just that and I walked to the tourist office, then had some tea in the restaurant at the train station. I asked at the information desk if it was O.K. to lay my bag out in the train station. They said it was O.K. and I laid out my bag and put my things carefully in a way that theft was difficult. The man behind the baggage counter told me not to sleep there, but when I said I’d been told it was O.K., then he left me alone.
I slept very soundly from 7 p.m. to 11 p.m. I was very tired and I needed the rest. I got a Coca-Cola and read Africa Dances. I went to lay down again when a uniformed man announced that the station was closed between 2 a.m. and 4 a.m. I left so I wouldn’t be locked in. I called Isabelle and she wasn’t off work yet. I was told to call back. This went on until 2:40 a.m., when she finally got on the line and said she’d come and get me.
About 3:10 a.m. she found me sitting there. She gave me a big hug and seemed delighted to see me. She looked, frankly, rather fatter than before (maybe her coat added to the effect). We got in a nice car which she’d borrowed. She said immediately that … she’d have to return this car tonight … she was bringing me to Lucian and I could stay with him tonight and she’d come see me in the morning. I took this to clearly mean that she had a man waiting for her and that could not sleep with me tonight at any rate. I acted graciously. We went to a speak easy (after hours pub) where we found Lucian and his new girlfriend.
Isabelle was nervous. I had told her that I might have to leave tomorrow unless I could get through to Amsterdam. But I lied about the reason. I said I had to call about my airline ticket. She said she would come by to Lucian’s at 1 p.m. tomorrow.
She gave me an earnest kiss and hug when we parted. Lucian, his girl and I drove in his car out to Dudelange eighteen kilometers away. He brought me to the room he used to live in above his bar. He had sold his bar some time ago, but the man never paid him so he got it back and is now in the process of reselling it. He got two beers out of the storeroom for me; he asked if I wanted some hash, but I declined. He left me upstairs and showed me how to get out in the morning. He had already driven me by his girlfriend’s place, where he said I could find him in the morning. I thanked him for his help and I got in my bag and read African Dances while drinking the two beers, then turned off the light and settle down to a real good sleep.

Chapter 35
Amsterdam Again
Jealousy With Judith

December 13, 1984
Amsterdam

I had awoken in the cubby hole (where I suppose Lucian used to put up) above the bar. I got outside and tried to call to Judith to ask if we could postpone our trip up north for a day so I could stay there. The line was buggered. Lucian kindly drove me to Luxembourg. I missed the train by minutes.
I tried to call to Judith again but there was no answer. Lucian drove me to Isabelle’s house in Aspelt but she wasn’t there. He suggested he take me to Bettembourg (on his way home), where I could catch the train back to Luxembourg in time to get the 2:03 p.m. train to Amsterdam. Meanwhile, Isabelle was probably on her way to Lucian’s to pick me up. I was sorry not to see her, but I figured I’d not be missing too much, though it would be nice. She’d be working from 6 p.m. to 3 a.m. and probably sleeping at her boyfriend’s.
I said goodbye to Lucian, who felt had cemented our friendship through his disinterested support. I took the 2:03 p.m. train out of Luxembourg past some marvelous old labyrinthine cascading walls and buildings dropping a distance to a river. I watched the countryside with interest. Although there was a bit more of steel, asphalt and telephone wire along the rail track than there probably is in the country, it was still scenic, and at any rate it provided me with a glimpse of the geography and the atmosphere I desired.
(Departing Walferdange station….) At least I will see Luxembourg from the train during the daylight. From Liege, the train ride (unfortunately) will be in the dark. I am enjoying myself, really! (A bit surprisingly) I have been growing to appreciate life for its own drama- to observe my surroundings and to drink in as much as I can. For the past three days I have been off and on the road, in train stations, meeting “old” friends. It has not been smooth! So much the better (?!)- it will be a solid remembrance.
Without a trace, we exited Luxembourg. I knew the first Belgium town: more people got on the train − there was a slightly different atmosphere. It began to grow dark as the train rolled through river valleys leading to Liege. I got off in Liege, now dark outside. I walked into town and went to one shop after another trying to get the most food value for the last of my Belgium francs. After an hour I was on my way to Maastrict. I changed at Vise and again at Maastricht. Now in Holland, I boarded the Masstricht-Amsterdam train. An hour and a half later I noticed I was at Amstel Station, and I got off before we went on to Central Station. I made the familiar walk from Amstel Station to Amstelkade, reminding me of my first day in Amsterdam and all the good luck I’ve had since then. When Judith came down to open the door, I would see her face through the lace curtains of the peep window. I would see the joy on her face – she was thrilled to have me back. She had her hair up. (I don’t like the way it looks when she has it up.) But I was so glad to see her. I kissed her pussy and carried her up the stairs…. We joked how she was testing my strength to see if I had blown it on some other woman.
Judith announced that she had had time to think about things since I was gone. She had had a realization about our future together. The night I left for Luxembourg she had been very insecure and wondering if we would be together ten years from now and that sort of stuff. She now said she realized how destructive that sort of anxiety was: that, in effect, my attitude was a very positive one, i.e., – “I love Judith. I am willing to work on our relationship. I feel positive about her.” After all, who can predict what will happen so far off in the future?? The most one can ask of someone is that they give their love and are willing to work on the relationship. So, on my return I came home to a more positive Judith. She wasn’t hung up on that point, which was a relief and a joy to me.
Judith had decided to definitely come to San Francisco, providing we could get a ticket.
She and I made a bit of sex but got up to get something to eat, for I was starving. When she realized I had come back early, she said it would have been all right to stay another day. She said she hadn’t called her friend, because she didn’t know when I’d be back. But I was so happy to be with her that I was glad I came back anyway. We had some food- Judith and I made love before going to bed. I didn’t want to come so I just fucked her and fucked her. Ultimately she was tired and so we slept.

December 14, 1984
Amsterdam

Today was a rather miserable day from the standpoint of how Judith and I got on with each other. I could gladly accept that we won’t go on a trip, not at all be bothered by the fact I came home early and she wasn’t ready to go. But I really disliked it when she started complaining. She said she wanted to sleep. She suggested she couldn’t rest if I was around, so I felt I was expected to leave the apartment. I resented that I had come back early to get such treatment. I should have left her alone, but I tormented her by saying I wish I hadn’t come back so early. She dashed out of her bed and went and took a shower. She was walking about nude and I thought it was impolite to do so in front of her mother with me around; her mom was busy packing.
The funniest thing was when she showed me her panties with a slit in the front and wore them over to her mother (who didn’t notice), then put on her pants in front of her. Anyway, until her mother left at 4:30 p.m., Judith was a nervous wreck. She was really unpleasant and blamed all problems on me! When her mom left we all said farewell. (Her mom went to her home in Switzerland.)
Sure enough, Judith got a little more calm and reasonable. In the evening, we went to see Purple Rain with Prince. It was poorly done in many places but I enjoyed it all the same. After the film, we stopped at the Paradiso where a call it Punk group was playing – they only played one song and it was the end of the night. It was rather just noise to my ear but I can enjoy it for what it is. Maybe, I’ll be less afraid to just make noise myself. Judith and I made love.

December 15, 1984
Amsterdam

Judith and I woke up late and fucked till even later. We didn’t have much of the day left when we went out at 2 p.m. or so. We rode our bikes down to Galerie 30 , which is a place that Judith had been one of the organizers of and now she was signing the papers to get out of it. It is like a cooperative gallery, where members work two days a month, share the rent, and hang their paintings. I looked at the art while they talked. Some of the lithographs and the small watercolors were quite nice.
On our way to a McDonald’s, Judith’s bag caught in her back tire and she flipped over the handlebars and fell on the pavement. Some men came to help. Soon we were on our way again. It was dark by the time we got home. Judith and I ate and fucked and though it was getting late, we went over to her aunt’s place to make a visit. We had a very nice time. Her aunt is her mother’s sister. Whereas her mom, Francis, is 60, her aunt Evelyn is only 40. I talked with the husband who words in the computer data base design department for IBM. They served wine and juice, fruit and cheese. They were gracious, astute and Evelyn seemed to spread cheer. I think Evelyn could see how happy Judith is, and wished us well in California. We rode home happily. When we went to bed we had a truly amazing sexual experience. I went crazy. She makes me crazy with desire. The catalyst for all this feeling was me asking if I could have her body. Can I use your body? Yes. She said.

December 16, 1984
Amsterdam

We woke up, ate, I played the guitar. More and more I like Moving Zoo. About 2 p.m., We decided to go to Marken, Holland (to Henk’s studio). Judith and I had a very lovely time on our way. We talked about our love. We talked about how I was last night – how I went crazy with passion. I sobbed like an animal – a sound denoting pleasure, mixed with life’s pain. It reminded me of the goat I saw on the river boat that was screaming because he could only lick the rear of the she goat tied just out of his reach. I drew up all the agonizing depths of pain of years of wanting women in the complete way. I now loved Judith’s body, with the passion of an animal, as I sucked her bottom, juices cascading, I licked all through her crotch, ran my face along the parabola formed from her back through the slit in her rear, by the anus, along the inner lips of her vagina, up through her pubic hair. I recited to Judith how Norma had said I had to be “harder” and how I felt her advice had caused me to get more in contact with my real feelings.
She suddenly had a need for silence. I felt slighted and let her go on. She came back for me though and I’d amplified a problem by thinking about how we were going to visit her recent lover. We were cold but went on. I went ahead. We arrived in Marken, both going to Henk’s. Henk’s former wife was there at the gallery. I felt no jealousy towards him. I rather admired him—a fine looking man with a strong manner, an excellent photographer. I asked him a good deal until he seemed noticeably aggravated by my question: “How much do you pay to have the enlargements done?” After that I felt extremely uncomfortable. I wanted to go. We had a chance to get a ride to Amsterdam, but I wanted to ride the bikes. I needed solitude, but unfortunately Judith came with me. We had bad moments until I explained what happened, and she concurred, in my appraisal of his attitude. We talked all the way till Amsterdam. It was 8 p.m.
As we boarded a ferry across one of the canals, Judith remembered that she had to call Jack because he was supposed to read her Tarot. I thought: Judith is too busy. Then she asked me if I could find my way back. I said that I’d follow her (because she was going to go fast). I asked her if she had his number and could call him from a booth (because she was going to cancel) but she said she didn’t. I raced behind her (my bike being slower), and three-quarters of the way there she stopped and found his address in her purse. I waited I front of her and she went riding by me without a glance. I went slow and she stopped and then said how I should find my way back. Then she raced on and my anger mounted. Why? Because I get the feeling she puts me as second priority and puts these “urgent tasks” before me – they must be accomplished at all costs. And also because Jack (though he and Judith are not and never have been lovers) was the other man who she once wrote: “I’m seeing two lovable men” and Henk was the other and we have, in one day, both of them between her and I. My anger also stemmed from the fact that Judith is so scatter brained and she was over late for her date with Jack, she’d never told me about it and then, out of the blue, it becomes of the utmost importance – she feels free to leave me to come home by myself.
And one other thing: that the whole time that we have been here, whenever we go some place “so I can see it” Judith usually has some sort of business to do there anyway!
So I rode fast by her and started shouting at her about her “two lovable men” and generally I had a blast letting out my inner heart. I really let it our, howling, laughing and knowing I’d have to pay handsomely for it. She took off and I couldn’t find her so I rode home. When I got there I started to miss her – I thought she’d call up Jack and go spend the evening with him – I didn’t enjoy the prospect of sitting there for hours wondering.
But she came in after my shower. I grabbed her and kissed her and did everything possible to make her feel good about coming home.
(I don’t remember precisely but….) I took her to the bed and kissed her pussy and fucked her. We ate. When we went to bed she criticized me and to her surprise I listened attentively and tried to absorb what she was saying, for this was the best way I could rectify the situation, for I had greatly upset her. She asked me to recreate what she had said and I repeated (correctly) her messages. (I think) we made love and slept.

December 17, 1984
Amsterdam

Does anyone have so many problems with love? Well, here I am in Amsterdam, alive and well. Judith and I made love when we awoke. At first it was very hot and I held back my orgasm. Later, I didn’t feel turned on at all, but I finally came. There is a definite correlation between how we interact socially and sexually. Apparently things are cleared up now, I’m just holding on – I’ve got to hold on – when things are good with Judith, it is the greatest feeling I’ve ever had. Now she is still planning on coming with me – I just wish I could feel satisfied – I’m even concerned with how deep I let myself go into it – then again, pain is only temporary – underneath I feel I’m always strong. Writing clears my mind up. I’ve got a world of events to bathe in – ultimately I reach a point always where I’m not afraid.
Near midnight: After more than 24 hours without the slightest confrontation with Judith, things are feeling heavenly again with her. More so, I feel strength from this (you’ll think I’m joking): That the less we’re together, the less we have a chance to fight. This means that I need not feel possessive of her time: a point that has been troubling me excessively since I rushed back to Amsterdam in order to go away with her, only to find she’s busy as ever. I enjoy my time alone. Through the day we’re seen each other off and on. We took a rest together and made O.K. hot love around 6 p.m. I’m determined not to argue with her (can I really do it?). The loss of her due to trying to dissuade her from her sometimes-staunch views would be throwing away my best-ever lover for a hopeless and pointless pursuit.
When Judith and I went to bed, I asked her (again) if I could use her body. Was she completely mine? Yes! Without licking her, I mounted her and we fucked. It was, truthfully, the best fuck I ever had. I held her so close and tight. She curled up bringing her hips and breasts closer together, and my body was straight. I held her very close and very tight. (It reminds me of the way Toniça and I used to make love.) Love poured out of me, I felt it the whole time. I Love You So Much. I came in the same state, passionately. I pulled it out and did it in her hair.

December 18, 1984
Amsterdam

To be sure, I see things a bit more clearly now: first of all, once you get to know someone, you can realize that certain of their actions which you find offensive are not intended to be. In Judith’s case, I realize that it is her nature to, suddenly, drift right out of a conversation in the course of a sentence – we may be interacting perfectly and the next thing I know, she’s walking off or staring into space or doing or talking about something else. At first, I found this extremely disconcerting because it is not normal. I think now it is only the manifestation of her dreamy nature. Sometimes, her mind is in the clouds. When I let her “be,” it isn’t long before she demonstrates her love and caring in some way. She’s a sharp girl. I went to Phillips for my interview. At least they reimbursed me F 26.25 for the train fare. Other than that it seems unlikely I’ll be getting anything other out of them. Though I sort of liked the personnel interviewer, I still get the feeling that personnel workers are excruciatingly insincere. Behind the guise of gentle friendliness, on goes a calculating screening process.
I think I’ve had enough of you but then when you fuck me, I like it!! – Judith.
She and I fucked once during a nap at about 7 p.m. Then at twelve midnight I picked her up and threw her on the bed and licked her, then fucked her wildly. I came on her tummy. She wiped it in her hair as usual. She said I’d just made her horny. I sucked on her pussy really hard and I got excited and fucked her very good and hard. She got on top an quite literally went crazy, telling me how big and hard my cock was (which was true). I remounted her and fucked her insanely good, coming again. She was going nuts. Then she was saying how her pussy missed my cock, etc.,…

December 19, 1984
Amsterdam

Well, diary, you know, my father, kind as he was to send me the $200, made me the mistake not to send an international money order as requested. I’ve just phoned all the banks and as I suspected, the check is not cashable in less than three weeks.
It turns out that Judith collected our G.400 and so she has enough money to lend to me to get me on the plane. We have arranged to pay her back when we arrive in San Francisco.
I went to the GPO and picked up three letters this afternoon while Judith was writing. One letter I got was from Donna (my sister), who said Dad had said he was prepared to help me out “for a couple of months.” I hope this is true. I feel that he will but the actual words don’t mean he hasn’t forgot he said them. I got two letters from Gabrielle. I read only one and responded to it immediately. It nearly broke my heart how sweet she was – she apologized for her behavior – I wrote back that it was me who should apologize. I couldn’t help but feel the difference between Gabrielle’s nature (which is so outwardly giving) and Judith’s (which is so outwardly demanding). I went home. Judith and I took our bikes to Paula’s – a friend of her mom’s who will type our her articles. Then we went to her great aunt’s. I had two beers. On our way out she said to Judith in Dutch “Enjoy the lovemaking!” (Until her lover died, this woman was regularly fucking at the age of __).
Judith and I rode home. (Conversation. I defined intelligence as awareness of important things.) We ate and she cried because I didn’t set the table properly. (?!) Poor dear. Then I convinced her into bed. We had a fabulous fuck. Then we cleaned up the house. She trimmed her plants, then patched the walls. Judith and I had another fabulous fuck on retiring at 2 a.m. She is a fabulous fuck.

December 20, 1984
Amsterdam

Is it really true? Can reality be so sweet. Judith got on her knees on the bed as I was walking by and she said “Do you know what? I think you’re great!!” Followed by two enthusiastic loud whoops by me. We embrace. Can it really be true that I can bring home such a beauty? Can the love that she described to me last night – the love of the newness and freshness of a 17 year old be what she feels for me? She said she had a dream man when she was so young, but he never came then – that I fill her vision of that man – that she can’t imagine a lover more attractive to her than me. We are to each other our best lovers ever. She has doubts about what I feel for, as she correctly observed I often say ‘This meal is the best I ever had’, ‘this City is the most beautiful I even saw’ – but diary, you know how true it is that she is also to me what she said I was to her. She exemplifies physically, mentally and spiritually such a great number of the attributes I find attractive in a woman. I am so happy. And to think that we may grow to coexist in harmony!!
Today I went to the Rijksmuseum. Van Gogh. It was glorious! I could scarcely believe what a magnificent and gifted artist he was. On one wall in order were The Sun Flowers, House in Montmarte, Gaugin’s Chair, Boats at Saint Maries, Drawbridge at Arles (?) and Landscape at Arles, all painted within a year, all brilliant with color, all magnificently beautiful. It was very inspiring (and seeing all the studies he did, the letters he wrote to Theo, in preparation to The Potato Eaters.) I feel invigorated, inspired. I read Gabrielle’s second letter today. It makes me feel awful. Here I am head over heels in love with Judith and Gabrielle is writing me as if her whole life depends on my love – but I did ask her to be open. Diary, don’t get me wrong. I love Gabrielle romantically. I will do everything I can to give her the reassurance she needs to get through these difficult months.

December 21, 1984
Amsterdam

Judith and I made love quickly in the morning. She and I are doing our best to get ready. I took the bicycle over (to the area of Amsterdam where all the streets are labeled with places in Indonesia) in order to return some books to the Women’s Center. Then I took a scenic ride by Ouster Park and along by the zoo and the botanical gardens to Amstel, then down Rohin, where I bought the plane tickets.
What a great deal it is to have these tickets!! (Also I noticed the prices are very cheap for bus travel on the Magic Bus. I returned to Judith’s. We had a dinner and went out to see her friends Zander and Nelica. They were nice. Zander tried to play some of his songs on the guitar, but I thought they were trite to the point of repulsiveness. Fortunately, we had to go because Ed had called from Den Haag and I had to go to met him at Judith’s at 11 p.m. (But Zander seemed intelligent and perceptive and was quite a wit.)
Judith and I arrived home. Judith wasn’t too thrilled about Ed and Mary visiting at that hour but it was our last chance to do so. Ed was first to arrive and later Mary arrived from her daughter’s place outside Amsterdam. Ed smoked a cigar and smelled up the room. He brought the dog, Tramp, as well. We all had wine. Judith looked gorgeous in her tatty white robe. (Ed and Mary commented on her afterwards.) We had a really nice conversation. Later, after Judith was packed, she went off to bed.
I followed her in to tuck her in goodnight and I ended up having a very lovely fucking/licking session with her. When I stumbled out into the living room again, Ed said “Have you been talking?” I said, “Not exactly.” Mary, with a woman’s intuition, said something about sports! And I acknowledged it as correct.
Ed asked me if I wanted a sniff (coke). I was resistant, explaining how Judith had declared a war on drugs. Then I finally went for it. It was great. I ended up with about three lines. We had a chat all night. I talked about sexuality and I asked them about their relationship. Mary seems old-fashioned but not abnormally or anything.
In the early morning Ed and I took Tramp for a walk. Judith had made a (rude) request that “they” be out by 11 a.m., so when I went to bed with Judith at 8 a.m., Ed didn’t even bother to sleep but waited until I arose at 10 a.m., and we went out for breakfast.

December 22, 1984
Amsterdam, Holland

Theoretically, tomorrow night my official arrival back in my home town will take place. Two years 53 days. In my own mind, I will merely be visiting my family and straightening out business, a stop on my trip which will never end.
Ed, Mary and I drove around in the most circuitous fashion to find the Paradiso for breakfast (or a place near it). Ed drove for 25 minutes to a place we could have walked to in fifteen. (In fact I walked home after breakfast). Then we couldn’t find a place.
Finally we found one. We were all feeling pretty bedraggled. Yonica, the girl who lives in Judith’s upstairs, was sitting across from me and we had a short chat. (I find her sexy.) After breakfast we all felt a lot better. I wonder how Ed keeps up such an unhealthy lifestyle. Rather, I should say it’s no surprise that he looks so worn out. After breakfast, we walked back to their car, and I paid my respects and walked away with a smile and a wave. I walked back to Judith’s.
Judith and I got the whole house in order, which occupied our energies. I think sometime in the evening Judith and I made love once or twice maybe as a mid-evening break or before sleep or both. Why it is so important for me to always mention our lovemaking? I want, perhaps, to make it known to my future self how prolific we were in these days.

Chapter 36
Home Again
The Shock And Depression of The Ordinary

December 23, 1984
Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA!

Judith: I love her so much. Wow! I want to live with her. I would like to have her around. After only about four hours sleep last night and two hours the night before, Judith and I got up at 7:30 a.m. Gabrielle, her friend, and Gabrielle’s boyfriend, Paul took us to the airport. They said goodbye when Sun, her medium friend, came to say goodbye.
When we arrived here in Minneapolis, the custom agent hassled us like hell. He was asking Judith how I was able to travel for two years, if I was from a wealthy family, if we were going to get marry, how long we knew each other. When I came up he asked in a very demanding voice how long I knew Judith. When I told him I didn’t see how it was his business, he threatened to jail me and send Judith back to Amsterdam!! For Judith’s sake, I calmed down and I was cooperative. We passed through without [more] trouble. The man who searched my bags asked me if I was carrying drugs and all the questions they’re required to ask. He looked at my big ivory and I told him I had documents, and he asked to see them, then allowed it through – he merely said to one of his coworkers, “Hey Frank, wanna see some ivory??” He didn’t even bother to look through all my artifacts and he didn’t even open my light green duffel bag.
We waited in a long line, and when we finally got up to the desk we were told (as expected) that we’d be put on tomorrow’s flight. We were put up at the Rodeway Inn. We got a ride by their shuttle bus. Wow! Back in the States!!! The green freeway signs….
We were given a nice (but stuffy, smelly from cigars) room. We had a $10 each chit for dinner. The food was excellent. We showered when back in our room. Judith and I made beautiful love before sleeping. It was just fantastic – being so happy – here in the States with Judith in a nice big king size bed.
I had called Dad when we got to the hotel. Figuring we’d miss our connection even when we were still in London, I should have called, but I didn’t, even though I should have known people were going to be coming to see me at the airport. The thing is they wouldn’t tell me if we’d be on a flight in the morning or later that night, so I thought I’d wait.
Anyway, Dad said everyone had just left for the airport. I found out later that Marc and Maxine had brought me a bottle of champagne, Mike and Linda came, Dad and Helen and Taylor, Clymer, Cappa and Hockridge!!

December 24, 1984
San Francisco, USA

Wake, make love, out for a swim in the indoor pool downstairs, a Judith bare-breasted races in the water, showers, out to the airport, board plane, breakfast ham and cheese crepe, flying over the black (now snow white) hills of North Dakota, some nice scenery, off the plane. Waving Dad (hair a bit whiter as expected, a balding Taylor (surprise-could it have been the death of his mother?) and a fatter Clymer (surprise). I threw my arms around all three of them at the same time (Clymer: [just as I expected:] Shea, have you been every place??? Where haven’t you been?). Gary Cappa and Tom Hockridge are downstairs waiting for me. A big embrace for my two other “best” friends. We agree to go to Holiday Inn except for Taylor who has to shop. We have some drinks and a bite. It is great, but I’m dragged out, a few moments of hesitancy. My Dad has invited everyone to his house for Friday. Say goodbye. What a thrill to see them all!!! When I got off the plane, there was a rumor that my friends asked if was true: Are you returning in two weeks for Amsterdam and marrying Judith?? Ride with Dad to Gam’s. What a thrill to see the sweetest woman in the world. Gam says to Judith “call me Gam,” and says “Give me your hand, dear, and I’ll show you to your room.”
Judith said that I had not exaggerated one bit about how special Gam (my grandmother) was. Judith laid down and spoke with Gam. It was great to see her. (Agnes and Ed came over when I first got there. Ed said, “This is an experience from which you’ll be able to draw on for the rest of your life!” (Right On!) I laid down for a short bit, when I had to get up to go to Dad’s. Donna had come over and she drove us down there. Mike, Marc (wives and kids) Paul and Ed (and girlfriends) Helen, Dad, Irene made up the party. It was great to see everyone. It was all a dream. Christmas eve was a dream.
When we got home, Judith and I made sweet love in my room downstairs.

December 25, 1984
San Francisco
XMAS Dinner at Aunt Betty’s

Dear diary: I must record my first impressions as a record of how I’m feeling at first – so that in the even I change after a few days I will not be fooled into forgetting any feelings of today. Xmas morning. I’ve just woken up. I feel a little bit weird, thrown back into a time warp. How am I to enjoy my Xmas of plenty when I know that this country is like the rich one, celebrating, while his neighbors suffer with scarcity and oppression, often financed through our pockets? I am happy to be back, to see people, to see what has arrived (and what has not), but I feel a bit of a burden on my family. I had gifts to give them but no time to retrieve them from my bags and boxes before I went to the party. Indeed they are all hardworking and honest—I come from the same mold, yet I wonder what ticks in their minds. If this sounds negative, it is because I feel weird (like I saw I’d left some grass and Zig-Zags in a case that was gone through—probably by Mom or Donna—and Clymer never took my car for a spin—and the slides from Kelly aren’t here –my most prized—the few photos I’ve looked through make me nostalgic—mostly its not being able to sleep with Judith—if she was here instead of upstairs I’d probably feel much better.
Welcomed Gam a Merry Xmas. Judith and I made love down stairs. I sorted through my film – preliminary sorting. Donna came over. I gave her and Gam some Kenyan coffee. We all drove over to Aunt Betty’s. Everything seemed fine. When we got there Judith felt car sick, and she asked to take a walk. I felt obligated to go with her. (Shea, what’s happening to you? Obligated?) I was distressed (probably without cause) over the fact we were already late for dinner. I was worried Gam would think Judith fragile or sickly…. Judith caught on by some of my off hand comments and she felt uncomfortable and asked me what was the matter.
According to her requests of the past to have me “let it ride” (remain silent, not pry or bother), I asked her to drop it…then I commented on what she had said this morning at Gam’s breakfast table (a story in itself):

Judith on Xmas at the Breakfast table:
We were talking about some world situation, Gam, Judith ad I and Judith very loudly and with conviction in her voice said: “Yes, that’s whey they’re all so fucked up (looking and noticing my discomfort)….Oh, well…Jeff’s the one who’s teaching me English anyway!”
I suppose that this embarrassment had begun my insecurity. Judith now (our in the streets in the avenues) walked away from me. I called after her, she ignored me and stoked my anger. I went after her…. unhappily we returned to Aunt Betty’s. Ensued argument on the doorsteps of their house, Uncle Frank came outside, whose presence installed immediately order. “Uncle Frank!!” I bounded up the steps. We went in and ate and socialized and Judith was a bit sweet to me and reconciled the situation a bit. I felt sort of drained from the cold walk and the argument, and I would’ve enjoyed myself much more if I’d been feeling more well. I talked with Don Warren about Portugal and a bit with Bill Grainger and Ann Marie and with Joey.
Note: I talked to Mom on the phone today. She asked me how I was doing. I said I was faced with accepting the challenges posed to me by my deep-seated convictions regarding the trends in our society.

December 26, 1984
San Francisco

In the morning Taylor called to find out when I could come to see his yacht. He said: “Jeff, you always have a berth on the boat!” I said I’d scream when I went outside because I couldn’t in the house!! I said I’d definitely come sailing with him!!!!
He’s planning on launching the “Ichi” in July, to Cabo San Lucas by December 1985, then two years westward to the Mediterranean. I’ll try to make it for at least part of the trip!!
Judith and I went running around Potrero Hill. It was totally awesome seeing the city again from my beloved hill. The fresh air, the park at 20th and Vermont. In the evening, Jeff and Gary came over in order to see me open my boxes. Gary took a photo of me with all the boxes and I gave a brief explanation of the contents. I think they expected something more spectacular—sometimes the boxes merely contained clothes I’d sent home.
Aside: Relaxed life, time for appointments and commitments in the midst of this competitive and aggressive atmosphere.

December 27, 1984
Going To San Jose

It was totally Bob [i.e., great] of Clymer to lend me his Pinto for I don’t have the money to fix my battery on my Fiat. I felt sort of pressured by Judith to go to San Jose – she wanted to go somewhere, but it wasn’t really a good idea since tomorrow night we have to go to Dad’s. Saturday, I’m going to the game and Sunday we have to leave. I had to clean up my room, which was a disaster of cardboard and packing paper after last night. What I really feel like doing is to sit around here and go through my boxes.
Judith came down in the morning and we made love. She loved it and then got all upset afterwards about her new issue of whether I’m just using her. She knew she was all fucked up and apologized but it still caused turmoil. We drove down to Dad’s office in San Bruno and I saw Mike Hill (and Helen’s sister Irene) again. We drove to San Jose. She mentioned the money I owed her, and we got in a big fight in the car. She was screaming.
When we got to the house I watched I watched some slides. Again, turmoil when we turned in. I finally went to her and asked her to come back to bed, that we didn’t have to make love, just hold each other. She stroked my dick but I didn’t fuck her, just let her be. In the early morning she got really horny. So she wanted to make it and of course I was obliged. She told me the next morning that it had made a big difference to her that I had asked her to bed just to be with her and not just for sex. I know sometimes women need to see that.

December 28, 1984
San Jose
Party At Dad’s
I spent the greater part of the day (which started at noon for me) looking at slides. Judith went out for a walk, then she went to bed after I woke up. I continued my rating of the slides, but I wasn’t quite together in time for the party at 7 p.m. in San Bruno at my father’s house. I called and Dad said, “Stop what you’re doing right now and get your ass up here.” I said, “Yes, Dad,” and hung up. All my friends were sitting around the table: Jeff (with Karin), Tom (with a beautiful girl), Gary (with Michiko), Tim, Mike Hill, and Mike Taylor. The usual jokes passed around the table about my lateness and I treated Dad in a chummy way, realizing he’d just let the issue of my lateness ride if I did it. At first I was called on to relate my adventures but I said I wasn’t very good at speeches. We spent the evening bullshitting and laughing at Cappa’s jokes (and even mine a couple of times). I enjoyed my time but I felt a little reluctant to try and relate stories about my travels. After every one had gone, Helen, Dad, Mike Hill and I had a discussion about politics.
I found it pleasurable to talk with Dad about world events. He tends to be informed and he is not a stuffy aristocrat. I think he’s a people’s man. He and Helen seemed curious about my future plans (as if I ever have the slightest!)
I basically said the question was unanswerable, but I felt I wanted my work to be compatible with the convictions that are growing inside me based upon the experience I’ve had and what I’ve witnessed. I mentioned journalism, photography, import/export. Helen encouraged me to learn about what Lowell Thomas had done. Dad encouraged me to rest for a couple of weeks. He’s very considerate. He eats too much, exercises too little, drinks too much. I’m afraid he’s in danger of a stroke.
He very much seemed to enjoy me calling him ‘Mzee’ [mm-zay-(long) a]. (I explained it was a term of respect for elders in Swahili.) So I sprinkled it in once or twice into the conversation. I intend to be friends, and I intend not to be late for our appointments again, as it pisses him off.
Good byes. Judith and I drove to Burlingame, because Taylor invited me for a drink. We didn’t stay however, because it was late and I had to go to the game tomorrow. Rob Pisano was there. We had a big hello. Taylor’s girl (one of…) was there. A big goodbye. (And every woman I meet I say goodbye to them European style a kiss on the cheek.)
I would suppose Judith and I made nice love before sleeping and probably once in the afternoon before the party. Sex is always so good with Judith. What a sweet cunt she is.

December 29, 1984
San Jose, (San Francisco)
49er Playoff

Gary had invited me to the game today, so I was up and out of the house with a steak and coffee in my lap on the freeway.
Jim was at his place in Santa Clara and Michiko arrived out of the bedroom. I felt glad to be with them but still a little reluctant to speak about my tip for fear I’d be boring them. We dropped off Michiko in San Bruno at Punky’s house to get her car. After loading up with vodka and hot dogs we made for the Candlestick Park parking lot where we had a BBQ and Bloody Mary’s and headed in to the game. Michiko showed up after her manicure and the game began. It was exciting – the 49ers scored twice in the first quarter. Later in the game when we went to the john, Gary asked me what I thought of his girl and I said I thought she was a beautiful young girl but I added I thought Judith was as well. The 49ers were leading 21-10 with three minutes left in the game, so Tim and I and G and M split to beat the traffic. Tim and I ran to G’s car and I revved it all the way to 101 and got on the open freeway. (We were taking G’s car back, he rode with Michiko). Tim and I had a chat in which he told me to watch my driving. I told him what I thought was so great about Judith, namely: the blush on her cheeks was real, not put on, her (taste) pussy was remarkable due to her knowledge of diet, etc., and I thought she was really pretty. Nice eyebrows, no make up, etc.
We went to Cappa’s. Kent was there—we had a short chat. G, M, T and I went to The Hut for a drink. G and T were playing table pool; Michiko and I had a very nice chat about her and Gary and her past and what I thought—she ended up inviting Judith and I to the city to her house sometime. She was really quite nice. I told her G was hung up on if I thought she was beautiful or not, and I said she was of course, but he wanted me to think she was but no one else was. Tim came over and he was insecure about his balding head, but we encouraged him by relating that we thought it was distinguished – it does look rather good.
A happy goodbye. I drove to San Jose. Judith was in bed, all the lights in the house were out. Judith and I had wild fuck for awhile and blamed her for a sudden bit of impotency, (the credit rightfully goes to all the liquor in me), mumbled something and fell asleep fast until the next morning.

December 30, 1984
San Francisco

We had a fairly nice day in San Jose, she and I made love a couple of times, I went over slides, we cleaned up the house (a drag) and ran to the store.
In the evening we returned to San Francisco. We had a nice ride. Judith wanted to go running more, so I suggested we go to the Golden Gate Bridge. I wanted to stop off at the house. She was afraid I’d get stuck there, so when I delayed our departure for a minute, she got all hyped about it, and I got indignant, so we fought all the way out to the bridge. I ran to the other end ahead of her. It was too bad because I wanted to enjoy the sight of San Francisco but the mood was not conducive to floating in the mind. I was peering out the mists when Judith ran up and said she was going back and left without a word (because she was cold). I felt disinclined to move and I walked back fully realizing she’d be pissed off because she’d be waiting outside the car cold as hell. She wasn’t there when I got there. I sat waiting for her. When she returned she wouldn’t speak to me. She finally came out of it cause I wouldn’t leave till she did and insulted me (when I said: Is this New Year’s going to be as bad as last year?) by saying last year would have been fine if it wasn’t for me.
We went up Lombard and Van Ness and got home and I suppose (forgetting after six days later when I’m writing it) that we made superb love when we returned there, and slept.

December 31, 1984
New Year at the St. Francis Hotel
San Francisco

Judith did her “abortion set” of exercises today to bring on her period which is three or four days late. Saw Cherie Olivo, next door girl … said she wrote a ten-page letter to Indonesia, but it was returned.
The obvious highlight of an otherwise uneventful day was the New Year’s Eve Party at the Saint Francis. It was the best time I ever had at a party. (Judith and I danced.) Gary, Swen and Tim were there, G and T with their women. Judith went off to dance by herself when Kent (G’s house partner) started talking to me. Some guys offered me a line of coke. Judith came to me and we were arm in arm over to dance. Just before midnight there was the countdown. We jumped up in the air; they put on the new Prince album and Judith and I went wild. I’d only a few glasses of champagne in me. We danced with a fervor, then she jumped up wrapping her legs around my waist (like we do sit-ups) and I dropped to my knees and we wriggled to the rhythm. Michiko, G’s girlfriend, (joked) said that Bob (Ellerback, the guy who threw the party – here in Room 821) said we’d have to leave if we didn’t stop. I think we made quite a spectacle of ourselves, and I enjoyed myself immensely. It was extremely romantic—we kept saying I Love You. G got in a fight with Michiko, and I guess he didn’t appreciate how much Judith and I were in love (making out while we were dancing, mouth on mouth, tongue to tongue) but we didn’t care, we just loved one another exhibitionally!! I investigated the reason for their fight, and it seemed she had kissed a guy, Gary saw and the fight ensued. I told them that friendship should be the basis for any relationship, and she [Michiko] said, “We’ve [Gary and she have] never been friends,” and I said, “Well, maybe you should start tonight.”
Every time I saw Michiko, she sort of came up a bit close – being New Year I felt free to hug her frequently, which I could feel she definitely enjoyed (being a bit intoxicated) and after she and Gary made up, I even became forceful and really gave her my manly embrace in a kiss and noticed happily that she felt my sexuality.
I had been in a quandary over what to wear to the party, being reluctant to dress too conservatively. Having little else to wear, I wore my Indian-made shirt with Western-cut, pleated sleeves, collar and beautiful multi-colored, purple-brownish cloth. As we danced I undid my buttons one by one until my shirt was completely undone. I think the girls liked it, found it sexy – it was either Tim’s girl or Gray’s that said, “Nice chest.” and I jokingly bared my breast and holding my tit out said, “See how big they are!”
After much dancing (and Gary repeatedly saying: Shea! Button Up Your Shirt! We’re not in Nairobi!!!!”,“ and commenting on the way Judith and I were dancing, “Shea, this is not Africa!!”), the party closed up. A black girl with helium balloons attached to her head (floating above her on strings) said to come upstairs. We migrated to Room 9__ and entered a “black” party, where we danced one dance but got bored and split.
So we drove home, pleased as we could ever be with a party, a New Years or each other!!!!