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, 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!!!!

DIARY
Any relation to reality of the writing herein
is purely intentional.

January 1st, 1983
Slept in: Ngarinaasuru, Malaita Solomon Islands

“The panoply of village sounds carpeted the audile like” an orchestra of maestros, roosters, unintelligible language, the familiar happy play of children and a bird population spurting out a low volume concert. Kelly and I, she being my steadfast companion, made love in the raised house on the water, and we were led to Ngarinaasuru, by Sali of the SSEC village next to the DA village from where we had come, ‘Ubuni greeted us in short order, on the vista-ed peak halfway up the mountain. We had left the world of the True God and stepped on the fringe of the land of Evil Ancestors. We waited for permissions, and spent the night with Ubuni as guard, after a day of seeing the Bush People of the East Kwaio, trading, eating the offered sweet potatoes (white), learning of tabus, the ‘Flower House,’ the sacred pigs, the sacrificing of same. We had not yet learned of the rotted skulls that adorned the tambu houses spread about in the bush. We made love in the dwelling with a pad or two to raise us off the dirt floor.

“My life, is too complicated Record keeping, errand running, it’s really mostly a waste of time. Why can’t I zoom all the time? Can life be a continuous high? Can I be different but be accepted? Can I be outlandish and be admired? Can I sustain that energy?
This is the mess that civilization has made of my mind!”

January 2nd, 1983
Ngarinaasuru, Malaita Solomon Islands

Write off David and Katie as friends, the Peace Corp couple with glazed eyes and a not so convincing line of implications that they didn’t believe in the Ancestors themselves (the “Philosophy of No Thank You” Being seemingly overemphasized and the “Philosophy of Bobness” being seemingly absent.) Vague, though present, were visions in dreams of unknown things that my extra-sensory perceptions were straining to capture. Old Ubuni, carrier of the bags in the Primitive Expedition in 1927, head of area council, and landowner, “greediest” man David ever saw, refused us entry to the bush, refused having his picture taken, and smiled his smile of a few awful teeth only when presented a gift, or when we bought his “custom” pieces. If this man is to become an ancestor, he will be evil in his all-powerful state. The fat lady, weaved next to us and slept with us in a non-tambu house in her cluster in the night. I “snuck” out and took pictures of the paradisial, moonlit, primitive South Pacific night. “I am trying to capture my impressions as a white man to the nakedness of women, and how essential this is to basic happiness. You don’t have to touch them…”

January 3rd, 1983
Ngarinaasuru, Malaita Solomon Islands

We are welcome to spend the day there, but if I won’t pay $60 to go to the bush by myself, and/or $100 or the hut I slept in last night for free, we will be asked to leave. We stay until late afternoon. Katie was misled into thinking I was about to break the tambu of going into her latrine and yelled out, “That’s tambu.” Kelly, without hesitation, retorted: “So why’d ya have to open your big mouth?” An argument ensued. Ubuni came out to shake my hand goodbye. (Of note, the father Ubuni had allowed his picture taken for three “Erik the Red” cigarettes. Also, the $60 I was to pay to go the bush was old Ubuni’s price for breaking the law that he had created about not allowing expatriates into the bush.)
We took a leisurely, decent, Kadmill Martin greeted us at the bottom. Reluctantly (first reaction), I accepted for refreshment, but we spent the night, I holding her so as to not make too much noise in this SSEC village. A drastic change took us from the bush to the village, the village still somehow realistically primitive, perhaps the fringe bordered on the savage.

January 4th, 1983
Ngarinaasuru, Malaita Solomon Islands

Eager to walk in the bush, I was led up the mountain, I suppose about twice as high as Ngarinaasuru. Without a pack, it was incredibly – much easier. We stopped near the bottom to wait to hear Kelly say she didn’t want to go on, and we (the boys I was accompanied by) stopped briefly when a rain shower came up because the young fellow cut off a huge (3 ½’ x 2’) tropical leaf as an umbrella for the Kwaio bag. I told him I didn’t need it, and I refused their offers for rest until we got to the top (When I suggested it.) Around noon, we went to the river and bathed a bit. In the afternoon I listened to Kadmill’s problems of struggle to gain entry into the white man’s world. In the evening, I borrowed a dugout canoe, and I paddled up the dark river, guiding away from the mangrove fringe, navigating by treetops on a night sky. Tonight we began hearing stories of decapitating rotting corpses. I asked Kadmill if he still believed in the ancestors, and he said that he doesn’t, but that sometimes he “can feel something.”

January 5th, 1983
Auki, Malaita Solomon Islands

We caught a free canoe ride of Atori and a land rover ride to Auki. James Ange came up to us at the market. Dinner of bonito and potatoes and bread and butter (supplied K and J) and tea were, followed by a night on the deck of Waiari, a yacht built and owned by David and Sandy, who sat up and talked with us, Sandy’s bare chest compelling Kelly to do the same (the ride from Sinalago was from Billy, who works on Guadalcanal but was from Sinalago. When we left, the SSEC villagers, and the fat lady came to the water’s edge as we motored away. In the bay (Lagoon), we spotted ‘Ubuni in a canoe; we saw him with the bag I had traded.) The whole business of the Kwaii will be in my memories for the rest of my life, I feel sure. The stories (the penalty for taking the skull of a tambu house is decapitation) are eerie. David said in one village, an epidemic claimed two brothers in the same day, and the people were wondering why the ancestors were mad at them.

January 6th, 1983
Auki, Malaita Solomon Islands

[Jan 5th cont.] Two women in that village have gone crazy. It takes 2 men, one on each arm, and a third on the stomach to hold one of them down. They try to bite the men. David says they are as if on ‘an acid trip’. We tried to pay on the boat but it pulled back in the harbor-maximum capacity. We must wait till tomorrow to leave. We find an excellent lunch place and fill up. We go and laze away the afternoon by a river. In the evening back to the restaurant and an invitation to sleep on the floor by Mr. Faulkner, owner, who startled us with stores of his 1950’s seismic expedition to the New Guinea highlands. His party came across two tribes that had never seen white people and who were still using stone-age implements. (The pineapples in the market here are perfectly sweet and cost as little as 10 cents. The people on Malaita I have found hospitable – it seems we could find lodging easily from new friends. On the river during the day, we found frogs that were scarcely the size of flies.) Still, images of the naked young girl with little hair below, brings out my most basic urges.

January 7th, 1983
Honiara, Guadalcanal Solomon Islands

We had breakfast at the place we slept (and woke up in the middle of the night, fearing the fears of imaginary attackers, watchers and unreal things as well as snakes, spiders and frogs!) Boarded on Compass Rose II, with artifacts, me with my one foot long staff of twisted Malaitian (top leaves) tobacco ($2), pineapples given by James and the ticket agent who had kicked us off yesterday, we bided our time, built a lean-to in the hot sun and leeward of the engine room ventilation stack.
Arriving about 6 pm, we come direct to Sugar Bear. The boat is a mess, Joe has pulled the engine apart. Al Toneli, our new guest for a month, introduces himself. Brad flew home Wednesday with no fanfare. The sailing schedule has been changed. Occasionally Kelly and I dissect one piece of the puzzle of David, Katie and the Kwaio. If the Peace Corps is a government-funded agency, I would very much like to read the reports submitted by David and Katie.

January 8th, 1983
Honiara, Guadalcanal Solomon Islands

Frankly, the highlight of today centered on the discovery that the medallions Kelly and I bought were prized items in Honiara. The medallion that I bought for $6 brought a trade offer of $185 in the form of a necklace of aged human teeth, perhaps a hundred or so (the price tag of $185 on it in the cabinet.) I traded the $10 medallion for about 80 bat teeth and a necklace with 74 large porpoise teeth and some gorgeous red shell money. Kelly traded her $10 medallion for a $55 necklace of small red shell money and 175 small porpoise teeth and a crocodile tooth necklace and a necklace of shell money and 6 human teeth, as well as other things. The man, Marion, in the store here, told us that such things (as our medallions), fetched $200 to certain individuals. I was totally amazed at the treasures we brought away from there. (Ngarinaasuru). It presents me with a new awareness that this part of the world is relatively untouched. I believe a lot of money can be made in this area.

January 9th, 1983
Honiara, Guadalcanal Solomon Islands

Sunday was a day for work, we are fixing the engine, really Joe and Al are doing the engine work. I am being the usual runabout. This I don’t mind particularly, because I am also usually able to runabout myself for mine own chores. Some asshole jumped onto the gunwale of the dingy, tipping it over and getting water in the fuel tank. We overhauled it, then I busted the mounting bracket while tightening it back on, which was a catastrophe in Boysie’s mind. When I went to bed, Kelly sucked me off and I came in her mouth for the first time. I comment: I am getting to the point that even when a day is slow, or if things go away, I still feel a general presence of happiness, convinced in my own bobness, glad to be on such an adventure. We sit in the mooring on the east side of the Honiara docks. My mind spins on the Kwaio.

January 10th, 1983
Honiara, Guadalcanal Solomon Islands

I sent letters and postcards today. I wrote frantically in the morning, culminating weeks of worrying, starting only to be halted midway. I attached a thank-you bud to the first of two letters to Clymer, and in the postcards that followed; I proudly painted the picture of naked women to be freely gazed at. Jettisoned by collective wave, comprised of all those on the way there, I ride a continuous wave of euphoria, pitted with the rush of work to be done. (I do not think, and this is sort of conclusive that I could live without adventure. I have simply got to arrange my life to include going to new places.) Writing those letters brought me closer to home, some parts of which I cherish, my friends and family. “At the conveniently planned shower, the dark ladies Yacht Club dressing area, K and I made do standing up. I follow K’s beautiful sarong here waving in the wave’s force, as Sugar Bear heads on, now 2 days later as I try vainly to capture the 10th.

January 11th, 1983
Honiara, Guadalcanal Solomon Islands

During the on going rhetorical conversation with myself, I have passed upon treasures, envisioned lonely stretches, and seen the dark side of the moon. Flaming aqua blue eyes of a by standing toad reflect for me, joyous, off the freshly positioned headlamps of the roaring motor scooter as she cuts the night. If now were the totality of my existence, I would not know that the warmth behind me was what I formerly knew to be Kelly, my steadfast companion. A clandestine rally to Binu on our last night in Guadalcanal finds us bombing closer to the yacht, a near dodge past a cow emerging from roadside bush. Quick pulling over to regain a left basket finds us toad gazing. The toads sit under fluorescents fishing for insects like a group of 50 year olds. We procure the beauteous red toned beads, a gift from Billy in Binu. I say to the toads as we leave, “You guys are bad news!” The engine was fixed today.

January 12th, 1983
Hove to West of Savo Island, Solomon Islands

Symbols have manifestations in reality. We are hoved-to. Symbols are reality. The beads of rain beading on the fiberglass ceiling. My important thought for the day that one of my optimal feelings is that of productive thought (See Orange book on Pacific Voyage). The rattle of the road of last night jarred my psychedelic, instinctive visions for New Wave Clubs and Kingdoms. We slept from 2:30 to 5:30, after a convenient Begging Solo Man brought us to the boat. I hustled today for a token of faith. We left Honiara, sailed north Savo, and, 6 miles off the (Russell) islands to our west, now we sleep hove to. Only I’m writing, not sleeping. Life is one euphoria after another, but I can’t always see it. I tried well to set up a friendship, trading system with Billy. The beautiful necklace he gives me, gives me faith. My goal is to come back with more money than when I left. No, my goal is to enjoy myself as much as possible. If I continued on through Asia and Africa, I will have visited the world’s basic countries – possibly see 60 countries.

January 13th, 1983
Renard Sound, Russell Islands, Soloman Islands

A jarring night leaves us restless; and it carried us, the current, several miles away from the Russell’s. Conveniently, I awoke when we anchored at what I did not know then to be Renard Sound. “I can come with you, okay?” “Sure, of course,” says the Saint and the motor purrs us to the waving children on the dock. Mermaids. This was the conclusion. There could be no doubt. It was a doubtful possibility, but we actually were looking in the same place at the same time as the fin popped up slowly, waved in the air, a tail fin, like an ARC’d trapezoid, 16” at the tip, scaled, a light blue, speckled yellow or something to give it that effect. It slid back in the water. It came out about 1’ altogether at it’s highest point. Swimming before dinner, check the anchor… couldn’t sleep. Dove in the black phosphorus water, on the fringes of the light the small fish gleamed fluorescent, blueish purple, the flashlight upward as I reemerge, a surrealistic moment, then the night sky and water I see a snake and the light starts to leak.

January 14th, 1983
Mouth of Lagoon at Lingatu, Sunlight Channel, Russell Islands, Solomon Islands

Leisurely morning, swim. On the way around Mbanika Island, I carbuncled her, but good! Right, right before Hoi Island, a swim to check anchor, a dingy to shore. A climb up a coconut tree - what am I trying to prove? A brief conversation, tits in the background, a run through the coconut plantation into the cocoa orchards a return to S.B. with coconuts at my feet! I lay about the boat like a slug, until midnight when we depart, the heat penetrating, even on deck these islands seem tame, compared to the Kwaio – the coconut plantations owner’s flunkies in the 1st step toward Europeanism for the S.P. savages. Sad, when they let desire for superfluous wealth strip them of their dignity. If I have not changed, then why do I feel so different? Joe spreads his arms wide and says ‘It was this big’ as physical exclamation of description of the giant clam of the part of the lagoon I failed to explore.

January 15th, 1983
Mblisi Entrance, First Left Morovo Lagoon, New Georgia Islands, Soloman Islands.

From midnight morning January 15th we sailed all day, to bring us to 80’ granite cliffs with thick mats of green, woody, forest protruding out one after another - single, giant lobster claws laying in wait. Entering Mbili passage. Mt. Mariu to my left looks like a dark, Ecuadorian mountain at sea level. Slate-blue, green and a cloudy panorama are denominators of the scene. Mblisi entrance to Morovo Lagoon: I swim across shark-infested waters to land on shore. I place a staff on the beach with a coconut halve and coral for a head: “By virtue of this staff, I claim this island for… the Brothers, me, Tom, Gary and Jeff. Kelly breaks into the room just now, the other ½ of the milo and coffee set, the trendy set, on the boat. This reminds me of Norma: they call themselves the “trendies” in N.Y. – the “trendies” – that’s what I want to be – King of the Trednies, I having recently given up any hope for a normal life.

January 16th, 1983
Batuna, Vangunu Island (Morovo Lagoon), New Gedrgias, Soomon Islands

“If the plant could figure out a way to absorb carbon dioxide without using water, then our deserts would be rain forests, but the plant has never discovered that,” drones Boysie as I reflect on last night’s dive with Kelly, a surrealistic light show if ever there was one. The phosphorescence was so total that every movement of, say, a fin caused a luminescent green display. This morning, in the same channel, I spotted shark, with no fear – 3’ long and not interested in me. Al and I motored to a B-24 bomber that lay much as it had five minutes after it shattered to a stop on the raised forested coral reef near the water - a missed landing, Propellers and engines were scattered, #766 was momentarily and eternally disassembled circa 1944. A short cruise and an afternoon walk through and outside the Boring, Christian Timber Town of Batuna (Mbatuna) brought Kelly and I to a rain forest where we played doctor. “I believe in the power of the devil,” says B.C.T.T. Wife, fearing my Kwaio beads.

January 17th, 1983
Uipi, Island Paradise, Morovo, Soloman Island

Melanesian angels they make of headhunters, how unchristian of the missionaries not to leave at least a tribe or two on Vanunu Island for late day adventures like me. In the church, all the heavenly figures are suspiciously dark. From boringness to Paradise (Uipi) in one afternoon, the way navigated with my aid and a radio from the spreader. Sighted giant clams right off shore 3’ across. Shark 5’-7’ on my first try around ocean-influenced bend off cove. Thousands of fish. “The best diving in the world,” reckons Bob Lewis, who lives here. He-gottem-tanks. “Bronze weil-ers, they get nasty;” Bob calls sharks, learned “from a Gilbertese woman;” claims he’ll show us. He was totally Bob and his name was Bob… Lewis.
Tomorrow at 10 am he’ll be by the boat to pick me up for a dive to “the garden.” Let me see: a diver with Jacques Cousteau, 2 times diving around the world, on his 3rd time around the world stopped here, and said it was amongst the best driving (scenery) he had ever seen: ½ dozen sharks at once is normal, but Bob said he’s seen hundreds at once. Ivan, 36 Olympics in Berlin, came to spear, but they bounced off.

January 18th, 1983
Uipi (Uepi), Morovo Lagoon, Soloman Island

Twenty feet over my left shoulder, I exchange mutual glances with a 5 ½’ hammerhead at 45 feet. The giant clam spans four feet across, and I doubt I could get my arms around him even when he closed, like a vice, his monstrous shell. The chimerical kaleidoscope of distinct coral types and colors lives. It lives in “the Garden.” “The little one, ya know, about one foot long, he was a bronze whaler, the one you were fending off with your iron.” This was Bob. At 3:30 pm, Boysie decides the anchorage is dangerous, and as Bob pulls up for our afternoon dive, we set sail. 6 miles away, I hire a canoe and K and I returning a stormy dusk. Bob was “Half full of piss,” but agreed to do a night dive. We went off a pier to 90 feet. The sheer cliff of coral was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. An animal in a crevice shone in my flashlight, it flashed blue luminescent lightening on the border of its mountains while its spikes shone in a lower and upper arc, orange, and on the inside a cauldron of red-orange-yellow gleamed like a fire. A basket star with 75,000 suction cups, 3 across. The entire reef, a cliff vertical as far as I could see, shove predominantly red. Every rock was a universe of detail, of abundant life, all the polyps out.

January 19th, 1983
Blanche Channel at Sea, Below New Georgia, Solomon Islands.

I awoke in a mosquito net, a pretty white pattern that didn’t look like a mosquito net. At 10 am (of course by that time Kelly and I had already paid our morning respects to one another) Bob, I and the group went to a new spot. John had ear problems, so just Bob and I went down. Disappointed that he didn’t call the sharks and that we didn’t go off the ledge. The most fascinating sight to me was the stingray, looming monstrous, but probably only 3’ across - when we came near, off he undulated, like a flying saucer that was flexible. Had a beer, bought a carving, and off we went at 2 in a canoe to meet up with the yacht at Seghe. “Like clockwork,” I say. Shortly after we arrive, the yacht heads through Hele Bar and out to Blanche channel, which we traversed into the night.

A poem for the heavens that breathe water and air.
For the moon and the green.
A poem for those who can’t say anything seriously.

January 20th, 1983
Gizo, Ghizo Isalnd Western Solomans, Soloman Islands

Got to open up, got to be more Bob! I lie here hot and full. Up at 6 this morning to stand watch. “I want to commend you on a good watch. You’re really catching on: “Boysie in a rare moment of praise. Mt. Kolombangara towering, in perfect volcanic island form, we yacht into reef treacherous Ghizo in the early afternoon, me waking up as we pass into shelter. The air hot, the place calm, safe, and quite pretty. Bob is to call Ghizo “the asshole of the earth” (next night.) He is also, tomorrow night, going to agree to send me a noozoo-noozoo of large ebony if I’ll pay the price and freight. P.S. – Kelly tends to my needs, even bandaging my tropical sores, and of course, our spiritual relationship needs a fair amount of attention. We’re supposed to be here until Sunday. Talk of skipping the New Guinea mainland – do they, can they expect to keep me away? Joe says the good music is comprised of statements and answers, and he says that poetry is one cohesive thought. The native police here have a fetish about wearing helmets while you’re riding a motorbike at 10 m.p.h.: “Can you step into the station for a minute?” “Fucking bastards,” would say Bob. K and I love the way he talks (wonders K if they love the way we talk.)

January 21st, 1983
Gizo, Ghizo Island, Solomon Islands

A truly fantastic circumstance but what happens but Bob Lewis walks into the pier yard onto Sugar Bear to visit Al, Kelly and I, the returning and I’ll betcha happier ½ of the crew, returning from an excursion beginning 3 ½ hours early which saw us through shoals paddling with our fins, diving on the NE side of Nusatupi island, me driving our loyal dinghy over a coral head and breaking the shear pin, Al and I rigging a new one with a cotton pin, Sugar Bear heading for 2’ of water to save us, as they see us through binoculars paddling over the shoals (to avoid using the engine), only to start our engine and haul off to the 85’ work-of-beauty 1922 gaff-rigged schooner, to run out of gas, to ask for fuel, to be invited aboard, to return to empty Sugar Bear at 7:30 pm and to be talking when he appeared. Kennedy Island, also known as Pudding Island, where JFK swam ashore from PT109, is a tiny thing visible from where we all sit. Found a card getting into the dingy; said: “Yacht Sugar Bear, Boysie E. Day, owner and master.” (A mutiny should brew!) Joe called me “unconscious Shea,” said they should have a t-shirt printed. I should make them!

January 22nd, 1983
Cruising Soloman Sea North of Vella Lavella enroute Kieta

This is, by my own reckoning, the day I would least like to re-experience in the period since I began the trip, but in retrospect, it is a banner day. I stayed up last night until 3 am with the idea to sleep in, go diving, inquire into the dope on the 85’ yacht and spend the evening with Mr. Lewis, who claimed to us all he would bring 12 beers by. I wake up to find we’re leaving at 12; Boysie virtually orders me to work on the water system, which occupies me up to departure. Boiling, I try to explain to Boysie that when I get to a place, I like to take a look about, see things. His response is that “Maybe you’re not emotionally fit for yachting” (on his premise that you repair your way around the ocean), and “What you are is a tourist” (Said with the utmost disdain). [Diary, between you and me, I think yachting is for fun, not for suffering indignities. Personally, I do not think Boysie’s intelligence merits his arrogance.] He left early to save $40 extra fee for leaving Sunday as Joe pointed out, for this, he let us all down.) In my dark mood, the beckoning light of the truth warmed me – I felt boxed in, but I am free to leave. I revive with the resuscitation of a new future.

January 23rd, 1983
Kieta Harbour, Bouganville, Papua New Guinea

Though geographically a part of the Soloman chain, Bouganville is part of Papua New Guinea Politically – despite the geographical association with the Solomans, Bouganville projects a decidedly different atmosphere and nuances of terrain as we approach the island, with towering peaks and lush vegetation, in the Sunday dusk. All day we approached the steep slopes of Bouganville, first appearing through the natural ocean haze in the mourning. My mind was at peace today, with the determination to depart Sugar Bear, founded from the realization that only I stand betwixt myself and happiness, and in this case, with no hard feelings, and no guilt, I can depart and see this land, which lies circa the zenith of my adventurous dreams. Indonesia, Malaysia and to Bangkok has always seemed the most sensible route with which to sweep the South Pacific. We stay up late talking of plans. It is exciting. We consummate the evening.

January 24th, 1983
Kieta, Bouganville Paupa New Guinea

The four ladies to my front right, one with a babe, the girl to my right, the two men to my left, with a young boy, rattle off a language and I think they’re talking of me, for they look at me and laugh, I think good-naturedly. They laugh, and, in them. I see children, though grown, children of the worlds’ society; so clear they shine, they inspire me to a simple love for them. It almost makes me resentful of the destruction we wreak on their innocence, such as ‘well’ intentioned missionaries begin. Their fierceness is, admittedly, one of the manifestations of their innocence. (One of the first sights I see, within minutes of going ashore for customs, is two women slugging each other – one of them was the travel agent who was enroute to helping me get fares.) But my mind relents on white infiltrators with this philosophy: if you can, then nature allowed it - how can anything that nature allowed be bad?
Kelly and I discussion escape, and my determination grows to bid Sugar Bear farewell and to begin a more detailed look at this part of the world.

January 25th, 1983
Kieta, Bouganville Papua New Guinea

Thinking I’d go for a short cruise on the Honda after I had given a draft written to myself to the Bank of New South Wales in Arawa (for $1500, to be sent to Madang), I saw a sign saying: Panguna 15. Making the ride over the crest at 20 m.p.h., I come down and nearly lose it in a ditch when I first spot the huge dump trucks (wheels over 10 ft. high) of the BCL mine, the largest man made hole in existence: ultimately expected to measure 2.3 x 1.6 kilometers by 0.3. kilometers deep. I stand on the edge and contemplate the designed-by-Bechtel efficiency. I peg the speedometer on the return at >50 m.p.h (momentarily), at times kicking my feet out to catch the native’s attention. In the evening, K and I with Pat of Skookum (of Alameda), go to meet Roger the wanderer. Pat tells us of the Little Nambas and Big Nambas of Vanuatu whose tribal name denotes the size of their penis sheaths.

January 26th, 1983
Kieta, Bouganville Papua New Guinea

At 9 am, Kelly and I hitched to Panguna. PNG is the easiest place to get rides! The 2 and 5-year-old (PNG) lads in the cab of the truck hid, laughed and then moneyed in reaction to the faces and antics we put on in the truck bed. A short tour (Valentine told me too look for work at Ok Tedi on the mainland) was followed by a 2 kinda all-you-can-eat buffet (2nd class). On the truck back, I hear of dangers of travel in Irian Jaya (And Indonesia in general), but I remain determined to see for myself. A continual working out of the details takes place concerning our plans, which remain secret: Kelly will fly home from Kieta (To Japan). I will continue with the boat until Madang, where I will hop off and tour the mainland until rejoining her in port Moresby in, perhaps, eight weeks. Exhausted, I think, perhaps, from eating more than we’re used to, we are unconscious by midnight.

January 27th, 1983
Kieta, Bouganville Papua New Guinea

Kelly’s early morning phone call to Japan, and subsequent discovery that her money’s been sent, sets the wheels of our plan in motion. We hitch back to the mine, and we work out the time details over another long lunch. (As a tropical rain roars on the roofs.) A swim and shower in Panguna’s first-class facility preludes our visit to the mien hospital, where Kelly’s test shows negative, leaving us uncertain as to whether she’ll have to leave PNG. (If she can stay, she’ll get a letter to Rabaul, S.B.’S next port.) Back late, we see Roger in the evening, who agrees to let her stay on his boat till she departs. Back on S.B., I give Al (bound for USA, whose plane leaves at 11 am) my film, a carving and a letter to deliver to Clymer, a letter for Norma (including a request for my $500), and a letter to my Dad (asking for my W-2’s). Kelly and I were up till 2:30 am working out the final details, after which, we proceeded with heated demonstrations of mutual affection. After so many words, it was an excellent way to express the sincerity of what had been said.

January 28th, 1983
Sailing NE Coast of Bougainville Enroute to Rabaul

“Al, I feel compelled to leave a parting message: I will remember you as a model of gallantry and all the good things that friendship brings – Jeff” “Kelly, made sure Al gets this.”
Upon waking, K and I had resumed our pre-sleep activities of last night. Now, we kissed as Sugar Bear pulled me away from her, standing on the deck of Pat’s (and Gail’s) boat, Skookum; we had unloaded Al and Kelly’s luggage and their persons and the motor revved as it took orders to power us to Rabaul. “On Jan 31st, 5 minutes to midnight, I’ll sing a chorus of Habbadaday Shosho Shosho,” I yell. With arms folded, elbows raised (at least shoulder height!), heads held high, in godly exaltation, we salute each other into the imperceptible distance, each wearing half of the fathom of red Kwaio beads that Billy had given me (us) which, this morning, I had cut in two, and, placing a string around her neck, then mine, I said: “To bind our spirits together.” We sailed past the hull of a wrecked wood boat on Mabiri reef, the panorama of the marvelous B’ville peaks towering up to 10,171 feet.

January 29th, 1983
Sailing, Nearing New Ireland

Under the influence of much rest, no booze, no drugs and sparse diet, my mind becomes a breeding ground for vivid drams, surreal perception and psychedelic thoughts. The day goes by grey yet interesting. It begins with a glance at 6 am of the north coast of Buke Island. Occasionally, the rhythm of the motor is interrupted. Three times, Connie (a confused cook) feebly prepares a meal, which I eat politely. When I try to envision Kelly, it is almost as if she were sitting in front of me with her merry smile. I work on my backpack and, for the first time since ’79 when I bought it, get it adjusted correctly. Now, it’s great.
I awake just before midnight trying to recall a dream, which depicted this boat cruising on a lawn (breaking it to expose clear water) beside an enormous and exquisite slate – blue mansion in an intense, but soft sunset. When I try to remember the face or identity of the lady in white who wanted to know why we were there, my eyes water in this indescribable feeling (yearning?), which is almost frightful.

January 30th, 1983
Lamassa Island, Papua New Guinea (Near New Ireland)

Listening to Lone Rhino by Adrian Below, courtesy of my steadfast companion, whom I miss so much. I’m trying to save the puffer fish for a photo session in the morning, but I don’t think he’s going to make it. The tang died. They’re just so g.d. interesting: they’ve got these buck teeth that are ugly. The tang has a spike sticking out of the back of his head. (The puffer pushed out quite a few foot – lbs. when he blew up, futilely trying to break my grip.) These two unlucky fellows fell prey to my target practice. Maybe Neptune will send a shark after me to even the score. I too, am a potential victim in the ocean.
The school of porpoise was the best yet, they came to play the east side of Cape St. George. Huge, one was at least 8 ft., you could study their scars as they screamed just below the surface – you could hear their utterances. Today was a very cruisy day. Anchored now, the clouds partially obscuring the moon, it is tranquil. Now, with the headphones off, I hear only the gentle waves, the occasional easy creak of the boat, the sound my pen makes on the paper, my breathing, a jumping fish, night birds, crickets and the beeping of the flying foxes.

January 31st, 1983
Rabaul Harbour, New Britain Papua New Guinea

I feel like an innocent bystander, who is being sucked into a vacuum, which is New Guinea. It is my curiosity, which could be my Achilles heel. I just have this creepy feeling. I guess it’s natural when you’re in a country where it’s a big deal if you can walk around a place safely at night. Every time I ask a local about the Highlands, they warn me that it is very dangerous: you can get killed quite easily there from what I hear. Since the Australians pulled out of here, the system is deteriorating, and people are going back to tribes. Tribal religions are listed as the number one religion here. I awoke at 1:25 am Feb 1 to sing Hubbadahay Shosho ShoSho to Kelly, apologizing to her for being an hour and a half late. I went out on the dry, breezy, deck in exalted stance to perform the ceremony. I may die here, but my present frame of mind dictates that I will go to the high lands before I leave PNG.

Memorandum
Kelly says yeah, I have a theme for this book – and it is bobness 1/15/83. 10:37 pm
Write when you’re confident!

Jan. 29 – My better half is gone, but I push on to Bobness. The natural state of the human being is total Bobness.
The nature of the society is such that those on the inside view those on the outside as captives.
My favorite mood is one of ableness to concentrate on the productive activity of my choice, to make decisions efficiently, to be free from dwelling on myself, to see clearly and feel the joy of Truth, from which, I believe, no one need fear.

February 1st, 1983
Rabaul, New Britain Papua New Guinea

I got some news that I wanted today: there is a boat from here to Lae (on the mainland) for 27 Kina. Other general news is that it seems boat travel is cheap and available in these parts, making it more practical for me to fulfill my dreams. I continue filling my backpack to see how much it will take, and it seems to be doing admirably.
There are some refugees from Indonesian Irian Jaya here, who came across the border with machine guns in an outrigger with an outboard and ended up in Raboul on their way to Vanvato. The government is putting them up at the community hostel while the United Nations seeks political asylum for them. I’ll go see them tomorrow.
I think of the little girl who, when we had a chance to shower together, scrubbed me from head to toe, and I think, despite the subdued animosity of some of the remaining crew towards her, and the things they say that would make a man less deeply in affection waver, I think I can, with charity, get along with them until I go.

February 2nd, 1983
Rabaul, New Britain Papua New Guinea

Locking myself in the shower room, comfortable now, I entreaty K through telepathic means to hear me. Uncertain as to the strength of my transmitter, I concentrated harder, tense my muscles, squeeze my eyes shut tighter and maintain my fingertips against my temples. Before and after this, I am subject to a welling up of water in my eye sockets, the woe soul. Kelly, having received message through Christ O’Flaherty and Chris the travel agent, called me around 8 pm. How can I describe the epitome of the gushing of my heart as it gates unfastened let lose the rivers of affection that flow freely from me to her. How can I describe the miracle of her soothing words, at once beginning and completing the cure of the afflicted heart. How appropriate her appellation – Sweet Kelly. Freshly alive with thoughts of seeing her on Saturday or Sunday, I will fly on the wings of hope until the wings of man land me safely on the ground of Kieta.

February 3rd, 1983
Rabaul, New Britain Papua New Guinea

I sit in a room with three intense men, Seth, Louis and Fred. Worldly eyes of a world I don’t know, piercing eyes, sincere eyes. People who have killed, but they have loving eyes! Mine, are watering, but this isn’t funny – it is beautiful. It is the constitution of dreamers, a state founded on brotherly love, a dream to be fought for the death. I am piecing the puzzle together, bit by bit, earnestly trying to understand the plight of the dark men in front of me. I picked up a lot of it. I went to the yacht harbor, went on the dingy and sailed into fantasy: A nightmare. The dingy wasn’t there, so I went to the yacht club. A big (reasonably fat) girl came to me straight away – she bought me a drink and said since I couldn’t get on my boat, I could stay at a beach house with her. I said okay. It was fun until we got in bed and she didn’t want to. Then I realized my awful crime against my own image of a spiritual union with one I love so much.

February 4th, 1983
Rabaul, New Britain Papua New Guinea

Awakening from a nightmare, after few hours of rest, I dragged my way to the cockpit. Questions as to my plans for working on the boat prompted me: “Connie, Joe maybe you’d like to hear this: I guess it won’t be a surprise to you, from what I’ve heard – I’m resigning from the crew.”
Surprisingly, they were pretty nice to me – Boysie asked me to dinner. It made it almost pleasant to be with them again when they treated me as a friend and not as a crew (which was supposed to be the same thing in my mind). I told them that I would stay one day later than originally planned, so that I could do some work on Sugar Bear – I sort of owed them at least that much, and I wanted to leave with good feelings. It was sort of sad though. Right after I told them I was leaving, when they were all below, I sat up on the cockpit and I cried quietly. I cried for all the misunderstandings that would prevent them from knowing that I loved each of them.

February 5th, 1983
Rabaul, New Britain Papua New Guinea

Today was a busy day. The situation is, at this point, eating at me a bit, but I don’t, won’t, admit it. I would love to be able to paint a rosy picture of my outlook, but my education to the truth in this journal prevents that since there is a tinge of melancholy that pervades these days. The sun illuminates Rabaul, giving it a pleasant, summer air. I look forward to tomorrow, wondering if, after only a week, circumstances may have already changed between me and Kelly. I feel quite saddened that I had a nightmare, in which I touched another girl. For me, it is a recurring nightmare, but this time it is doubly awful because there was so much trust it oozed out of our friendship. How will I ever face the world, once knowing how wonderful it is to have that which is now lost. I left Sugar Bear at quarter past 4 am, Louis waiting in the dark.

February 6th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

The downtrodden traveler arrives at the Kieta Yacht Club. He had woken at 4 am, then escorted by Major Louis of the National Liberation Army of West Papua to the airport. He looked up and didn’t see any recognizable faces; then, an instant later; the moving force in blue, with dark glasses, jutted above the horizon of rail and tables, the shot of recognition pumping the blood in his veins. Kelly made her way to him, and the next minute was spent embracing, unconcerned about by-passers. After lunch, hours of touching and talking, out of the blue, just when lamenting they had no place to stay, and the hotels were outrageously priced, they were approached by an Australian expatriate worker who invited them to have a few joints in a fishing boat and to stay at his house with he and his woman. Late in the evening they three went to “the best restaurant in B’ville,” and enjoyed a Chinese feast. Almost in a coma from tiredness, beer, pot and food, the closing scene is his rediscovery of happiness in the arms of Kelly.

February 7th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

This day begins the beginning of a 3-day blur, which culminates in an evening of diving in murky water and smoking Bouganvillian marijuana in mammoth papers. The writer, now writing on the 9th of the month, is trying to recall this day but, having just come from the part above described, is claiming exemption from any mental footwork. Activities for Monday included going to Kieta to discover that the boat Moresby Chief was not accepting passengers to Moresby. Could mean an eventual move to Rabaul from here to 20K and on to Lae from there for 27K. Kelly and I went shopping. Had and early night of it, after the day of leisure. The end of the day finds out traveler getting the rest he needs, and, enjoying the comforts of home, the journeys ahead run teleplay in the middle of the night in his dreams. Buka north of here, is reputed to have the blackest people on earth.

February 8th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Today Kelly reads from our new book: Papua New Guinea – A Travel Survival Book. In particular, the Trobriand Island section. This book tells of the Islands of Love, where young women are not only permitted to have sex – they are encouraged to! Stories included the part about how men wandering unawares may get gang-raped by the married women, who are allowed permissiveness during the yam feast. Kelly said she wouldn’t mind if we went there and some young girl chose me and I went off into the bush to fuck her… she said that she thought it’d be cute.
Glory, Kelly is so bob for saying that! How understanding. Supporting evidence of this bobness is her nonchalance in reaction to my incident with the girl in Rabaul. In fact, she says she thought the girl was cruel for not fucking me. Of note, I was invited, by a guy named Mark, friend of Boomtown’s (The Boomtown Rat = Bill) and Brownie’s (Brownie = Dave, the guy letting us stay at his place), to go scuba diving. He just showed up in the morning and we hit it off straight away. In the eve, Mark took me to Tom’s, a fellow driver. I actually was so blitzed by Tom’s hash-impregnated – B’ville pot, that I crashed, half sick, and didn’t wake up till 12 on Wednesday.

February 9th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Each day is getting better since I arrived back in Kieta. I finished sewing a canvas camera pouch today. Went on a night dive with mark and Tom, followed by a smoke up at Boomtown’s while watching videos of new bands. Boomer’s hospitality was excellent – plenty of coffee’s, beers and smoke. Kelly and I are playing our respects to each other quite often now, what with time and a comfortable dwelling. Kelly tells me that Dave said it was okay for me to stay here when his 3-week leave starts Monday (we’ll see). Now, able to face Kelly again, with a free conscious and an over flowing, uninhibited heart, I am much more at ease and effective! I admitted to her the nightmare that occurred on the 3rd. Oh, sweet Kelly made the point that it was my problem, which it has been – she told me how Roger put the moves on her but she looked at him and said the first thing that came to her mind: “Eyukkkkk!” Then, dynamics before sleep.

February 10th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

I can’t shake this feeling it seems. I diagnose we can’t go to Iran Jaya direct because the ambassador was stabbed in Port Moresby recently, and Indonesia has cut off relations with PNG. Now, to go to I.J. we’d have to go to Jakarta. Besides, if we want to go to Indonesia, we have to go to Australia. This blows a beautiful itinerary and presents a more (perhaps too) expensive one. Kelly may not have to go to Japan, but we’re not sure. So many factors to consider. I know this: once again on the high trail of Adventure, worries drop away, replaced by freshness, newness, excitement, happiness, and concrete problems which have to be dealt with, and bring satisfaction once dealt with. We went diving today, which was quite nice, but a bit murky, and certainly not as good as Uipi Island. In the past on this trip, when bothered, I have alleviated discomfort through total dedication to the cause of making myself feel better. I proceed.

February 11th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Bobneess: the ability to be able to think beyond one’s limitations. Godliness: the ability to be able to continually put bobness into action.
The essence of happiness suspends itself gracefully between and amongst each other like ether, absorbed by our bodies with motionless ecstasy and with each gentle touch, as we lay, her on top of me after vigorous exercise. My mind blasts off, at once, no longer bound by the gravity of my earthly existence, more by its own limitations. Freed, and able to soar, with confidence and exaltation, in my mind’s eye, to anyplace in or not in existence, free to roam the space of thought with command, to answer any question ethereal. I command the pinnacle, having risen through the hyper-void of logic, past the doubts, to regain the truth of my own godliness.

February 12th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

My impressions of life have been altered. So many stories of eating people and other disregards (or regards!) of human life have, I suppose, brought me closer to reality. After all, we are just meat and bones (though I can’t help feeling there’s something more to it than that: I identify with the concept of a soul.) I suppose one of the merits of Adventure is that it can broaden your awareness, but I suspect only if you can assimilate the experience. There is certainly a lot to take in Dave is being an excellent host; I feel at home here. The visitor’s flow in, and days are spent talking. We’ve got some leads on place to stay in Rabaul and Lae on Goroka. The Australians give us their impressions of the nationals. There’s quite a bit of prejudice here, I guess working both ways. One of the girls here awoke to find a local with the sheet lifted up, staring at her, on Thursday night!

February 13th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Frankly, although this is great having a house here, I am anxious to get on with the trip; I am slowly getting prepared, sewing my camera bag and canteen holder, waterproofing my bags, etc., but, predominantly, I am living a life of decadence, and, for me, there is little happiness in this. I do enjoy sitting about, making love, smoking pot and sleeping in a soft bed – but I can do those things at home. It feels like a waste of time at times. Soon I will be out on the road to Adventure: to Rabaul, to Lae, to Goroka and on. After PNG, it will be Indonesia, and then Asia.
Tomorrow Kelly will find out if she’s pregnant or not – this is a waiting point, after which, I hope we’ll be able to take action. I’ll probably be on B’ville for ten more days. Kelly’s got a sore throat – when she’s out of it, it sometimes causes a slack – I sometimes miss her cheeriness.

February 14th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Monday – Having this house all to ourselves. It’s free to stay here, and food isn’t too expensive. Dave and Sharon left on holiday this morning – a tribute to them, I say, a tribute to their hospitability! Oh, the sufferings we must endure here – (No worry about electricity consumption – the BCL mine pays for it) – refrigeration, lights, overhead fans in nearly every room, privacy, ice cubes, a washing machine and dryer, screen doors with locks, a stereo with a tape collection of hundreds of modern groups, bean bags, comfortable furniture, a bag of pot, beer in the fridge, double bed, and twin beds; my personal suffering is extended to include one young lady, initials K.S., who keeps close at night, plays Yachtzee with me, cooks excellent meals and snacks and generally roughhouses with me, defends herself with spirit at any transgression, amidst laughter or tears, runs around nude, and listens to my tangents on mathematics. I am crazy with grief.

February 15th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Tuesday – Suffering now extended to include an invitation on Saturday night by Susan for authentic Thai cuisine and an invitation from the Boomtown Rat to watch an authentic surfing movie on video on Sunday night. But, when I think of the future, I can rest: humid, wet, primitive countryside, danger of robbery and murder, dirty and unsanitary and uncomfortable living conditions – what more could an Adventurer want! – Yesterday, Kelly went to the doctor’s who swore she wasn’t pregnant and told her to start taking the pill, which she did. If she starts to bleed then, she’s not… we’ll see… a few days ago Sharon told us about a tribe of women in the Sepik who are all lesbians – she said there are no men there. I asked who they reproduced and she said she thought there were a few special men there who did all the honors. I wonder if they’re accepting applications.

February 16th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Totally Bob Day. [I attribute any depressive tendencies to the haircut I gave myself last week! It looks dorky.] Spending the day in the air-conditioned bedroom. K and I string our necklaces from the Soloman’s, admiring what seems to grow dearer the miles. Immunized from cares, we delve into travel books. We read of Komodo monsters, 30-foot salt-water crocodiles, the land of scorching, volcanic, dry wasteland called Komodo Island, crawling with snakes. In South West Papua, thousands of flying foxes swarm the night skies, fireflies audit in the trees, the people still practice cannibalism in the hinterlands. The women cut up the body in pieces and roast it over the fire – one way to eat ‘long-pig.’
The sounds: 1) David Bryne singing “I Got My Eyes Wide Open.” 2) Crackling cellophane 3) Kelly 4) the air conditioner. The three clocks in front of me read 5:48:45, 12:01 and 11:40, the one to my left (the correct one) reads 11:02. The electric ceiling fan turns clockwise stirring space, making the Kelly Green curtains shuffle. Write of Reality, write inspired.

February 17th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Godliness is next to Cleanliness. Another Bob day of relaxation and progress. Today I finished sewing all but the last pair of straps on my pack. I have sewed since we’ve been here; a camera bag with strap, a canteen holder, two straps and a third for the canteen, all molded to the pack, all with Velcro. K and I read about Irian Jaya and PNG. We wallow in comforts. Kelly sold her tape recorder to Tom, who came over tonight for a smoke out. Tom will trade his lighter fins for my heavier rocket fins. Relaxed, we gear up for future lands. I want to go to Buka up north, where the blackest people in the world live. Tom told us tonight that Idi Amin ate the liver and heart of an enemy and kept the head in his refrigerator. It is just another factor in a series influencing change in my mind about the state of man and civilization. A world figurehead - however infamous – a cannibal!

February 18th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Splendor. I retract all previous statements which describe the situation here as anything but marvelous. When I can wake up in the morning and reach over and feel a true love, to make love, and to have nothing to do the rest of the day except what I care to, it sets the basis for one type of happiness. It is comfortable here, besides. We stopped in on a geologist we’d met that day at Arovo, who now invited us to go up north. Sunday, and next week, we’re to hike around in the South West of the island with him. He’s looking for natural sources of gravel for road sheeting. If, according to my theory, it is true that by copious amounts of food and good nutrition, one can revitalize the body to such an extent as to reduce aging, then I can look forward to very gradual surrender to Mother Nature. They say it is fantastic that so many languages are spoken here in PNG. But really, aren’t we really a world of individuals, each with our own internal dialect? Why do you think there’s so much miscommunication? My most difficult task is the gathering of pertinent information.

February 19th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Never before have I heard such a thing. The explosions of thunder are frightful. They rattle the windows of the house. How many times the force of an atom bomb I wonder. Every few seconds and continuous, now back dropped by the soothing sound of a tropical downpour heard from within the house. It sounds as if someone is trying to bomb us, as it is going to rip the house apart. Before dinner at Susan and Chris’, we went to Tom’s, where we saw our first bird of paradise skin with feathers and all. Instantly, it became clear why they are so renown. It is of exquisite beauty. I turn to Kelly and say, “We’ve got to get some of these back to the states.” The mind rolls on the subject. These things are valuable and fast growing more so. A fine dinner at Sa-Nan’s, backgammon with Chris, and more smoke, which is turning me into a vegetable, so I should stop. Write when you feel Awe.

February 20th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Proxmire Pidgin, the hero of our story, spent the last 30 years of his life in self-inflicted martyrdom, in personal protest of a world he felt was injudicious in its use of resources and handling of people, an abomination in illogical misdirection of energies. His own philosophy was his downfall, for the world (he felt) so opposed it’s precepts, that he eventually abandoned his philosophy, in favor of fighting, a world so contrary. You see, Proximire’s philosophy, as our story opens, was simply: to have fun. To the young M. Pidgin, the world was one big playground; to him, the aim in life was to enjoy each day as much as possible, to have as much fun as possible. The time was the 1980’s, doting Reagan was President of his own USA, the world economy was trying to make a rebound. The place was Bougainville, an island of the former Republic of Papua New Guinea.

February 21st, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Proxmire was unexpectedly woken by Bob at the door. “Got rained out yesterday. Going up today.” When ready, Pita Pukpuk and Proxmire got in the Toyota 4 wheel drive; with little James on Pita’s lap, Bob piloted them towards Wakunai.
As they hover above the potholes at 50 mph, Proxmire calculates comparisons of skin color of bypassing Bouganvillians with photos he’d seen of the Australian Aborigines. He is still skeptical that the darkest of the dark, Black Sambo, is really from Buka. While Bob tests the compactness of the soil on the new bride site, Mr. Pidgin loses all propriety with Ms. Pukpuk about a half mile up the river bed, amidst the romantic setting of bamboo patches 20 feet tall, on a comfortable igneous rock. Sitting in the construction shack with Gunther, Bob confirms news that “The new ports in Indonesia for entry have been opened up.” What a stroke of good fortune thinks M. P.P.
Thinking that the theme of this book to get down to basics, should be: I attempt to trip myself as much as possible through the gear, and write about it. I don’t mean with drugs (necessarily) but, in general, to perceive things in a fresh, creative way.

February 22nd, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Per schedule, Bob again alights on the doorstep of Dave Brown’s (presently in Adelaide) porch; this morning Pita and Proxy are ready, and once again they go off in the 4 WD. They motor out past the Panguna mine and to Sikovei. While Bob had a meeting with local landowner’s, P and P took a prolonged leisure in the nearby river. When done with jumping in the rapids and being hurried off downstream, they played a game in the sand on a 12×12 square board: the object being to get 5 of your own color rocks (white or dark) in a row or diagonal along the intersections of the squares. Beet red, Prox returns to Arawa in the late afternoon. In the evening, P and P have spaghetti. Proximire loses to Pita in Yahtzee and then in chess. On the bed upstairs, they read to each other of the Highlands, high lightning the interesting parts in pink. 3 joints and five albums later, they turn out the lights and consummate their friendship for the second time that evening.
It truly amazes me, that when I need direction or a general pick-me-up, I nearly always forget my real theme: to have fun today – as much fun as I can possibly have – to enjoy today as much as possible. Why, it’s the only thing that makes sense! (to me.)

February 23rd, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

5 am, the day is theirs. Up and to mark: Mr. P contemplates the possum for sale for 5 kina. A Dutch lady invites them to coffee. Mr. P takes a snapshot of the poor creature, with the little brown bug eyes, bald tail and foot attached by a string to the vendor’s bag. The Dutch lady says she’s seen him on sale a few times now, and she whisks them away to her house. On the walk back, they bump into Su-Nan, who gives them a lift home, and over a few smokes she tells them of her friend lying on the floor in the morning with ants crawling in his eyes, a victim of ‘smack O.D.’ she tells of her experiences in Thailand as a junkie, and as a citizen. And so goes the day. Throw in a Yahtzee game, dinner and a few games of chess, and that’s a full day. Proxmire is in a certain state of bliss: now he may be able to go direct from Papua New Guinea to Irian Jaya. Pita hears Prox reading verification of Kuro disease from PNG survival kit.

February 24th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

The narrator has Proxmire in his own words today: “With near planted firmly on the top bench over looking the Squash Court and the left side of my head faced by Pita’s pyramid of curly red hair, a marvel in itself, I fade off into the geometry of the scene. There must be a way of describing human motion by mathematical formulation. “Proxmire’s mind questions whether it is possible to describe a love making, experience in terms of geometrical equations, but decides that it’s probably too much work.” “Electro chemical equations dictate human reactions to stimuli (over the long run, not the individual case.)” Today P.P. persistently filleted Ms. Pukpuk. Other activities were to decide to jetsam enough stuff to bring his pack (all current worldly possessions) to 35 lbs. After the squash mash, Boomtown came over, and over a few beers, made Proxmire suspicious of his leering eyes at Ms. Pukpuk.

February 25th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Suspicions were let known. Woe be to the one to infringe upon the halo of honor of Ms. Pukpuk but making up is a reward for the pain of a fight. Intoxicated, Proxmire made a flamboyant departure from consciousness last night, blathering at the feline of the house. Indignant, Ms. Pukpuk meted out wrath; today Mr. P called for her to “Cut it out!” “I’m cutting out,” was the reply. Proxmire stared thoughtfully at the table. Nearly a minute passed, when he raised his eyes and stated simply: “I’m going to miss you.” Whereupon, Pita threw herself into his arms and said, “I don’t want to go!” The final step in this chain reaction was an excursion to the playing field of the bedroom; what ensued, just short of wild. Overcoming the belief in manufactured evidence against one whom you care so much for is one manifestation of Bobbness. Accusations, in justifying retaliation directed toward the source of your hurt feelings must fade in the light of Bobbness.

February 26th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

So happy were the two, like puppies as “they say.” The early morning hour found them going to bed, alone in the house, over flowing with love. The sweet things of life. Prox: “I’m trying to get my bearing at this point. Where to go, how to get about, what to do about the perpetual vacuum – the financial reserves. I’m thinking of working at Ok Tedi, if I can get a job at Ok Tedi. I haven’t had so much R and R in years, if ever.”
The Ice House tape is rocking in the living room. Proxmire wonders if there’s anything to the rumor about earwigs getting in one ear and boring through the brain to exit the other. A small pain in his ear is recalling the story he saw about it on Night Gallery back in the Sates. Ms. Pukpuk recites what her medical book says about Tropical Ear. Puk putts around the kitchen, as Tom, who is dropped by, is invited to lunch. Tom says that the black Caribbean people were indigenous to the area (Jamaica, Haiti, etc.), where as P and P believe they were amongst those unfortunate populations dragged from Africa.

February 27th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

(As all good hosts) P and P were invited to dinner by Tom tonight. (Again), Tom said something which doesn’t seem quite right: namely, that there are about 150 individual birds of paradise left in existence. In respect for Tom of the local cognoscenti, P and P estimate 10,000 to 100,000 or above, but less than one million. The day’s primary activity was laying in bed reading The Foundation (& sequel) by Isaac Asimov. “I’m reviving the music of today courtesy of Brownie’s stereo and Sharon’s tape collection of hundreds of primarily rocks tapes.” At this point Prox is feeling the fires tinges of the urgency to get back on the road. “One thing though that I have concluded is that you can’t let things get you down when you’re traveling.” Proxmire is thinking often of his friends and family. “Half the stuff I do is for their approval – sometimes I wonder if that’s really true.” “I want to be really good at something in life, and I vow I’ll work for it, if I decide what it is!”
Last lines answer, I know: Music.

February 28th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Puk and Prox have a conversation about whether or not the “Years fly by as you get older.” Prox is of the opinion that the more you do out of the ordinary, the slower things seem to go, because there are so many more things to recall of the past, the life being fuller. Puk holds that when you do a lot of neat stuff that time flies when you’re having a good time, and uses the long history of her traveling as personal testimony. ‘By the way, upon reference, the people of Haiti were imported, first from Dahomey and then the Congo. The people of Jamaica too, were of African heritage.’ ‘There is a certain balance between dreams and being practical, and the sum of these is survival.’ Prox concludes this as so after: Pita: ‘You really are a megalomaniac, aren’t you.’ Prox: ‘Don’t go saying that to anyone.’ (Pita and Prox smiling as she reaches across the table and they stick their faces together.) Prox, drawing back, grinning: ‘There really is a part of me that is. I think every man is like that a little bit.’ Pita: “Yeah, but you believe it!” Prox: ‘Well, that’s true. In me, it’s more pronounced. I’ve cultured it. Most men… well, there’s a certain balance between dreams and being practical, and the sum of these is survival.’
Later… Pita: “Its all that exalted stuff (mimicking Prox, arms folded aloft, head flung back with a godly smile). Maybe it’s not megalomania.’ Prox: ‘What is it then?’ Pita: ‘Well… when you’re great, and you know you’re great, how can you do anything but greatly be?’
Later… Prox: “This is a real down home music! It makes me lose the psychosis I gain by listening to that other stuff. That music’s psychotic!’ Pita nods her head. Prox: ‘That’s why I like it. It stimulates me.’ Staring at each other, Prox reaches across the table. ‘Aw…’ Pita: What? Prox: I just like looking at you; especially when you have that beautiful look on your face. Pita: What look? Prox: Simple, uh… Pita: What? The A-eyed look? (They stick their faces together.)

The Tail of Pita PukPuk and Proxmire Pidgin
(Sung to “Yankee Doodle Dandy.”
There’s a girl named Pita PukPuk, Pita PukPuk do or die;
She got married to a crocodile, down on the old river Fly,
The crocodile tried to eat her, Proxmire saved the day!
Now Pita swims safely in the river, while Prox holds the Crocs at bay!

March 1st,
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

“I stayed up and read the last pages of Foundation and Trilogy by Isaac Asimov, sent through a turbid déjà vu, the depths of me being pierced, the mystery that is myself not solved, but the outer thread broken, wondering if it can ever be unraveled. Perhaps there is a common feeling among men of a vague awareness of untapped powers within themselves. Also, not peculiar to me, but certainly one of my characteristics, is the quality of not seeing what is right before my eyes, the obvious, for a long time, and suddenly, the connection is made. Half jokingly, I have written of the pipe dream (yet real, deep down, secret) desire to be the most powerful man on earth, or at least famous rich, powerful, and an enigma. Shudders to the depth of my soul visited me, as I read of the Mule’s explanation of his coming to understand his powers. I certainly don’t have his powers, yet something struck this incredible, or nearly incredible, chord.” “The whole notion of my unusual power seems to have broken on me so slowly, in such sluggish steps. Even toward the end, I couldn’t believe it. To me, men’s minds are dials, with pointers that indicate the prevailing emotion. It is a poor picture, but how else can I explain it? Slowly, I learned that I could reach into those minds and turn the pointer to the spot I wished, that I could nail it there forever. And then it took even longer to realize that others couldn’t.” – The Mule. (from Asimov’s ‘The Foundation Trilogy’).
Yes, there are too many unexplained occurrences involving my mind and my experiences of life, beginning with this soft, inexplicable whispering that visited me while I was yet out of the crib (it brings tears to my eyes now to think of it - I’ve never been able to explain it - no one was around).

March 2nd, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Up at 5 am, to the market , home, out to the mine, swimming, lunch, visit to Chris O’Flaherty at mine hospital, back to Arawa, shopping, to the library (the Fly River has the 23rd largest drainage basin in the world, the Sepik’s not even mentioned, La Paz is the second highest city in the world, the first, Llasa, in Tibet), home for dinner of the most delicious potatoes ever (baked with clean, perforated-by fork skins, till crusty; opened, baked a little more, then mixed inside with butter, pepper and salt; now halved; eat the halves, skin and all, with your fingers), letter writing and music to bed. (‘Pita gave me the best job!’)
Music! Let the laughter of life Be in our Souls, may the master of our heart be love! May we beckon the Paradise of Earth to fill our Senses – may the Magic of Life be ours. The sonnets and the songs of trees, the speed of the colors of the flowers. The world is my Love, with its bounty and beauty and forever lasting, elusive, yet obvious, wizardry.

March 3rd, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

‘Whereas the beginning of the day was characterized by no noticeable signs, the early afternoon showed near Positive proof that Pita was; after over three months of anticipation, not actually a mother-to-be – no baby crocodiles left to get poached in a cruel world! We went to Boomtown’s tonight. He played us a video of Australian Crawl, who seemed to be getting across just be being cool, stomping around; then he showed us a video of the Beatles, some old clips, but a lot of them done separately as solo artist in the last 5 years, each one of them a card, elaborately imaginative.’ Boom: ‘Well, those boys wrapped it up for this century.’ In one of the pictures of Boomtown’s, his children walk in the distance with their arms around each other. The barbecue smoke sends up a cloud. In the cloud, rises an evil genie, with baldhead and pointed ears, mouth directed at the children in a vicious snarl. Pita first noticed these figures. There were 2 distinct ones, actually 4 in all in the picture. Other spirits however in the trees over the unaware children.

March 4th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Contrary to the limits of possibility, Pitas’ actually and definitely came, evidence shows, creating this atmosphere that ‘everything’s okay,’ meaning that she doesn’t have to go to Japan (PNG being a catholic nation, of sorts). Pita and I wonder at Providence, who has, wielding her subtle tricks, arranged us to be here, now, with a free and open road to the wild. I decidedly pilfered Seven Years in Tibet from the library, whereupon Pita said; ‘You bastard.’ I explained to her that I was only borrowing it until Monday, where upon I would return it. Since I don’t have a library card, I knew they would not let me cheek it out, since they would fear I would steal it. Since I know I am honest, it is justified to entrust myself with the book. I am merely bypassing the ‘red tape,’ thus making a more efficient use of my time and the library’s time. Pita had to retract her statement and agree to the good sense of this. Of course, I accepted the risk of getting caught.

March 5th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Proxmire: “I spent a good deal of the day absorbed in Seven Years in Tibet. I feel ashamed at my meager adventurous in comparison to Henrig Harrer’s feats. To subdue my feelings of inadequacy (!), I cut through the back way and ran to the beach; down along the beach, I traversed river’s flowing in to the sea. A young black man, also on a running excursion, asked to run with me. I left him in the dust. Hundreds of yards ahead of me, I saw two other black fellows running, who I eventually passed up. One hour and fifteen minutes later, I breezed into home base. Slowly but surely, Pita and I are getting organized and ready to depart. We have set our departure date for March 16, when we will head on to Rabaul. I wrote to Tom H. and to my Mum tonight. Pita walloped me in chess, but I easily took the third game, in which I took the first move.

March 6th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

“I finished reading Seven Years In Tibet, which I found fascinating. Now I feel I know something of that part of the world, and, of course I long to go there.” The young child sat in the room alone with nothing to do. He was surrounded by his toys, and chairs and all the other objects that go up into making his parent’s nest. But the child, of course, did not feel alone. To him, everything was alive. No object was inanimate. Everything had a personality. So it was that he felt in communion with a book. It was a living entity, a unique personality that could communicate with him quite as well as a playmate, if not better. So it was with good intentions that his parent’s tried to rear him of his childish conceptions, and so grieved they were as he would have none of their thoughts, but talked to chairs and other objects. The child grew into a man, and believing all objects his friend, took great care to protect them, and fix them. So he came to have many nice things and became wealthy.

March 7th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

The mysteries of my mind unlock and gush out upon the table. There is a crystal prism, which glitters and emanates a seething glow. Thoughts on any matter seem clear. The truth seems evident: that all is well in the universe. There is no need to do anything beyond the barest nothingness. The power of sight is as much projection as it is reception. Immense beauty is everywhere. I recall a parable: that the child is with a monster, but doesn’t recognize it as such; but rather, since the monster outwardly shows comfort and friendliness, the child feels at ease and actually quite secure in the monster’s company. Then, the child’s human guardian points out to the child that he is in company with a monster, whereupon the child flees the monster, and lives in fear with the guardian.
You can make a monster out of anything, but if you’re one with the universe, you need fear nothing. Today we went to the store, played chess, etc – total leisure. Kelly: “What unknown monsters lurk in the attics of men’s souls?”

March 8th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Pita and Proxmyre went to the Kieta Yacht Club. Sonya picked them up on their way, inquiring if they knew whether Max had left or not. Max was still there but was leaving Thursday for Kiriwina, Moresby and Indonesia. Dave the dentist was there, whom they had heard about. He invited them, along with Max, to dinner, and over dinner, they listened to this man who had been a dentist in Enga Province in the N. Guinea highlands for two years. Upon his departure, Dave hiked to the Sepik. He went to villages where a white man had not been seen for two or three years. He encouraged. Pita and Proxmyre to hike in the highlands, assuring them of minimal probabilities of being axed and/or eaten. He said that one doesn’t realize how different this place is until one goes home. Amanda, Dave’s dentist wife (both of them known by the local x-pats as the tooth fairies), grows impatient after one request and now insists in incisive whimpering: “Dave, where’s the coffee? I really want some coffee.” “Yes, dear.” Is Dave’s attitude!
On the walk home from Dave’s, they were talking about down a trek, and Pita said: As long as you don’t fuck things up by walking too fast!, whereupon Proxmyre’s dignity flared and silence ensued after he said: I am just on the verge of getting mad. Later Pita explained that what she meant to say was that she wished he could take her speed into account and moderate his.

March 9th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Spurred on by Dave’s encouragement, Pita and Proxmyre begin a hike at 4:30 pm, as the first leg of training for what they propose to be a trek through the New Guinea highlands. They reached the river above the waterfall and took a rewarding dip in the cold water. On the return trip in the growing darkness, Pita’s glasses kept coming off, and she slipped and fell on her rump a few times, sprained her arm and was whimpering along. Upon reaching level ground she said: we’ll have to go back up there tomorrow! Proxmyre congratulated her on an excellent hike. “Is there any use attempting anything but the best? I mean, lesser goals are certainly useful (better than nothing), but what is the best thing to go for, something less than the best, or the best, or, does it depend on the situation; or, do we ourselves cause the situation? Where should effort be applied, if it all?” Proxmyre struggles mentally with this, and gradually the first inklings of his celebrate Satisfaction Function grow in his mind.
Artistic license is taken in saying “his celebrated satisfaction function.”

March 10th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Trouble starting things up for the day – but despite bodily resistance to continue training, in the form of sluggishness (and Proxmyre forgetting to say: Queen check, subsequent by taking Pita’s queen, whereon her temper flared), training continued again. Today they cut through some difficult passages, and returned along the river, Proxmyre catching himself with his hands when his feet slipped from under him. Pitas enthusiasm grew as the hike grew, and the evening grew. Brownie returned from Australia today. “I feel happy, you know. All seems well. And I’ve got this growing spirit inside me that says: Psyche Up, Go For It, I am totally on my road to self-fulfillment, and have crossed the first miles. Through all pain and happiness, I move towards godliness. Yesterday I wished to be inventor, creator, and I crossed through the invisible line of the day before to find that I am so today.”

March 11th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

“Bobness of bobness. The satisfaction Function dictates that it pays to make inquires when the energy expended will be low and the payoff is potentially high,” On a lark, Proxmyre stepped into the Wards Air Cargo Office. There, in a few minutes, a few salient occurrences: 1. Wards will carry their passports to Port Moresby and get a 2-month PNG visa extension 2. Then, an Indonesian visa will be obtained 3. The discovery that with an onward ticket, they can get a 48-hour transit visa to Jayapura that will allow them entry into Indonesia from the north. “A bob itinerary would be Kieta – Buka - Rabaul - Kimbe - Madang - Goroka - Mt. Hagen – Mendi – Wabag – walk to Sepik –Vanimo – Jayapura.” Black, yellow, red, orange, blue, magenta, green.
The days of the past stand like distinct colors seem. The mellow glow of memories ages beautifully. The blood in my veins has, through the alchemy of experience, transformed into ichors.

March 12th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

We walked in regular steps to the site above the waterfall, and it seemed a rapid ascent compared to Thursday’s. It’s a lovely lace. The river runs in sheets on granite, falls off overhangs, gushes down thin channels – a boulder hangs wedged above. We climb, wade and jump along down to the waterfall. I worked my way down to the ledge to take a photo, holding onto branches and roots. (I snapped a photo of Pita standing on the upper ledge with bare chest thrust out and a 3-picture panorama of the water flying off the ledge at my feet.) The ascent was trickery as I chose to scale the rocks opposite the side I took on the way down. Pita looked on. Below the water crashed around the rocks and tumbled to the gorge below. Foot jams, hand jams, I commit myself, and five minutes later rejoin Pita, who squeezes the life out of me. Looking down what I came up gives the impression of a vertical difficulty not resent in reality. On the return, dipping in the pools, I stop and hide beneath a sheet of water flowing over a ledge, sitting in the water, back against a wall. Pita takes my pictures my interpretation of the visual relaxes – undulating bolts of white silver create a spectacular prison before my eyes.

March 13th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Why don’t I do it? It can’t be fear! The reason we give are ‘lame.’ I must look deeper than ‘fear.’ What is holding back a simple action? To be thought of at all, it must have some merit. But I don’t act upon it because it doesn’t have enough. Perhaps. What is the difference between levity and seriousness? I can’t accept that the idea I thought of doesn’t have enough merits. To receive you must invest yourself. There are no mistakes! But there are things missing, the solution always arrived at through a creative process.

A kiss that’s always there
Doesn’t kill the devil-may-care
A kiss as sweet as baby’s breath
A tongue as wet and warm as love
Breath more fragrant than any flower divine.

A description of these times would not be complete without an ode to Pitas joyful presence - and the injection of happiness her kisses bring.
Went by Dave’s (the dentist). His wife, Amanda, invited us to dinner Tuesday night before we leave. She was gracious. Kelly and I are happy. I’m very happy and content. Very blissful times.

March 14th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

To understand the subject clearly, focus must be accurate, speed of observation timely. It is no good to try to comprehend levity clearly through ponderousness. To capture detail, focus closely, adjust the sped of your observation in accordance with the subject’s illuminating. For the clear being, there is a time for pondering and a time for swiftness. Reality is the set of all P and C (permutations and combinations) of observations of all the p and c of the set of all perceptive forces over all possible time frames, over the set of all possible p and c of speeds of observation in all places and sets of places, non-reality (the unreal) being everything else. Pita and I went back into the Wards office. Liz, the manager, noticing I had put ‘financial analyst’ as my occupation, tried to set me up with a job as controller of a group of companies including Wards. Also, she called her husband at Panguna, and I set up an interview with a man, although he said it’s almost impossible to hire outside the CRA group. Anyway, it was sort of exciting to think of being a controller in Moresby. In a few days, I will probably be out on the seas of adventure. The stay in Arawa has been profitable and enjoyable.

March 15th, 1983
Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

This was ‘one of those days,’ when things seem to go awry, no matter how careful you seem to be – but I note that my spirits refuse to allow transgression and minor defeats to dampen their enthusiasm a particle – not even one particle!! It was a rainy day - god! How it rains in Arawa! Every day, I think, in the last months, it has rained. I went to Panguna and put in a job application rather, I gave the chap a resume, who said he would like to hire me, but his hands were tied. I went to Wards, where I was told that they wanted someone with experience as controller. Pita seemed to be in an agitated state. We made love and fell asleep in the middle of the day; when we awoke, we had less time than needed to finish cleaning up things for our departure. We weren’t getting on when we left to have dinner at Dave and Amanda’s. Things became cheerier, there were drinks, smoke and a delicious dinner of vichyssoise and seafood crepes. This was followed by Dave’s brilliant slide show of the Highlands. The colors and composition were captivating. In the middle, I asked if I could be excused for about 10 minutes to go to Tom’s to get my finds back as it was our last night and it was already 10:30 pm. Amanda said she’d give me a ride, they thought Tom lived in Loloho (about 15-20 minutes by car) instead of around the block as is the true case. Dave thought we were going home, and he went to bed. When we returned, Amanda finished showing the slides to a disappointed lot. Amanda gave me the pants she had made. P and I went home. Unfortunately, we bickered. We made love. Then she cried.

March 16th, 1983
On Koris enroute to Buka between Kieta and Buka, Papua New Guinea

Awaken by dawn light at 6:30 am, we thought we had missed the boat. We rushed and took a taxi to Kieta. The boat was till there (but we were ignorant of the fact it was the wrong boat). The captain said he wasn’t leaving till 6 pm, so we fortunately had the day to take care of things. We hitched back to Kieta (got a ride from an English fellow and enormous wife. He said something was sizable, and I wanted to say, ‘That’s quite a sizeable wife you’ve got there!’ Pita later told me she felt like saying ‘That’s an awfully fat wife you’ve got.’ I wish I would have said it - the most he could’ve done was to kick us out of the car!… but he was such a nice POM.)
We mailed her package. Then we fortunately ran into Dave at the bank. I explained about how there had been a misunderstanding – that Tom’s place was only a few blocks away and would’ve only been gone a few minutes. Dave was his usual friendly and enjoyable self. He showed us where to hike in the Highlands, and he gave us addresses for the mainland. It was a very friendly goodbye. Pita and I went to Brownie’s house. We made love. Asked her if she liked the particular way I was doing it. She got upset and said she didn’t like my eyes being closed. Shortly, she broke down a bit, and said. She was only trying to make me angry, and she didn’t know why she was so awful sometimes; we both said how much we loved making it with each other, and the tension ceased. We lay around, and now made it again, and I stopped trying to please her, but just was my natural passionate self. It was, as usual, marvelous! We got up and ate lunch. Then, we listened to Human League, Robert Palmer, and Culture Clubs’ ‘Do you really want to hurt me.’
Back in Kieta, we found out we were on the wrong boat. This boat wasn’t licensed to carry passengers, but it was only 12 kina to Rabaul (and our boat hadn’t shown up), so we paid it. We hoped we could get a refund in Rabaul on our other tickets. I snapped a photo as we left dusk-filled Kieta harbour, much as it looked when I saw it the evening we arrived on the Square Bar. Enjoyed the evening tremendously. We sat forward talking with Tim (from Scotland) and Jane (from New Zealand), who both worked on Tarawa in Kribati for the last two years. Tim told me of a book he saw in Honiara with a picture of roasting humans! Brown Men and Women by Edward Reeves printed in London 1898 has a picture of whole human bodies being roasted and others being dragged to the site with cannibals tending the fire and dragging up the new bodies. Tim also told us of the Nikira-n-roors, which is the name attached to the outcast Kiribati girls who have premarital sex. On the wedding night, the mother of the boy checks the sheet to make sure there is blood on it.

March 17th, 1983
On Koris enroute to Rabaul between Buka and Cape St. George, Papua New Guinea

I awake in pre-dawn on the hold covers under the canvas awning. On the cliff top, I see my first Buka village, awed by my imaginings that the buildings are grass huts and the unseen inhabitants are jet black. We dock. K and I have a few hours. We go up the road past the government station, get a few free coconuts and a lift back from a nice white fellow. He has his orderly take us to Solano Island. We tell the orderly he must return for us in 30 minutes (as the Koris is going to leave). Nearly an hour later, he drives the boat right by and waves but doesn’t get us. We can see the Koris in the distance getting ready to debark. The black orderly finally comes. As we near the wharf, the Koris pulls away, and we see the baggage on the dock. Luckily, they pulled back in and reloaded our baggage and ourselves. (The white fellow had said of the orderly ‘He gets paid about 20 kina a fort night,’ and then joked, ‘And at that, he’s overpaid!’)
Buka people were dark, but not as jet black as reputed – the district manager said the darkest people were on Buin. At one time, the island of Bougainville was called Buka, which, in Pidgin, means ‘jet black.’ The day is glorious. The sun beats down as the Koris pitches and rolls in the Soloman Sea, white water spraying on the deck. The day lulls away. P and I do some sewing and repairing and eat of the many snacks we brought along. In the late afternoon, we all (P and I, Jane and Tim) fall asleep on the afterdeck. P and I awake at 9:30 pm, have some supper, lay down and in a clandestine fashion, make lusty love on the afterdeck as soon as roving dark eyes appear to have slunk back into the shadows.

March 18th, 1983
Rabaul, New Britain Papua New Guinea

My first sight upon awakening on the upper after deck of the Koris was to look off to the right to the spectacular southern coast of New Ireland. The morning sun, having just illuminated the world, created shadows on the tiers of mountains, rising behind each other, one after another, morning mist creating a mystical air, while clouds of majestic view clung to valleys and completed the picturesqueness of the upper portion of the scene. I immediately grabbed my camera and took scene. I immediately grabbed my camera and took a 3-shot panorama on the vision, Cape St. George at the far left.
When Koris docked among the volcano rimmed peaks (in the bay, itself the center of an ancient super-crater). I hopped off and called Wayne Bradley at BP’s. Shortly, he came down and picked us up and, with his girlfriend Jackie and their dog Ebony, a cocker spaniel, brought us to their house. Pita and I went to get a refund on the tickets for the Koris. At the yacht club, I found the bag I’d requested Joe to take off the boat. I found he’d left my International Health Card, and there were two letters, one from my brother Mike and one from Pita from Arawa. Joe left a note wishing me the best of luck.
When we returned, Jackie and Wayne and I smoked a ‘j’. We were talking – Pita was in taking a shower. The house started to shake tremendously, and they immediately identified it as an earthquake. It was truly amazing. We went outside. The trees were saying, the car was rocking and the water tanks were swinging to and fro. I stood on the lawn in my bare feet. I could feel the entire earth move back and forth. Jackie later described it as if one was surfing; the ground moved the shock quite well. Otherwise, much destruction surely would have occurred. The quake lasted over a minute.
Jackie fixed us some lasagna. Then Pita and I went to the yacht Club. There, we talked with Tim and Jane. Also, we met Vilhelm (William), from Germany, who had been traveling for one and a half years. He emphasized his exclamations and acknowledgements of significant facts by emitting a small volume of air through pursed lips. The sound created was similar to a spitting sound. It could also be equated to the passing of wind through the mouth. It was amusing.
On the way home, a national was following us. I grabbed Pita’s arm and said ”Oh, we’re on the wrong street.” Then I made a 180. As we passed the dark man, he said, “oh… man…say…” We walked on by; then, at a distance, I yelled at him to keep moving, as he had stopped where we left him on the dark street. He obviously had intentions to rob us or bother us in some way.
(Earthquake 7.9 on Richter scale – epicenter 200 km away on Nissan Island – largest earthquake in world in the last two years.)

March 19th, 1983
Rabaul, New Britain Papua New Guinea

We awoke at 4:30 am, and Wayne voluntarily awoke and, as previously discussed, drove us to the ocean side of the Gazelle Peninsula near the foot of the mother. The Mother is the largest volcano (extinct) surrounding Rabaul. It was dark, but we groped around, found a trail, got separated, joined each other and the trail again, and pushed on upwards. At a crossroads, I turned us to the right, incorrectly, I might add. (Actually, we had been dropped off at the wrong place and our first mistake was not to ask two nationals [that came along in the darkness] the correct way. Instead, thinking they might be dangerous, we avoided them). We went counter-clockwise around the mountain and after some time, took another wrong path, which pointed to the mountain top. Eventually, seeing we were going nowhere. I decided to forge directly towards the top. We ended up climbing extremely steep and overgrown muddy terrain, pushing aside spider webs and branches. Pita was getting upset. I climbed a tree and saw we were only fifty yards from the beginning of the grass, which covered the top rim of the mountain. I beat aside the growth with a stick, and we passed through. With Pita straggling behind, we climbed the summit, for a spectacular view. I took a panorama shot of 9 pictures of the hill before the summit. At the top we talked with a German couple, the man being a very amusing amateur photographer – they had been led to the top by some locals. He: “Okay, let’s get a shot now of the whole team!” I had climbed a tree and got a coconut on our hike. I had husked it with a stick and now we enjoyed it, along with another the German’s guides gave us.
When they left, now alone, Pita and I undressed in the sunlight. Standing up, we began to make it, and finished making love lying in the grass on the summit of the gods. On all sides stretched ocean and clouds and land, and Rabaul lay below us. Pita noted the whole bay looked like an ancient super – volcano, and in the evening we read that her hunch was true. At about 9 am, we descended and got split up. Pita, blistered toes and tired legs, got sore at me. She returned alone, leaving me searching for her at the trail bottom. A bit of an argument ensued when I got home. But the experience was awesome and as a sum, extremely rewarding.
In the afternoon, I saw Seth, Fred, and Louis of the National Liberation Army of West Papua; I arranged for a meeting Monday. Pita met them in the evening.

March 20th, 1983
Top of Mother Volcano near Rabaul, Papua New Guinea

The first part of the day was predominantly spent rummaging through our possessions giving away certain things and setting aside large quantities of things that we’d like to dispose of. Both of us presently have maybe 60 lbs of gear – far too much. In late afternoon, I decide I’d climb Mother again and camp there for the night. Pita was feeling low - so we talked – she’s thinking about her life and how to make the best use of he time. After we talked, she felt better. It was already almost dark – I was still going to climb. She wanted to come with me. We were out on the street hitchhiking by 8:30 pm. We got a ride and got dropped off at the base by the seashore about 9:30 pm.
We began to hike. The second village we stopped in, asked directions, had young man who led us more than halfway up the dark trail. When the trail emerged from the jungle into the steep grassy slopes, we all took a rest, and then the young man turned back. Pita and I labored to the top in another ½ hour, making total climbing time about 1 hour, with a ½ hour rest in the middle. When we were about to bed down for the night, the mountain began to shake. It was a sizeable earthquake. We were on the tiptop of the peak, and it felt like the mountain was made of jelly! It was scary! It lasted only about 20 seconds. A bit shaken up (ha!), we lay down and dazed off, awaiting sunrise.

March 21st, 1983
Rabaul, Papua New Guinea

Sunrise came, but we never saw much, because there was a pretty thick cloud cover on top. Occasionally, the clouds would break and Rabaul would appear below, or rose-colored clouds in the distance could be seen. We drank what we had of Milo, and we fooled around with a spider about 5 inches long from front leg to back. Long past sunrise, the clouds broke and we again enjoyed the powerful vista on all sides. At 9:26 we began our descent, which was a pleasant one. I let Pita take the lead, which works out better because I don’t go racing off. We’re able to talk and Pita’s happier – it’s more enjoyable for both of us to go together when hiking. Hallway down, we bumped into Tim (and his new friend Evan). And had been missing for awhile, (it turned out she got to the top first!) They were on their way up. Pita and I returned home.
We checked out boat fares to the Duke of York’s and to Kavieng. In the evening, I lost a game of snooker to Tim. Then Pita and I went and met with the general and the major of the revolutionary army of West Papua. They said the UN was being pressured to return them to Indonesia. There, they would be tired and executed for treason. It was a warm meeting. What plight they suffer!!! We parted cordially. Pita and I discussed their situation on the walk home. I got two letters from Gam, two from Mandy, one from Dad, Mike Taylor and a card from Eric Gunn today! When Pita and I got home, I could have sworn that the girl in the living room was the same that was in my bad “dream” of my first visit to Rabaul. She was with Dave, Wayne’s friend. But we avoided each other’s glance and presence, so I don’t know for sure one way or the other.

March 22nd, 1983
Rabaul, Papua New Guinea

We had a cup of coffee. Pita and I, shortly after 10 am, sat on the waterside and waited – the agreed upon signal that we wanted to speak with Seth. Half-hour later, Louis came and apologized for being so long he said Seth would come at 11 am. Pita and I went there and thought of questions to ask him. The general came, looking ordinary as usual in shorts and shirt and bare feet. It was a cordial meeting. The questions prompted him to send someone to get a copy of a book he had: The Rule of the Sword. This book he let me have ‘for one week.’ It had documentary information in it concerning the crisis of his people. I didn’t know when he lent it to me that it backed up, in reliable terms, virtually all of the claims he and his comrades had made. He stated that he could make no quotable statement of the plight of his people – he preferred that my article deal with his country but not with his own personal story. We shook hands warmly at 12:15 pm. Pita and I made rounds of the town, checking on fares and schedules of boats and conducting a general investigation of matters of our minds. We arranged to meet Tim and Jane in the morning to go to the Duke of York’s. In the evening, Wayne and Jackie entertained. We listened to Sherlock Holmes’s, The Speckled Band.

March 23rd, 1983
Molot, Duke of York Island’s North Soloman’s, Papua New Guinea

After a morning of shuffling back and forth around town and waiting for the boat to leave, Tim, Jane, Pita and I ate on the deck of a swarthy boat which plugged out of Rabaul and Blanche Bay to the Duke of York Islands in St. George’s Channel. I love the movement over the water. The boat is loaded with people, a water tank of galvanized steel on top, and cargo and bugs. The Duke of York’s appear low, populated fairly well, bugging the water between towering New Ireland and New Britain. The boat delays off shore of a village and then we round a peninsula, the locals yelling at the youngsters on an islet and others on a hill above, laughing rife from the boat and shore people. We miss the joke, but it’s still delightful. When we get to Molot, an old man with a foot recently missing all toes (bandaged lightly), agrees to let us stay – a young man brings us to a house of a European on leave; it is on stilts, and it has mosquito screen on all apertures. The gang made themselves at home. The rider I put in for coconuts was hauled immediately by a lad while I sat with the old man. We all slept fairly early. I read a lot of the book Seth gave me, and I grow nearer their cause all the time. Seth was mentioned and had a picture in the book.

March 24th, 1983
Rabaul, PNG

We got out of the village about 11:30 am; Pita and I had scouted ahead and found a copra boat going back to Rabaul. While waiting for the copra boat, I took a short skin-dive. I found a crown of thorns starfish, which I pulled out of he water with the intention of destroying, but soon forgot about it (he probably died anyway) because there was a cave on the water’s edge. Tim, Pita and I went into it, but it was small and there’s nothing much in it. The boat made one stop before going to Rabaul – at a nearby village. All the little boys clowning on the dock had blonde fizzy hair (generally, some Melanesian blondes are natural and some are bleached). Some were naked and others wore something. When I got onshore to go to the store, I held out my camera so they could touch it. They went into a frenzy until their Mums quieted them down in threatening tones. The sunset was spectacular on the ride back – deep crimsons and roses! We got back at a quarter of seven, after joking around and having a fun on top of the boat, amidst a scenery of the classic east side of Mother.

March 25th, 1983
Rabaul, PNG

Activity is the order of our stay here in Rabaul. Up and out! We were on the boat Goroka at 8 am. Tim and Jane came along shortly. We cruised to the west side of Metope, where we hopped to shore. One national took the four of us to the crater of Metapi (which erupted in 1942-2-4). We climbed into the crater. Some places, like where the sulfur gas steamed out in clouds, were hot. It was very interesting – the whole crater. Pita and I climbed into the small back crater (there’s 3 craters all inside a big cater) where there is a small cave. Inside it, the walls are covered with moist crystal material, white, but in some places yellow from sulfur or green from copper. Back on shore, we swam waiting for he Gorka. Lunched at Yacht Club – delicious. Pita and I got our passports back today we got a 25 day visa to Indonesia. Our 2-month extension request for PNG was denied – we only got a month. I’ll have to find a way around that! – At night P and I went to see the ridiculous: “From A Far Away Place.”

March 26th, 1983
Rabaul, PNG

My brain felt as if it was blocked when I went to bed tonight. It was day where, probably because I was inexplicably anxious and up-tight, that things seemed to go awry.
But let us not exaggerate, for the day still held much enjoyment and interest. We went to the “museum” near the New Guinea Club. The thing I found of greatest interest there were the drawings on the walls of a cylindrical room made by the Japanese – they depicted Rabaul and the Gazelle Peninsula area on geographic coordinates. The symbols were Japanese. Supposedly Admiral Yamamoto spent his last night in this bunker (the museum was in a bunker) before he flew to Bougainville over which he was shot down. Later – Pita and I took a look through some tunnels, which were maze-like. They were relatively uninteresting, though (certainly not like the ones we were to visit tomorrow!). I’ve felt like I should be writing about the West Papas – in the evening I decided to write. Just then, Wayne and Jackie came in. They were real drunk! After I ended up talking (mostly listening) with them, I started to eat dinner, but was so tired that I turned in.

March 27th, 1983
Rabaul, PNG

I set out at 8:15 am to climb the Vulcan. I went straight up the side and then to the opposite side of the cone – it as a nice view! A six-foot snake as thick as rope leaped away from the ride as I approached. I tried to continue on around but ended up cutting through brush. I headed down, making my own way without a rail. I saw a large grey and tan bat, and I saw a fat lizard. I went to the tunnel where there were barges, but it was boring. I returned at 11:30 am. Shortly after noon, Pita and Bill and Wayne and I drove out to the hills about the blue lagoon to tunnels, which hadn’t been visited in over 20 years. Amazing sights were beheld:
1) We found 8 bullets in the first cave – in their skulls. The cave was rife with bats, hanging over the place and flitting by us – sometimes they hit us.
2) A few caves later, as we entered a dark blue and red snake crawled into a hole in the sidewall. We reckon it was deadly poisonous. It was probably at least six feet long, as we saw only the thinning two feet of its end, obvious that the greater part was in the wall.
3) I was leading after that, in the same cave, I came up on a ghastly sight. Overhead was a hideous bright red creature with a multitude of legs about one inch long, with joints in them – they were shaped just like a spiders. Wayne says it is a special type of centipede and it’s deadly. It scurried around escaping our light. I never saw a picture or even knew of the existence of such an insect. It was incredible!
4) Outside, saw a huge pig - maybe 300 lbs.
5) Saw bat’s nests with baby bats and saw and held a bat egg (like a jelly bean!)
6) Saw a spider with perhaps 100 babies on it like a big ball. When touched, the babies were strewn out in a long strings of web, maybe 10 to a string
7) Saw a strange spider with hinged graspers 1” and another 1” after the joint; the locals didn’t recognize it
8) Held the mother spider 3” long
9) Saw a tarantula.

The tarantula was in the first cave. It was quite big 3½-4” long. Generally, the caves were well formed, and some were 100 feet long. There were hoards of bats. The bright red centipede was about 3” long. We found bottles left from the Japanese since the war – one said “wakamoto” and also had Japanese characters on it. The caves were very authentic. I wondered if perhaps we hadn’t happened on unknown species of insect and or snakes. In the evening we saw Priest Wife with Sophia Loren, which was quite good. (Saw at the yacht club). We went in about 6-8 caves today. It was a blast.

March 28th, 1983
Rabaul, PNG

Last night, we saw Priest Wife with Sophia Loren and Marcello Mastroiani at the Yacht Club for free. It was quite good. Today, we took care of things. I visited the West Papuans. I arranged to take photos of them, under the condition that they would keep the negatives and I would get the photos (They insisted on paying for developing). I came back and I took photos (14) of each, with a backdrop of the revolutionary flag of West Papua. Afterwards, Seth began to draw up the structure of the FPM while Louis got us some soft drinks, bread and a fish for lunch. We discussed my questions for some time.
Afterwards, I went towards Air Cargo and called Gus Medona of the PNG migration office - what a bureaucrat! He flatly denied my request for an additional month several times, and he was, generally difficult. Finally, I lowered my politeness somewhat and told him I got the feeling he wasn’t trying to help us at all. After that, he told me to mail our passports back accompanied by new fees, a letter from the bank confirming the delay of my friends, new migration forms a letter of confirming travel plans from Air Nivgini, our passports, and mail it all to the US consular asking for his support.
Tim and Jane were at Wayne’s playing monopoly with Pita. Later I lost a game of snooker to Tim and then suggested we play for a Kina; I edged him out that game 34-20. At night, Wayne and Jackie told us about The Final Solution: a story of a living man who has finally (probably) solved the Jack the Ripper case! It involved, not one, but 3 men, and implicated the royal family! Later, wonderful love.

March 29th, 1983
On Cosmaris enroute to Kimbe, New Britain, PNG

A grand day. I traded my calculator for 28 kina and a small, simple calculator. I got the reapplication for our visas to Wards Air Cargo for shipment to the US embassy in Moresby. I collected the photos took yesterday of the West Popans. I gave a T-shirt to Seth and Louis and one from Pita to the young soldier who gave the gift of a necklace through me to her. I said goodbye and shook hands to all. I will miss them. Seth had told me that the boat wasn’t leaving until 4 pm so I tarried longer than I should have. I ran to Coastal to find the boat, at 12:50 pm ready to leave. I rushed to Wayne’s and we all hurriedly gathered our things - but the boat had already begun. Tim, Pita and I (were found Tim and he came with us) opted for the next Coastal boat which left at 3 pm enroute to Kimbe, less than ½ way to Lae. We tried to ride on the afterdeck, as we had on the Koris to Rabaul, but the captain ordered us down the main deck. (Where we were rained upon.)
At about 2 am, March 30, after I had made a survey of possible retribution, Tim and I spring into action – with a screwdriver, superglue and a pin. We removed the labels “Captain” and “Lavatory” (Held on by two screws). I used the pin to open the super glue. We super-glued the plaques and interchanged them, so that the lavatory was labeled “Captain” and the captain’s quarters labeled “Lavatory.” Pita, Tim and I thought it was quite funny and certainly fitting. We are a merry crew!

March 30th, 1983
On Kazi enroute to Lae, PNG

3 am at Sea:
A zephyr on my left cheek
A gay breeze on my right ear
My eyes are sheltered from
The electric light
By the brim of my hat
A fair head on my belly
A deft hand on her rear
My left hand on the breast of Kelly
Feels the warm comfort of her breathing
The swaying of the ship incites the feeling
I’m under the spell of full contentment,
However fleeting.

10 am: Pita tells me that the interchange of name labels looks beautiful, and, as such has not yet been noticed.

We arrived in Kimbe before noon. No sooner did we put our baggage on the dock than we could see, way out in the horizon, a shop coming to port. Indeed, it was the Kazi, not far behind. We transferred ships, and were off to Lae. As dusk set in, I stood on the top of the ship and studied the Northern shore of West New Britain, the water, and the sky. I had this nice feeling, even though it was somewhat poignant: I felt like ‘here I am – I’m in the heart of the place I want to see: relatively unexplored, south sea islands – it’s so beautiful – but it is fleeting. I am leaving each mile behind me, and I don’t know I’ll see them again. There’s Mt. Bola at 3819 feet!

March 31st, 1983
Lae, Morobe Province, PNG

9 am: My first view of the island of Niv Givi (New Guinea)!!! On the Kazi, I woke up a while ago to look out on the coast north of Finschafen – rifted fingers of light green jutting up from the sea.

7 pm: Pulling into the harbour at Lae. All day we have cruised along the Huon Peninsula, on the southern coast between Finschafen and Lae. I am awe-inspired by the coast with mountains spiraling to the clouds – here before me in the ‘impenetrable’ land of New Guinea, a land which thwarted would-be explorers and settlers until the most recent of times. It is no wonder - what with hostile natives, malaria, exceedingly difficult terrain and dense jungle! I feel so glad and so proud for fulfilling my dream to see New Guinea even if it meant leaving Sugar Bear early; Day’s end: We arrived; shortly after, Jane came. Then, this creepy Japanese guy let us stay at his house. We all had beer at the Yacht Club. Hank (the Japanese) tired to pick up on Pita and Jane – disgusting! Pita and I slept only a few feet from Tim and Jane. We couldn’t help ourselves and indulged in luscious love on the couch. I think Jane was awake. Part way through, Pita turned the light on with her foot!

April 1st, 1983
Ramu Sugar, Morobe Province, PNG

The hardwood floor of this little house is a beauty! Each slat looks like a different wood. Tints of orange, black, brown, tan! We’re in a two room dwelling with no furniture, on Ramu Sugar Co. property, located in a valley between two mountain ranges, about 80 km from Madang and 190 km from Lae. The ride out here… well, it was simply spectacular!! Gradually climbing up from Lae on the sea, the road passes striking gorged hills of light green. Then, mountains of the same terrific artistry appear, looking sculpted; they are bold, as if created with a masterful hand of a confident creator! In the valley, grasslands of the purest light green out distance my sight. Cars occasionally appear in clusters. We rode in the back of a flat bed truck with national people. The driver detoured to drop Tim and Jane off at the landslide some miles off towards Goroka, then back tracked to the Madang turn-ff. The driver let us stay here, while he stayed at a friend’s house. We left Tim and Jane high on a mountainside, lined with cars, trucks and Highland people waiting to get through the landslide to Goroka. The incredible scenery of today will always remain etched in my mind’s eye. The people today have been helpful in the extreme.

April 2nd, 1983
Siar Island, Near Madang, PNG

Saturday – At 6:10 am, Phillip and Rami knock on the door. “Just two minutes!” I eke out of my tired body through the cracked door. We let them in. Rami makes a present to me of a pig’s tusk which is hanging on the wall – I thought the green foil on it looked tacky (until later I realized it was the shell of a brilliant green beetle). I made them presents of shirts and books. Phillip talked about sending me bird of paradise feathers. They dropped us back out on the road. About 40 minutes past and a truck came by and they were going to Madang. Three times on the trip, we stopped, and our national driver and his men got out to help a white fellow (who gave them 30 kina) get his truck up the hill. The white fellow got out of he cab, and the black mean got in and freed the truck with relative ease. His friend told me the black driver used to drive the Highlands Highway before it was paved.
We arrived in Madang in the afternoon. The trees were full of bats hanging upside down like huge black oblong pears! It was broad daylight! There were literally thousands of bats! Some were flying around – they had wingspans of over 3 feet! I, got my best view of them from the graveyard next to the market! The crew of the bottle truck were incredibly nice. We said we wanted to go to Siar Island, outside of Madang. They took us there, talked with the sack of refreshments on arrival in Madang. We gave him a razor knife in return. When we tried to pay, they refused, but we forced 3 kina each on them (about the proper fare.) We got a dugout shuttle to the island. I took a snorkel. We had dinner by the water with four Europeans. (The proprietor here supplies rudimentary breakfast, dinner and lodging for 5 kina each.) We talked of the Indonesia, Tibet, Bhutan, China, etc.

April 3rd, 1983
Siar Island, Near Madang, PNG

Easer Sunday: Outside the cities, you are woken early by roosters or the early rising humans. A breakfast of fritters and coffee. Everyone left here this morning except for Pita and I (and a few locals over yonder). I went down on Pita. It’s been awhile since she had an orgasm, but she had two of them, one after the other, with my tongue at the helm – it was the first time I ever produced an orgasm with my tongue to my knowledge and recollection! This was a banner moment! And I remember how: I was thinking I was going to give her an ‘o’ – I licked from the bottom to the top – then I covered her clitoral area with my lips, and inside this warm enclosure, I worked my tongue in deliberate upward strokes on the clit directly every, say, 3 seconds. When she started gyrating, I tried to continue the direct contact, which was like trying to ride a bucking bronco! Later, I fucked her again, and she came a third time. (With my dick, I tried to keep hitting her clit with its base.) Then, I finished preparing my taxes and we went snorkeling.
We were heading into the beach when Pita saw an octopus! I kept it in its hole, jabbing it with a rock, and I sent Pita to get my gloves, knife and anything she could borrow – we wanted it for Easter dinner. 20 minutes later, she and a village woman with 2 spears returned. I speared it in the head and the woman jabbed its tentacles. It crawled out grasping the spears. Brown fluid filled the water. I hauled it back and took photos. From tentacle to tentacle it was around 5 feet long, and it weight 5-6 pounds. At dinner, it was tough (but they promised to pound the reset of it tomorrow). [It changed colors from white to brown in seconds on the beach!!]

April 4th, 1983
Siar Island, Near Madang PNG

The morning of April 1st (when we left Lae), before we left Hank’s house, I weight myself and all the bags I had: 112.5 kilos. I put all the bags down and stood on the scale in my shorts, a t-shirt and thongs: 67 kilos. That means all my baggage weighs 45.5 kilos or 100.1 pounds!!! It’s all that leftover stuff form the yacht. Slowly, I am getting rid of it! When I reach Indonesia, I hope to be down to 16 kilos of baggage, or about 35 lbs. Today, I wrote letters to Mandy Mike Taylor and Eric Gunn. I prepared a box for mailing tomorrow; and I then went snorkeling with Pita. We swam pretty much in the same area as yesterday, seeing the usual variety of minor interesting life. For dinner, we had rice, a bit of (tin) fish, tea, and finished the octopus. All the food tasted salty it’s prepared by Saimon’s wife. We had popcorn for dessert.
Tomorrow we’ll pick up our mail, mail things, go to the bank, the market, and see Madang. I’m trying to work out how to pay back Citibank - $90/month. I’m sending my tax returns in tomorrow. Being around the Europeans have (who left today) makes me realize that I don’t want to get only on “the circuit” – the line of cities that the Western Travelers visit. I want to make the rest of the trip as special as it’s beginning – the hike through to the Sepik world certainly be a boon to bobness.

April 5th, 1983
Siar Island, Near Madang, PNG

Our last day near Madang. We went to Madang by canoe this morning. The events were on the disappointing side. Most of all, there was no mail for either of us! I thought for sure there was mail – it was a disappointment after all my letters that some of my closest friend seem not to have written: Clymer, Cappa, Nomra. Oh, well, you never know what happened. We went to the bank, but still no news. I had them wire for information to my fund at home (cost K10). We went to the cemetery near the market and I snapped a few photos of the incredible bats. It’s worth coming to Madang just to see them! Last, we went to the Hotel Madang. On the way we took a walk around the Melanesian Explorer – a boat trip up the Sepik on this boat costs K138 a day! It was nice but…! We had a few drinks at the bar and I tried to call Norma, to no avail! The drifters (of Under the Boardwalk, UP on the Roof fame) came into the open looking unhappy. We caught a ride back to Saimon’s on Siar Island. I snorkeled around the island before dinner. I found and destroyed a crown of thorns starfish (No.2) and saw a fish gobble up a smaller one. At supper we met two VSO workers (Volunteer Service Overseas). We played a mammoth gin rummy game till midnight, which I won!

April 6th, 1983
Kundiawa, Chimbu Province PNG

Saimon woke us at 7:45 am. We had a long way to go (Kainantu or father) and it was a late start. Phil and Steve (The USO workers) kept us talking at breakfast, and Saimon delayed in canoeing us to Madang, so we didn’t get there till after 10 am. The bus had already gone. We got a ride to Jumba market (a muddy hillside) at which the road led out of Madang. Half-discouraged, we sat there while we had no hope of catching a ride. But, as usual, by and by we found a truck going back to Ramu Sugu, which we happily bounded. At the Ubsiva junction, we stopped, and a Toyota 4WD raced by with Kundi… written on the door. I tried to hail them (realizing as they passed they were from Kundiawa, which is further than Kainantu and further than Goroka.)
Later, we caught up with them. P and I exchanged trucks, paid the driver K4 for the ride for Madang, and arranged to go with the Kundiawa trek for K5. Shortly after, down the road, we were delayed by a high river. In the river a 4 WD Datsun truck was half-submerged. After over an hour, they winched it out (destroying the bumper). Our truck dashed boldly to the other side, and on we drove into the night. The truck bounced, rain poured down, and it got cold as we sped to the Highlands. I had an argument with Pita; she told me she was sick of traveling with me and she was leaving me tomorrow. 3 am we arrived and we slept at the police station.

April 7th, 1983
Gera Village, Chimbu PNG

Woke at the police station, cleared out and had copious amounts of delicious coffee at the Kundiawa Hotel. We made our way to Ku Village about 5 miles east of Kundiawa on the Goroka road. We told the boys that we would like to hike around. We made sandwiches for all and we hiked to a cemetery and then up around the hillside with many boys. Looking down we saw Gera village below. They invited us to stay there for the night. We moved our baggage from Ku Village to Gera village. The people at Gera seemed mighty happy to see us. They welcomed us with open arms. As the day ended and night began we sat in a woman’s house and also, alternatively, in the man’s house. While it was still light, they grabbed a large male goat and proceeded to cut off his testicles! I grabbed my camera. They took a razor blade and slit the scrotum in a line. Then they popped out the veined testical and cut off the tendon connecting it to the bottom. The headmen of the village did the cutting while the others held the goat. They did this same to the right testicle when the left was completed, while the goat screamed in agony from time to time. When it was over the goat stumbled away in shock. The villagers were quite jovial about the whole thing.
In the woman’s house (no name yet) we had supper. It was fairly good, however, I was reluctantly relishing the tongue (animal unknown) on my plate. After supper there was a large gathering with us as the guests of honor in the men’s house. The minister (face painted) led a hymn for grace. Then, some village adults sang traditional songs, and some men played some simple melodies on some flutes. They recorded some songs on a cassette player, so we could, bring home the music. The gathering ended – it was strange! We went up to the hut we were to sleep in. A man about 30 came up and tried to convince us (as he had been convinced by the missionaries) that the symbols now being instituted by supermarkets for fast checking were in reality the EEC’s European Economic Communities introduction of 666 – or the coming of the anti-Christ.

April 8th, 1983
Gera Village, Chimbo PNG

In he morning, awakening from the exhilarating yesterday. We woke and warmed ourselves by the fire in Jacob’s sister’s house. They wrapped up some Kav-Kav for us (sweet potatoes). Donning shoes, we began with an entourage of small boys and a few older ones (young teens) as guides to hike up the mountain in search of caves. They claimed (the young teenagers who spoke English) that they knew of caves where their ancestor’s skeletons resided. They led us up to a spring that they claimed would swallow up anything (Which their forebears believed contained spirits which pulled things down), but when we tried to throw sticks in it, nothing went down. We scoured the mountainside for the caves, and near the days’ end, nothing had yet turned up.
I grew to the opinion that they had changed their minds and didn’t want us to find their sacred ground; but as their efforts continued, their sincerity appeared, and I believed as they said, that they couldn’t find them. Finally, a bit weary, along came a young boy from another village that led us to the mouth of a cavern too dangerous to climb in - you could hear the flying foxes. The young man said there were no skeletons here, but did know where there were some but since they were too far to go to today, and we were leaving tomorrow, we had to forget it. Weary, we returned to Gera. There, we rested. I did some writing. Later, when it had grown dark, in response to an earlier request from me, we had quite an exchange session. We had a bundle of clothes, sheets, tobacco, etc. When they gave us a gift, we amply repaid the kindness with some greatly needed items. The head man, Gunuwa Kamane, presented us with some arrows which were quite nice – man arrows they were! He explained that without these arrows, we wouldn’t be in Gera, but some other place, as neighboring tribes would have driven them out. Even worse, they would kill him, his kin, and burn their village to the ground.
He presented me with an armband, and said that he passed on to me the things, which made him a great man. He said that we were members of the village. (He talked in Pigen, and a young friend translated what I couldn’t make out – [a lot actually].) It was very exciting time. The people looked so overjoyed and thankful – we had given them much. It seemed, however, that there were a few disappointed who felt they had been passed over. They young men, Jacob and Kiakamane, told us, before we went to bed, that the villagers wanted us to live there - they said that they want us (me) to run for government – and we would have the support of more than their own village. They said people would cry when we left.

April 9th, 1983
Keglsugl, Chimbu Province PNG

It was awkward leaving. Jacob wanted to come to climb Mt. Wilhelm with us, but he could tell that we thought it was a bad idea, and he shuffled back in the house as we left – I had to call him to shake his hand goodbye. We walked down the hill after and sit by the fire in Jacob’s sister’s house. Pita saw some of the females crying. The chief ran down to say goodbye. We asked if we could come back after climbing Mt. Wilhelm and he said yes. We caught a truck to town for 30t. We had some delicious coffee at the Kundiawa Hotel and then we switched to the Chimbu lodge to wait for Phil to come by as planned – which he did at 11 am. We had coffee at an Irish friend’s house of his (with Steve there as well) then we headed to Keglsugl, 9000 feet high in the largest mountain range in Papua New Guinea.
The ride up was truly fantastic. The gardening of these people was truly incredible! The massive and very steep hillsides, nay, mountainsides, had neat gardens very large indeed. It was almost an optical illusion, as if a level scene had been titled at sometimes, over 45 degrees!! In addition to the fantastic scenery, the human scenery was a spectacle. Along the road, we began to see men dressed in traditional ornamentation of feathers. We finally stopped and I asked one man if I could take a photo. He signaled yes, and then asked for money when I had snapped it – we gave him 70t and raced off from the crowd that had gathered immediately around the truck.
Onward, we saw a line of men on either side of the road, maybe 30 or 40 in each line, each one in spectacular dress. I feared to take a picture lest there be more problems. I snapped two quick photos as we sped by despite my fear! We arrived in Keglsugl without much delay. We had tea, in the headmaster’s house. I studied some math questions on Phil’s math pre-test for the GRE. Phil made an excellent spaghetti supper. We went down to watch a video of some BBC television shows at the headmaster’s house and spent the evening in this way. When we were done, we chatted for a while back at Phil’s and Steve’s and then went to sleep on some cushions on the floor. I am looking forward to tackling the mountain in the morning.

April 10th, 1983
Pindaunde Lakes, Chimbu Province, PNG

After a fairly leisurely morning, in which Pita announced that she wouldn’t come because of her blisters, Phil and I began to walk to the lakes – the first leg of the hike to the top of Mt. Wilhelm. We arrived at the lower lake at about 2 pm, after a 3-hour hike. The hike took us from his house at Keglsugl to the trail head, through muddy, log-covered tracks, to the alpine meadow with a rushing river in the distance, beyond the hill which it rushed down, to another hill, with more plummeting water, and finally to the university rest house on the shore of the lower lake. We were wet and a wee-bit weary when we arrived. (On the hike we met a man who had climbed it 15 years before. His wife who was with him, was the first woman ever to climb Wilhelm – 1st European perhaps.)
Phil started a fire. We chopped extra wood. We tried to warm ourselves near the cast-iron stove. Mostly, I let Phil warm up because he was heading back to his house. We ate some beans and had a few cups of coffee. Shortly before 4 pm, Phil walked over to the A-frame guest house, about 200-yards away to check on the hikers who had just come down from the summit. Cheerful as ever, he began his descent as I was walking over to the A-frame. To my surprise, at the A-frame, I met Elio and his girlfriend, Cindy. Pita and I had met Elio in Kieta. He has a yacht on which he’s traveling around the world. I invited them to the University house, where we all talked amidst the solitude while they dried their socks on the stove. They gave me direction from the lake, and, after exchanging pleasant conversation, they returned to the A-frame. I was alone in the University house. I said some prayers for Pita, my family and my friends. After talking with Elio (a Brazilian), I had decided to wake at midnight, eat, and begin my trek to the top. I drank another coffee, and, in the smoke-filled, solitary cabin, I lay down to rest at 8 pm. I couldn’t sleep, partly, from excitement, and partly from all the coffee! I ended up getting out of bed, after perhaps, one hour’s sleep total, and I counted the minutes till midnight, huddled against the stove.
The last few weeks, I have been going in an out of a private hell that only the wondrousness of the land I’m in has been able to nearly completely counteract: Pita seems not so affectionate, quite a bit more crabby and negative – when I try to make love to her she (the last few nights) rudely moves away from me or says she doesn’t want to do it. She’s touchy – if I bring it up or try to talk to her about it she gets irritable. The last three times I’ve done it, I’ve initiated it while she’s asleep! She seems so insensitive. Unfortunately, I’ve lost my temper on occasion, which cuts down communication even further. She hurts my feelings, it makes me sob, but I don’t know what to do about my sadness – I’ve experienced so much joy with her. My despondency and inability to break out of it makes a problem for me. I now plan to do or say nothing and hope that it blows over – but I find it hard to act happy when I feel despair. Luckily, as I’ve said, the excitement of Papua New Guinea keeps me essentially happy and reduces this problem to a detraction rather than an obsession.

April 11th, 1983
Keglsugl, Chimbu Province, PNG

At five minutes to midnight, the alarm I had set finally rang. I sprung up, ate the beans I had been tending during my “slumber,” fixed myself some coffee, dressed, and packed. At 12:31:30 am, I began the walk towards the upper lake. I soon got off the track and rediscovered it, then I trudged up the steep slope to the left of the upper lake. I didn’t want to rest until I reached the top! At about 3:15 am, after having briefly lost the trail a second time, I now found myself off the trail for a third time. It was solely because it was dark. I finally stopped to change batteries (as I was guiding myself with a flashlight), and finally, I forged my way straight up back to the trail, my 3rd delay costing me 40 minutes. At 4:30 am I was lost again, but this time, I decided to stop, eat and change clothes. I knew I was near the top, but where????? Weary, thirsty and cold, I found the trail after carefully backtracking and checking the markers. The 5th time I got off the track, the sun was just brightening the night sky. Finally able to see, I raced to get to the top before sunrise. I rounded a corner and saw the pink peak looming like an evil citadel! I clambered to the top, ignoring the directions, taking pictures, rock climbing off the trail and, at least, reached the top of Mt. Wilhelm, at 4509 meters (14,795 feet). Oh! What a sunrise I witnessed from the peak! I took many pictures of the fabulous, colorful, awesome scenery spreading out for hundreds of miles in each direction. In the distance all around were clouds with mountain ranges jutting above – but around me it was clear for miles!!!!
After almost 1½ hours on top, at 7:27 am I began to climb down. I had no water, and I was very thirsty. I went slowly, sometimes resting in the alpine sun, refreshing myself with spring water at last – alone in the quietude of the awesome, splendorous peaks I descended somewhat numbed. I stuck my head in the river flowing from the upper to the lower lake – ahhh!! What a beautiful day. I rested for 1½ hours at the house, and then forced myself at 1:30 pm to fly down to Keglsugl. I once despaired I had been lost, but I made it. Drenched from afternoon rain, I saw Pita waiting on the road. We hugged with joy and kissed tenderly. We went to the house where we made love and for the rest of the night I slept and she fed me!

April 12th, 1983
Kundiawa, Chimbu Province, PNG

After a restful sleep, I awoke. Phil, Steve, Pita and I had coffee. Pita and I got our things together. At 11:30 am, we got a ride down the hill from Phil. Fortunately (as seems to happen so much in this mysterious country), there happened to be a government truck there going to Kundiawa. We transferred our things, said farewell to Phil, and got a free lift to Kundiawa. I went to the Lutheran Mission and arranged to lay down our bags for the night. Then, Pita not wishing to go back to the village, I returned alone to Gera village, in order to keep our promise that we would return. I told the villagers that Pita was sick (well, she did develop a bit of a cold in Keglaugl), as they wondered why she hadn’t come. I gave away a few gifts, and I talked to Gunuwa, the headman as we ate a bowl of assorted Kai. We came to a sort of understanding that I would write and send him money and clothes and he would send me traditional artifacts. When I said goodbye, I made a final gift to Phillip’s mother (Phillip, in this case, being the mother of the man in Lae who originally told us to go to Gera). This, in turn, made another old woman jealous; this old woman refused my handshake goodbye! Joe, Kiakamane and Gunuwa walked me down to the road. Gunuwa walked only a short way, then saying “God Bless You!” he waved me into the distance (until we – Joe, Kiakamane and I rounded a corner out of sight.) Joe and Kiakamane told me of the wars between them and Ku, the village we were now walking through. They said it was traditional to chop up captured (dead) enemies, put their testicles in their mouths, burn them, etc.
At 6 pm, they turned back and I quickly caught a ride back to Kundiawa. In the evening. Pita and I had a coffee with the Lutheran pastor. When told him about the ridiculous story about the “666” hours pours that the United Pentecost minister had told the villager at Gera, he responded with a story of a national minister who recently chopped off his hand, proclaiming that within 3 hours God would heal it back like new – now he has no hand and is cursing the white people who brought religion. Before we slept, Pita and I got hot and heavy – and oh what wondrous sweetness can be found when you’re in love!
A catholic minister who gave me a ride today to Gera, told me that, originally, “666” had been a secret code developed by St. John for Christians in ancient Rome – it had been used to identify one another in a land in which they were outlawed!

April 13th, 1983
Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

Waking up on the floor of the office of the Lutheran Mission of Kundiawa to the knocking of our door from outside, we resume making love. Pita trims my mustache and cuts my fingernails and toenails. We proceed to the Chimbu Lodge for coffee (and sandwiches of our own making). I package up some things, and, after coffee, we send them to the USA, but find that we’ll have to cut our arrows to fit the mailbag. Back at the Lutheran Mission, I arrange for Pita to trade for the bilum in the pastor’s house, which she has coveted since spying it last night. Trade successful, we load our burdens and walk to the road, where (a vehicle which just got a traffic ticket) we are off to Mount Hagen on the first vehicle that comes by.
On the way, we notice more and more men wearing arse-grass. We stopped at a market where I bought two big corns for 10t each and a sugar cane for 10t (which the pastor introduced me to last night - the green Highlands sugar cane is delicious juicy and sweet.) On the way to Hagen, we reflect how much we have cut down on spending. Since arriving in Madang, we have spent 23 kina on transportation – to Madang, back to Kundiawa, to Keglsugl, to Kundiawa, to Hagen – each, and 20 kina for lodging each (4 nights at Sia Island). This had been our total expenditure for transport and dodging. We move along in the grey day through the flat plane, and we arrived at the YMCA in Hagen. We got off the PMV paid K3 and found a floor to stay the night with kitchen facilities for K1 at the YMCA.
Pita discovered that her camera was missing – we deduced without a reasonable doubt that the PMV driver and partner were the culprits. I went to the police station and they said to return in the morning when the phone line to Kundiawa would be restored since I could trace the van because they had received a ticket from the Kundiawa police.) Earlier, we had taken a walk around town, and it was obvious that this is a bad place from the standpoint of danger. Pita felt ill, and I let her sleep as the YMCA basketball provided tournament sounds as a background as I sat at the desk in the large, bleak, well-lit room and wrote.
Note to April 10th. I have altered my actions in response to this problem, and things are super-great again (i) I have stopped complaining – period! (ii) I am flattering.

April 14th, 1983
Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

As Pita and I lay huddled on the corner floor of the large meeting room that was our room for the night, Rod, the American director of the Hagen YMCA came in the far door, excused himself, and exited. We rustled ourselves for coffee, and Rod came round to the Y kitchen and chatted. He invited us to stay at the house he was watching. Gratefully, we accepted. He brought us down to the house and, leaving the direction of the Y to his replacement, he took us around town. At the outdoor coffee shop, we laughed as we stooped our head to match the level of the curious nationals who continually came by and stooped to look between the split in the fence, observing us as if we, in the coffee shop, were zoo animals.
We sent to the West Pac bank, where an efficacious Dave Burnoughs, announced that my money had finally arrived – 1248.35 kina, now worth 1504 US dollars to me. Happily, we went to the market, which had copious variety of vegetables and fruits in 10 toya bunches – it is delightful to spend less than two dollars and come home with loads of goods. We also went to Steamships and did some shopping for meats and packaged goods. When we got home, laden with fine foods from here and abroad, we demolished 3 pots of Proxmire – made popcorn, then some Pita-made hamburgers.
Later, I recorded as best I could, the subjects of my, photos of the last 2 weeks while listening to Rod’s tales of youthful mischief and more recent tales of punching and beating up the corrupt PNG policemen and Moonies. When Pita and I retuned, close to 1 am, Rod lent us two soft, clean pillows, which further amplified the lovemaking pleasure at the end of the day. I am happy. It is a simple life, with simple pleasures. I’ve got events to look forward to, but, I have no heart-aches, no nagging ambitions, and (aside from sleeping two in a bed made for one) I don’t toss and turn at night from self-made nightmares.

April 15th, 1983
Mount Hagen, Western Highlands PNG

In the morning, I enjoyed some French toast, smothered with fresh Highlands bee honey. While Pita prepared a stew loaded with fresh chuck roast and a horn-of-plenty-full of vegetables, from yesterday’s market. I went off to attend to business. I exchanged money back into dollars and bought $1000 worth of Amex traveler’s checks. I mailed off my documentation of the West Papuan rebels story (registered). I sent (insured for $300) the 10 traditional arrows that had been given to us at Gera. I walked to the market and bought a new load of veggies upon the request Pita. I also went to the bakery, where I found a beautiful loaf of fresh-baked bread and a crème filled apple turnover for 53t and 35t respectively.
In the evening, Rod, Pita and I enjoyed the stew. Rod went off to drink beer at the Pioneer Club, and I lay down to read The Incredible Voyage by Tristan Jones. I finished it about 1 am, the time Rod came home. I’m really glad that I read it. I learned a lot form that book. One striking thing is his disposal of all the pen-pushing bureaucrats in the world that rob the free world of their hard-earned money (gotten through taxes, and who cause endless anguish for simple, honest folk trying to be free. I learned a lot about persistence towards a goal and about geography. Also, I shared the same awe about Bolivia as Tristan, though by far, he had gotten to know the land much better than I. After I finished the Incredible Voyage, during which I had cried tears of sympathy and empathy, I read a short mystery story, and I turned off the light. Awaiting the darkness was my love so true.
Note: In the Incredible Voyage, Tristan is telling the story of the creation of man, according to the Guarani Indians. From two clumps of mud, Tupan molded two men. They were Pita, who was bronze or red (and Morti who was white.)

April 16th, 1983
Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

This is one of those times when we find a place that’s comfortable, and we can relax, cook, eat to our heart’s content! Today I found out that the passports have returned and have been extended until May 31st, which is superb. One-hitch - Wards Air Cargo has decided to bill us more than they promised they would – but we wont’ pay! We’ll fight it!! Yes!
This morning, Rod picked up two video films – Poltergeist and Heaven Can Wait. We watched them this evening while eating popcorn and a dinner of chicken curry prepared by Pita herself. Pita and I took a walk in the late afternoon. In Mt. Hagen, many bushmen walk the streets wearing arse-grass. In the back, they literally wear bush grass (on a wide belt around their waists) covering their rears. In the front, they hang a group of strings made up of any of a verity of materials unless they’re wearing shirts or something to keep them warm, they rest of their body is uncovered. They often have thick, muscular abdomens and legs and (ugly) tufts of black, sparse hair on their legs. One man I saw looked like he just walked out of the Stone Age – he was sort of hunched over and sort of loped along one of the main streets in front of 20th century stores.
Rod told us that an American was robbed today. Later, tonight, there was a double axe murder between two national men – they were apparently fighting over 14 kina and some cigarettes – the apparent booty gleaned from the American! So, the day, passed, uneventful, but pleasant, pleasant, pleasant! Pita and I are planning to travel from here to Mendi, Tari (when the Highlands Highway ends)), perhaps Lake Kotubo, and Lake Kopiago. Possibly, we may make the circle around to Wabag-and in either case, we’ll return to Mt. Hagen, where we will leave some of our possessions to lighten our load. I think of my loan payments and how Mom reacted when she read my request to make them for me. Maybe she didn’t mind, maybe she was appalled. (Maybe she never got the letter). But I am backing it, giving her my tax return.
If you can’t understand something, look what’s come before it and after it.

April 17th, 1983
Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

Another day to pass in relative luxury. It lazes away. I read “Stories They Wouldn’t Let Me Do On TV - Alfred Hitchcock,” an old book, and I finish it. Some of the stories are so-so, one almost dumb, and some rather scary. Pita and I go for a brief walk around town after making love (after which she cried!). We go to Wamp-Nga’s supermarket. I ask her (For the 10th time) why she was crying and she says “Because you used to make love to me for ½ hour on the boat – and now…” (I had been inside her only about 5 minutes today, after foreplay.) We have a pleasant conversation on sex. She says that not coming makes her feel inadequate as a woman. She says she’s afraid I am getting bored with her. I state that I just don’t hold back. (I told her that I come sooner because she excites me more now - “Sure” she says!) I can prolong it, if I (she) wants me to… In the evening we watch the movies again. We decide we’ll wait until Tuesday to leave.

April 18th, 1983
Mountain Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

(Note: Before we left the house, we made love a long time and Pita came.)

Another luxury day. We got out passports back (stamped until May 31st for PNG!), free of charge (I guess my arguments got through.) I got a letter to the Chief Mgr. of West Pacific Bank, asking for my exchange loss back (2/3rds of it). At the Bank of South Pacific, the tellers were dress in traditional dress! The girls were topless. They had on bird of paradise feathers, cassowary feathers, cuscus (possum) skins, beads, grass, etc! I took some pictures of them. Pita was edgy. She stormed off from the police station (where we went after the market, trying to get some action on her stolen camera) – I asked if she was going to do some shopping – she said ‘no’ and left.
ISO I shopped, but when I got home, I found she had shopped too, and we had double groceries. I also sent a letter to the US embassy asking for information of a visa for Brunei, and I sent her mail from Moresby. When I got home, Pita said she was super-sorry, and she was fixing up a spaghetti dinner. We watched Omen II and the Blues Brothers (which we rented in the chemist shop (and we ate spaghetti, popcorn, crème buns and Milo.

April 19th, 1983
Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

We were supposed to leave today, but we were disorganized, and we were so late getting started, that we decided to wait until tomorrow. Made love in the afternoon, Pita came twice! (It seems heavy and persistent tongue action on the clit readies her, while making love finishes his lovely task!) We took two films out – Papillion and the Disappearance. Papillion was super great – but we failed to get part III, so we’ll have to see the ending when (and if!) we return. The Disappearance was intensely boring – one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen (- Papillion, one of the best!).
I have begun to read Frankenstein – a highly elegant horror story! In the course of this relaxed evening, we made a large bowl of superb popcorn – I mention it because it was, covered with butter, such a memorable dish! Before the popcorn, for dinner and, for me, during the first movie, we enjoyed another batch of spaghetti. In the movie Papillion, there was a line of Dega’s (Dustin Hoffman) which impress me: A temptation resisted is a true measure of character. (Something like that.)

April 20th, 1983
Mendi, Southern Highlands, PNG

By 10:30 am or so, we were on the road to Mendi, ready to hitchhike. For 25t each, we got a short lift to the Wabag - Mendi junction, from where we immediately caught the first of five free rides which eventually brought us to Mendi by about 3:30 pm in the afternoon. Mendi is a beautiful natural setting, in a relatively small valley; on one side, a steep cliff, (limestone?); covered with green, rises from the 5500 valley floor. We were dropped off (in the back of a barred police can) at the Hotel Mendi. Pita stayed in the lounge, while I set out to find us a place to stay. I used a name that Dave Eaton (the dentist in Arawa) had given us – Dr. Ed Struvee at the hospital here. A hospital orderly gave me direction to his house, nearby. He said it was all right to throw down our bags. I went for Pita and the luggage, and we returned. He stayed in the living room, talking to us until almost 10:30 pm. He is avid bushwalker, full of information on this country, which he loves so much. He suggested hiking from Kopiago to Strickland to Oksapamin, Telefomin and the headwaters of the Sepik and down!!

April 21st, 1983
Wagi, Wara Waiki, SOutehrn Highlands, PNG

Today began an adventurous week. Pita and I woke up, and we left Ed’s house with the idea to use the information that he had given us for a hike through the Highlands bush to Lake Kutubu, inaccessible by road. To our good fortune, we met the young man, who had given us a ride almost to Mendi yesterday, in a store just before our departure. He was driving out to Nipa, which is the road we needed to take to get to the Nemlir Road. Unfortunately, under the guidance of some national men, he let us off on the wrong road. After a delay, we got ourselves to the fork in the Nembir Road where the old road begins to Wara Waiki.
On our own, we walked in rain and mist for a few hours. The road ended, and a trail began. We sloshed through mud, till we came to a village above Wara Waiki (a large river). Village youngsters led us to the water. We crossed abridge as darkness settled in. (The bridge was made entirely of natural materials.) It was dark as we climbed the opposite hill. We thought ourselves lost. We found a man sleeping in a pig house, who led us to the aid post kitchen hut. We bedded down there. In the middle of the night, men appeared at the door. Thinking they were hostile. I would not let them in, even after one said he was Tom Kundin, the medic at the aid post.

April 22nd, 1983
Wagi, Wara Waiki, Southern Highlands, PNG

In the morning, I opened the door. Shortly, Tom Kundin, the aid post medic came in. We exchanged apologies, (Me for not letting him in, and he for scaring us in the middle of the night). He spoke English and tried to help us negotiate for guides to Lake Kutubu, but to no avail. We could not make a deal with the village young men, who being intimidated by the older men, would not take us for the amount we wanted to pay. Tom moved us to his small abode, where we had lunch. Later, we had a big trading session – we gave clothes for kina shells. Tom talked to his helpers, who informed me that we would leave for Lake Kutabu at 6 am tomorrow. The night sky shone light. In the river ravine below, boys hunted frogs in groups with burning torches.

April 23rd, 1983
Poril, Southern Highlands Bush, PNG

At 6:45 am we were awoken, and by 7:15 am or so, Angol, Mul and Tom left with P and I for the bush. We climbed directly up a mountain in our 3rd hour. On we went, and at 3:15 pm, after 8 hours, we reached a hut, in which lived a man and his 3 wives. The hut was small. We had a few edible sprouts and potatoes, and against my intuition, set off at about 4 pm for a village 2 hours off. Shortly, Tom and Angol set off ahead, saying they’d get a fire ready. One of the wives came with P and I and Mul. She had with her 2 children, one wrapped in her bilum, hanging on her head. About 1 hour before dark, we left the trail and hiked along a river. It got dark and rained heavily. As good as lost, the 6 of us tramped and stumbled along the river. I was carrying the young boy. Finally, we heard our cries returned and Angol, cutting through the bush, led us to a hut off the river.

April 24th, 1983
Lom, Southern Highlands Bush, PNG

We awoke in the hut, the 8 of us, which we had luckily found the previous night. We were dragged out, and Tom told us we’d stay the morning and hike in the afternoon. Indeed, we were lost, but not too far form the main trail. The men built a mumu (cooking in leaves surrounded by hot rocks) and cooked wild pandannus, ferns and legumes they had found. At 11 am; we hiked and the women returned home. In an hour we were on the right trail, and standing before the beautiful Waga river and cut through a limestone gorge. I went swimming and diving off the rocks that formed the vertical walls, which enclosed the river. What a gorgeous place!!! We climbed the hill, and then walked on and on in a flat teak rainforest. At 4 pm, we arrived at another uninhabited bush hut, where we ate and bedded down for the night. In this place, there was a little structure, which marked a grave – it was like an open-air hut the shape of a coffin. I had carried my pack all day to the dislike of Pita and our paid guides.

April 25th, 1983
Tubage, vicinity of Lake Kutubu, Southern Highlands, PNG

I awoke at 5 am and roused the gang. At 6 am, we began to hike. After 2 hours, we arrived at a village with children with distended stomachs. Tom bid us farewell here. Angol, Mul, P and I trucked on while a village boy headed on to summon the next village and procure another boy to help him bring us to Kutubu as Angol and Mul would turn back. After 1 hour 35 minutes, we reached the medical post. I was charged one kina for taking a picture of a tree kangaroo fighting a dog. We paid Angol and Mul 10 kina each and bid farewell. Two new guides came on with 3 others on their way to the Lake. After crossing a large river, we came on flat ground. After an easy walk, we got to Tubago, a lake village. There we were invited to spend the night. I went swimming in the Tubago river. We ate lots of bananas and mandarin oranges at 3 cents, which was good. The village architecture was fascinating.

April 26th, 1983
Fimanga, Southern Highlands, PNG

After a mosquito – ridden, night in the men’s (Long-haus) house, we awoke, ate, and went to the lake. Ayamena – a polite villager, and two friends, boarded a canoe with us and paddled us to Inv____, the mission station. You might think a mission station would be full of good will and Christian charity, but here it was (and not only here!) decidedly opposite. Unable to get a reasonable rate, I negotiated with Ayamena that for an additional 5 kina, we could get a canoe ride to Kesege, on the lake’s southwest tip. I helped to paddle, and paddled hardest of all the last 45 minutes. We got to Kesege at 2 pm.
At 2:40 pm, after a swim and some refreshment, we started to walk on the road to Fimaga. We were told it was a 2 or 3-hour walk, but you’d have to run to make it in 2 or 3 hours! Luckily, in the midst of a torrential downpour, we got a lift into Fimaga, where the driver, Robbie the most erudite PNG man we’ve met yet let us stay at his house.
I counted 80 totally different types (Families) of plant growth (trees, plants, fungus) on the trail to Kutubu. Ed says that in his garden alone, there may be 250-300 different species.

April 27th, 1983
Mendi, Southern Highlands, PNG

In the morning, Robbie talked to the OIC (Officer in Charge) at Fimaga, who agreed we could get on the government charter for free. A few hours later, at 10 am or so, we heard the chartered Tal Air 10 seater fly in, I ran to the air strip, talked to the expatriate pilot, and in 10 minutes we were packed and on the plane, where upon she perfunctorily performed liftoff. We had a stop in Arovo (or Orobu). P and I looked at the uninhabited rainforest, typical of what we’d been hiking through, from the air for the first time.
We arrived safely and thankfully in Mendi. We went shopping, and then went to Ed’s (the doctor’s) house. He didn’t answer (through the hospital nurse said he was home), so we made lunch in his garden and dried our clothes. An extremely loud thunderbolt near the house awoke him, and, upon hearing his footsteps in the house, we knocked and he let us in. He was as cordial as before. We smoked pot from his plants. When he was called away to deliver a baby, Pita and I made beautiful love.

April 28th, 1983
Mount Hagen, Western Highlands PNG

We packed everything up in the morning, did the usual business of store and bank. We stood at the bus stop the government vehicle rolled by and stopped. I told him to take us as far as he was going. He left 10 nationals also seeking rides in the dust. Friendly of him, as he drove us out of the Hagen road, way beyond where he said he was taking us. I had taken some mushrooms that Ed had given me and now I could feel them illuminating the day. Shortly, some other government man in a comfortable big rover stopped. He brought us all the way to Hagen. We stopped in to see Rod at the YMCA who gave us the house keys.
I started feeling a bit ill (but I don’t think it was the shrooms. I found a letter from mom, a postcard from Donna, a telegram from Dad (saying “Stay out of the Highlands”) and a letter from Mandy (telling me about her modeling progress – she’s beautiful), which I had forwarded from Moresby. I went to bed and started the Werewolf of Paris.
When we went into Westpac Bank, the accountant gave me K13.29 – this was my reward for having written to the Director of thanks and requesting the unjustified exchange loss.

April 29th, 1983
Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

I was pretty sick today, all day, so I won’t claim it was the greatest day. But, really, Kelly (Pita) was a sweetheart, and did a lot to make me comfortable. She’s running around, doing laundry, cooking, etc. I read Werewolf of Paris (1934 by Guy Endore) almost the whole day. The book really fascinates me, partly because it was its basis in public records. We got Star Wars and the Deer Hunter at the video shop today, and tonight we watched the latter, but stopped the former in the beginning and retired, too tired to watch it. Last night, we finished watching the second half of Papillion (a great movie). Also today (and I’m afraid to write this, I procured (ahemm!) some Kodachrome film, so that I can take beautiful pictures, and maybe rewrite an article to accompany them. 20 rolls – 36 exposures. Free.

April 30th, 1983
Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

I felt somewhat better today. We watched Star Wars this morning. I can understand why people loved the film – it’s great. I finished reading the Werewolf of Paris. That’s a really great book. I like in the end when they reprint the exhumed body report of Bertrand Calbret, where they find a dog instead of a body!! Things are really nice concerning our hike to Teleformin in the respect that before we hiked to Kutubu, Kelly (Pita) and I were both sort of apprehensive about her ability – but after we had reached Pimaga, she started talking about the next hike like she had decided it was on. We were supposed to be at Ed’s tonight, but we’re just not ready, and I want to relax and rest so I’ll be strong and ready for our grand exit from PNG. (I hope it’s successful.) Note: The San Mig beer here tastes great.

May 1st, 1983
Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

9 pm. This is a notable moment, as I have been gone from home for exactly half a year. We sailed from Point San Pablo Yacht Club at 9 pm, Nov 1st, 1982. Pita and I have been together almost the whole time (except for the 9 days I was away in Rabaul). The longest I’ve ever been away from home before (from the USA, that is) was when I went to South America, when I was away about six months. I would say I will be gone from the USA about a year more, but I can’t say for sure, as my plans are fluid.
The city of Mt. Hagen, where we’re presently having a rest stop, is actually located some miles from Mount Hagen, the mountain. This city is located in the floor of a valley, which is fairly large. In it’s virgin state, the area was probably beautiful but it is in no way an area of spectacular beauty that characterizes much of this country. – Today we re-watched Star Wars and the Deer Hunter and prepared things to go home.

May 2nd, 1983
Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

Taking care of business, mailing packages, thinking of all the details that will effect our departure from PNG smoothly. Living in luxury and enjoying it fully.
Tonight we watched The French Connection, then Boys from Brazil, and finally Let’s Scare Jessica To Death. I had always maintained that the last (Let’s Scare…) was the scariest movie I ever saw, but I found it terribly slow, now viewing it years later (the last time I saw it was with Marty Friedman and Jim Romeo at the Millbrae theatre after watching my brother Marc play football in San Jose, when we walked in as everyone was excited, thus seeing the movie for free). The French Connection wasn’t near as good as the book, Boys From Brazil was excellent, just fantastic!!! Kelly and I are starting to make love a lot now that we have a bed and a little privacy. When I make love a few times a day, it excites me so that it makes me want it more and more. I really love feeling lusty and having it satisfied in the arms of loving woman. I enjoy being virile!!

May 3rd, 1983
Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

Tonight we stayed up late. We began the evening watching The Hot Rock, a Robert Redford movie about stealing a diamond. It was pretty good. The next film was The Boston Strangler. It was also quite watchable. It was late when we flipped on The Man Who Would Be King, but tired as I was, it was still good watching (and I’d seen it once before). These days here in Hagen are quite nice. I had a beautiful dinner of lamb chops, fried potatoes and onions and corn. Kelly fixes it up right good! While we’re watching the videos, we eat huge piles of popcorn smothered with butter. I am indulging myself quite a bit while we’re here in preparation for the privations I am about to put myself through this month – many days on our way to Oksapmin, Telefomin, etc. will be spent in hard physical exercise and few amenities. I’m enjoying while I can. P.S. – Rod is an excellent host.

May 4th, 1983
Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

We had intended to leave Mt. Hagen today, but it became obvious that it would be better to stay. We mailed packages to both Vanimo and to the US and Japan. I spent most of the evening writing about the Lake Katubu trip in my journal. I finished writing in the last page available in the journal (which contains my thoughts all through the sailboat part of the journey) and determined to mail it off to the USA tomorrow – hopefully it won’t get lost – it is a very important document to me – it is practically a book!
For dinner I enjoyed lamb again, which is very cheap. A good-sized lamb chop is only about 60t – it comes from New Zealand where lamb is plentiful. I went to the map service today to find the quickest way to Mt. Giluive and it seemed apparent that we should go along the wold Wabag-Mendi road to Tumbul and ask the folks there to guide. On this point, it should be noted that I was wrong, but didn’t know till afterwards. By going to a village from the Mendi side, some ways from Malgi which we reached under the advice of the Tambul people, we could have, according to Ed Struvee, have reached the base of the mountain 4 hours and the top in another 2. As it was, by going to Tambul, we never reached the top of Mt. Giluive! Of course we enjoyed our buttery popcorn again tonight.

May 5th, 1983
Malgi Village, Near Tambul, Western Highlands, PNG

I went in the morning to town, bought a mosquito net and returned the keys to Rod. At about 11 am, Kelly and I left Mt. Hagen. We got a free ride to where the Wabag road branches off to Tambul. In a few minutes, another ride took us into Tambul, situated in a valley. A man arranged for a guide named Yopai to take us up Giluive. We paid 1.50 to take a truck out to a village name Malgi, where we spent the evening and night in the house of a young man named David. The evening was filled with negotiations and discussion about what we would pay, how many men we would bring and how far it was to the top of Mt. Giluive. In Pidgin English, there is no way to say “how many Kilometers is it?” – the people can’t say, and because they don’t have watches, they often disagree on times. Also, there were different interpretations of Mt. Giluive – some meant its peak and others it slopes. We were given estimates from 3 to 12 hours to get to its top. We slept on a cushion on the dirt floor. Before we went to bed, we had arranged for Yopai to take us for K8, a blanket and a pair of pants, and for his nephew, Laka, to come along for K4. As it turned out, it was lower to K6 and K2, and that for only one day’s hiking. I wish I didn’t need a guide.

May 6th, 1983
Malgi Village, Near Tambul, Western Highlands, PNG

What a day! (Don’t take that to mean great!) We woke early and began to hike at 7:15 am, me, Kelly, Laka and Yopai. Kelly was irritating me, and when she said she did it “Cause it’s fun!” I threatened to leave, but was convinced to go on. We started at about 2600 meters and hiked through the bush to the grassland to about 3600 meters. I carried my pack much of the way. When we got a bit into the high grassland, Yopai said we’d hike for 2 hours and then comeback and build a house on the edge – from this ensued a discussion which brought to light the claim of Yopai’s that he thought we had a tent, and that without it, we could not make it to Giluive, since it was a 15 hour trip from there to Giluive’s top. This culminated a series of contradictory stories. I was going to go on alone, but Kelly wanted me to forget it, and I didn’t want to go up so bad, so we all turned back and went to the village again. David let us in, and his family came in from Mt. Hagen in the night. He gave us his ‘room’ to sleep in. Even though I was a bit disappointed, I still enjoyed the walk, as usual.

May 7th, 1983
Mendi, Southern Highlands, PNG

Woken in the morning after another fairly restless insect-ridden night. Unloaded our bags from David’s tunnel-like, grass-mosaic designed room, drank a cup of coffee in a room filled with his family (Mom, Pop, etc.) and others, and walked to Tambul (2½ hours). Just before reaching Tambul, I took a dip in ice-cold water – a good way to start the day.
Once in Tambul, we waited a few hours until we finally got a ride, passing our time munching corn and sugar cane from the market. Said bye to David, boarded truck and got a ride to Togoba, where the road splits from Hagen to Mendi/Wabag. Caught another ride to Kaupena, and shortly thereafter another a bit beyond Ialibu. There, we waited on the grassland at 6,000 feet eating chocolate till after 5 pm when a government vehicle gave us a fast ride to arrive in the dark in Mendi. Ed wasn’t home so we ate some cheese sandwiches on his porch until we were tired, whence we slept. He came home about midnight and we got inside, had hot Milo, smoked a joint. Kelly and I made vivid, warm love and then got up and prepared a meal of hot cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.

May 8th, 1983
Mendi, Southern Highlands, PNG

Ed got up and announced he was going bush walking, so I wasted no time at all in getting ready. I popped 3 mushrooms he gave me, had a quick breakfast, and we head out from Mendi Valley. The shrooms had no effect really, but there was no need for artificial stimulation, what with the wonderful scenery – over on our left is an extinct volcano ‘about 200,000 years old,’ says Ed. He points out the mountain ranges and folds, approximate ages, how the Pacific plate colliding with the Australian plate has caused the upheaval of New Guinea.
We go over a ridge, smoke a j, and head down to a river, passing prehistoric tree ferns. On the river, we eat lunch and Ed goes off to take pictures and gather orchards for his garden. He brings back all the specimens he finds – little clusters of orchards smaller than the tip of my finger. As I sit on a rock, his dog, Boots, contemplates how to get to us, falls in the river, and gives up. I go off to shoot pictures of orchards with my tripod. We smoke a bomber on the return trip. The mist and clouds painting Mendi up beautifully. The shrooms never really took effect. Evening, Kelly’s welling pussy brings joy.

May 9th, 1983
Tari, Southern Highlands, PNG

Ed wakes up and K and I follow suit. He pays us for the maps we brought to him less the $ (Or K, I should write) for the bilas we got from him (Bilas: native jewelry). We withdrew K160 each, went food shopping, Kelly bought a pack, and we got out to the Nipa junction on the Hagen – Mendi road. (Before we left Ed’s, we had a cordial goodbye – we exchanged sincere thanks – I rigged up a light for his plants, I gave him some addresses – Jeff Clymer’s, Kevin Hickey’s and Norma’s and Mom’s).
While waiting for a free lift, I traded some bilum string and a sheet for a nice kina shell. We caught a ride on the back of a truck, which was going all the way to Tari! The ride lasted from 3 pm to 7:30 pm. The brisk, ice-cold, refreshing air was ever-present as we passed by the road we had taken to the Nembi turnoff (on our way to Kutubu), passed Nipa, through gorgeous stretches of 8,000 foot savannahs with groves of sparse tree-ferns, passed the Tari gap at 8,824 feet. The driver let us stay at his SDA mission. Hot shower, dinner and a bed. (Fresh soup and passion fruit jam.)

May 10th, 1983
Koroba, Southern Highlands, PNG

What a trippy day! I’ve seen more and been more impressed today than any other day yet in PNG. We woke at the Nissho place and had a high healthy breakfast. The Nissho men were flying to Kiunga – we went to the airport – once in town, we began seeing the fabulous Hule men with their amazingly imaginative wigs and colorings. In the market, one man wanted K10 for a picture, so instead, I snapped 4 surreptitious shots by pointing the camera, unobtrusively snapping the pictures with my thumb. We caught a ride to Koroba in a government vehicle. It was raining when we got there, and a whole herd of wigmen were at the district mangers office to get out of the rain. To my surprise, they were very much into having their picture taken – it followed that we had a super film – taking session with a crowd of wigmen.
Later, after being offered accommodation, we were brought to a place that had artifacts for sale – it was a burn hut with a gathering of bush people – two old men adorned themselves in bilas and put on a mock fight – wore a wig. In the evening, our host presented me with a dagger (bone of cassowary) and he gave me a traditional hornbill ornament that they wear on their backs. Lastly, he gave me a stone axe head that he found while digging in the garden.

May 11th, 1983
Koroba, Southern Highlands, PNG

This place is great. The people are far-out; it makes me feel like I’m in the Haight Ashbury in the 60s for some reason. Today, I had an incredible stroke of luck. We went down to the place where we’d gone yesterday – the bush hut where the guy sells stuff. Well, he pulls out a piece of bamboo, and withdraws from it a matching set of bird of paradise feathers. After minutes of apprehension, I asked him how much he wanted. He said K10. I bought them immediately. (Kelly wanted one, and is a bit perturbed I didn’t give her one.) In the evening, Kelly and I started talking about writing. We developed a theme for Pita Pukpuk and Proxmire Pidgin – the Adventures of. There are few rides out of here. Tomorrow, we’re going to give it a serious try – Again, today, many people allowed their pictures to be taken. In the evening, 2 men dressed in awesome attire and paint came to visit our host and us.

May 12th, 1983
Lake Kopiago, Southern Highlands, PNG

Awesomeness. Before we left this morning, Mrs. And Mr. Kulu gave us a necklace each, and gave me an armband. I carefully packed away my bird of paradise feathers. The feathers are stored in a bamboo that looks old and uninteresting and we got on the road. We soon got a ride to the junction 5 miles off where the road goes to Kopiago. Thursday’s, they have a market there. Along ambled an old, small man with 4 sugar cane sticks. He freely offered one. In return, I gave him a small amulet that Mom had given me from Costa Rica. He had no other bilas on, and when others tried to touch it, he chased them away with the sugar cane.
At the market, I bought a string bag for K4. The whole day, only one truck came from Kopiago and one, too full to take us, went there. We were quite an attraction – always, there was a crowd around us. They laughed when I played their flute, they have these awesome–sounding traditional flutes – I bought one the other day for 30t and when I smoked their bruis, bruis is their local tobacco - it makes me feel dizzy and good.
At 4:30 pm, the government truck that came from Kopiago, picked us up on their return. As we rode along the winding, narrow track, a wave of joy passed over me – full of visions of the land awaiting us beyond this, the final road in present day New Guinea. We stood for 4½ hours in the truck bed, exhilarated by the cold air and involved in an animated conversation with a local. We slept at OICS’s house. OIC means Officer in Charge. In each government station, there is an officer in charge.
P.S. – We found out that there is going to be a sing-sing on Saturday in Kopiago. There are going to be people from Kopiago, Oksapmin and Telefomin. We may be able to walk with them.
P.P.S. – New route to Vanimo: Telefomin, to Green River, to Amanop, to Amonda, To Baywani, then by road to Vanimo.

May 13th, 1983
Lake Kopiago, Southern Highlands, PNG

(When I get rich, I will have to travel to sunny weather always.) Stupendous day. This place is gorgeous. It was hot and sunny today. The color green is all its moods dwells here. The magic of the sky, as she performs her dusk miracles was ours to behold on our walk back home form the Lutheran mission where we gave our boxes to some folks we met to mail for us. K and I had awesome sex. I made her come with my mouth after I had and we did it again too. Dinner with the OIC and his wife was huge bowl of greens and fresh cow meat, with rice and potatoes. I gorged.
There is going to be a sing-sing tomorrow. People are coming form Oksapmin and Telefomin. Just now I heard some men singing outside. I feel injected with lightheartedness and waves of joy pass over me. Saw some birds of paradise feathers 2 skins for K8 today in the market. Got Telefomin and Stolle maps at the post office as arranged. The country we’re to hike through looks gorgeous. My life is a dream – a beautiful high, a scintillating sky.

May 14th, 1983
Lake Kopiago, Southern Highlands, PNG

Sing-Sing: Today, I happily viewed my first sing-sing, and it was totally awesome. It started about 10 am. There were three groups from the area: the Hewas, who were dressed in long hats and feathers: some wore long string hats and others wore these huge headdresses with 1000’s of feathers. There were only 10 or so, as the Hewas are a relatively small clan - they danced almost continuously. The Hulis were amazing – they had spectacular wigs of possum hair, copious bird of paradise feathers and splendid paint on their faces, sometimes black, sometimes they had blue beards. They were 30 upward of the fellows; they got in a circle and danced around with drums counterclockwise, hopping up and down. The other Huli group was too awesome. Their faces were painted bright red and yellow; they had grease on their backs again, spectacular wigs. I was running all over the grounds snapping pictures.
I saw about 2½ - 3 hours of the festival. I bought some beautiful bird of paradise feathers – 2 kina for 2 birds!! On days like today, it’s hard to write everything on one page. Pius Pape, our host arranged for 4 fellows to come with us tomorrow toward Oksapmin. I arranged to pay 8 kina per day in total for their services. We had another good meal on Pius’ table.

May 15th, 1983 (1)
Yokona, Southern Highlands, PNG

We left Kopiago at about 7:30 am today. I thoroughly enjoyed the hike which ended in Yokona, some distance away, at about 5:30 pm. We had a couple of spectacular scenes present themselves: off in the distance, the walls of the Strickland gorge, a rich light grass green against the deep green of the fest and the vertical walls of black and white limestone (granite?) cliffs. We got farther than we’d expected and it was easier than we (I) expected, of new sights: a young cassowary, 2 baby cassowaries.
Today before we left, I exchanged gifts with Pius – I gave him a necklace from the Soloman’s and he gave me a Bob stone axe head. I can hardly believe I got such beautiful feathers yesterday for only 2 kina. We just bought about 20 ears of corn, 6 potatoes, about 30 medium to small tomatoes (and one 7” papaya) and 4 feet of sugar cane for K1.10. We munch out, devouring corn, potatoes, beans, hot dogs, milo, tomatoes until we’re stuffed. We use our mosquito net for the first time.

May 16th, 1983 (2)
Gava, West Sepik, PNG

STIRCKLAND: Wow! The scenery I saw today may be the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. Up at 6:30, we were on the road shortly after 7 am. In short notice, we were out in the grassland of the spectacular Strickland gorge, the grassland, from a distance looking like a well-kept, gorgeous field, carpets the mountain sides as the plunge for miles wound down to the Strickland river. In various spots, one may find limestone cliffs or dark green rain forests clinging to the ravines and mountainsides. The blue sky, the drifting clouds, the ridges of rubble and green interspersed, the grass polka-doted with trees, all add to the natural wonder. One is reminded that this area is untouched, virgin, there are no roads connecting this area with the rest of PNG. We reached the river before 11, climbed up the enormous grass slope on the other side, then through rain forest and up a new-cliff, through a splendid valley, up a ridge, then into the valley nowhere Gava rests on the opposite slope, now we are in a village house.

May 17th, 1983 (3)
Tekin, West Sepik, PNG

Tonight, I get to sleep in a bed with sheets and a blanket, but first: Morning, and we mixed last night’s rice and powdered milk and made mush, and had coffee for breakfast. At 8:30, we hiked. Soon, we were climbing the ridge that separates Gavea from Oksapmin. Up, up, up, then down, down, down into the bowl-like valley of Oksapmin. We were beside the airstrip and vegetable market ½ hour past noon. Our guides tried to get us to pay each of them what we had arranged to pay totally, K20, but the OIC’s 2nd man heard our story, we paid K20, and caught one of the 2 vehicles here, the Baptist tractor, to Tekin. We had lunch in the wagon bed. The Baptist couple Ian and Carol were hospitable. They charged us each K2. We had hot milo, dinner, more milo and showers and beds. We looked at maps and decided I’d walk to Telefomin and Frieda River, Kelly would stay here and fly to Frieda to meet me. We made warm succulent love before sleeping. Saw our first penis gourds today.

May 18th, 1983 (4)
Tekap, West Sepik, PNG

In accordance with decisions made last night, I left for Telefomin today, but not until I had –
1) Slept late (10:15 am),
2) Eaten to my hearts content
3) Argued and made up with Kelly, culminating with me telling her “I love you so much and she responding in kind to me – the first time we ever exchanged these vows of sweetness.
I further delayed 15 minutes in order to enjoy a hot Milo and chocolate cupcakes, courtesy of Carol. I bade Carol and Ian goodbye, and Kelly and I walked down the road together for a while, beginning at 4:10 pm. She walked with me ½ hour or so and we stopped and shared a very sweet goodbye, again saying “I love you.” She waved me into the distance and I walked to Divanap, where “Master Lawrence” lives. Marshall and Helen Lawrence invited me to dinner – I had lamb chops, and chocolate pudding with whipped crème for dessert!! Marshall has the distinction of the first man to master the Oksapmin language.
After dinner, he walked me to the Tekap market area, where he conversed in Oksapmin and procured a place for me to stay – I slept in a room with a fir and penis gourds on the wall.

May 19th, 1983 (5)
Wava, West Sepik, PNG

4 pm. I am going to sleep here tonight out of necessity, though it’s not a bad place – if I could only communicate!! It became apparent last night that it would be quicker to walk straight to the Freida River form here rather than go to Telefomin, which would be out of the way. This morning in the Tekap market, I could not find a man to take me to Duranmip, which is about ½ way to Frieda River Station, my destination; but they found a young man who would take me to Fitiwapa, a few hours away, where I could ask for a man. I walked for 3½ hours and arrived at this place. I emphasize that I went through real bush track, narrow, winding, virtually straight up and down. I was carrying the big pack and was tired when I got here. I paid the boy 40t an hour, or 1.50 and he left. No one here speaks English, and I have had little luck in making headway for a guide to Duranmin. But I’ve got a room with a fire, and I’ll just sit tight until tomorrow. Met Tilot who says he’ll take me.

May 20th, 1983 (6)
Mahosha, West Sepik, PNG

(1 minute away from the Ogona River) I saw a bird of paradise today – a red one – but it didn’t have its plumes yet. It flew back and forth to a tree one time.
(The fact that the place I’m at even has a name is surprising.) Definitely, there have been few days I’ve ever excited myself as much as today. At 7am, Tilot, two other boys and I left Wapa and started north. Not too much later, we passed the hill above Wapa and were looking out across a fog-streaked valley. Way in the distance was a mountain, Mt. Govi. Fortunately, the day was spent predominately going downhill. (I never talked about money with Tilot, so I ended up carrying my pack and he took the little daypack. Mine weighs about 40lbs.) My knees feel raw from all the abuse. I slip on logs a lot – it’s a wonder I haven’t hurt myself.
I saw an amazing electric blue beetle today. I took two color slides of it! But the day’s toils were so well rewarded that I feel ecstatically content! The last ½ hour – of the hike (which ended at 3:40 pm) was spent along the Ogona River, a pool-profuse moving body of drinking water. Makosa, a minute away, is a mere overhead canopy of bush material bordered by a stream. I refreshed myself in the river. The two boys we were with found 6 large (about 4” long eggs.) After my cabbage soup, we feasted on these delicacies, including friend embryo. I’m writing this in my mosquito net by candlelight.

May 21st, 1983 (7)
Wapubuta (near Okoma River), West Sepik, PNG

Writing by dim candlelight inside a strange museum of a house! We have arrived, but none were here to greet us - Tilot explains that their Wantok have gone off to plant sago. (I am curious – when I removed the plank of the door, there was a vine growing on it. All over the house are jawbones of animals [pigs, cuscus], spears, bows, pig tails, bone daggers, old bags of clothes.) Thus, the men that were supposed to guide me aren’t here. It has been suggested that my friends here walk me to the Fu River and I should walk the 12 miles upriver to Duranmin! I have my reservations!! Tilot said one of the boys said he knows the way by bush track. As I go to sleep, I don’t know about tomorrow.
Today, we awoke in Makosha, left at 8 am without breakfast, and walked down (north) the Ogona River. I was dragging – I was still worn out from yesterday! We cut through bush to the Okoma River, had lunch on the river, and then hiked to a house in a garden where we supped on sweet potatoes. We left and walked a bit to Wapubunta’s only other house but no one is to be seen at all. This is both weird and wonderful. I pulled a boo-boo today. In the morning, I cracked the back of the camera before unwinding the film! But I immediately shut it back up again! It’s possible I haven’t exposed the film – I hope only a few frames! I took an awesome shot of a red and blue butterfly today sitting, as if posing on a rock in the sun.

May 22nd, 1983 (8)
Sheaville, very near Fu River (on bank), West Sepik, PNG

As I lay me down to sleep this night, I am under the spell of full contentment. (Near the foremost of reasons is a well-nourished stomach.) When I awoke, the 3 “guides” were sleeping. After some debate among themselves, they said they’d take me to Duranmin if I paid them – I whittled it down to paying K6 to Tilot and K2.50 for each of the others, or K11 for the whole trip.
We walked (begin: 8:25 am) down to the Bi River, where it meets the Ok Oma. They tried crossing it, but I was the only one to make it. Then, I had to walk on the opposite side of the river. Finally, I crossed back over, and we walked on. They found a hybrid, but it had recently died. I snapped a photo.
Eventually, after noon, I ascertained that they were afraid of the river, so I convinced them to go back and cross it where I had. We joined hands and made it easily. Then, the work began. We went straight up a mountainside, then along it, then down, finally coming to the FU River. (The 2 younger boys found another 5 giant eggs near the crest of the ridge.) They were going to build a shelter, but I looked at the map and convinced them there should be a shelter upriver. There was one about ½ km away! (Which I named after myself, as no one knew the name). I made soup with rice, we had kau-kau, and we cooked all the eggs with some lamb curry. It was delicious – I’m delightfully full. It’s raining. I’m in my mosquito net!

May 23rd, 1983 (9)
Duranmin, West Sepik, PNG

I’m now laying down in a nice hut. It’s very late. Today, we woke up at 6 am, ate cereal and coffee, and kav-kav, and began to walk at 7:25 am. Again, I crossed the river and they turned back, so I had to go it alone on my side for a while. Eventually, we saw smoke on my side of the river. A man had built a fire. He beckoned my “guides” come across, which they did. The man informed us that we were close to Duranmin. We walked along the river, often cutting up into the bush, often going up steep slopes. We found a papaya tree and ate a not-ripe-enough “paw-paw.” We reached a place where there was a village on the other side at about 1:15 pm. The people beckoned us over. They gave us banunnas, kav-kav and a ripe papaya. Another ½ hours walk brought us to the Duranmin airstrip. It’s a really pretty place here. George, a national, set me up in this place. We called Tekin on the radio, and I spoke to Ian because Kelly had gone to the Lawrence’s. My “guides” are talking about flying back because it’s a long way and they’re scared to cross the river. It was a great hike.

May 24th, 1983 (10)
Duranmin, West Sepik, PNG

4 pm. Postscript to hike: The reader (be it myself must forgive me for not being better at relating the meaningful occurrences on my hikes. It must suffice to relate that I thoroughly enjoyed beating my brains out on the trail. After awhile, it no longer seems like work. I felt like I was off “camping with the boys.” I saw plenty of beautiful butterflies – some are a brilliant luminous blue that catches the eye as the circle (note: one just flew past my feet.) The rivers, many, and virgin. Evidence of life – fresh bird eggs. Orchards, too many to count, purple, red and yellow, orange. The simple pleasures refresh my heart. – I slept late today – after 9 am.
I had a delightful breakfast of granose, bananas and sugar and a rich cup of powdered coffee. I meticulously tended to the many scratches on my legs and hands, trying toward off the ubiquitous tropical sore. At 2:30 pm, I talked to Kelly in Tekin by radio. To my surprise, she wants to fly here and finish the hike with me! She’s supposed to arrive in late morning, and the plan is to hike tomorrow afternoon, in hopes of reaching Wabia tomorrow. I read a lot from my Pidgin English teacher today, though too late, this progress is good. I wrote to my Grandma. Simple day.

May 25th, 1983 (11)
Duranmin, West Sepik, PNG

The rain sounds like comfort to me waiting for my day to start, wrapped in down, heavenly morning. The drip, drip excites a premature exit from my wraps, a drip, drip of water between the broken thatch of the roof. Supplying my body with copious amounts of rich coffee, my hand yields an account of the previous days adventures, as I pass the morning. And Kelly fly’s to Druranmin in early afternoon, a picture of red pigin grass across the airstrip amidst brown bodies amidst green mountains. We talk and share experiences, drink hot drinks, exchange lingering kisses and soft words, which flow from love’s wellspring of truth – the heart. Before dark, a walk along the banks and undressing, a dip in refreshing water. A glass wing butterfly poses for a picture. Over a good dinner, the laughter lingers on. The lantern light vanishes and sounds of ecstasy based in passion can be heard without the walls of these lovers in the moonlight.

May 26th, 1983 (12)
Fumanabid, West Sepik, PNG

We leave among well-wishes, I take Tilot’s address (look at their glum faces), and at 8:30 am, our new companions and stragglers follow us on the road. The breakfast of Granose and papaya and coffee really stoked me up, and like champions we assailed the riverbed. Kelly had been assured by me to carry her own pack until someone offered to help, and as I predicted, assistance was granted, I, still carrying my 50 lb. (Kelly brought the rest of my possessions) pack. We left the Fu River and went uphill, Kelly telling me how much she likes the rain forest. And in short order, 3½ hours of walk, Kelly, Atemik (Hereafter referred to as Atomic), Waning (Hereafter referred to as Warning), and I came to Fumanobip, which we stopped at, though only 12 noon, because we were too late to reach the next houses. We stayed in a big raised house on a ridge, from which we had a good view. I will always remember Fumanabip as a pig-shit-ridden, waterless village of poor sight choice and design but a wonderful day, fair, then a night of rain.

May 27th, 1983 (13)
Kutbama, West Sepik, PNG

I am so tired. It is so wonderful to stop here in this haven. My knees are painful, I have almost no energy, my hands are sore from scratches and thorns, my side is bruised and my shoulders are getting raw! Ah, for the love of the hike. It was 11 hours from start to finish today, start being at 7:40 am and arrival on this side of heaven at 6:40 pm. And we didn’t really stop much. Here, in this garden house, there are trees with scores of giant papayas, banana trees, a pristine crashing brook, and only us four. The best company a tired man could have! Kelly and Atomic and Warning. We went up and down today, and then we spent the middle of the day plodding up a colossal ridge of forest. Then it began to rain, as we descended the Wabia side. My joints ached. An egg finally revived me. I sang songs from musicals. Atomic and Warning laughed as I commented on how the Fumanabips live in pig shit! I rate my tiredness as one of the ten most tired days of my life.

May 28th, 1983 (14)
Wabia, West Sepik, PNG (Shangri-La)

Now, I am in Shangri-La. We awoke (as we do) groggy-eyed, barely able to move, and then in minutes, feeling like a million bucks, sensing the transition from utter fatigue to refreshed. My favorite morning of hot coffee, milo, cereal, relaxed preparation for the day by a fire. I take a photo of Kutbama with a background of running fog and green peaks. After I remove a thorn from Atomic’s foot, we leave at 9:50 am, cross a naturally made bridge above a gusting tumult, come to look upon fair Wabia above. We cross a bridge high up on rocky walls over the river, which joins many to become the Frieda, and soon our journey to Wabia is done.
Away miles looms Mt. Ava, at times vertical, beautiful, impressive. Wabia is on a hill surrounded by mountains. Diverted river becomes a sculpted Waterway providing the ideal washing area, eventually flowing under the outhouse and away from the village. We’re given a sunny room. Kelly prompts me to ask for a chicken and Warning grabs bow and arrow. Soon, the whole village is running after a hen, shooting specially made arrows, throwing rocks. I help feather and cut the still-living creature. The night sky was tremendous – both mist and sparkling, the moon with a bow.

May 29th, 1983 (15)
Wabia, West Sepik, PNG

Rest, rest, glorious rest. I babied myself today. Of course, I had to. My feet are developing a case of jungle rot from being exposed to wet shoes constantly. I laid down a good part of the day. I tried to keep my feet dry. I wrote in my notebooks, trying to catch up with events as they happen, as I want a body of literature from which I can write an article or a story. Some guys came in our room today and just stared. It’s really incredible. (When I was gone, Atomic and Warning came in with nonchalance as Kelly sat bare breasted. Later, they and another lad came in and, while I was sitting there, this boy gaped at Kelly’s breasts. Another time, she was in her underwear.) Finally, these guys say they were going to take us to Frieda Base Camp, which is our next to last hiking destination. At night, Kelly and I bickered over kitchen soup, which eaten turned into a wrestling match, which finally turned into a raucous tender, passionate, overwhelming lovemaking time.

May 30th, 1983 (16)
(!!)
Lost in the woods, near Unamo, West Sepik, PNG

It is to be noted that he slightest misstep or event can result in the most odd sequence of events, some of extreme pleasure and some of pain. So many little things, which, had they been taken care of, would have saved us from this night of peril. The morning held us in leisure, and a hearty breakfast, until 8:30 am when we set off. Kelly’s extreme bitter tears soon came in a result from her having to carry her bag a ways, while I, confident that help would be offered by one of our 3 companions (ages approximately 30, 25, 10), showed no sympathy, and rashly.
Finally, making good time we had lunch at a rock overhang a ways passed Mt. Ava. One fellow had Kelly’s great bag with most of our food and her bilums, while I carried my 50 lb. pack and Kelly, her daypack. They let us go ahead because Kelly was slow. Way out in front, I made a wrong turn at a stream, and they followed my tracks to find me on the big river 1 hour 15 minutes later. We walked along the river till 4 pm when we declined to spend the night in a river hut. Our guides took off for Unamo so fast, we never saw them again.

May 31st, 1983 (17)
(!!)
River hut, near Ok Milak River, West Sepik, PNG

To continue last night’s saga: We followed a trail, K and I, which seemed to be the right one, up, up, north, towards Unamo. We never saw our guides nor a trace of them, through they should have waited. Finally, at 7 pm, dark and raining it was, and we decided to rest. We tried sleeping. Tempers flared, hungry, uncomfortable, wet through the night. In bits we had our sleep. We cursed our guides who had stranded us and taken our food pack. We debated what to do.
In the morning, I scouted around for a little over an hour; I thought it best that we go back to Wapia. My feet are rotting away, and the wet clothes make my pack, I’ll bet, 60 lbs. We struggle, hungry and nearly sleepless, for 2¾ hours, arriving at the hut near the river, which we could have slept in last night, but for a desire to push on to Unamo, the “halfway” point. Now, we plan to spend the night here, make a fire, dry our clothes out, eat and sleep a dreamless sleep.

June 1st, 1983 (18)
(!!)
Waia, West Sepik, PNG

[It is very very wonderful to be alive.] (near midnight) We woke in the shelter near the water and made love in the comfort of a down bag, rain pouring just out of reach, us in a mosquito net. We had hot honey water, some peanut butter, and a bite or two of coned beef. We proceeded at 8:45 am. Recognizing several broken logs, etc. we made our way upriver. At 10:20 am, I was starting to get spooked as we hadn’t found the rock on the river where Kelly had tended to a wound. But we soon came across a crushed shelter I recognized, somehow we’d bypassed the river route, and were surely on our way. We came to the stream, then a long unsure climb to the lunch rock! Finding this put us about 4 hours away and definitely on route!!
We had cheese and hot honey water and chocolate and sat by a fire I’d started with tree resin. At 12:45 pm we left. We rounded a mountain, down, up, down, and up to the final landmark, a shelter on a hill!!! We arrived at 3:15 pm, had a rest and headed on at 3:45 pm. We felt we were getting close. At 5:30 pm, we came to Wabia. Tonight, I went to talk to them, and they brought us coffee, sugar and milk. They sympathize.

June 2nd, 1983 (19)
Wabia, West Sepik, PNG

A drowsy, uneventful day. It is good to be alive – that is for sure. We kaikai the various vegetables that are given to us. We offer to buy a chicken, but no one seems to want to part with one. A man named Kanknoe, the bother-in-law of Waneng, offers to walk to Unamo with me on Saturday, and Frieda on Sunday. I am afraid that my feet will not hold up with only 2 day’s rest. I’d like to wait until Sunday if I could. Kelly and I are dying for some meat and other “waitskin” food. We make a list of all the items in the missing green pack, and it is disheartening to think we may lose all of it, but I still have hope. My feet are really a mess of jungle rot and infections. I spend the day resting, reading the Pidgin book, talking to the Wabians about our situation. In the evening they make what we dubbed “bush pizza” – this meal topped with red pandannus sauce – its rather bland. The fireflies light the sky of the Wabian night.

June 3rd, 1983 (20)
Wabia, West Sepik, PNG

Gee, I wonder what the folks back home are doing!! There’s Mom and Pop and Gram and my Bros, and Sister, etc on my family (Uncles, Aunts, Cousins), friends Jeff, Gary, Tom, Mike, Drew, Kevin, Tim, Vinnie, Sven, Eric, girls Norma, Mandy (& all the others I forget presently). I think of music, America, cars, planes, TV. Kelly and I think of food. We discuss Italy’s wonderful kai – spaghetti, salami, ETC! Now, France. San Francisco: Tucca’s delicatessen – my mind’s eye roves across the counters: sourdough, fogaccio, raviolis, cheese! Then, every day’s favorites: Fenton’s Creamery and banana splits. Mom’s thin pancakes with hot real maple syrup! (A McDonald’s Big Mac). Roast beef with parboiled potatoes and gravy! Salami! Cottage cheese strudel! Fresh turkey sandwiches with real mayonnaise! Artichoke heart omelets!! Mrs. Fields chocolate chip cookies!!!!! We are killing each other softly!! We are starved for these luxuries! We must wait here another day in Wabia. Good news!!! A man coming from Unamo says another Wabian has found our pack there and is bringing it!! I mend my shoes! The Wabians are kind, they bring us food.

June 4th, 1983 (21)
Wabia, West Sepik, PNG

The birds are singing, but we do not hear. The sun shines, but clouds obscure its brilliance. The clouds bring rain, the earth must yield its first, but harvest is yet to come. I awake, and I while hour after hour mending my shoes. I think of tomorrow, when I will go onward – blessedly onward, ah!, to finish what one sets to do, what can be more blessed!! The fire boils in Kelly to go too, and I, at first reluctant, finally submit, after hours of discussion, heated arguments, she wills her way back to the wild. I hear, but I cannot understand.
Atemik, wild eyes, laughing, keeps me good company with the mild lantern man, my duplex neighbor. I hear sounds, I understand. To my feet, I now see Kelly’s green pack, on the back of a sweating man who found the pack and brought it back – we gave him K10 reward. Everything is intact. Supper, I pass to sleep. I awake, boil back at Kelly! I pray. We lay down, we hold, we tighten, and we love each other, always sweet. We snack, and we sleep. The birds shall sing, and we shall hear, the sun will shine, and we shall bask. The earth will yield, and we shall feast on the Harvest.

June 5th, 1983 (22)
Wesibil, West Sepik, PNG

Bobness of bobness, miracles of miracles. “Today, Kelly was the greatest walker, chimes Kelly to prompt my writing hand into action. Amidst friendly goodbyes, we left Wabia at 8:10 am. We retraced our steps of Monday and Wednesday, only this time, in a cheery mood, Kelly and I rattling, chattering about any subject we happed upon; around one mountain, then passing Mt. Ava, thrusting glory to the sky; a most remarkable caterpillar alighted on my arm – I snapped 4 photos of its magnificence!! We descend. Ah, the picture – perfect waterfall, I brave the H2O onslaught while Kelly snaps.
Past Coffee Rock past Water Hut (oh! I slip and so nearly break my head!!), we stop. Where 5 days ago, nothing, we come to an amazing “bridge” – 30 meters of bamboo rope. It spans the “Frieda.” One strand. I ham it up, crossing, hanging on. Kelly snaps. Not only this. A new bush house has been erected. Kelly reminds me of our long-ago now, to stop at 3-4 pm at the latest (it’s 3 pm.) We make camp on the river. A wash. A hot milk coffee. The guides excellent company. We are oh-so-happy, goody day, Sunday.

June 6th, 1983 (23)
Inayetaman, West Sepik, PNG

Awaking in the river shelter which was built within the last five days, we retraced our steps on the road to Unamo – surprisingly, we had correctly followed the trail one week ago – past the place we’d slept, past where I’d turned back. Another 1¼ hours and we’d been in Unamo, had we followed a tricky river crossing. Unamo has a lovely view. We continued down, having lunch and waiting for the rain to stop at a shelter near the Henumai River.
At 2:30 pm, we left, crossed the Henumai, through the bush, then along a river (behainin wara!) to a shelter, where we camped at half past four. It was intriguing to hypothesize on our previous mis-adventure, now knowing the real route. It was rewarding to go further than we’d gone before. We are down to our last bit of food. I ate only part of my half of a taro for dinner, saving the rest for tomorrow. We have 2 soups left, having 2 for dinner. Kankoni and Roti found a pandannus, and, along with a taco and some plant from the bush, made a mumu. Very tired from little sleep last night, I passed a dream filled night. There are many beautiful sights in the bush. The answer to end “My unceasing self-torture,” is “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it.” My mind is fruitful!

June 7th, 1983 (24)
Frieda Base Camp (!), West Sedik, PNG

[Forward: My thoughts are many. My mind is turned on, now I feel my creative juices flowing. I feel the world is there to grab, it can all be mine. So many answers, there still is time!! Spiritual – Missing Link – “Success” – becomes philosopher king an ultimate, the PK Factor. My mind reels! The world is wide open. Politics the discipline. Now it is complete. Note that I am dead tired from hiking while writing this.]
Awoke at 4:30 am, wanting to get an early start!! Hiking at 6:50 am. Came upon the beautiful Ok Binai! Climbed a hill and had our last remaining 2 soups for lunch, along with a chunk of taro. Had arrived at this bush hut at 11:30 am, now at 1:15 pm, we set off for the last remaining hours to Top Camp! We arrived at about 3 pm. This is a mirage of everything we create! Invited to coffee in the mess hall, we snack on copious coffee, cookies, crackers, apples, cheese, juice and peanut butter!!! We are lead to our rooms!! Beds!! Hot showers!! Writing tables!! The helicopter comes and goes. The people seem surprised to see us arrive by foot!! Too good to be true, dinner and a movie. Dinner: BBQ steak, 2 sausages, onions, green pepper, tomato, Fries, rice, bread and butter, gray with onions, cold beer, ice cream, cookies, coffee, milo, hard boiled eggs. We sleep.

June 8th, 1983 (25)
Frieda Base Camp (!), West Sepik, PNG

Breakfast: Poached egg, sausage, spaghetti, 2 bowls of sweet granola, peaches and milk, toast, butter, orange juice, coffee. Free!!!
8:15 am: In helicopter, next to pilot, we go to the clouds, terrific views, I go on 2 separate trips to drop off field geologists.
10:00 am: (Morning tea:) Many saltines with butter, chocolate cookies and coffee.
12 pm Lunch: 2 pork chops, rice, tomato, cheese, red papaya, onion, peas, carrots, beer (80t), juice, cabbage. After this, I’m really full!!
Kelly and I made love in the after, a torrent of pleasure! I was too full to show up for afternoon tea, but by dinner, I was hungry! We walked in the rain to the mess. Being late arrivals, we salvaged what we could. I had 3 pieces of chicken, some greens, cabbage and tomato salad, and a bit of sauce. For dessert, I had canned pears with chocolate and strawberry topping. After dinner, we sat down and watched “Oh God! (Book 2)” which I really enjoyed. [Interspersed in the day’s activities were numerous games of gin rummy.] Before we went back to sleep I noticed that my ankles and feet were very swollen – most likely caused by the poisons generated by the numerous sores on my legs and feet. And so passes a day of luxury replete, here in Top Camp.

June 9th, 1983 (26)
Frieda Base Camp (!), West Sepik, PNG

Today, I determined to attend promptly all 5 eating occasions of the day. Breakfast was an egg omelet, sausage, spaghetti, granola, peaches, milk, toast, coffee. Morning tea: juice, coffee, saltines with butter and cookies. Lunch: A huge plate of spaghetti with cheese, juice. Afternoon tea: juice, coffee, saltines with butter, cookies. Dinner: Roast beef (!!), mushrooms, potatoes, pumpkin with onions, rice, salad, ice cream with chocolate toping for dessert! (Honorable mention: dinner’s aperitif of beer and peanuts; post movie snack of hot milo and cookies.) A full day of eating, no? Day interspersed with games of gin rummy.
I took another helicopter ride today. I talked with a man who says he’ll bring me to Ok Esai tomorrow, where I can catch a raft to Frieda Strip. My legs are somewhat better today, as I began taking Ampilillin last night, and the orderly dressed my sores today. I am excited with the prospect of completing the journey by food. I feel confident that once I start walking, my feet will stop hurting, I’ll forget about them. The swelling’s gone down. The move tonight was “Torn Curtain.” It was pretty good.

June 10th, 1983 (27)
Ok Esai, West Sepik, PNG

After a pleasant morning, I met Alok on the hill at 8 am, kissed Kelly goodbye, and set off. Up, down, up, down, up brukin maunten, now, i go daun, daun daun, come up long wara, bihainen lik lik wara, nav wara I go daun, come up het long Esai, nav bihainin wara I go go go. And so, after 7 hours, we turned a corner. My eye beheld what I immediately recognized as a tent of Frieda Base Camp, i.e., one of the field tents. Arriving at 3 pm, I waited till 3:45 pm when Ian came up with his men. Ian and I talked. He gave me some antibiotic powder, thank God!, as my sores are bad. He left his pillow for me.
At 5 pm, Bill came by in the helicopter and picked up Ian. I went for a bath in the river, I wrote. I fixed some rice risotto and coffee. In the late afternoon, Alok and the Tall Man, Sam, went to Ok Esai village to inquire about rafts. As I go to sleep, the plan is that Sam will take me to the Frieda in the morning, he’ll build a raft and we’ll float to the Strip. I slept in a bed with a mosquito net. What luxury!

June 11th, 1983 (28)
Frieda River Strip, East Sedik, PNG

“I wish every day could bring such excitement.” Had rice, corn and sugar with coffee for breakfast. The tall man walked me to the large Ok Esai village. There, a woman brought me a huge, ripe papaya. We walked some more, the tall man, his son and I, reaching the bikpela wara Frieda!! My walking is finished! I am ecstatic. I am told to wait while he goes off to build a raft. I stay in the shelter of what looks like a raft with a canopy and fireplace. I wait perhaps 2 hours. It must be noon. He comes back; we have papaya and coffee. Now we go to the raft! I am again ecstatic when I see the well-crafted vessel of logs, about 10’x 8’. It reminds me of Tom Sawyer.
We start down the river, through places with fast water. We pass beauty again and again. I get a good look at 2 hornbills in the open. After about 2 hours we arrive at the strip. Kelly is here; we go to look at the raft. A partial eclipse of the sun yields a strange light. We decide to take it down the river. We are given our cottage. Hot showers. Even better than Base Camp!!! I’m really happy. Delicious chicken dinner then “Goldfinger!”

June 12th, 1983 (29)
Frieda, River Strip, East Sepik, PNG

We breakfasted on plain omelets and sausages. [We enjoyed a lunch of ham and delicious rice. I went down for a cold beer, but someone had removed them. I noticed that the ice cream was abundant, so I helped myself to two huge bowls one with chocolate topping one with strawberry.] After breakfast, we went (with Roy) down to look at the progress Sam had made with the raft. He’d erected poles, but no real roof. At 10:15 am, Roy drove Kelly and I the 13 kilometers north to the end of the road. The barge which brought supplies, the Copper Queen, brought them this far upriver; from there, the supplies were trucked to the airstrip.
Later in the afternoon, when it as apparent that nothing more was to be done on the raft by Sam, since he’d gone already, we checked with Roy if it would be alright to finish it in the morning, and bring it to Calginas in the afternoon tomorrow (the end of the road), walk back, and spend one more night. He said it was okay. K and I made really nice love in the afternoon. She slept till the movie at 5 pm – Frieda Top Camp sent down “Oh God” (Book II), so we watched it again. It’s real good. After, dinner of steak with (more) ice cream for dessert. The river is roughest between here and Calginas, that’s our excuse, but I really wanted to stay one more day!

June 13th, 1983 (30)
Frieda River Strip, East Sepik, PNG

As planned, we moved he raft from the Strip to the end of the road, Calginas. We breakfasted on pork chops, beans and hard-boiled egg, toast with butter. We took two ham sandwiches along. First, we cut off the old canopy from a beached flat boat. Then, we took this to the raft and finished our roof. In moods of the utmost enthusiasm, we boarded and shoved off. We had to pass many tree trunks and branches. A few times there was some disagreement as to method. It took us 3 or 3½ hours, but we arrived safely. Unfortunately, I forgot my shoes and thus had to walk back the 13 kilometers without them. At one point, a 5-foot snake jumped out of my way.
We got back just before 3 pm and snacked on scones with butter, coffee and orange drink and apples!! We went to our room. I wrote. I took a hot shower. I grasped a beautiful butterfly in my hands and was about to snap a picture when she struggled away. We dined on chicken with a desert of ice cream. After dinner, we watched “Hustle,” a movie with Burt Reynolds and Catherine Denuere – it was well, say, okay, but not too great. We both are of a frame of mind that we can’t wait to get back on the raft, though we will miss the (relative) absolute luxury we’ve enjoyed at Frieda Copper’s camps.

June 14th, 1983 (31)
Lover’s Sumptuary, Frieda River’s right bank, East Sepik, PNG

We breakfasted, then chose all the groceries we wished to by (about K20 worth). We went back to our room and packed. We made love (I kissed her onto the bed.) We brought our baggage down to the mess hall. We enjoyed scones with butter and jam with orange drink and coffee for morning tea. We went to pay for the groceries, but Kaius, the camp manager, said it was free! I gave him a letter for PNG immigration and one to the postmaster Vanimo. I gave a letter to the MAF pilot asking for a bilium and penis gourds from Ian and Carol at Lekin Drew and Jeff flew down from Top Camp enroute to someplace. Drew was pleasant and seemed impressed we were leaving on a raft. We said bye to Roy, our gracious host.
We caught a lift to Calginas on the truck, loaded up our raft, tried to Christen her the SS Pukpuk with a curry bottle, but it wouldn’t break. We left. We negotiated many trees with effort and luck. The rough parts of the river are exciting! The first village we came across was raunchy and we decided to go on. We couldn’t find the “island,” village, so continued on till dark. We couldn’t see, so we parked on the nearest bank. We set up the mosquito net on deck, lay down, talked, told stories finally making love on this curious vessel in an unlikely place. For all the lacking comfort, it was curiously wonderful night.

June 15th, 1983 (32)
Hornbillville, house dilapidated on left bank Frieda River, East Sepik, PNG

Morning breaks. Even though the sleep felt good, maybe it wasn’t enough, as we’re both edgy. The S.S. Pukpuk is sitting 25’ from the water! During the night the river level dropped! We (I) inched the raft back into the water using our pole as a fulcrum. Phew! Then we bathed. As Kelly predicted (and me silently), a village was spotted 10 minutes downriver! We could have slept in a house with a fire. But we both agreed it was a good night at Lover’s Sumptuary. We stopped in the village, but no one was home. I snooped around, but found nothing of interest. So we continued on.
Some men were in their canoes. One sold us a bunch of bananas for 60t (But K gave him 40t more). Other villagers on the way had no coconuts for sale. (At 11:30 am) We were told we’d make it to Enioch in 4 or 5 hours, but at 20m, we saw a dilapidated house on the river, and decided to stop for the day and night. The shores were really muddy. At dusk, thousands of bats flew across the river over our heads. The floor of the shelter was rotten in places. Lots of mosquitoes. We (I) had to drive (nude) in the river upstream to catch the water, then float too the house. I was going to call this place Mosquito Massacre because we killed so many but decided on Hornbillville because of all the hornbills in nearby trees.

June 16th, 1983 (33)
Enioch (Frieda Copper’s Petrol Dump, left shore), Sepik River, East Sepik, PNG [Iniok]

A dive in the river to fetch water, a few hot cups of coffee. We watch, counting at least 14 hornbills in the trees surrounding our dilapidated residence. They fly away in two groups. Too bad I don’t have a zoom lens! We pull the S.S. Pukpuk away form the yucky Hornbillville Yacht Club. Down the Frieda we go.
The bird life is spectacular; hornbills are abundant, always flying in twos; cockatoos – there are many. We see parrots of green and red and blue flapping along the shore. We begin to see white crane-type birds with graceful long legs. We talk to a bypassing motorized canoe (the first we’ve seen) who say Inioch is only an hour away. We wind down river. The river becomes wide and the banks lined with pampus grass becomes flat. The water seems still – we lose speed. Finally, at one bend I notice the water flowing to the right and recognize it’s the Sepik! Here the Sepik is only perhaps twice as big as the Frieda. We turn right (!) and flow along. At Enioch village, less than an hour away, we find no coconuts or bananas, but we buy sak-sak. The Copper Queen pulls by us. We row across to Frieda Copper’s petrol dump and tie up to the Copper Queen. The S.S. Pukpuk is ½ way in the water. We’re sun bleached. No one seems to help. We spend the night.

June 17th, 1983 (34)
Tauri, on Sepik River, East Sepik, PNG

All in all, a delightful day. Kelly awakes “As enthusiastic this morning as I wasn’t last night.” To my disbelief, we actually (I) got some guys to work on the S.S. Pukpuk. They chopped up a very big log and placed it, in 3 pieces, underneath her, which buoyed her up. The floor was well lashed, and they built a sturdier shelter for rain and sun protection. We started downriver at 11:30 am or so. We were toying with the idea of going at night downriver. As we headed towards a group of logs and branches I proclaimed that we should experiment to ascertain what would happen at night if we couldn’t see by letting the raft go thither at will. This resulted in us crashing into the logs whose branches nearly tore our roof off. We repaired things almost like new in short order. We became more cautious thereafter. We flowed along the expansive river at 1 knot (or maybe 2), big sky, a new beauty for me to discover, enjoying our improved raft. We got to Tauri at about 4:30 pm. The villagers weren’t exactly helpful, but they did give us a little house to sleep in. (Their houses are huge, like 80 feet x 50 feet. We ate peanut butter with tea, made love to drums and wild voices.

June 18th, 1983 (35)
Oum 2, East Sepik, PNG

6:30 pm. Dusk encloses us here at Father Austin’s house. He is absent, and we’re renting this room for K2/night. I am fatigued. Sleeping on hard wood floors, steering the huge raft SS Pukpuk in the sun all day, fighting to get every coconut or banana or room or any assistance from the Sepik people is draining. We’ve found a large canoe we can buy here for K22 with 2 paddles, and they’re going to build an outrigger for it. The raft is too slow – we’ve got to paddle like mad to move her a few feet. The expanses of river flat lands, the big cloudy sky, the pampas grass, the white crane-type bird, the pleasure of doing something different, all these are not slim rewards for the effort. It is wonderful by trying. We will go to Oum I tomorrow to get supplies while someone builds an outrigger. Oum I is ½ hour by canoe up this estuary river off the Sepik. Because of the floods earlier this year, people are reluctant to sell bananas. We dine on corned beef and rice, which in my present circumstance, tastes scrumptious and later, at bedtime, we dived on each other, which was delectable, even though made in a bed where my ankles hang over the end.

June 19th, 1983 (36)
(!!)
Oum 2, East Sepik, PNG

I feel full of emotion. Many feelings run through me, at times in many directions. I seek only the emancipation of my bobness from the depths within me, and I feel my inner strength will always be with me when I need it. I feel the strength of conviction for the path I’m on and a certainty that I will prevail in my dreams through to reality, through the barrier, the skin, the film that separates what is a dream and what is real, from conception to fruition.
Out here, my loves seem so far away; I dream of music and I dream of women. I see home and my Grandma whom I wish I could hug. I see employment and familiar faces, the lifestyle I’ve known. The strength that I feel is that strength that comes when you are so far away, and you yearn for home, and the strength comes to you and reminds you how lucky you are to be here, and reveals to you that for all the hardship, you can summon joy, and the path moves steadily towards dreams and home.
I write by the light of a jar with wick and kerosene at the table in the room. Today, we bought groceries at OUM 1, and we decided to take the raft further down river. We get edgy with each other in the heat and mosquito-ridden mud lands, but we’ll stick together through thick and thin. I climbed a 25-foot coconut tree today and brought down 4 coconuts in a bilum.

June 20th, 1983 (37)
Kubkain, East Sepik, PNG [Kubkain]

A wonderful day. Kelly and I both agree that when we are on the raft, we are content, if only we never had to stop in the villages; on the raft, we can be nude, do our toilet whenever we like, eat whenever we like, swim, etc. On the raft there are no mosquitoes; we have our canopy for shade. We can relax, talk, enjoy the scenery: the wide lake-like Sepik seems barely to move, always one shore has tall grasses and pampus rushes and the other always forested. It is peaceful, usually sunny. There is just enough need for paddling to make it exciting (today I ran us into the trees and our roof broke again)!
The clouds look like trade wind clouds-dotting the panoramic sky. There is usually a small range of distant hazy mountains to break up the flatland. The air is peaceful, calm. Silence is broken only by the calls of a choir of different birds and ducks, or by the buzzing of an occasional fly. Today, we left Oum 2. It was bad scene – the people are liars and thieves. We enjoyed the river all day, ate well. In late afternoon, 9 canoes full of men pulled alongside; they were friendly – they gave us fish! And sak-sak. They brought us to their village – Kubkain. But I wish night would not come – no villagers – only to ride in the raft.
When we left Oum 2, the house’s bordering on the river occupants had told us they’d hold 5 coconuts of ours 2 days ago. Now they claimed they didn’t know anything. Plus they stole another onboard. Minutes previously another boy who we’d paid to clean 10 coconuts, 4 of which he’d cracked and promised to replace (where upon K gave him a cigarette), refused, laughing, to do anything. At the river houses, I was really Td-off. I spoke my mind. They finally got 3 coconuts out of a tree. Our raft was stuck in the mud. I asked for help. They refused. They watched while K, I and 2 boys pushed and pulled it in. Also, the men in Oum 2 tried to sell us a cracked canoe. Further, they told us it was 2 weeks to Ambunti when it’s only five days, but said it was 4-5 days by canoe – we think they were only trying to sell us a canoe. We are tired of this. The villages are dirty and mosquito-ridden. We’d prefer if we could just stay on the raft, night and day.

June 21st, 1983 (38)
[Yessan] riding on the Sepik River between Saugap and Tasan on the S.S. Pukpuk, East Sepik, PNG

(Sleeping on the hard floor, mosquito’s inside out net, villages here are a drag; we argued in the middle of the night, going toilet is a hassle, but:) The first hour today we were fighting off the mosquito’s that joined us in Kubkain. At about 12 we passed the April River on our right signifying noticeable progress toward Ambunti! We tore the roof down and fixed it stronger than before with mostly bush materials. Our handiwork provides an event more comfortable conveyance than ever. It is happiness, it is so lovely here on the water.
Evening begins to set, but we remain on the water; we decide to chance a night ride - the moon is already out, maybe she’ll guide our way. We don’t want to leave our paradise on the raft. The still evening panorama, the water reflecting a broad sky, as peaceful as heaven, it is absorbing, the river is beveled 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… at sunset, the sound of the swarming mosquitoes is like an electric razor! The moon illuminates beautifully. We could not ask for a better night. As we float along, we heat a can of steak and onions on our kerosene jar lamp and have dinner with rice. At 9 pm, we pass the Wogasu River. At 10, I sleep till 12.

June 22nd, 1983 (39)
Ambunti, East Sepik, PNG

Kelly keeps watch until 12:10 am on huge straight-aways. I awake. We have a snack of tuna fish and crackers. During the night, we’ve watched thunderstorms pass 10 miles away, lightening like atomic blasts, but none touch us; scattered thin clouds accompany the stars and the ¾ moon.
Yesterday, just before dusk, we yelled obscenities and funny sounds at a wonderful echo off the left bank. Now, we listen to the banks for trees, and occasionally steer out into open water. 1 am, 2 am. The moon is still high. We continue talking through the night. It’s very pleasant. At about 3 am, the moon, going down is obscured by clouds. Kelly lays back for a rest. I lay back. I notice we’re suddenly close to a reed shore, so I grab my paddle. In doing so, I make a noise, which apparently startles a crocodile on the nearby bank. A huge thrashing sound begins, lasting, maybe 2 seconds. It is dark. The water thrashes so violently! I am certain it is a croc! At first, I am afraid it’s coming at me.We still had about 12 more hours of drifting to get to Ambunti. Then I realize it was afraid. We pass on unharmed. We notice water speed increasing. A log which would have devastated us is near the center of the river. We pass just to the right. The dark shores make noises. Kelly says one is following us. We must be getting woozy! 4 am, 5 am. 5:45 am, false dawn. It is getting lighter. We have a snack of coffee, milo and a Big Sister Cherry Roll. It is now light.
At 8 am, we drift up to Iasan 2. They offer to motor us to Ambunti for K25, but we’ll only have K20 left. We drift till 2 pm. Then we pass Iasan 1. Soon, 2 motorized canoes come by. We hail them down, ask for a ride. The driver of one canoe says, “You’re most welcome to come aboard.” We toss our bags from the SS Pukpuk into the canoe. As we speed away, cool air now on our faces, I shoot a photo of our abandoned vessel. In an hour and a half or so, we a pass Pracanorui, Ianbun and arrive in Ambunti – the end of our Trek!! Since (huge Village) we can’t afford it, the mission people (Neil) invite us to stay for free in a room and for dinner too. We sleep in the most comfortable of beds.

Day 39 to Ambunti –
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 Tristan 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 us a ways.

The communication between us was lacking, but I thought they said there was another round water down river, 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 Pukpuk 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 our 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 showed some surprise. I asked where he was from, and he said, “Palo Alto.” (Which is only about 30 miles 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.

June 23rd, 1983
Ambunti, East Sepik, PNG

We awake at 10:30 or 11 am. We fix a simple breakfast in our room of cereal. At 1 pm, I go out to inquire about canoes. Finally, I find a man who says he’s driving one tomorrow to Pagive. He agrees to let us come for K2 each. Kelly sleeps much while I’m gone. I came back. We look at a map of the world and discuss plans. Late in the afternoon, we take a walk to a store to buy a deck of cards. We return and have a dinner with Neil and Jan again. We eat spaghetti. For dessert, we enjoy homemade apple pie. They talk to us about God and try to convince us to read the bible.
Later, we talk about the seeming fact that there are virtually no peoples on earth who have not now been contacted in some way (or affected) by civilization. Kelly and I go back to our room and enjoy many games of gin rummy. We also review money spent and owing to each other, we sleep. All in all, it is a very nice day. We’re happy. We make love. We are glad that the mission people prove their belief, letting us stay in a K10 room for free. (Neil says the goal of a Christian is “perfect behavior.”)
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 decisions – 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 in about ten years. Poor thing.

Later, we talked about how things were when they first came here in 1960. 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 Wewak and civilization.

June 24th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

A lot happened today, and we traveled a long way. First thing in the morning, we made love. Then I took photos for Neil of his crocodile tables. We boarded a 40 HP grant dugout canoe racing away from Ambunti, we reached Pagui in about 1½ hours! Shortly, we were on a truck to Wewak. However, in Mapick (a bit less than ½ way), the driver demanded money; when I thought he’d said, “I want to help you for nothing,” he’d actually said, “I can’t…” I hopped off, but Kelly stayed in the truck for a K5 ride to Wewak. Shortly after, I got a series of 2 rides, which dropped me off at the provincial headquarters in Wewak.
I procured the assistance of Joe, the Information Department headman. He drove me in a new 4 Wheel Drive Toyota to TNT air Cargo to get our passports. There, we met Kelly. Joe drove us both to the customs office, where it became evident that we’d be delayed at least a week due to visa extensions. We made it clear to Joe that we couldn’t afford to stay in hotels. Joe made arrangements for us to stay in a room at a Theatre Company’s place, which is affiliated with the Information Department. We got a room with a double mattress on the floor. There’s a command kitchen, shower room. The people here hit it off with us well. Their rock band played at a dance. We went. Elias, the information Department No. 2 man said that he and Joe would take care of our passports if only I would teach the band members some things, since I am “an expert in the field.” He called me this because I’m from California and I mentioned I used to have a band! We’re really set up! I drank beer at the dance and then caught the Raun Isi (Theatre company name) truck back and slept.

June 25th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Morning: Slept in while the gang went off to perform a play, Kelly went to get up and found a guitar and started playing it – trying to figure out songs that I know that I can teach the guys in the band. I feel like I’m obligated to help – but it’s a most welcome task. I am very excited to be able to play the guitar and to think about putting music together! I know a lot of those old rock songs – the kind they do – and I should be able to help them in a lot of areas. It makes me realize that I know quite a bit more than I thought. Kelly came back before noon. We ate (she shopped for groceries.) In late afternoon we walked to the Wewak Yacht Club. We were bought a few drinks, but it was a weird scene, and there are no boats going outside PNG. At night, we all went to the 20t movie: 2 old classics. The Slaughter Trail and the Marx Brothers Night at the Opera. The Slaughter Trail starring Virginia Grey and Don McLevy (1948?) and the Marx Brother’s A Night at the Opera! That was a real classic! It was funny. So much happened. Bam Bam scene after scene (1935!)

June 26th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Today was all around a beautiful day. After morning coffee, Nick asked me a few questions about music. Soon, we were in the practice room, looking over his sound system. Other band members came in. We were in there till 12 pm (noon). After, we all got in the van and headed to the beach at Cape Wom. What a gorgeous place Wewak is! [Yesterday, at the Yacht Club, we met a local who said that during August, it becomes a surfer’s paradise, but not to tell anyone because he’d rather ride the waves by himself. Matter of fact, we bumped into this fellow again today at the beach and asked if he knew where we could get some pot he said he’d check it out.]
I went snorkeling. It was real good to be back in the ocean! K and I took a walk along the shore and talked sitting on a sand-blown white log hanging over the surf. In the evening, we all went in the Raun Isi truck to the Gramut Theatre. We saw Khartoum (Charleton Heston), which was okay but a bit boring; and we saw Barquero, which was stupid and boring. Arriving back, we fell right asleep. Wewa is incredible for it’s combination of development, obscurity and beauty – what a place for vacations!
P.S. – the Marx Brothers move last night was really great!

June 27th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Another pleasant day in Wewak again I must remark on what a beautiful place it is. I can buy a real milkshake for 50t, a hamburger patty for 30t, fudge sickles (paddle pops) 26t. K and I went to the bank; we each bought a shirt and shorts. We attended to our visas today as best as possible: we filled out green forms, paid the K10 PNG fee, we called the Indonesian embassy and found out we must completely renew our visas – but there are no forms in Wewak. We made no moves on sending the passports, just compiled a lot of info. Joe at information is being very helpful – he let us call Moresby 3 times. We also talked with the acting postmaster here, and he’s having all our mail brought from Vanimo.
After a day of taking care of this virtual Cornucopia of chores, we sat on the beautiful beach at 5 pm, and we smoked the joint which the fellow we’d met at the Yacht club (and bumped into yesterday and today at BP’s where he gave it to us) gave us this morning in a store. It was grade ‘C’ but affected us. We went back to Raun Ini, had delicious lamb chops rice, butter and tea. We went to bed early, made hot love a long time, talked, lay in the dark.

June 28th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

The days are very hot. Beautiful. Happy to be here. We went to Joe’s office first thing in the morning (with our plan of action). We called the Indonesian embassy and had them send us applications with a promise that they’d process us quickly when they received our passports etc. We asked Joe if it was alright to stay here, and he said he didn’t mind. We went to the post office and mailed our passports to PNG migration and asked them to forward them to the Indonesian embassy. We stopped at Tang Mao’s and had chocolate milkshakes and snacks. We got back to Raun Isi. We snacked on popcorn and ice coffee.
At 3 pm, I went in to listen to those guys practice. I listened till they were finished (5 pm), then I picked up the guitar and started playing till dinner (7 pm), showing Nick how to play “She’s a Woman.” After dinner, we played and played. I was surprised how good my voice felt. It makes me real psyched up. I’m a musician, I really am. I must apply myself. I feel rediscovered confidence. I can do it! I love to sing.
P.S. Kelly made a delicious chicken curry with chicken, green beans, onions and papaya over rice.
Philosophy: A few nights ago, I came to the conclusion that I can become more effective if I make an effort to simplify. I.e., simplify the way I explain things, think of the simplest solution. Look for the simple. It is not always best to be elaborate. I think sometimes I waste time being intricate.

June 29th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

A leisurely morning. French toast for breakfast, leftover curry sandwiches for lunch. On the way to town, we saw an amazing sight at the market: smoked bats!! They looked utterly awesome!! These flying foxes had bodies about 6” high, their under feet were curled up and their wing bone was chopped off and sticking out on either side. Their necks were thicker than their gory faces with burnt out eyes and grimaced teeth, “A grimace straight from hell,” says K. (I hope to get a picture of some on Saturday at the market.) We attended to going to town. Our packages didn’t yet come from Vanimo. I took a short snorkel on the beach near town, but it wasn’t so hot. Kelly fixed up some spaghetti for dinner – I’m very lucky when she cooks a lot! Over dinner she startled me by telling me she went to school in SF with Charlotte Leve, Anton’s daughter – the high priest of the occult in SF. It reminded me of when Clymer, Cappa and I went up to look for his house after seeing “Witchcraft ’70.”
Again tonight Kelly and I made love twice. I really love it. I’m happy. Thinking of music. I’m noting that the 2nd time Kelly and I were doing it tonight, she said to wait (because she wanted to come) and I replied that maybe I couldn’t (because it felt so good) and she said to think of something else (to get my mind off how good it felt.) So I just humped her without feeling (sort of and meanwhile, she was going, crazy. I was acting callous, then she had an orgasm. Then I got back into it and came too. It was just interesting watching her go crazy when I wasn’t.

June 30th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Another day passes. Nothing spectacular. We went out to a beach behind Moen Barracks beyond the airport. It was deserted and lovely. Two uniformed men asked us to leave, saying the beach was off limits to the public - one of them was tapping a sheathed knife in his hand. Tonight, Kelly told me that Nick and Larry told her (when they were talking in the kitchen) that a man was beaten and his woman raped and murdered on that beach. They also said that there is a ghost on that beach – many people have seen a man in a bright red neckerchief waving from the rocks sometimes only one person in a group can see him. Nick was also talking tonight about hired sorcerers around here that inject something in people. These folks are superstitious here.
We enjoyed our usual milkshake in town. Still no packages. I make a note here: a way to increase effectiveness is to see tasks through to completion. Thinking about taking a one-day excursion to Angoram. It’s been cloudy here lately. Kelly and I have laughs.
Small note. Trying to sleep tonight, I experience a sort of disassociation with reality, however, it was slight. It was a neurotic sort of lift. It was not unpleasant. I mention it because it is the first time I felt this way in so long. I wonder if it was caused by the richness and laziness of my lifestyle of the past week, maybe rugged living breeds a healthier mind.

July 1st, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Quite a good day. To oblige Kelly, I accompanied her to the market in the morning. As my reward, we found some dead flying foxes for sale, so I was able to take some photos. These 2, unlike those a few days ago, were uncooked. We were amazed by their size and appearance. The body was a full foot long and 12 inches in girth with a very fox like fur of brown. Holding their wings out stretched made them fully five feet wide. Their faces looked hellish, tongues hanging out through sharp teeth. Their black hands folded up under them. At a central point in each wing was a black hooked appendage. Amazing creatures. They make me doubt evolution. However could they have evolved?
We made love after the market, covering all our windows with mats and tarps. It was luscious. Kelly had an orgasm. We picked up our packages from the post office – I sold the fishhooks for K5. Discussion: There is a fruit here they call a sour sop “salsa!” Kelly knows them from Spain as “chrimoyas.” I tried my first one last night. They are uncommonly delicious and unique. We should market them in the United States – people should be able to enjoy them!

July 2nd, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik PNG

For breakfast, I was welcomed to this day by French toast and soft margarine and strawberry jam with coffee and chirimoya. What a repast! Chirimoyas are the fruit of the gods! We caught a lift to town. At the post office, I finally got my letters – about 15 altogether! Much good news, a bit of it was embarrassing. Since I didn’t get a letter from Norma, I decided that I’d call her collect. She readily accepted the charges. I could tell she was glad to hear from me, and I was very glad to speak with her. She said she was lonely for a man! I felt sorry for her; and when asked I had to admit I’d been having sex. She said she still loved me and I told her I loved her. She said she was as almost finished with her thesis. She said she’d bought a gun. I forgot to ask her about the money, but she reminded me that she’d deposited it ($500). She said to call her again (in September). The conversation made me feel good. My mom said she’d be glad to handle my loan till I return – Thanks Mom! What a relief! Curry for dinner – saw “The Robe” with Richard Burton.

July 3rd, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Today Kelly and I made love three times. It is nice to have a place to do it. (By the way, when Kelly and I were on the raft to Kubkain, I told her about my keeping records of our lovemaking. Of course, she was interested to see, so I showed it to her. Now a couple of weeks later, she seems quite accustomed to the idea.) Tonight after supper, I took the guitar to our room, and I reveled in playing songs hat Tom and I had written years ago. I really love those songs. I sincerely believe that we had a lot of talent – we certainly put ourselves into it. Success is always just around the corner.

July 4th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Today, I have no tall tales to tell, no exciting news. Briefly, I spent the day working for myself – wrote 2 hours on the Trek: Kopiago to Ambunti, I packaged up things to mail, and I sorted through various possessions. The only special thing I can say for today is that I am in a far off land and that feels good. So, I devote the rest of the page to a discussion. Tonight, before I went to bed, one of the fellows with Raun Isi, Larry, stopped and talked with me outside by the kitchen. He told me to beware of the Sungumas. The Sungumas are men of the Sepik who inject people with potions at night. They “throw lime on your door” and this draws you outside to them. Or sometimes, “They talk to a stone and throw it at you, and you’ll come to them.” Once they inject you, you will die unless you are given a traditional medicine to drink. A person who is injected may be told by the Sunguma when he/she will die, but the injected victim is compelled by magic to say nothing to anyone. The only way to detect a victim is by their insensitivity to pinpricks. Both Nick and Larry swear they saw a local victim with these symptoms.

July 5th, 1983
Wewak, Esst Sepik, PNG

I can easily feel very ashamed at how ordinary my life becomes when we stay in one place. I want to do great things, but my progress seems so slow. I have been working like a clerk for myself, getting packages ready and mailing things. I mailed a penis gourd to Cappa and a package with a gourd, a PNG t-shirt and one bird of paradise tail to myself. I also mailed the beautiful red bird of paradise in a disguised parcel, and I just hope it makes it through. Last, I sent the 3 parrot pelts home in a parcel. We saw Ian and Carol from Tekin today. They’re supposed to pick us up tomorrow morning to go on an outing. (I also saw a guy from Kubkain that let us stay at his house there, Stanly.)
Basically, I am preparing for Indonesia – it must be a terribly exciting country: Bali, Borneo, the Spice Islands, Sumatra, Java and Irian Jaya! I started looking at the introduction to a condensed version of Gibbon’s “The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.” I am continually amazed at how many renowned people victim with the symptoms. I’ve never heard of – like Gibbon.

July 6th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Keep my fingers crossed, knock on wood, etc, for today I mailed off the nine rolls of Kodachrome to Kodak’s Japan processing center to be forwarded to Kelly’s place: the nine rolls covering the trek from Kopiago to Ambunti! Trek ’83, I shall call it. I sure hope the film makes its circuit safely to its final destination – my home, 708 Vermont. I am getting pretty much re-organized from the aftermath of Trek ’83. I’m getting ready to head off to Indonesia. Packages sent, clothes given away will lighten my load to a reasonable load. If I have more time till the passports are returned, I would like to go to Angoram, I’d like to work on my music while I have a chance, and I’d like to go diving/snorkeling often. Kelly’s cooking often and it’s really great for me.
Since yesterday, I‘ve had a cold: the night before I got it, I said, “I haven’t had a cold in 4 years!” We met a guy from Virginia today who invited us to Bo’s, another Americans, house – Bo is supposed to have diving equipment, but I have not yet weaseled my way into a scuba dive. Kelly and I have been having a lot of sex.

July 7th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

We bumped into Ian and Carol from Tekin this morning at the market, and they invited us to go “somewhere” at 2 pm tomorrow. They took the clothes for Tilot, Hapom and Teleng from me to deliver them (for the guys who helped me get to Duranmin), which means that I’ve gotten rid of all my parcels and my possessions are as few as they’ve been since I left the boat, which is good from a backpacking standpoint.
In the afternoon I went snorkeling on the Oceanside of Wewak hill, but there’s no really super spots here, which isn’t surprising, since the only superb spot I’ve been to was Uipi Island in the Soloman’s. Nothing exciting to report. Perhaps I should call a meeting on Theory Action Group to inspire me to organize, to set my mind upon tasks (and complete them). I have a desire to write an article, or in some way culminate and document the trek through New Guinea’s interior.

July 8th, 1983
House on road near Angoram, East Sepik, PNG

Kelly was aggravating me, so I split to go diving. On my way, I bumped into Louie, who drove me to his place where we sat before the ocean and got thoroughly stoned on his pot. He was going to Angoram. We drove back to get Kelly and we got her stoned and had a quick lunch. Already, I’d probably smoked too much because this pot is really strong. We left a message for Ian and Carol who were coming to get us at 2 pm. We drove around with Louie and didn’t get moving until 4 pm, when we got on the road to Angoram. More bongs and beer and I was wasted. (I found myself gawking at this strange people from USA.) We got to Angoram where a group of tourists awaited along with Louie’s boss, a Yugoslavian A-hole, named Sava. It turned out to be boring. We had to wait for Sava all evening and then in the end, we had to sleep at his house ½ hour back toward Wewak. It was one of those situations that occurs from letting yourself be dependant on others.

July 9th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

We caught an early ride back to Wewak with the tourist group from the States. They are weird. It is like the strangest sight I’ve seen in New Guinea – fat white balding men with loud, pushy wives; it is almost more than I can hear!! We got back about 10:30 am and went to town, went shopping, Louie gave us a small stash; then we went home and slept the rest of the afternoon. In the evening, we got a ride to the movies and enjoyed Blade Runner and Any Which Way You Can. Some scenes in the former were tremendously weird (like when he shot Pris, the leisure model replicant). The later was entertaining, as usual for Clint.
Well, diary, you must know me well. I have completed an adventure, and I am idling days away looking for another. K and I are both getting exited about going to Indonesia. It’s like me, that need to fulfill goals.

July 10th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Spent the greater portion of today at Oceanside, and indeed it is lovely. Today was a day of sun. Kelly and I walked to the beach, stopping off to pick up two coconuts at the market. She walked along the beach to the Windjammer Hotel. I snorkeled for an hour among the half-destroyed reef way off shore. It is fun to be in the water. I found a large edible mussel and a small scallop. I walked also to the Windjammer. Kelly and I played cards in the shade of a coconut tree. She called Hokaido, her legal husband in Japan, and though he didn’t have the money, he said he’d borrow $1000 and (send) give it to her by wire. Kelly and I smoked in the girl’s bathroom. Then I went snorkeling again at a new spot. Later we walked back most of the way to Raun Isi. A stony and enjoyable day. Time passes quickly. There are so many things I should and could be doing – music,
writing, adventuring – but I feel unmotivated.

July 11th, 1983
Wewak, East Sedik, PNG

Enjoyed a hazy, stony day. The pot we got from Louie is incredibly good. I stayed stoned all day on a series of 3 hits of leaves (not buds) in Kelly’s pipe. I wish we had more. I did a lot of writing about our trek and finished with the story to Ambunti. We went to Joe’s office and called Michael Osae at PNG immigration, but he’d forgotten to expedite our passports, but said he’d mail them today. Thus, it looks like about 2 more weeks until we’re out of here. I just hope I use my time wisely. Kelly and I screw each other quite a bit, and her company makes this a pleasant stay in Wewak. The sun went away today. I wonder: is there any scientific evidence to support this: that Sunday’s have sun more frequently than other days! I suppose not, but it seems so to me.
Note: If I devoted myself to any task, I would be it’s master – or is this my youth speaking?

July 12th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Day stony, but not stony enough! I reflect on my life, and I think it’s fine, but not fine enough. I want psychedelic visions my whole life through. I want zinging inspiration but can’t get the ball rolling. Shall I lock myself up in a studio for a year? I want to be an entertainer. Am I too far behind, or is it I just think too complicated. Maybe my real solution is to surround myself with excellent musicians and sound technicians and get them psyched up to work for me. I feel I have zero talent but I want to reach to the stars. I want to be different and I want to have fun. Where to start? I’ve never really been on the road, but it’s got to be a matter of hard work. This is an excerpt from the diary of a frustrated entertainer.
Today I did errands and went snorkeling out on the point by the Windjammer. I was a bit stoned during the day. Wrote Mom and Mandy.

July 13th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

We contacted PNG immigration again today. I was told (despite what he said he’d mail our passports off on Monday) by Michael Osae that they would take weeks more “to finalize” our applications. A-hole. I told him we couldn’t stay here indefinitely. Joe, whose office we’re calling from, called back, and we got a Mr. Haro on the phone, who called back. The message was that they would forward our passports to the Indonesian Embassy without a visa extension and, when we left PNG through Yavimo, we should go to customs there, who will be pre-notified to process us. Good! I want to get to Indonesia.
Kelly and I went to the beach by the Windjammer Motel and we passed the afternoon away under the shade of the coconut tree and alternately roasting in the intense sun. My ear is bothering me with a slight infection and I am getting over my 1st cold in what seems like years. I wonder if I can develop Theory Action Group to the point where it really works – that an idea I had in Arawa.

July 14th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

A day well spent, entirely at the beach. On our way in the morning, we picked up a couple of coconuts at the market. When thirsty alternating between the shade of the one shade-giving coconut tree on the beach at the Windjammer and the blue surf in the sun, we crack open the back of these intensely delicious giant coconuts. The milk therein is very sweet, nutty, smooth, tasting pleasantly of coconut (some coconuts have mere water inside). At the beach, we can play cards read (I read about Indonesian history and society) or swim or miscellaneous things – I sewed a rude leather sheath for the (great) coconut knife Kelly found. A simple day, sunny and beautiful.
Note this: that Wuvulu Island is not as far way as we were told by Craig, a Peace Corp guy. The reefs are supposed to be alive and teeming with life, I would like to go there if it’s fairly convenient. Things in Raun Isi, where we’re staying are really cool. A place where I like everybody and feel they like me too.

July 15th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

28th Birthday. I remember a vow I made to myself that I would try my fantastic goals (Lazy Man’s Way to Riches) until my 28th birthday when I would relinquish them if not realized, and settle down to making myself respectable with hard work. However, I relinquished the systematic pursuit of them at 24, and I feel the promise to myself was a vague attempt at ordering my life (or giving myself a chance to be free, if I was afraid to be) and not very valid now. There is such a need for time (or money!) to fulfill my numerable dreams, time that I don’t have. Perhaps it would be good to look conservatively at my future and plan, but I definitely shy away from or promise to buckle down and relinquish big dreams (even if I promised it to myself). The future is a mystery.
Today, I nicked a bottle of vodka and Kelly and I went to the beach, and I got drunk. Louie and a friend, John, met us there. They told us about the paradise like “Hermit and Maron Islands” near Manus. Louie talked about dealing smoke. I got a bit sick. Kelly escorted me home and put me to bed. We made a sour sop and vodka drink on the beach which was delicious. You put the inside of the sour sop in a bilum and squeeze out the juice (one coconut’s full from one sour sop) then add vodka, or, if you like, vodka and coconut juice. Tremendously delicious, with ice. The sour sop doesn’t sound very good, but it’s the most delicious tasting fruit I ever had. It is not a durian and not a custard apple – it is grown around Wewak – I’ve never seen them elsewhere. Someone should pack the juice, concentrated, and ship it to the USA for sale to bars and also general use!!

July 16th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Today was Nick’s birthday, so there was a celebration of sorts. I was hung-over from yesterday, but gradually, as I drank more beer (8), I sustained full relief. Saiyo, the director of Raun Raun (Theater of Gorka), directed a Goroka-style mumu which was unique to my experience, and I recorded it by camera. I listened to Larry and Nick telling me about how, for example, five 13-14 year old girls will line up outside your room at the lodge in the Trobriando or Kimwina Islands, and you just pick the one you like – “Just give her a cigarette!” Naturally, I’m all fired up to go there, as they swear it is true and that the Trobs are not developed that it will take “10 to 20 years more,” according to an authority of PNG: They claim that the women of these “Samarai” people are well-known and feared throughout PNG as witches capable of turning into flying foxes and visiting distant relatives. I also heard stories about lime mixed with a spirit field type of ginger, which when tossed in the air by the possessed user, unlocks doors and renders the female inhabitants unaware of subsequent violations. Looked at an awesome book called Body Decorations.

July 17th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

The activities of today were to go to the beach and there write letters. We play some cards and I have a few beers (2). The sun is out. Nice day. Simple. Last night I laid awake and thought hard about what causes events to occur: I tested my conclusion:
1) Momentum (of the subject) and
2) CHANCE (defined in this case as the influence of the infinite [therefore unpredictable] momentums of the entities in the environment.
I will try to prove that by contradiction, but not on this page. Tonight I told this Theory to Kelly and she said Desire causes things to happen. Although this statement seems pertinent only to beings, I conclude that desire occurs due to forces inside and outside the subject, these forces having momentum bearing on the subject. (The subject in this case defined as the entity to which the event occurred.) However When I examine the momentum Theory for truthfulness, each example seems to plainly reinforce the statement itself and repercussions of its truth seem abounding and plentiful. However obvious or simplistic this Momentum Theory may seem, it has struck a nerve in my thinking about my life and how this insight might be useful. I’m really excited.

July 18th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Today I was starting to feel a little bored, or maybe down because we’re here doing the same stuff and we can’t leave because we don’t have our passports. We went to the beach, which is really lovely. I thought how wonderful our situation is - that I shouldn’t be bored – I just am not getting enough out of myself. I wrote letters to Mike Taylor and Mike Shea and to Sally (cousin). Kelly and I played blind tag in the surf. Really nice. Kelly made a delicious chicken tomato spaghetti when we got home.
I thought about my Momentum Theory – my problem is that I don’t have enough momentum going towards the areas I need fulfillment. At about 9 pm, I started doing my guitar scales which, even after 3 days, are getting easier. I told Kelly that I was going to write a song a day till we left here. I wrote down my feelings about the Migration Department! In the interim, I played as much of a song I made last year – Drop Out – Kelly thought the words are good. It is now 1 am, and I just finished writing Everyone is Welcome to Come or Go.

July 19th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

I woke up tired from getting too little sleep and consequently I dragged a bit all day. We called the Indonesian embassy, and our passports are on their way; Kelly is worried about not having any money, and it makes me worry too a little, but it’s mostly a drag seeing her worried. I saw Louie at the Windjammer today, and he’s supposed to be scoring tomorrow which would be nice.
Today, after years of an occasional thought that I’d like to make my own clothes, I bought some material and I designed a pattern from paper of a shirt I will make. If I do have to say so myself, the shirt looks sort of awesome! I played my song today for Kelly and she said it made her feel “high.” She encouraged me to do something with music, and that makes me feel god. My ears are bothering me, which is a drag, and lately, I haven’t been feeling too well generally (physically). I am looking forward to seeing Indonesia. Gitti.

July 20th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

“All good things take time,” but this is ridiculous! However, today all travel problems cleared and it is clear “sailing” for Indonesia next week. Our passports were at the post office. We went to the bank, and, on a fluke, Kelly discovered that Hokaido had sent her money – but we’d not been alerted because Kelly didn’t receive a telegram as she’d requested. Equipped with passport and money, we’re free to move at will! The boat for Vanimo leaves on Tuesday and arrives there Wednesday. The flight out of Vanimo to Jayapura leaves Wed at Noon.
I would like to take the road or take a boat across rather than fly, but we’ll have to see. Now I’m just trying to figure the most efficient way to obtain funds in my (U.S.) money market fund. Went to see the World According to Garp and Black Belt Jones tonight. I liked both movies. I ran a bit today. I’m as happy as I can be with tropical ear, which sort of clouds the day with an irritant.

July 21st, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Again, my tropical ear sort of bothers me throughout the day, but I still can’t really complain because I still appreciate the beauty of my surroundings and the loveliness that underlies this time in my life. We brought our plane tickets Vanimo to Jayapura to Biak, just in case we need them. Kelly received K1137.94 today in her bankbook! This is really super-great, because we should have $500 or more extra when she goes home. I can write her a money market check for that and anything else I owe her, and she can cash it back in Japan. We saw Louie at the Windjammer – we mixed up some sour sop juice and “sold” the mix to the manager there for about 550 ml of Smirnoff Vodka!!! (About K10 there in Wewak.)
In the evening, K and I went to see The Jerk and The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, both of which I liked (I’ve seen the Jerk before.) On the way home, I estimated that “if there were a road to the moon,” a man could walk there in 3 years!! (Note: I miscalculated) The moon is pretty close!! 4mph x 6 hours a day = 24 m/day – times 10,000 = 240,000 miles – I made a mistake!! It would be more like 30 years!!

July 22nd, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

We were supposed to be at Eerols’s house by 11 am this morning to meet Louie, so we could all go to Angoram on the Raun Isi truck. But K and I delayed, going to the wharf to confirm that the boat will come in on Tuesday and leave the same day for Vanimo. Then we went to Provincial HQ and retrieved our K10.00 application (for Visa) fee. It was nearly noon when we got there. Louie was gone. We went in the house to wait for him. I heard some footsteps coming up the steps and as a joke said, “Louie is a dickhead,” in a singsong fashion. But it wasn’t Louie! Louie’s uncle, Ben, the owner of the house, came in with his son, Fabian. But Ben was friendly. (He was with Louie the first day we met him at the yacht club.) I talked with him about crossing the border from Wuton [Wutung] to Jayapura. He gave me the names of a few people that we can contact. He said that they go shopping in Jayapura – that they motor their canoes direct across the water into Jayapura. We went back to Raun Isi, then we went to the beach, then home for a leisurely evening. When we went to bed, we made love that felt “perfect.”

July 23rd, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Went to the Windjammer today (again). Laying in the sand on a hot day is our most consistent pastime here. Before we left we had some of Windjammer’s divine. We headed home early, leaving Louie in the water near a 14-year-old beauty, who pranced around, her lengthy thighs and just–pubescent budding breasts catch my fancy. On the way, Louie’s cousin, Errol, picked ups up and asked us if we wanted a smoke! We made a U-turn on the beach road and raced towards his house, picking up Louie walking along the way. At the house, we each had 3 big bongs of famed Goroka Gold!! It was really fantastic! It sells for only $240 = K200 around here! I said I’d pay him $500 per pound delivered to the USA! We left the house to go to the Kaindi 20t theater, Louie, K and I.
On the way we stopped at a man’s house who had pinball machines to play. As stoned as I was, I really got into it. We continued on. After having to backtrack to get a bag that I left in a truck on the way, we arrived at Kaindi late only to discover that they cancelled the movie tonight. We went back to our place, made a fire, and ate. I fell asleep.

July 24th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

[A long lovemaking, Kelly got off, part of.] A leisurely morning, then off to the beach. At the Windjammer, I drank a few beers and wrote about our experiences in Tari and Koroba, amongst our finest in Papua New Guinea. Kelly and I played cards awhile and then went swimming, showered and talked to Louie, Larry, Bill and the 2 pseudo intellectuals we met the other day (a guy from Canada and a girl from the States – but they’ve traveled in China for 3 months and worked there a year!) We returned home by 4 pm. Since there’s still no gas, I went out back and started a fire from a small burning ember (thanks to my bush experience!) and Kelly and I fixed some dinner – I roasted a piece of chicken!
We walked to the show early, at 10 to 7 pm, and arrived early. The 1st movie was Woody Allen’s “A Midsummer Night’s Sex Comedy” which we both thought was great (Sex relieves tension and love causes it!). The next film was Tom Horn with Steve McQueen and Linda Evans. S. McQueen is such a great actor! [“Now, Geronimo; there’s a man so great that you’d (Gentleman Jim Corbett) have to stand on your mother’s shoulder to kiss his ass!”] My ear is getting better and, correspondingly, life is more enjoyable.

July 25th, 1983
Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

10:36 am. Our last full day in Wewak! Yipeee! Hopefully, by the end of the week, we’ll be successfully on our way to Biak by boat after having successfully entered Indonesia by water! This is one of my most tricky obstacles to my guest to travel around the world by land and sea!! Let us be honest, at this moment in my life, I have never been so free, and I should enjoy it to its fullest!! We went to the beach at the Windjammer as usual. We saw Errol there, who invited us to his house. We smoked a few bongs. After 2 I was high as a kite but a “forced” 3rd did me in. Louie came in. Kelly, Louie and I went to Raun Isi. We (K and I) had bought a case of beer, and we passed them around. Louie played the guitar and wanted to jam with Nick. For me it was kind of a drag because I had sort of hoped that I’d be able to spend some time with Nick the last night before we left - sort of say goodbye, drink a few beers with the gang. I ended up going to bed. I fucked Kelly on our last night here.

July 26th, 1983
Enroute to Vanimo by boat, West Sepik province, PNG

We got up about 5 am. I wrote a bunch of “courtesy letters;” that is, letters to people who were good to us during our stay here. We packed up our things. At about 10:30 am, we said goodbye to our friends at Rau nisi. Raymond, the driver, drove us to town. Then he took us to the wharf. The boat finally departed at about 4 pm. (Aside: I lost my sailor’s cap a few days ago and I left Wewak without it. I loved that cap!) The scenery was nice. I jotted off letters to Kevin Hickey, Dr. Harrell and Boysie and Connie. Kelly and I found a secluded bunk on the lower deck, and we made lusty love. We were lying there afterwards – we had a blanket secluding the only view of the bunk. I saw a black hand come up, and it grabbed towards Kelly’s leg, hitting mine. I reached up and grabbed the hand. It tore itself away. I looked and saw a light blue terry cloth shirt on a man who was fleeing. I made a complaint to the captain, for it turned out (by the description) to be one of his crew. The rest of the night went smoothly. I took out my 5th ice-cold beer from the freezer.

July 27th, 1983
Jayapura, Irian Jaya, Indonesia, Exit Papua New Guinea

Woke before the sun rose, the boat swaying riding waves, the moon high, the sky of false dawn. We arrived in Vanimo at 8:15 am. We went to the customs. They would not allow me to cross the border at Wuton – they wouldn’t stamp my passport except at the airport. (I suppose if I pulled enough shenanigans I’d be able to wing it!) The plane flight was awesome – the water and coastline was awful pretty. We arrived in the airport in Sentani outside of Jayapura. A German girl named Elizabeth accompanied us into Jayapura. What filth! The PNGers are much, much cleaner! We looked for a losemen, but they were expensive. A man named Palem invited us to his house, where I am, now! We lucked out again! We ate at street side restaurants. In the evening we took a walk through the market (Pasar). Everything is new! It is so entirely different from Papua New Guinea even though it’s the same land. My baggage weighs 55 lbs. Now (25kg), 45 lbs. less than when we left. I’m going to try to drop 5 lbs. here in Jayapura and another 10 lbs. by Sept. 1st.
Note: Before we left Vanimo today, I ordered a small bilum like Kelly’s and a seed necklace to be sent to my house at 165. Lake Dr. K5.25. I also bought and sent an Oksapmin bilum to sister Donna. At the post Office was the prettiest girl in PNG I’ve seen – why did it have to be ½ hour before I left?? We paid K8 for the boat to Vanimo.

July 28th, 1983
Jayapura, Irian Jaya, Indonesia

We went down to a ship today and found out it is going to Jakarta on Monday. We can get a cabin and food for about $120 each. It’s an 8-day trip there.
Dairy, I feel a dilemma coming on. Here it is: I’m in Irian Jaya right now. I could go to Babien Valley, but if I go for 2 weeks, I’ll have at most 23 days to leave the country. Assuming I caught a boat to U. Pandang, I’d have only 9 days to leave the country from there and that’s if there was a boat leaving the day I got back from the interior. If I got to Jakarta now on Monday, We’ll arrive Aug. 9th, I’ll still have 27 days left (Kelly will have about 16 days to get to Singapore. This is based on a 25-day visa and 15-day extension, but add 5 days even because Imigrasi said it was 45 days max. Well, I could also leave here island hopping but the boats looked so raunchy. If I got to Jakarta, I can see the ruins in Joygya, maybe Bali, and Sumatra before going to Singapore, then come back. It might be my best bet. We walked around the market tonight which was a trip – the fish merchants amaze me, expertly slicing their skip jack tunas by lantern light.

July 29th, 1983
Jayapura, Irian Jaya, Indonesia

Briefly, today we went to Imigrasi and got a letter for the captain’s satisfaction. We cashed travelers checks for the boat trip. We ate. I tired to mail my fucking package, but you need to get it searched first and today was too late. We met up with Elizabeth, had ice coffee together, then Kelly went to the house and Elizabeth and I went to the ship. The captain showed us the 2nd Officer’s cabin. I must admit it looks pretty nice. Elizabeth and I checked out the other boats and they were filthy. We walked around. I went home at 3:30 pm. Kelly and I did it. In the evening we went out, ate, then Kelly split. I walked around. Some feminine black lady gave me her address. I got a ride home. K and I did it before sleeping.
Diary, I feel different since we got here. I don’t like this place much. I find myself lusting terribly after all the girls. I suppose I’m surrounded by decent looking women for the fist time in a long time. I feel bad about Kelly because I don’t feel as excited as her about her coming back. I want to love other women in Europe for example.

July 30th, 1983
Jayapura, Irian Jaya, Indonesia

Note: I am really thirsting after other women’s bodies! I can’t wait to fuck someone else beside Kelly!
Diary, I’m confused a bit as I’ve explained. Today, I found out that I can go to Wamena for Rp 28,000, that I can get a police permit to go there. What a drag that there was no info anywhere that we’d be able to get a police permit in Jaya! We were told we’d have to go to Jakarta to get one. Had we known, we could have done over hiking in Irian, damn bureaucracy!! I mailed a package today, which was nonsense – forms, office hopping.
Tonight I began to sew the shirt I designed. If I do say so myself, so far it looks awesome. Jayapura is a stink hole! It’s a fucking crime that the land has been invaded by Indonesia. It’s really sickening. Diary, I don’t know if I should take the boat to Jakarta or not. I made it with Kelly this morning – she’s lying beside me sleeping now and I think I’ll turn off the light and attack her!! I had a delicious sidewalk fried crust containing eggs, onions, etc.

July 31st, 1983
On board Rezeki in 2nd officer’s cabin with Kelly (Jane Java) in Jayapura Harbour, Irian Jaya, Indonesia

[Afternoon:] I woke up this morning and I tried to decide what to do. I looked at the maps of the world. There are so many places that I want to see. I don’t have a lot of money. It occurred to me that to go to Jakarta may be a wise idea. I was considering something like this:
Sept. Oct. – Malaysia, Thailand, Burma, Nepal;
Nov. Dec. – India, Pakistan;
Jan Feb Mar – Greece, Yugoslavia, Turkey, Egypt; April-Sep 84 – Morocco, Tunisia and Europe and then home.

[11:59 pm:] This has turned out to be the best day I’ve had yet in Indonesia. Right now. I am writing at the desk in the 2nd officers cabin on the Regehi, a ship that shall be sailing for Jakarta tomorrow. I’ve got a reading light, a fan blowing, a couch, running water, 2 port hole windows looking out on the front of the ship (I’m just below the bridge.) I feel very happy with the resolve to go to Java!! Guess what, if you look on the next to last line of yesterday’s entry, you’ll see a little face that Kelly drew when she read the awful things I’ve been writing! The little shit read my thoughts! I feel free. I feel happy. Waiting to set sail.

August 1st, 1983
On Rezeki North of Irian Jaya
Long 138E LAT 2S

Other than the fact that I am coming down with another cold (caught from Jane Java) I, Karl E. Mantan, have had a most bob day! I write this at day’s end in the wee hours of the morning in the cabin of the 2nd officer who’s rented it to Kelly and I for Rp. 100,000 (plus 65,000 Rp each for the ride and we get food served to our room 3 times daily). We are at sea, having “sailed” at 12 noon. We are still cruising along the north coast of New Guinea.
K and I awoke this morning on the ship. She rebuffed me twice for sex because she was upset from having read my diary. I packed my bags and headed out the door when she stopped me tenderly. We made passionate love on the couch. When we finished, we looked out our porthole to see the ship turning around in the harbor. Later we made love again. It’s lovely on the water!! I read The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire for a while, wrote ½ notebook on the TREK and sewed the shirt I’m making for about 3 hours. This ship is awesome! In a week. I should be on Java.

August 2nd, 1983
On Rezeki Norht of Irian Jaya, Indonesia
Long 134E Lat O Equator

I awoke in a state of ill-health, when the cold travels up your throat to your sinuses creating scratchy discomfort, which I export will develop into the more comfortable clogged sinuses by tomorrow. Ugh! I hate to be sick! I spent a great part of my day sewing my “royal” shirt, but the colors of the Shea “family coat of arms” are perhaps a bit too bright for present-day fashions – I have done an excellent stitching job but late at night while trimming the excess material my scissors slightly cut the shirt!! I wonder if I did it on purpose? Anyway, I should attempt to do a 2nd shirt, perhaps in purple, or in brown and black with a gold symbol. At night, I went outside to pray “to my personal god” for five minutes; I contemplated for ½ hour my life, and questioned whether my ‘momentum’ for achievement in one area has not been stifled because of other interests: should I concentrate on only one thing if I hope to be a smashing success in anything during my lifetime? Later, I climbed to the deck above the bridge and laid down on a tarp for a rest. It reminds me of falling asleep in the closet at Minorca Way.

August 3rd, 1983
On Rezeki in the Moluccas, Indonesia
Long 130E Lat 2S

Diary, if you’ll pardon my complaint, between my ears and this 2nd cold, the last month and a half had been tainted with a thin film of sickness. It is generally a bring-down to be sick. I feel better today than yesterday. The most time-consuming activity on the day was writing in my notebook and at night ultimately completing my notes on the adventures between Mendi and Ambunti. Now I feel left with the arduous task of condensing the 8 notebooks into a concise and readable history. Besides a period in the afternoon when I sat out on the bow deck with Kelly and drank a beer, my activities were isolated to my cabin.
Diary, I consider myself a drastic failure and a man without direction. I reflect on my past, try to ascertain the reason for the non-attainment of my goals/dreams and consider how I should manage my future. I can state my overriding desire to maximize my sensations of awe, wonder, bounded freedom and communion with the godly things that life has to offer.

August 4th, 1983
On Rezeki in Moluccas, Indonesia
Long 127E Lat 3S

4 pm. I’ve been sitting against the gunwale of the extreme bow of the Rezeki for the last hour reading Gibbon’s The Decline and Fall of the Roan Empire (D8F –RE), listening to the winds howling across the deck as we pound the sea. Earlier today we noticed an unusually archaic-looking sailing vessel pass close by, another in the distance, and later another passing by. Alone up here I feel once again - and for the first time on this cruise, the awesome, contenting solitude of the sea that I cherish 10:30 pm – Kelly and I just spent over an hour laying down on the very bow of this ship; the winds are high, the seas are choppy and they fluoresce. With her head on my stomach, I lay against the gunwale and sipped warm grog (San Miguel Pilsner). My mind filled with good thoughts and answers. A group called i) Roby Shields. I feel confidence that I can achieve my outrageous goals. Fact: I have to lead myself, force myself if necessary to work, to combat my inherent laziness. Answer: (How do I gain momentum in the desired direction?) Force myself to act. Long range goals. Quarterly goals and quarterly (1p and) goal review.

August 5th, 1983
On Rezeki in the Banda Sea, Indonesia
Long 123E Lat 6S

If I ever take another cruise like this, I am going to stock up on good food, and I’ll probably sleep on deck. Also, I’d prefer a boat trip of a few days at sea, then stopping in port and then continuing after a couple of days, rather than so many days at once. An ocean liner lacks the excitement, solitude and freedom that sail offers. Today, I endeavored to begin outlining the story of our trek through PNG. I wrote out the “chapter” headings with a brief description of each “chapter’s” most salient points. Today, we had a lot of wind, the sea was choppy. It’s really great! The wind is cooling and refreshing. Both Kelly and I are a bit put down by our colds, which fact diary, I hate to report; but I am compelled to present an honest report of my experiences. This boat trip is sort of boring! If we had better food, it would be a lot more fun! – p.s. – and pot!!

August 6th, 1983
On Rezeki below SE Celebes, Indonesia
Long 118E Lat 6S

Today began writing the story that I outlined yesterday. The most notable event of the day was our passing Celebes and Salajar Islands at 2 pm through a small (7 miles) channel. Only ½ mile (or ¾) to our left, just off Salajar was a rock island, Pulav Debril of Pulav Karong, which, a mile (perhaps) in diameter, looked tremendously awesome. Rock cliffs on the east shore plunged vertically into a crashing equivocal blue ocean. This island had an aura about it. I imagined ships landing there 400 years ago with spices, or people shipwrecking against the rocks. This sight makes me want to return here. Other than this, I spend a day, which feels confined by the boat. It is hot today. Unlike yesterdays there is no breeze to speak of. My cold persists. I feel ashamed because I feel listless and not up to the tasks I set out for myself before we left on this trip. I think of home and I feel remorse that –
i) I may never have a musical career
ii) Mandy will probably have forgotten about me by the time I come home
iii) Eric Gunn won’t want to drum for me.

August 7th, 1983
On Rezeki in Java Sea, Indonesia
Long 113E Lat 6S

I won our tournament in gin rummy today – 11 games to 8. As we draw nearer to Jakarta and Southeast Asia, my spirits are up and rising again. After all, it is pretty fascinating to think that I’ll soon be on Java. The activity today was mostly sewing, and at the end of the day, I had completed my shirt except for a small amount of stitching and attacking the pull string. Kelly and I made love twice today, and it was just spectacular especially the first time, when she came too! I like it when she moves from the bottom and I don’t move so much but help her motion with my arm around her back. We went and stood on the bow at sunset. “Yellow and black molten,” Kelly’s description of the sea. When we first went outside, the sea looked sliver blue and unreal. At night, our room filled with guests: Chief Cook, House Boy (the Komodo Dragon), Flat Face (the girl getting married to a guy from Sri Lanka and 2 others. I think of home, what I’ve left behind that may be gone when I return and I ponder the spirit of Adventure.

August 8th, 1983
On Rezeki in Java Sea, Indonesia
Long 108E Lat 6S

[P.S. to yesterday – last night Kelly put a penis gourd over her nose (after everyone left). It was hilarious.] Our last full day on the Rezeki passed without event. I finished my shirt today and all in all it is bob, but I’ll probably be too embarrassed to wear it around! I was really tired and fell asleep very early tonight, sleeping straight through till morning – about 13 hours. As we near Java, I feel more excited about my future prospects. It is a big world and I am passing into more “civilized” (I emphasize the quotes!) areas. There are so many sights ahead of me, and I relinquished myself to the spirit of Adventure.
Specifically: Don’t worry about going home! I cast my fate into the wind and continue in the attitude that I will get home when I do and for now, I am an adventurer. I face the reality that I have not a care or a task in the world to hinder my wanderlust! An awe-inspiring sunset – red, purple sphere of light, the orb descends into the haze.

August 9th, 1983
Jakarta, Java, Indonesia

Spent the morning wondering when we’d get off the ship. As we neared Java throngs of sailboats crowded the waters – not nice new boats but rude vessels more like canoes! When we reached the harbor, we anchored in the midst of perhaps 50 ocean going ships! I have never seen so many vessels in one port. We had to wait until l2 pm to go into the dock. K and I had a lover’s quarrel as in the middle of doing it, she got up to look out as we went in. Caught a ride to a losemen full of travelers trying to be cool. We went out and found a big trade show and went in. By 8 pm the fair grounds were crawling with people. It was really interesting. We saw ivory tusks carved in minute detail by the Balinese, plus other Balinese carvings – life size, painted papaya and bananas trees of wood. This place is pretty interesting. What a shock after being in the boondocks for 9 months! I feel both intimidated and intrigued by the lights, crowds and music of the 20th century.

August 10th, 1983
Train Enroute to Yogyakarta from Jakarta, Java, Indonesia

By virtue of so many new sights, an interesting day. We got out early. Diary, K and I aren’t getting along too good (though not too bad.) She’s not being that responsive in the morning. I turned off. We went to the Japanese Embassy and she threatened to leave, which was all right by me. Then she changed her mind and got a one-month re-entry permit extension so she doesn’t have to be home till 27th Sept, which is nice.
I changed money and they gave me an extra 5,000 Rp. I tired calling Mom but there was no answer. I checked out the boat fares to Singapore and it amounts to about $30. I had split from the Embassy, and we met back at the hostel at 12 noon. We cruised around more in the afternoon, down the crowded, busy, dirty and interesting narrow streets and wide boulevards of Jakarta. At 6:15 pm, we caught the 2nd class train to Yogyakarta which ran on all night. As we left Jakarta we intrigued ourselves, looking out at the huddled, lit congregations of shanty houses and throngs of people in the night. I read a lot of Gibbon tonight – the Decline of Rome is an incredible story.
Other sights: Looking at silk in Jakarta… so beautiful, riding in the 3 wheeler Beja’s in Jakarta for 300rp. Great haircut for 700rp. Thinking of many thoughts which for my level of profoundness and bordering on profound. Reading TDAFOFRE (Gibbon) makes me reflect on society. I tried to defend a point about sex and many pressures leveled against them. I am presently in a state of extreme lust for young girls. How I wish my lusts could be satisfied repeatedly!!

August 11th, 1983
Yogyakarta, Java, Indonesia
Consider: to travel like a pauper-only, say, 10 lbs of stuff.

A rather strange yet interesting day. The train pulled into the station before 6 am and K found a house to stay in - great bed, cool quiet room for Rp 2000, great deal. I wanted terrifically to do it, but she bluntly declined; I was real tired, so I left her at a nearby coffee shop and went back and slept all day till near 4 pm. She was sleeping, so I went out for a long walk. In order to evade the numerous German tourists and to have fun my walk took me through back alleys. It was really nice and people smiled and seemed surprised to see me.
Later, when it was dark, I had a beer and a beef satay. I was minding my own business when I must have stumbled upon the “taxi” girls, because all these fairly cute girls were rubbing my arm and asking me to Bom-Bom. For 3,000 Rp, I took one in a room. I took a bath and cruised around the streets. I got home and read. Now Kelly’s by my side, we’re ignoring each other. Thinking a lot about life.

August 12th, 1983
Yogyakarta, Java, Indonesia

We talked first thing in the morning and then Kelly threw herself in my receptive arms. This led to exquisite lovemaking, and I felt relieved and proud to find it so superior to the taxi girl of last night. But it seems I am temporarily cured of my lust for other women through last nights experience – for I realized how easy and cheap it is to fuck other women but how precious and grand it is to find love. Without the nagging anxiety to experience another woman, I found myself ever so much attentive an appreciative of Kelly’s true merit as a lover and a spiritual entity of exquisite design.
We went out at 3 pm and walked around. At night we went to a batik store and I got a farout batik t-shirt, and we bought some other clothes. Diary, again I must express that sickness (I have diarrhea) are still most uncommonly plaguing me of late. I read of the atrocities of the Fall of Rome. I find spiritual fortitude from last night – now the self-posed question of What Do I Want?:
1) To be Mentally Healthy Specify: Wake up and feel refreshed, have plans for the day, pursue my activities (in a relaxed, energetic manner) that easily hold my interest and that I find satisfying. Get along well with others without conflict. Feel happy and enthusiastic about my activities. Feel the company of friends as enjoyable and rewarding, contentment and satisfaction with life.
2) To be physically healthy i.e. not sick, fit for exercise.

August 13th, 1983
Yogyakarta, Java, Indonesia [Borobudur]

(2 am Aug 14) A memorable day beginning with making love upon awakening; we caught an efficient succession of busses and horse drawn cart to Borobudur, which Bill Dalton claims is “The largest ancient monument in the Southern hemisphere” (I guess Machu Picchu doesn’t count – it was a “City”, and the Lines of Nayca which extend for miles must be classified under 2-lane entities, not monuments) and he states, “No nation or group of men could possibly build it today” (If they can build the Trans America pyramid, they could so!) and “It dwarfs the cathedrals of Europe” (most assuredly he’s forgotten about St. Peter’s Basilca or maybe he’s never been to Europe). However, the relieves in stone are fantastic displays of history showing sailing ships, elephants, carriage, daily life and entertainment of 1100 years ago. It was really fantastic. We took slow walks through the corridors. A becak ride, a bevio and a bus took us back to Yogya. We slept till evening and then took a walk in town. My state of mind is characterized by calm contentment and happiness. I am amazed by Kelly’s wonderfulness – she’s a companion from Heaven.

August 14th, 1983
In Selo Walking enroute to Munt Merapi, Java, Indonesia

Kelly sent Telex today to inform Mom we arrived in Singapore. K and I slept late. We went out because I had to find a pair of socks for the walkup Mt. Merapi. It took along time because I couldn’t find cotton socks. I just had time to go back home and grab my things and head up to Chirstoff’s hostel by 1 pm. I ate at the local Nasi campur stand and then we walked to catch a bus I kissed K goodbye and then Christoff and I hopped on the local bus to the bus terminal, then another bus to Kartosuro, then another to Boyolali and 2 more to Selo. We ate in Selo and found a house to stay in for 250 RP. Each.
We went to bed at 7 pm and slept until 11:30 pm, when we got our things together and headed out the door into the brisk air of the clear mountain night at 11:55 pm. After having seen Merapi closer and closer during our successive bus rides here, I was very excited to climb it. There was smoke visible by day. The night sky was abundantly filled with stars. We walked up the long dirt road towards the mountain and climbed the trail, resting infrequently. We trudged and climbed the last 500 meters through the volcanic rubble and up rocks, arriving at the summit at 4:20 am.

August 16th, 1983
Yogyakarta, Java Indonesia

We looked for lava. There was a wall of red among the blackness, which made a peculiar sound. We each took a number of photos of these fumaroles. Then I endeavored to get closer, walking down into the eerie depression. Christoff followed. Inside the “fumes” I beheld this spectacular sight. The fire gushed out of the rock as if it was gas burner, glowing ever so eerily against the starlit blue sky. Christoff likened it to “Looking into the devil’s cooking pot.” After a series of photo amidst heat and sulfurous gas. The ground beneath my feet turned into a blue flame and I jumped away and the ground where I’d stood began gushing fire. We climbed up and viewed the spectacular sunrise.
After eating, taking pictures of the volcano field landscape, we were leaving when an American geologist and French photographer came up. We stayed up for another 3 hours as the American explained the volcano to us. He pointed out the incredibly awesome dome! I climbed down and watched as the dome pushed boulders down a 2-mile chasm! I saw a boulder 10 feet in diameter hurling down, bouncing!! I sat there for an hour watching a near constant stream of boulders being pushed by the rising dome into the 2-mile chute! I was mesmerized. It was truly one of the most awesome things I’ve ever seen! The dome itself was few hundred meters across, a rivaled pile of grey mud and rock. It took us only 2 hours to climb down (I ran a lot!) We made our way back to Yogya. In the evening, Kelly and I bought our tickets for a bus leaving for Bali tomorrow.
An anecdote: On the bus from Selo, I watched Chirstoff and the busman talking. Christoph asked how much it cost. The busman said 150 Rp. Christoph (thinking he’d said 250 Rp) suggested he pay 200! The busman immediately agreed and Chrsitoph sat there with a look of triumph on his face! I told Christoph that it was only 150Rp but he wouldn’t believe me until the busman admitted it!
Note: I spent approx $1800 in PNG in 6 mo. 3 days and about $600 while on the sailboat.

August 17th, 1983
On bus on Java enroute to Bali, Indonesia

K and I made love one in the morning and once again before we left in the afternoon on the bus to Bali. We boarded the bus at abut 4 pm. (We tried to go see the Kraton, but the palace itself was closed). The bus ride was nice. They served bottled tea, had video Indonesian movies! We passed through Solo and Mediun and into the night. I cleared off the back seat and laid down and thought about how to lighten my baggage, going through each item I have in my mind. At 2:30 am we got to the edge of Java and waited for the ferry to Bali. During the ferry trip dawn came.

August 18th, 1983
(!!)
Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

We were driving down the road the morning of the 18th when I though that the driver was proceeding precariously by the motorists and people gathered by roadside for Independence Day Festivities. Less than a minute after the front of the bus, witnessed a bloody and horrible spectacle. A teenage boy was swerving slowly on his bicycle in the middle of the road. As the driver honked, the boy turned his bike to the left and the collision was inevitable. The bus, going 40mph, hit him square on while the horrified spectators look on. I thought that we ran over him and said, “That guy is Dead!” but the bus had hurled him forward; the windshield was cracked and shattered where it had hit his head, the helpers on the bus gathered his body clumsily and brought him on the bus and we drove to a nearby hospital. I followed them in and witnessed gross incompetence.
The attendant was only an orderly who listened to the bus driver trying to expedite his guilt, while the boy lay on his table gasping for air, blood coming from his ear. The orderly left and a middle-aged nurse came in and swabbed blood form his ear, while breathing was becoming more difficult! I told them that they must tilt his head back to allow the windpipe to open, as obviously blood was clogging it! But they examined blood on his pillow and removed the pillowcase. I felt like I was going to get sick! I urged them to clear his breathing but they did nothing!! The breathing subsided and the orderly returned and placed an IV needle in the arm of a dead boy! There was no pulse I left and told Kelly and when I returned I asked the orderly if he was still alive. The man, who was taping the needle on said yes. I felt for a pulse and said I think he’s dead!! The orderly felt it and said you’re right, I tired to close his eyes but the hard lids came back. No one cared. Later, the bus driver was jovial. We were dropped of in Denpasar.
K and I went to Imagrasi and renewed our visas for 21,500Rp. We continued to Kuta Beach and tiredly tried to find a losman in the afternoon. In the evening we tripped around, ate. I was disappointed to discover that they’ve outlawed magic mushroom omelets here. Later, K went home and I waited till 12 am to talk with a drug dealer who said to meet him at 10 pm tomorrow night to buy some pot/hash. (We bumped into a guy we met on the plane to Jayapura. Since then, he’s been to Ambon (dirty) and Sulawesi, where he found the people oppressive.

August 19th, 1983
Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

Last night we were told to go to the Bombay Rock to inquire about pot tonight. We slept late. I had about 3 cups of coffee and I wrote an excellent introduction to my condensed notes, the TREK, for PNG, which I want to present to my grandmother. We had arrived at 10 pm as agreed, but the guy wasn’t there. We sat on a street corner and humored the crowd, saying things like “are you a hungry tiger” to a girl who pulls her head out of her ass momentarily unable to resist her curiosity to see who said it, or any variety of animisms, produced from our mouths. I asked some guy if he wanted “Meester, to buy my Seester;” and instead he walked us down to the beach to smoke a joint. Later he tried to sell us $2 worth of pot for $30. Instead we went to the Bombay Rock and the owner sold us some grade A hash for $10. We went home and got stoned and made the most incredible love.

August 20th, 1983
Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

We woke up at 9:30 am, talked to the travelers next door, got stoned and bombed on a bemo to Denpasar. Some French girl wanted us to come with her to a Balinese cremation, but I don’t have a camera with me, so we go get our passports from Imigrasi, no gratzie, for taking our 21,5000 rupees. We took a bemo out to the harbor. There were 9 yachts anchored in the water. It didn’t look promising. Two notes up, one said $350 to Darwin on a Indonesian sail craft. The other was from a guy like me who is looking for a boat. Went back to the losemen, got it on, and then slept. I got up and went out to eat at 10 pm; Kelly slept because she didn’t go to sleep last night. Later, I cam back and we went out to Bombay Rock. We went to Dogie’s to get a hamburger, I complained about the meat, they hit me and threw me out, called the police. The punks. Met Kelly back at the losemen. She made me feel better.
P.S. - one guy barely scratched me that’s all.

August 21st, 1983
Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

In the morning, walking late, I spent until early afternoon trying to write The Trek. I wrote 16 pages on the first day and I felt it was uninteresting. I estimated that if I wrote as many pages each of the 39 days of the trek, there would be 600 pages to write, which is ridiculous considering there is not that much interesting to write about. So I think maybe 2 pages daily or about 80 totally to describe the trek would be sufficient. I will attack this tomorrow.
Thereafter, the day went so quickly. K and I went to the beach, where I was delighted to see so many topless girls – it makes me delight in the joy of nature. On our walk back in the sunset, we met Joe. We smoked some pipe loads and went to his place where we ate Padang style. He’s got a cute 17-year-old ex-girlfriend – she’s Indonesian. K and I went to bed early: 10:30 pm.

August 22nd, 1983
Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

P.S. To yesterday when I had my first massage on the beach. Two women for Rp 1000 for ½ hour, but it weren’t so hot. I tried to write in another style today, but again I feel uninterested by what I read back. I still haven’t struck on the right method of recounting my tale! If indeed there be one to tell! Tonight we walked on the beach and smoked a spiked cigarette! Later, I smoked and smoked while Kelly slept. I was just too stoned altogether, and I wrote some in my tale, but it was mostly undirected. Later we went by Bombay Rock, but the guy with the stuff had just left. So it was late before I fell asleep. I feel so listless, it is starting to worry me. Life seems presently uneventful, one could almost say boring. I wish I was a surfer here with a wad of money, a plane ticket home, a good stack and 2 foxy girlfriends! Paradise!

August 23rd, 1983
Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

A leisurely morning (I am a mess because I have nothing to do!) Smoking, drinking coffee and trying to write a confounded report to my grandmother! Eventually, I, the vegetable of Kuta Beach, rouse myself and alone I got to Sanin Beach to get an American Express office list, but the agent there doesn’t have one. I got to UBUD, and eventually I walked to a nearby “monkey forest” where a huddle of men want your autograph and donation. I tell them I’ll pay them on my way out. At a temple, a woman, surely for religious reasons only, screams that I must not enter the temple without a sash, but she has some for rent!! I find some monkeys in a rice field and sit among them and take their pictures! I sneak out of the forest. I take buses back to Kuta. I have a delicious meal of spring roll and fish. I listen to a gamelan orchestra, which is mystifying. At 4:30 am K and I make love.

August 24th, 1983
Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

Shrooms! The first two days here, I wanted to leave, but now that we’re finding out how to get what we want and where to eat, finding friends, now, I say, I don’t want to leave at all! What a party place! The girls on the beach are so nice! In the evening K and I happened to be walking by the Midnight Oil, a place where Joe said we could get mushies. The place was closed but the tour place adjacent to it was selling spiked fruit juice under the counter! I bought a small and drank some. It came on at the end of a big fish dinner! We walked to the beach. K and I made it. Later, went to the beach again. I stared at the moon and clouds and surf and it seemed evident to me, in light of what Socrates said, that there is a god. Late, we had a conversation with a strange but well traveled man who works for the State Department, USA.

August 25th, 1983
Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

What a nice day! Did it in the morning, a very leisurely morning. Joe came by and said he wanted to do shrooms with me again. Kelly and I had a great American Breakfast at the Pub. I went down the beach and observed all the tits - I really love all the topless girls! Later, Joe and I went down to Midnight Oil and brought some mushroom fruit juices and consumed them. Even though today’s was lager (rp 2500), I didn’t get as stoned, but I felt so bitchin’! I felt so free, unworried and easy! We (I) went to eat at the Gemini, then took a bemo to Legion because Kelly wanted to eat at a place there. I walked around with my sarong on and sandals and some necklaces from the Solomons; under my sarong and at the beach, I wear only my blue underwear/swim trunks. I saw 3 really cute girls here tonight. This place is crawling with chicks! Kelly says she wants me to fuck some if I can, because I deserve it! We had Arrock and Coke for 400 Rp (for 2). This girl Wendy had a unique face, beautiful eyes and mouth. Even though her boyfriend was there and Kelly standing right there, I almost kissed her as I sat next to her. I feel bob. Joe scored some hash for us.

August 26th, 1983
Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

Bobbest of bobs. Besides a generally nice day of eating, going to the beach, being pounded by the waves, smoking excellent hash, I had an interesting interlude as follows: After dinner our 2nd dinner, K and I were walking along and noticed the foxy German girl, whom was among the 3 girls I mentioned yesterday as attracting me in these girl-filled streets. K said I should pick up on her, and we walked back to the hostel. K knew I wanted to, and encouraged me. I walked back to where the German girl was standing. I went to a tape shop. She came in and her male, German friend left. I asked her to come for a juice with me. We took a walk to the beach. I kissed her. (Her name: Ricarrda.) I felt her big luscious tits and ran my hands along her tight pants where her cunt lips showed through. My goal was to fuck her, but I didn’t. We made out for ½ hour or more. We held hands as we walked back to her hostel. She smelled good all over. When I got back to the hostel, Kelly was waiting with only a t-shirt on. I told her about it; we made love twice; it was fantastic!

August 27th, 1983
Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

Let today be characterized as the first time in my life that I had a full-on hallucination! Yikes! Well, also, say this: that I pounded pavement for Riccarda, that German girl. It is like this: I kept going by her place and she wasn’t there at 2:30 to take mushrooms with me, so I went and took most of them myself, giving Kelly a bit. K and I smoked some hash and then I began marveling at the walls of the room, so colorful, the after-sight being the (often orange-ish blue) impression of sight left when you stare at alight bulb, resembling stars. We went to the beach to watch the sunset. At sunset, I took a swim. There were some clouds shooting lightening a few miles off, and I thought a line of it came down towards me and I thought I felt the shock! We I came out of the water, though I saw a flash of light in mid-air off to my left about 50 feet away on the beach, and again I thought I felt a shock. Later at night still no trace of Riccarda. I saw her finally in a bar but while I was thinking how to handle it, she left and I didn’t see where she went. She has a terrific body.

August 28th, 1983
Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

Well, diary, it is like this. Kelly and I spotted Riccarda on the beach today. I got her address in Germany and I told her I’d come by her hostel at 6:30 pm. She was seen holding hands with the guy she was walking with, a German fellow. I thought that either Riccarda would not be there in the evening, or if she was, that she would’ve been with friends. Thus, I took Kelly with me. We were walking in the alley of her losemen at 7:10 pm, when she walked by! Kelly excused herself and I walked Riccarda down to where she was going to have dinner with her friends. She was alone. She leaned on me and was cheerful. [Note this, that when we had met her, Kelly and I where holding hands: mistake?] I grabbed her butt, I kissed her, but she was in a hurry to dinner. It didn’t really hit me until later that she’d been waiting for me alone; she told me Hans had already left. I told her to come by the Arak/Tuak place but she never showed. Later K and I swung by her place. K split and I went in. She was ready for bed. We talked. Then, later, I pressed her against the wall and felt her up. She said she’d spend time with me on Tuesday but I pressed and she shut the door on me.

August 29th, 1983
Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

I rented a paddleboard today, but I returned it for another, which I’ll use tomorrow, since the first one I got wasn’t so hot. However, it is always fun to play in the surf and sun here, among the topless girls. I really love Kuta beach. The food is so cheap, and clothes here are nice and fashionable in a European sense. As we are adequately supplied, we enjoy frequent smokes.
In the morning Kelly fixes coffee for me and buys cakes for Rp 100 from a woman who comes by the Losemen. Kelly is forever rinsing out, washing and drying clothes. Every day, the sun is out in force. After dinner at the Padang-Style Restaurant (where you buy pre-cooked, delicious Indonesian food and hot rice), we went to the Tropicana where I got a fresh baked small apple pie and ice cream for 650 rupees. I’ve been reading Parliament of A Thousand Tribes – good book! I left a note of apology to Ricarrda and guess the matter is closed. In the middle of the night I awoke to envious flashes of light in the room. I didn’t think you get flash backs from mushrooms, so I got up and checked and it was only a sputtering fluorescent bulb outside in the seating area of the Loseman.

August 30th, 1983
Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

Tonight I was in a state of exhaustion, as I spent 4 hours or so riding a body board today in the Kuta/Legian Surf. I had a great deal of fun; I rode many, many waves. I got pummeled a lot as well, which no doubt contributed to my exercise. I went out once in the morning and came back to the beach in the afternoon for two more bouts in the surf. As usual, the sun was out in force today, and the topless girls abound as well. K and I, of course, smoked copiously (in reality 10 or 15 hits a day is plenty to keep my high).
In the evening, I traded/paid cash for (Rp 400) a purple scarf with gold tinsel in it. We ate dinner at the night market, which was cheap and good: (wheat noodles with shrimp and veggies 500 rp). We came back and crashed. We’re probably going to leave tomorrow so we can see Bromo before we depart form Jakarta on Monday. I’ll miss this place. It’s one of the best places to vacation in the world!

August 31st, 1983
Enroute to Probolingo, in Bus, on Java, Indonesia

Today was our last day on Kuta beach. I’m going to miss it terribly! This has got to be one of the best vacation spots in the world! Besides a great surf, sun, beautiful beach, cheap and delicious food, cheap and pleasant accommodations, there is also the standard Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll – also, the clothes make shopping fun.
Today, I traded in my jean shorts on a bob pair of swim trunks. (We each had a massage in our room.) I rented a surfboard. K and I went to the beach. I got up on my knees several times and once at the end of the wave, I stood up for a moment. Well, at least I tried surfing. I think I’ll be doing more in the future if I get a chance: it’s a whole new way to enjoy the ocean! We left the beach about 3 and got our bags together. We caught a pre-arranged bemo to Denpasar and then the bus to the west tip of Bali. We smoked while waiting for the ferry. We took the ferry trip again, and finally rolled into Probolingoo at 2:45 am. Rom Probolinggo, we caught a bus to Ngadisari. It became cold as the elevation increased. Finished Parliament of a Thousand Tribes.

September 1st, 1983
Cemoro Lawang, Java, Indonesia [Mt. Bromo]

We got to Ngadisari at about 6 am. It was cold! We got the first in a series of copi susus, put some warm stuff on, donned our baggage and walked 3 km up the hill to Cemoro Lawang. I took a bunch of pictures of the tremendous crater antique. Inside the old crater is housed Mt. Bromo and Mt. Batok – the latter a perfect volcanic cone – the former a still – sizzling crater. We got a room and slept until 4. We had some eats and set of to Mt. Bromo in early dusk. Coming home across the vast volcanic plain were 2 ponies, 2 riders and 2 cloaked Javanese Indians running after them as fast as their little feet would carry them. I ran up the cement steps to the crater’s edge as daylight fell away into the purple and pink lines that rested along a skyline of peaks. Picture- perfect cone, quite large, Bromo descends to a bed of fumaroles, glowing hot red.
We smoked under a blanket, then I took a bunch of photos. Here was a path of flaming eerie blue off to the left and a green dot in the fumaroles. We thought about walking the rim, but chickened out. Brisk walk back. I took a photo of a cloaked Kelly with a flashlight under her chin against the night sky and Mt. Batok. She looked incredible like a being from another age, and mystical. Sort of Indian.

September 2nd, 1983
Enroute to Jakarta, On Train from Surbaya, Java, Indonesia

We woke up in the cold room, one of those mornings with the down bag and 2 blankets keeping us toasty warm and in no disposition to get up! We got up at 8:30 and had copi susus at the raunchy warung. We had a smoke, then descended the road, marveling at the Peru like morning and the New Guinea – like cultivation carpeting steep slopes. The cobblestone path runs directly down to Ngadisari. I busted my thong and walked down barefoot. We stopped to eat and then began a bus ride to Probolinggo. We raced away as soon as we got there on an uncomfortable 2½ hour ride to Surabaya. Once there, we caught a train to Jakarta. This morning I finished Candied [the last time I read it was senior year in High School). We slept a lot on the train. People are lying in the aisles sleeping, between the sets on the floor sleeping, in their seats sleeping, and the tea boys and food women ply the aisles. I lay on the floor on my swiss army mat, my head under our seat.

September 3rd, 1983
Jakarta, Java, Indonesia

Tonight we bought a dessert on the street that was super-delicious: a Martabak Manis Special, at Bandung Asli 99, on Jin Agus Salim, (Lecat and Gurih) made of Butter Wysman, Kacang, Coklat, Wijen, Keju, Telur dan Sasu! We met some people form Canada who couldn’t describe their (wonderful) experience in Bali, and it makes me think, since they were so keyed up (!), that one shouldn’t take their experiences too seriously! Temper with humor. I met the French Photographer in a losemen today – the guy who was on top of Mt. Merapi. He’s just been to Krakatoa, and now he’s writing and article about it. The room we got for 5500 rupees is great – it is large with a huge bed a couch, a fan, and a veranda. We still have enough yam left to keep us stoned all day usually. Kelly stopped taking (ran out of) the pill last month, so when we fucked today, I pulled out when I came. I wrote a letter to Gam and one to Gray tonight. Diary, that dessert we had, the Martabak, was one of the most delicious things I ever tasted. I stayed up late.

September 4th, 1983
Jakarta, Java, Indonesia

Today I wrote letters to Mandy and Eric Gunn. Diary, I admit that it’s probably a passing thing, but I’m thinking of home which seems far way, and I’m missing the things which I could have. Though true that the focal point of my goals is to enjoy life to the fullest, how to achieve that is perhaps subject to debate. To see new places and things is certainly a thrill, but the in-between times of staying in hot hotels in filth-ridden cities is, or could become, a drag. I really need to assess my life and set a direction for myself. No diary, the thrill of traveling hasn’t left me, but I seek to be off the beaten path, and my financial situation is getting confining.
As today was Sunday, the city was much more quiet than usual today. It was really nice as we roamed the peaceful streets. We looked at a butterfly collection at the President Hotel. We looked for the Martabak stand but wasn’t there tonight. We’re really hooked!!

September 5th, 1983
Enroute to Tanjung Pinang, aboard Km. Tampoma’s, Indonesia

8:30 pm: Kelly and I have got our place staked out on one of the upper decks of this huge ship, Tampomas. The ship is still sitting in the harbor. It was supposed to leave at 6 pm. Had we known it was going to be so late we could have stayed in town until the Martabak place opened. We both were really looking forward to buying some Martabaks. They are embarrassingly delicious! I got letters, which were forwarded from Sulawewsi. 2 letters from Gam, 2 postcards from Mom, and an article from my Sister on Sikkim. My Mom isn’t coming to Singapore. That’s disappointment! The ship finally got underway at about 9 pm. It didn’t take me long to fall into a deep sleep from which I didn’t awake until morning. It’s too bad my Mom isn’t showing up. I had been hoping to be able to talk with her and fortify communication between myself and home.

September 6th, 1983
(!!)
Enroute to Tanjung Panang aboard Km. Tampondas

I had a good sleep last night. I awoke to the clamor of the crowd around me, people eating, the occasional radio, mother’s tending to their babies needs. The sun got hot. Later it began to rain. I took a tour of the boat, and I came to a spot where all the Westerner’s were hanging out, a blocked off patch of clean, shaded deck. A New Zealand guy (a Kiwi) named Hugh came over and talked to me. He told me about the Russian fighter that shot down a Korean 747. He suggested K and I move ourselves to this patch of deck. K and I got our stuff and moved, now much more content (being away from the crowded filth). There was a longhair man, a Spaniard, who I talked to. He’s been traveling for 27 years!
The Spaniard claims he has seen every country. He has not been to Papua New Guinea, I found out. He says he lived 10 years in France. He is strange looking, but so charming, that his face becomes a nice vision. He gesticulates, his face becomes animated when he explains. He answers questions fully and sincerely. He says that he’s recently been refused entry to Australia because the diplomat at the consulate thought he was crazy because of his long hair! He even brought a letter of recommendation of good character from the Spanish Embassy, and, subsequently, a letter from a doctor as to his normality. He’s been to Australia before though. He said it’s the first time in 27 years (that is, ever) that he’s been refused entry to a country.
In short, diary, my talks with this man have re-inspired me to travel. It is his life. He was the most interesting person I’ve talked to recently. His manner was warm, humorous and fatherly. He told me not to smoke ganja while trekking. Bring 2kg dried fruit and 1kg. cheese. Go alone without a guide, watch the trail. No need to bring other food. Houses along the way. Bring 2 pairs socks and pants and shoes, 1 pullover and a cap and a mat and a sleeping bag. Also essential – 2 knee braces – those elastic kind!! Rest 3-4 days at Nayi Bayar to acclimate. Walk 10-11 hours a day – No more!! The Spaniard loved the places he went to. He said, “It as fantastic, magnifique, for me!”
He supports himself through his artwork. He gave me all the particulars about trekking in Nepal to Base Camp and he even went to the first of 8 stations between Base Camp and the peek of Everest! I awoke in the middle of the night with diarrhea and vomiting! Yuk.

September 7th, 1983
Singapore

The morning would have been, well, fun, perhaps, if I hadn’t been so fucking sick! The boat (ship) anchored at 7 am. A ferry came to transport us to Tanjing Pinang at 9 am. I said goodbye to the Spaniard. While we were waiting for the ferry to depart (the ferry was pulled up against the ship), garbage was thrown and poured out onto the deck of the ferry from a porthole of the ship! Kelly, I, Hugh, Gary Nil and the guy from Wales and his girl from Canada, marveled and joked about the inconsideration and filth of Indonesia!! At Tanjung Pinang, Kelly and I were accompanied by Trimando, our Indonesian friend met on the ship. We caught the “express” ferry to Singapore.
While waiting for the ferry in a prison cage-like area I was urged by the immigration officials to put on my shirt. In my reluctantly complying antagonizing way, I said I would, but I asked them why. One official got angry because I asked them why. The others took varying expressions. I asked why again. One official tried to appeal to my intelligence by explaining: “If you have shirt off, people will look at you and see you!” This, I said, was pretty ok. The official who had gotten angry tried to intimidate me by threatening: “If you don’t have your shirt on, I might call you a nudist! How would you like that?” I replied that I thought nudity was fantastic! I was told finally that it was against Indonesia custom to be without a shirt. As I donned my shirt, I related to them how confusing it seemed to me that it is impolite not to wear a shirt, yet as a regular matter I had seen Indonesians drop their trousers in full sight of a man squat and defecate in a small river which I assume, is used to irrigate crops and possibly as drinking water! They were happy that I put on my shirt, which relived them of a moral duty to force me to wear it through coercion.
Tri found us a place to stay for $12 (US 5.58) At night we toured the town with Tri. Singapore is one of the most beautiful cities in the world!! I was totally amazed at the cleanliness (littering in Singapore is punishable by a $500 fine and, if not payable, by 6 months in prison!) and the gorgeous tall buildings, each of unique design. It is wondrous like being home!

September 8th, 1983
Singapore

Though feeling quite ill myself, went to town to begin checking things out. In short order, we occasioned upon Hugh, who accompanied us for the remainder of the day. We changed money, went to Istana on Orchard. St., the expensive distinct; there, we went to McDonalds hamburgers! It was great to eat there, but my stomach not in such good shape, it was disastrous for my well being. We walked among the shops, and my marvel at Singapore on first sight was upheld by these subsequent experiences. Every possible service and luxury seems existent in Singapore. In the evening, K and I now back at the oppressively unkempt “Mama’s,” Tri came by. We repaid him for money lent and spent on us, but Tri would not accept about $530 – ($14.50) of it, which we rightfully owed him. The night found me miserable oppressed by the germs breeding and belching in my stomach. I finally stuck my finger down my throat.

September 9th, 1983
Singapore

(12:30 am Sat) Mr. International reporting here in Singapore. I feel like I am on the gateway to the Orient. First off, I note my sickness has all but disappeared. I ate only an apple tonight and drank 3 cups of tea today. Starving out the germs seems to be working as I feel human again.
Good news: I called Norma today and she agreed to send me $500 and I’m to mail her a check for $500! This is super important for me, since I am now financially in a position to go through to Nepal and India! I am totally psyched up for trekking! Otherwise, it was a fair day even considering I didn’t eat and I had a bad time of it this morning (physically). I got the notion that Proxmyre is supposed to represent modern society and Pita , the primitiveness of the human race! We’re planning on finding a new place to stay tomorrow. “Mama’s” is sort of a hole!

September 10th, 1983
Singapore

Jurong Bird Park. This bird park is supposed to be the world’s largest. K, Hu and I got out there in the afternoon. The primer sight was the old cassowary from Ceram! He had a horn on the top of his head 8” long, 4” wide at the base and 7” high! It was a horn, which resembled the horn of a rhinoceros in material. The flowing skin of its neck was incredibly gorgeous ultra-blue with red. The large body was covered with black feathers. Its feet where 3-toed and massive. It stood about 5’ high. It tired to ram us from the other side of the fence, letting out a war snort! It faced away from us, turned and twisted its neck until its head peaked out from between its legs, hoping to clandestinely recognizance our behavior!
The other “cherishable” sight was the red-tailed birds of paradise! The key birds (2) were only photographable through wire. For me, it was a long awaited consummation of a desire to see one in flight. The Red-tailed bird had 3-foot long spiraling trails on either side. For me, it was consummately beautiful. Also, flamingos, eagles, turacos, ostriches, vultures, hornbills, the wonderful corned pigeon of New Guinea, owls, penguins, peacock, parrots and a 22 hectare walk-in aviary, plus much more. Duck and rice dinner for $1.20 and ¾ L tiger beer – U$ 1.50!

September 11th, 1983
Singapore

Today I didn’t feel so great. Needing the rest, I lay on the dormitory floor on my mattress, reading, talking. The day passed away, as they do, so quickly. In the evening, I led Kelly and Noel to Shakey’s pizza parlor because I wanted to eat pizza and it suited their fancy as well. Even the pictures of the pizza in the menu looked awful, let alone the actual pizza. When it came to our table we were disappointed, though it was fun making jokes about how bad it was.
Noel was good company. We had a beer before we went home. Back on the dorm floor, K scooted her rear over to me. We were both really enjoying it till some guy got up to go to the toilet. Then K said it sort of hurt. I finished in short order.
Diary, from Singapore, its Asia. Psyche up! The Himalayas! Everest! There’s so many who have climbed there before, but that fact won’t detract from the awesomeness of the mountains. I want to trek alone.

September 12th, 1983
Singapore

Feeling ill still so I was talked into going to the doctor’s. There’s a clinic around the corner where you can see a doc and get mediation all for S$4 (less than U$ 2); it’s government run. So I went there. The lady doctor gave me medicine. She checked my ear too and said there’s a discharge and gave me some drops. Apparently, my ear has been infected for months! After I took some medicine, I felt great. K and I went uptown and I scarfed out a Wendy’s hamburger! It was, for me, delicious. I got in an argument at a Minolta shop and I called the police when the guy threatened me (In a reaction to what happened in Bali). At night we looked at camera lenses. I got some solid info but must do more shopping. K went to bed early. I went out to get a pre-bed time meal. Stupid me! I got (greasy, fatty) chicken and (Fatty) rice and soup and a beer! I went home and went to bed on my mattress on the dorm floor next to Kelly. When I awoke in the night, I thought about how the medicine I had taken had some morphine in it - and I’d had alcohol. I was frightened. (Later I found out there’s very little morphine.)

September 13th, 1983
Singapore

Worst Day of the Year: I awoke maybe at 2 am feeling so nauseous that I was compelled to stick my finger down my throat; gruel came up in a lump, and on repeated attempts slid up my throat, sometimes getting caught halfway. I went back to bed, but I had to get up to “get nauseous” again. “I felt so weak! I thought I might die!” After 3 visits to the toilet I was thirsty and hot. There was nowhere to go. It was dark. The fridge was locked. But the freezer with ice water, open. I drank many glasses – a mistake! Suddenly I was on the toilet. Clear water flowed out my rear. Then I began vomiting columns of cold water! I finally went out to find 7up. I walked to the food marts and a place was open. I had nearly 2 7 up’s and some hot tea. I walked home, but before I could get in, I vomited it all up on the ground! I finally woke K, who, reluctantly, got up, it now being dawn and got me the orange juice I carried even though she thought it was bad for me. My temperature dropped from 100.7 to 99.2 in 30 minutes after drinking the OJ K made by hand. I went back to the doctor’s. She insisted I go to the hospital but it was a minimum of S$160 a day so I refused. Kelly was an excellent nursemaid to me all day. I was in pain all day. I had severe cramps, and I was very weak. I finally fell asleep at about 10:30 pm. I’ve lost a lot of fluids.

September 14th, 1983
Singapore

A deep sleep. I thanked the heavens when I gained wakefulness in the dark morning of the dormitory; I felt no pain. I drank some OJ and the cramps started again, but I felt on the whole, recovering today. Kelly took expert care of me. If it weren’t for her, I would have had to go to the hospital. We changed to a private room this afternoon (one floor down) for S$22. K went to the clinic and discussed my condition with the doctor, who seemed pleased with my progress. I read Newsweek a lot today. I had cramps often during the day. After I began sobbing, thinking how cruel people are to one another, or how wonderful some deed was, but the underlying reason was that I was thankful to be alive and getting well. Whether or not I was in the danger zone of death I can’t say, but I didn’t think it, and the reaction on my mind was the same. I fell asleep at 11:30. I had such a deep sleep!
Before I awoke I had an awesome dream. It is too detailed here, but the visionary power of the content shook me to my bones. The end of the dream was when Sid (I gave names to all the characters upon awakening. Sid, Frank, Wendy and Chara. It was vivid) began to hum being high on the huge kiwi-like marijuana pods, and the doors to my old room began to come off their hinges, the frames came lose, over again. We threw him out the window and my Mom came in. I awoke. When I awoke I felt in total contact with my subconscious. I had a drink of juice and I laid back on my bed in the dark. A bead of the liquid came out of the side of my mouth and slithered down my cheek. I thought how ordinary we would normally view this, yet how incredibly powerful and awesome is such a thing – illusions of atoms in an explosion, the momentary rush of huge masses of liquid race across the surface of a unique, giant being. Worlds turn in the glimpse; it’s scintillatingly intriguing!”
In reflection, I wish my powers of perception could always be so acute! It’s like what they say it’s like for a Papua New Guinean to discuss “advanced” philosophical concepts with his limited Melanesian vocabulary – I can’t find the words to express what a part of me senses. Kelly: “The doors to perception – open the right doors.” When I woke up in the morning, I really wondered if maybe the Papua New Guineans who believed the dream state is as real as the waking state weren’t right. It’s more than real sometimes. I was thinking of basing Proxmire on my dreams!
Today my cramps had gone and by the night. As part of my plan (which I vowed Tues morning that I stay in bed for 3 whole days even if I felt like getting up), I spent the whole day lounging about in the room, reading and copying the TIM manual. The dream of the morning spent me thinking about how I can reach and record my dream world.

September 16th, 1983
Singapore

Today I was well again, though I took it easy on what I ate, for I don’t want to chance a relapse. We went uptown (where the nice places are, around Orchid Road and Scotts Road.) At the American Express office we found out that neither of us have received our funds yet. We have to deal with this now – we may have to extend our stay here to wait for our money. Most likely, Kelly will fly from here. I applied for a visa to Thailand today. We met a lady shopkeeper who told us 3 good places to eat. We went to one and had Roast Pork Noodles (Rice Noodles – Hofan) Soup – it was like Grandma’s home cooking if Grandma was Chinese! Only S$3! In the evening I went through my possessions. With the things I’m giving Kelly to take back for me, I’ll be down to perhaps 40 lbs., 15 lbs. less then when we got here. I found out today where I can get some semi-pro recording gear here, and it could be much cheaper than from the states. I weighed myself today. 63.5kg or 139.7 lbs. At my lowest point Tuesday morning, I was probably down to 135 lbs!

September 17th, 1983
Singapore

I am enjoying a little Davidoff cigar from Cuba. I am really happy because I am well, because I have so many wondrous adventures behind me and so many unknown ones ahead. There is so much to do it makes me want to put myself in high gear and go for the gusto. (I feel like starting to “Silent Treatments” regularly and plan my ass off and attack my future aggressively and sensibly.) Being well makes me feel exhilarated because I feel the power to act, to move and to eat everything I want!! I can only pray and work hard to eke my genius out of me. We enjoyed a Pepper Steak dinner and the Emerald Steak House. The house wine was good. For lunch we returned today to the place around the side of the Tropicana for Roast Pork Noodles (Hfun) Soup – superb for S$3.00. The day was beautifully sunny and hot. We walked among tree-lined avenues. We stopped at the National Museum, and I noted that Negritos live in Malaysia’s hills. We went to he Van Kleef Aquarium. We liked the 13’ crocodile, the piranhas we admired, and we pondered the stonefish. My list keeps getting longer of all the things I want to do in Singapore. We found a swimming pool.

September 18th, 1983
Singapore

Diary, lately I’ve been transcribing the relations for entry into countries from the TIM manual. I’m almost done. It is quite interesting to be able to now find out in a few seconds whether or not I need a visa and other pertinent info for everyplace on earth. Conclusions I’ve drawn:
i) Iran may be my only overland obstacle from India to Europe or Africa.
ii) Traveling through the Gold Coast of Africa may be made particularly consular rep. in each adjacent country. Psych-up!!!

We didn’t wake up till noon today. We went out to the National museum. I was very impressed by the Chinese ceramics – from 3000 B.C. to the 18th century, including Ming period, Sung period, the beautiful post-Ming works. Also impressive were the silk clothes from Cambodia. After, we went uptown. An asshole in one camera shop told us to check out the Minolta showroom on the 6th floor. He lied, it wasn’t there. We went back an asked again and he told us “6th floor” again. I got angry and he smirked and laughed while I complained to his boss. Wishing to wipe the smile from his face, I told him to his face: “I spit in your eye and your mothers a whore!” “What?” “Your mothers’ a whore.” The smile vanished and he was real mad. I put on a plastic smile as we left! I read in a book on Nepal trekking that most treks are undertaken in Oct to April to avoid the monsoon, so I don’t have to rush!

September 19th, 1983
Singapore

Note: A month or so ago I was writing what I really wanted, and in order of importance I listed –
i) To be mentally healthy and
ii) To be physically healthy.

Now after being deathly sick I realize that I can’t be mentally healthy unless I’m physical healthy! So, I now place physical health as no. 1, numero uno, for that is the basis of mental health. And in tribute of that today I ate very much – this is all part of a delightful effort to gain 10 lbs! I called Norma again. She said she couldn’t send the funds to an Amex Card, so Stan is going to send it tomorrow. Kelly was denied an extension to stay in Singapore, but another girl here went to Malaysia and back tonight and got 2 more weeks. Kelly got $550 in money orders from her Mom today, but we can’t cash anywhere!

Will is the power to set your momentum in a desired direction but chance may direct your momentum. What causes events?
1) Momentum (of subject)
2) Chance (momentum of all entities in an environment – we call it chance because it is so complicated, no one can determine the outcome).
Christians would explain that God granted men Will, which separates them from Animals. Kelly says: Desire causes momentum.

September 20th, 1983
Singapore

“I want to be in a state of Idealing” – I coin this word and I give it the definition: that state in which things flow mentally manifesting your ideas and dreams into reality. I wrote that in Wewak.
My lecture for tonight is quality. That is, it is much better to associate with quality stores, buy quality things and converse with quality people. Let’s face it: if you make wise decisions, it is possible to be on the quality road. If you allow yourself to be debased by the unscrupulous, you lose. If you are wise and carefully choose your path, you can enjoy better things. Careful shopping is important – be thorough. Don’t waste a second on your precious life in the company of the impolite. A day to solve dilemmas and enjoying eating.
K went to the American Embassy. She called her folks who’ll wire their money to the Embassy. I found out that Citibank has offices all over, including Africa, to which, in the future, I can have money sent. I went to Immigration and got a special pass which says that I can stay till 30 Sept, if I leave on a particular flight, etc. (Which is my own BS story) but I’ll “change my mind” and go by land. We had a scrumptious steak dinner, Hagen Daas ice-cream dessert. I feel great!! Steak was so good, it is fairly incredible and it was only 4.88 USD! The Emerald Steak house serves the best steak! Also, we had a glass of house wine, which is delicious.
For breakfast, we ate down the street a few doors: yesterday for example, we had (all together) 3 soft boiled eggs, 3 orders of cheese toast and 4 cups of milk coffee for USD $1.95! Is that incredible? (And it tastes delicious) no wonder we breakfasted there again today. For lunch, we returned for the 4th time around the back of the Tropicana and had Roast Pork Hofun (Rice Noodles) say for $1.50USD, and the previous times we had the same dish but in soup form for $1.41 UDSD. This dish is really delicious. I am so enjoying eating!

September 21st, 1983
Singapore

[I repeat:] Since I got sick, I realized that my mental well-being is totally dependent on my physical well-being, more so than vice versa. So I have now placed as prime priority my physical well being above every other single consideration in life. Eat well, make sure my body is strong and fortified.
Today I felt really run down, probably due to a lack of sleep, as we have been waking “early” every morning in order to take care of business. I called Norma today to make sure that the money has been sent. She assured me the money had been sent, but not until “this morning,” i.e. Tuesday – morning San Francisco time. Well, at least it was finally sent. I went and got a cholera shot today. I did not revive until this evening when, on the spur of the moment, we went out and caught a bus to the Paramount theatre, some miles away. I ate some delicious. Lim Sum – inside the white dough, there was roast pork, chicken, egg and sauce. Before the show, we walked into a Chinese medicine shop. They had some strange medicines, among them: Rhinoceros horn, sea horses, antelope horn (reduces fever), herbs that cost S$1000 per ounce, ginseng, a large black “mushroom” that Kelly says helps cure cancer, dried tiger penis, flying foxes, etc.
At 9:30 pm, we saw An Officer and a Gentlemen. We both loved it and found it inspiring. I cried my eyes out during different parts of the movie. It was real good. Caught a bus back to our door.

September 22nd, 1983
Singapore

What a difference now that I have received my money! With reasonable assurance (Still waiting for Kelly to receive her money) that my travel plans will go into effect, I am exalted! Here I go to Malaysia, Thailand, Burma, India and Nepal!!! Tonight we went to see Flashdance, which we both thoroughly enjoyed. I loved the scene where she danced to the song Maniac. Again, I cried through the movie – I felt personal about her desire to “make it” in the arts. I felt inspired when we left.
In the morning, I went to American Express and I found out that my money had arrived. I was relieved. Then I went to the Indian embassy and applied for my visa. I’m to pick up the passport tomorrow. (You see, yesterday. I went there but since I didn’t have money to prove “sufficient fund,” I was turned away. Today I showed him my money and my application was accepted.) Of course, today, for lunch we again went to the Quick Lunch around back of the Tropicana for roast pork hofun soup. Yum. I’ve gained 3.5 kg since last week. From 63.5kg to 67kg.

September 23rd, 1983
Singapore

In the morning, while I was eating breakfast, an Australian bloke introduced himself. I mention it because we may travel together to Chiang Rai in Thailand. I’d rather go with another guy than alone since it’s dangerous there. There’s even a warning at the American Embassy, which says that gangs of bandits inhabit the area – drug traffickers. This guys name is Paul. I went to get my passport at the India embassy – they gave me triple entry for 90 days total. After, Kelly, Paul and I had lunch at Quick Lunch/Tropicana and then Paul and I caught the 164 out to the Sembawan Marina. We had a couple of beers and later talked to a few of the yachters. I didn’t find out about any yachts going to India or Africa but they suggest trying Phuket in Thailand or Galle in Sri Lanka in January. They suggested that I could find lots of yachts in Spain/Mediterranean for an Atlantic crossing. We went to see the very boring Max Dugan Returns. After, Kelly called her Mother and found out that instead of sending money to the Embassy, she sent it to American Express!!

September 24th, 1983
Singapore

I plan to leave Singapore on Tuesday morning. This morning, I called American Express and confirmed that K’s money has arrived, though we can’t pick it up till Monday. K is planning on flying to Tokyo on Monday night, 10:35 pm. I will miss her very, very much. I’ve grown quite attached to the sweet little thing! We never fight anymore, especially, i.e., since we’re living comfortable. Well, I’ll be on my own in 72 hours. The plan is for her to wire USD $1000 – to me in Bangkok.
Today was a lazy day. We lay about. After 5 we caught the bus out to the Paramount and saw “Mausoleum” which was pretty scary for a grade B film. The bus we caught on the way back dropped us off in front of another theater, and since the movie Fighting Back was about to begin, we hopped off and saw it – I wanted to see it. We were recorded because it was a fine movie. We really enjoyed it. When I am “alone,” I will try to meditate on my position in the universe and to solidify the concept of my cause and energize my direction.

September 25th, 1983
Singapore

We ate breakfast downstairs – 35 cents for each soft boiled egg, 40 cents for coffee and 50 cents for cheese toast. Btu those prices are in Singapore dollars, and a sing dollar is worth less than half a US dollar – that means it’s only USD $0.17 for an egg! And the foods delicious. We got back to the room and made it and K came. Before I entered, I rubbed her clit with my fingers and put saliva there (as I’d seen “Napa woman” do).
We went to the 2:30 pm ‘Matinee’ of Apocalypse Now, which we both enjoyed more than the fist time we’d seen it… “Horror and moral terror must become your friends… if not – they will be your enemies”… “It is our judgment that causes us to fail” Yikes!! After the show, we went to the wine shop in Shot’s Center, and we brought a 150 L bottle of French wine, 2 kinds of pate and some Brie cheese and bread. We retuned to our room and finished the above – mentioned groceries completely – it was a marvelous feast. Each item was delicious! Before we slept we had an intimate bout of lovemaking. Lately I have been “Trying” not to hold back from coming and the more I practice letting go, I seem to last longer and longer!! Good.

Note: A the heading of every day’s entry, the place mentioned (e.g.) Singapore, is the spot I was in at 12am midnight.

September 26th, 1983
Monday (9)
12 midnight in: Singapore

Today Kelly and I went up, got her money, bought her plane ticket. We spent the day shopping. She bought perfume, books, shampoo, underwear. I bought underwear, swim trunks, picked up my sleeping bag at the dry cleaners, a UV filer, lens paper, batteries.
We went to the noodles place again for lunch – great as usual. [Note: We changed her ticket for tonight on JAL till tomorrow morning.] We ate steak (I had two dinners) at the Emerald Steak House. Then we walked to Movenpick for desert and she had toffee (and I cheesecake and 2 cappuccinos.) We were both in admiration of he quality! It was super. We went home and to our room. Kelly packed and I too. She took a shower. When we went to bed, we made great love. I went down on her while lying on my back. She was on top of me sucking me off. She says it’s easier for her to do it in that position and from the way it felt it must be true. I licked her clit over and again, sliding my tongue, licking her crotch from heel to toe. I tasted the change and the sure-signal Kwim signaled her orgasm. The taste as it oozed from her again was sexy and distinct.
I lay on top of her and crumbled on her when it was through, truthfully saying how good it was, how strong my orgasm was – slightly bodily in that it waved tingling over to my stomach, chest and thighs.
Later, we found out that the clock was broken, so Kelly, put up notes outside for people to wake us early.

September 27th, 1983
Enroute to Kuala Lumpur on train, Malaysia
Tuesday (8)
We woke up when a guy knocked on our door real early but went back to sleep. Next thing, K and I are lying bare-assed naked and a guy opens the door to wake us. It was dark. K flew for her clothes. So the day began, early. K was getting ready and then came back to bed. I started putting over on her and she said “We’d be late.” Then she changed her mind. While we’re fucking, she got tears in her eyes and denied it. Since we needed to get going I came sooner than otherwise.
We went down to breakfast – the dish: 2 soft boiled eggs, 2 coffee milks and cheese toast. We caught a taxi to the airport. “Yuk, we’re getting close!” She said and I thought. After she checked in, we sat down and we talked, my arm around her, she close, her hand on my shoulder. I said, “And I never never ever want you to doubt the way I feel about you, or that I like you or that I want to see you again.” This made her happy and she said, “I’m happy.” (And lately when I pop in an encouragement, she tells me how sweet I am (or nice or good). We chatted, went through “instructions” and moaned and laughed. With 4 minutes to go, we got up. These being no secluded spot immediately, available, we walked to the “passenger’s only” entrance and threw our arms around each other and sealed our lips together. Through either side of the glass barrier we waved, blew kisses and stood in exalted god-like stance until she had finished her sprite-danced exit from my vision from behind a grey granite wall. Then her hand shot out in a final wave.
I went to the observation tower where they had a “Swensen’s” Ice Cream parlor. I had a banana split and put it aside temporarily to walk to the glass overlooking the airstrip. I watched her JAL 727 (or was it a 707!) taxi at the end of a line of other planes. I love watching the 747 take off – it is amazing such a bird can fly!! I watched her plane take off, it’s wheels lift off the ground, and sail upward until it was lost in Singapore, haze, clouds and distance. She’ll be in Japan within 5 hours most probably. Boy, I’ll miss her. Strength.
I finished my banana split, and I caught a bus back to Bencoolen on which I read Kelly’s gift: Another Roadside Attraction, which I started reading over the banana split (and I swallowed ever bite.)
I went home, rested and went out to shop, finally buying a 28mm Sigma a 80-200mm Vivatar, 2 UV filters, 1 rubber hood and a case for the zoom for less than 142 USD. Got home, Paul and I went out to Emerald Steak House, then home, grab the bags, catch a bus, catch the train (note: the Singapore Immigration), find our sleepers, below which – as we each have an upper bunk across from each other – are 4 chattering short, young and tight jeaned Singapore girls. Yum! We talk – ask them if they have boyfriends – no - though their 24-years old, they have to think first about work and later about men – Paul and I had a laugh about this magazine Passion – a hair fashion magazine: “The snood is SO easy – in just a few minutes a BOB or layered style can be achieved and if you don’t have enough hair to create the full-body look, you can insert a piece of false hair.” (!)

On another page the script ran, “The boy achieved these curls by…” One hairstyle depicted looks like mine when I get out of bed after a good night’s rest!
Those girls where turning me on something fierce. Paul and I were agreeing how fine it would be! We played cards with them and joked and got a few non-answers. They gave us some “apple/pears” (From Japan only) and some sweet biscuits. When the party broke up, everyone in their bunk, the girl under Paul’s bunk kept staring at me. Hell, by now they’d hardly talk to us – except the friendly one who spoke English – Paul and I had been talking about what a waste it was to have 4 such young clubbables and not to have them – all four at once, please – cave men would risk their life over these girls – they’d have to fight off a train full of people, but they’d take them by force. What have we become?? We kept shutting her curtain, but the girl would open her curtain and stare at me, almost as if she was angry with me. If I thought her stare was meant to be inviting, believe me I would have gone to join her. But no.
Everyone asleep I looked in on the friendly one, but I hadn’t enough sign (if any) from her and I didn’t take the chance.
I went to my bunk and sorted through my things. Late, I slept. I awoke, deadly horny. I pulled back my mattress and looked at the girl below me through the holes in the bunk board and rolled around a bit, I admit.

September 28th, 1983
In George-town, Penang, Malaysia (8.2)
Wednesday
We woke up, climbed out of our sleepers and got off the rain in Kuala Lumpur. Originally we were going to stay for one night, but we changed our minds and caught the 9:15 am train and were off for Butterworth. Paul claimed that some girl was tonguing the air and licking her lips to him but said she wouldn’t talk to him when he met her in another car. We rode along the west side of Malaysia’s central mountain range. It looked interesting. I suppose that not too far away are hill people, and I wonder if they still use 6’ long blowguns. The train is hot but light and airy enough. We lost my tickets and find it after a hassle with the ticket man. Paul loses his and the ticket man hassles him and then produces it from his pocket. We get off the train and catch the ferry to Penang Island, then catch a trishaw to a place the Wan Hai Hotel on Love Lane.
We get a room, rest, shower and go out at night to the Eden Steak House. We both have Penang Whole Sole, which was delicious, and banana splits afterwards. We stared hard and long at the waitresses whose dresses slit up their thigh. We got back to the hotel. We were planning to take Paul out to the red-light, but we fell fast asleep – Paul on the bed and I slept on a cot which was surprisingly comfortable. Paul told me about the banks he’d robbed! Paul told me, on the way back from dinner, that he robbed 2 banks in Australia with a gun!!! One time, the 1st time, he took $7000 and the 2nd time, he got only $500. He used a sawed off .22 rifle. He said he’d never do it again – too much risk, too little return. He hid in the trunk of a car the first time, and they didn’t find him, though they looked around the car. The second time, he ran through the streets of Sydney and passed the money to a friend in a business suit under the toilet stalls in a public toilet. What sort of a guy am I traveling with? He’s pretty funny though and we get along quite well.
Note, diary, I miss little Pita a lot. It was really fun to be with her and to travel with her. Our communications times are supposed to be the first moment of every month – i.e., 12am, on GMT.

September 29th, 1983
Georgetown Penang, Malaysia
Thursday (7.2)
We woke late (10 am), had watery boiled eggs for breakfast, walked around, Paul bought some shirts, looked at girls, went to the Eden for lunch – both had steak sandwiches for (Malaysia dollars) 3.75. We caught a bus out to the beach. On our way off the beach, we went swimming at a hotel swimming pool, but got kicked out as a result of not being guests. We taxied back to Georgetown. We showered and headed to the movies. I’ve wanted to see the Amityville Horror for a long time. I thought it was pretty good, but not great.
Later, we were sitting outside the show checking the girls out when Paul noticed a rat. It ran in a pit. I walked to it and it ran out the other as fast as it could but Paul was standing in its way. It tried to side-step him but he kicked it! It flew like a field-goal-kicked football 33 feet! And came crashing down in the ornamented brick floor of a fountain-like area where people sat around talking outside the cinema. Paul and I laughed at it and so did others. It was alive, but I think it eventually kicked off, and some little kid, I think, carried it away. A man asked us what we wanted and Paul said “Girls.” The man left than came back and said he’d show him where if Paul would buy him a beer. We went to the (of all names) Ah Chew Hotel. (Ahhhhh-chooo!) and played pinball and checked out the sluts. Later, we went to have Sole again at the Eden. Then Paul “the Rat” and I went back to the Ah Choo and played pinball. We talked to one butt-ugly whore who would laugh and scold good naturedly when I asked embarrassing questions like if they enjoy it, if they have boyfriends for example.
Paul and I went back to the hotel after midnight. We planned to leave on the 6:40 am train from Butterworth tomorrow. The hotel guy said he’d wake us at 5:00 am. I got my things ready for our early departure, and went into a deep sleep.
Good night, Kelly!

September 30th, 1983
On boat en route from Surat Thani on the mainland to Koh Samui (Samui Island), Thailand.
Friday

Paul woke up at 5:40 am and he woke me up. We caught a trishaw to the ferry, crossed the channel, brought our tickets for the train to Hat Yai in Thailand, ate a quick breakfast and left.
The train ride was fun and long. We talked with a Dutch guy and girl. After sitting next to the Dutch girl for a while, I dearly wanted to fuck her, and I think she’d have liked to. They told me about walking in Thailand, and it was interesting. We got to the border before noon. We had to leave the train, have our passports stamped twice. When we re-boarded, so did about 20 soldiers. Two sat in our car with their rifles. Apparently, this train is often attacked by “guerillas” that pillage the goods of the passengers.
The rich greens of the landscape (rice fields light green, forests deep green) impressed me. The (granite?) outcroppings of rock made me have respect for the landscape. [We got off in Hat Yai at 12 noon. We cashed some money, had a bite to eat. At lunch, I talked with a guy who’s going to Nairobi, Kenya from Bombay – it’s supposed to be cheap! We got on the 1:40 pm train to Bangkok; we were going only as far as Surat Thani. It was from Hat Yai to Surat Thani where the scenery really opened up.] We got off the train in Surat Thani in the dark. We were hassled by some guys who wanted to give us a taxi ride. They said that there were no buses until morning. (This reminds me of the guys today in Hat Yai who said the banks were closed and we’d have to use a moneychanger – but we walked down the street to see for ourselves and sure enough the bank was open.) We got a ride on a bus to the ferry site. We bought our tickets to Koh Samui for 50B (Baht), then went out to eat. I had a great dish for 10B (the exchange rate? 22.7B = 1 USD) of rice, chicken and tomatoes. Back on the boat an oh-so-pokeable Thai girl tried to convince us to come to a bungalow on Koh-Samui, run by her family.
She said they’d put us in a free taxi so we could see it - and if we didn’t like it we didn’t have to pay for the taxi. I said we’d take a look.
The ferry left. This girl, Sue, was ever so charming, and I wanted to fucker her. Of course, Paul and I saw through the disguise immediately her job was to get us out to the bungalows. Some woman was on my mattress on the main floor where everyone slept – no. 28. I had the excuse, so when everyone slept, I laid down next to Sue in the aft “cabin” floor-two monks were on the other side of the room, her girlfriend on her right and a guy friend on the right of her girlfriend. I, on the left, stroke her hair and kissed her ear lightly. I was hoping she was awake and enjoyed it, but I suppose she was asleep. For she acted surprised when she woke up and said “You can go to sleep now,” when I tried to turn her chin towards mine with my hand. I turned away from her and grabbed her ass firmly with my hand. At first touch, I recognized it as one of those near-perfect asses. My hand explored her ass and crotch through her jeans for 15 minutes until she squirmed and gave my hand a few harmless karate chops. I went to bed no. 28 and allayed next to the girl who was on my mattress. She scooted over in inches as I, by stages, reasserted my territory. I fell asleep.
Diary, I miss that damn cute Pita Pukpuk with that P.Puk pyramid of bright red hair and those glasses.

October 1st, 1983
Koh Samui, Thailand
(8.3) Saturday
5:30 am We woke up when we got to Koh Samui. Sue was friendly, didn’t seem upset about my ass-grabbing. We got into the taxi and got a ride to the Bon-Phut Bungalows. The first thing I noticed was the barbed wire, which surrounded the place. Sue showed us a bungalow and said goodnight. Paul and I watched the sunrise. Then we went over to have a morning snack. We left our barbed-wire enclosed area, over the upside down beer bottle row, to the restaurant area. Sue’s sister, Boon, came out to talk with us. I bought a 50B pack of Thai heads – about ¼ oz., maybe a bit less (5 gms) for 2.20! The same pot in the USA would sell for $50 (or more.) Paul, fool that he is, bought a 100B pack of smack. He snorted two lines, laid down, puked a number of times, looked sick, and has been out of it ever since. Diary, it seems to me that people who use smack are foolish.
I smoked some of my black Thai heads in a cigarette and I am very pleased to have such good, cheap smoke.
Paul and I jogged up the beach and swam out to a sailboat. Two Australian fellows invited us on board, and we talked while they worked on the engine. Gary told me that a boat he’d crewed on in 1978 was sold to two Australian men who died in a Cambodian torture chamber (having signed confessions that they were spies)! Also, they noted that on an offshore island, they recently encountered a boat with 28 Vietnamese refugees, they said that they’d been attacked by “pirates” (Malaysian?) and the pirates had left everything on board except for 14 young girls (who will never be heard from again).
We shared a pair of Thai cigarettes (ganja). I swam ashore. I looked at Mama’s hostel and had a drink “Coffee Shake” and saw her food. I decided to move down this end of the beach. I went back to Boon’s, go my possessions together and walked down the beach. I ran the last hundred yards backwards, reaching the volleyball net. I ran past a laughing girl from Luxembourg. I stopped for a chat with her as she was a Black Jack dealer in a casino, we played black jack until it was dark. We went to my room (which I’ve yet to describe) and she rolled a joint for me while I put my things way. We had dinner with her friends, a guy from Luxembourg and a guy from Switzerland. They all share one room. After dinner, I was sleepy, so I returned to my room and plopped out for the night.
I have an A-shaped room on stilts whose front door looks out to the water, to the coconut trees, boats and other islands. I really like it. It is made of wood. It’s got electric light.
Diary, I miss Kelly quite a bit. I hope we travel together again. I hope in the future that she still likes me. What a great girl Kelly is.
P.S. – I forgot to contract her telepathically at 8am this morning (12am GMT).

October 2nd, 1983

Harpster’s Rules

1. Two things you can always rely on in a woman:
a) C_______ b) M_____ I______.
2. Two things you can’t do to a woman:
a. B______ h____.
b. M____ a f____ o___ H____.

3. F______ will get you EVERYWHERE so start t______!
4. Be C_______ and C_______.

Jacks’ plain common sense rules are valuable advice I think. Rule number 3 is perhaps the best rule of all, for it is perhaps the key to all friendships, let alone being the door opener with women.
Today Paul woke me up knocking on my door. I awoke, we ran and sprinted down the beach, then 30 pushups, then jog back, then swim to the raft moored 70 yards offshore, then 30 pushups, lay in sun swim back, then breakfast of a fruit pancake, orange juice, mixed shake – delicious.
Most of the day I wrote. I talked with George (Isabella’s friend from Switzerland) after breakfast. We discussed the mushrooms he took last night – very powerful they were. He brought out a tape set with two sets of headphones, and I listened to music out of a Walkman, then he gave the headphones to Isabella. I wrote. George and Lucian (Isabella’s friend from Luxembourg) went windsurfing, but they kept getting pummeled by the wind.
Once, Isabella brought out almost an entire plate of fried rice with crab, which she said she couldn’t finish. It was delicious.
In the afternoon, I began a conversation with John, the Aussie who’s staying on the sailboat. We started passing joints back and forth in the restaurant. By dinnertime, George, Lucian, Isabella, John Gary and Steve (Steve owns half the boat with Gary) and I were sitting there passing joints. I bought a quantity of mushrooms. I popped one small mushroom top. I felt fully perceptive but it seemed no one else understood me, I couldn’t get them to explain themselves. (Also, I mention Isabella shared her dishes of fruit with me; one plate, it seemed I ate more of it than her!) After a time, I reflected that when Isabella and I were alone last night, I felt I could communicate with her, so I now desired to speak with her alone so that I could feel in touch with reality again.
Eventually, I was walking to my cabin when I spied Isabella lounging under the stars in a hammock. I didn’t say anything, but she called out, so I went over. We talked, and although often she didn’t understand, we had a desire to communicate – thus, I was able to explain myself to her, and most often, afterwards communication was achieved.
I told her that she must remind me to –
i) Exercise
ii) Write and
iii) Think. (Exercise so I can climb the mountains, write so I can organize my thoughts and plan and record, think because thinking is the well-spring of the Future). She’s going to be here a week, I discovered.
Diary, it was all sincere, I assure you, but I flattered her to make her feel good because I liked her and wanted to insure that I could be with her again. I could almost “see” that I was flattering myself into bed with her. It was so logical how it works and gave me a real “feeling” for Harpster’s words: Flattery will get you everywhere, so start talking! Flattery is encouraging and comforting and fun to listen to.
I said my mouth is dry and then would you like to taste it? Yes. (Preluded by me saying [she’s 20] about how beautiful the skin of young girls is, telling her how much I liked being with her. I told her that her bikini was ‘intriguing,’ because I could see it suspended above her tummy by her hips as she lay there, but I couldn’t see what was inside) when I kissed her, I told her that her mouth was wet and moist and warm. I felt her vagina, and it felt small and delicate and good and I exclaimed. I told her I wanted to lick it and she concurred.
We got up and went to my room, where soon I ran my tongue up her vagina, and it felt so wonderful. I licked her for a while and I turned around so she could suck my dick, which she did. I lay on top of her and I got it in after explaining that I don’t usually last long the first time, but it gets longer and longer. I had turned her on her stomach and from the rear I felt her little vagina as I stroked and came inside her after a short time. We did it again from the front and it lasted a little longer. Then later we did it a third time and it was so-so. But the forth time from the front was the best of all. I concentrated on the reality of it all - the creature letting me put it in her and enjoy her.
We fell asleep. I remember waking and it was just before dawn.
Well, dairy, this is the 30th chick I’ve poked (non-prostitutes). I am very happy, it happened so easy, so nice, it was warm and pleasant.
I must say, I felt relaxed with her, I like her as a person. My idea from the moment I met her was that I wasn’t going to try to get in her pants. I didn’t seek her company, but I was friendly and neutral. I was simply friendly and later, flattering. I knew when I had won over – I remember thinking: I’m in a good situation now.
Also, note, I was thinking tonight: What do I really want: Well right now expertise, as how to do this with every girl would be what I wanted.

October 3rd, 1983
Koh Samui, Thailand
Monday
Paul came by about 9 am to wake me up. Isabella had already left the room. The next five hours were spent eating, smoking pot, swimming, taking 2 photos, and talking with the sail boaters and the 3 from Europe and others. Paul and I finally left to explore some of the island. We walked down the main road and, occasionally, I would run a little and do some pushups. I bought a pineapple and cut it with the lady’s old knife. We walked to Chaweng Beach, which was much, much nicer than Bo-Phut Beach where I’m staying. The beach is wider and whiter, the water’s clear. I talked with a girl and standing there, I realized an attack of diarrhea was affecting me. I found a toilet and, sure enough, it was diarrhea (I wonder if I got it from the lady’s knife? Anyway, I hope it goes away soon. I don’t want to have another ordeal like in Singapore!)
We walked about, I checked out the prices, which were the same as Bo Phut Beach and the “Peace Bungalow” where I am staying. We caught a taxi (truck) back and I took some medicine. I mention that I took some mushroom tops this morning and –
i) I felt really great until I got sick and
ii) I wonder if the mushrooms made me sick.

For dinner, I watched the Europeans eat roast prawns and I had a few myself and they were delicious. It was incredible how many prawns they got for 65 Baht! We passed joints. I gave Isabella some of my mushrooms on request and she took more than I advised and got too stoned!! I went out to speak with her and after a confusing conversation (I was feeling under the weather and unhappy about it.) I said I wanted to sleep with her, so we went to my cabin. I fucked her and it was the best yet, but I wish I’d last longer because I’m coming after only 5 minutes or so.
Paul came by late, the door was open, he snapped a nude photo of us while we slept. Later, I was awake because Isabella kept moaning and tossing in bed because she was too stoned. Finally, I fucked her again, trying to prolong it, and succeeding though perhaps lessening the passion. After, we lay awake and heard a deep growl. I tried to convince myself it was a dog, but when the dog barked, I realized that it must be a much bigger animal! I really think it must be a bobcat or a panther. It sounded big and was so ominous I refused to go outside.

Oct. 4th, 1983
Koh Samui, Thailand
Tuesday
Mid-day (7.2)
Diary, I am trying to convalesce today. Meanwhile, while I lay in my bungalow, I want to collect my thoughts and organize my future actions if possible (in a never-ending process). I am 29 years of age. If my life span was 40 years longer (as average), I can do many things if my health stays good. I speculate on being a recording artist but doubt my ability to buckle down and master the trade. I’m traveling now. At $10/day average, I have enough funds for about 140 days, about 4 months of traveling. Oct, Nov, Dec, Jan. If I can borrow $2000, I can travel another 6 or 7 months, i.e. until July or August. One way or another, I should seek funds. I will plan an arrival date of Aug. 10th, 1984 in S.F.
Neither schedule is very helpful. I can see that the future is subject to many “ifs,” and I will have to play it by ear. But it does mean to me that I have little time to see a lot of places.
I want to get to North Africa and Scandinavia and Greece and Spain.
Well, it is helpful to write it out. Signing off!

This evening, I learned some things talking to the European group (Lucian, Manfred, George and Isabelle), mostly Manfred about Europe: why West (free) Berlin is in the middle of W. Germany. South Tyrol, formerly Austria, is in Italy, about the 4th language of Switzerland, about taking boats down the Danube and Rhine rivers! It makes me very psyched up to see Europe! I was saying how I’m thinking about flying directly there. (Of course, I’d like to go direct to Nepal first.) My first opposition to this idea is that it is winter in Europe until the spring comes. I want so much to see Europe again.
I wanted to convalesce today, so I stayed in bed and on my floor, resting, writing. Isabelle spent a couple of hours sitting on my doorstep, talking and sitting. Paul came by and said that I was a lucky bastard last night as he walked back (he came up and found the door open with us laying in the dark without clothes. He snapped photo to be funny, but I put my foot in the foreground as his flash clicked.) George and Manfred came by on their way to/from the beach. Manfred told me about a drug “stechapfel” which kept him stoned for 3 days! He was very afraid. He said if I haven’t seen Zurich, I haven’t seen Switzerland.
I probably shouldn’t have, but I ate Prawns and BBQ chicken. I went to my cabin after dinner and I slept.
I hadn’t seen Isabelle for a while as she’d left the table, and I didn’t see her or look for her. I just crawled on my mattress and slept. So I didn’t fuck her today, tough in retrospect. I wish I would have.
Goodnight, sweet Kelly.

October 5th, 1983
Koh Samui, Thailand Wed.

As I said, Isabelle didn’t sleep with me last night.
Paul came up the beach and woke me up. We decided to run/walk to town. We alternated, running 1 kilometer and walking the next. We walked 9 km and ran 8 km. It was only difficult because we were in direct sunlight and it was damn hot! We caught a taxi back to the Beach Bungalow.
I ate a big dinner, being fed up with my diet trying to combat diarrhea. I felt bored with the conversation and Isabelle had left the table. I looked in her room, but only found Lucian sleeping. I found Isabelle by herself by the beach, studying her roulette numbers by the light of Manfred’s cabin. I snuck up behind her and startled her. I beat around the bush until she came to my room. I must be weak from diarrhea and marijuana for I wasn’t my usual dynamic self in the sack. Finally fucked her once, and later, a second time. We fell asleep.

October 6th, 1983
Koh Samui, Thailand
Thursday
It’s about 9 pm and diary, I feel depressed because I’ve got the shits, the runs. Yuk! All this seafood and the mushrooms, and I am too sick to really enjoy it. I haven’t smoked since this morning because it is making me too tired. I feel like a loser when I’m not in control of myself. I like to feel I am making progress towards some end, but though grass is good for socializing, I feel less prone to action. Anyway, I don’t have much choice but to go on a strict diet, as I am out of medicine. I am depressed because I wanted to workout while I was here. I wanted to get ready for the Himalayas and instead, I am getting weaker! It is so hard to stick to a diet when you see such good food around. (Maybe I should extend my stay here, or shorten it?)
Paul and I shared the rental on a bike today (a Honda) and rode around the island. I was feeling pretty weak.
In the morning, I laid with Isabelle and put it in and came immediately (Yuk!) I asked her if she’d come back tonight and she said yes. She’s been coming by this evening spending time with me, laying around and, since I’m sick, she’s been getting food and juice for me. I’ve decided to go on a strict diet of porridge and juices and plain toast – every time I start eating what I like, I get sick, so now I’m determined to do what’s good for me. Also, I think I’ll lay off the pot for a few days. (Sometimes I’ve noted pot worked as an aphrodisiac, at other times I’ve experience it kill sex drive outright.)
Isabelle got me a second orange juice. It was a real lousy night. We lay around, not doing much. Looking in her face upside down, I beheld an opposition of striking beauty – face on, she doesn’t appear above average, but it was uncanny how beautiful she looked – I studied her face and the integrity of this vision stood.
At 11 pm, the lights go out. We lay there. I dozed off. I awoke. We fucked. It was exciting. Afterwards, I wasn’t tired. We talked. It was real warm, nice. I put up the mosquito net.

October 7th, 1983
Koh Samui
Friday, Morning.
We lay in bed. I kept popping rods and consequently wanted to fuck. I told her to turn over – I wanted her from the back, but she gave me a strange look and it turned me off. She got dressed and left. She just delivered an orange juice to me. It is a beautiful morning here. There is supposed to be a water buffalo fight today here!!
Note: However bluntly I may have described it, the morning was stupendously nice. A breeze blowing in, sun outside, lying next to her. I was just disappointed we didn’t poke. I wish she’d go down on me.
The story goes: Went to bank in town to cash travelers checks. Waited for water buffalo fight and ended up being late. Didn’t see it but they’ve got another one going tomorrow. We played black jack after dinner (porridge for the 4th time today). We played (Gary, Isabelle, Paul, Manfred and I to start) for hours. I won about 110 baht. After the game, Isabelle came to my cabin. Without much ado, I removed our underwear and we poked our brains out for a few minutes. Then later, again, we poked when she started kissing. After, we laid with our heads near the door, peering out into the clear starlet sky. I lay there and though, just reflections, on how things generally are, mishmash but clear strong thoughts. Fell asleep like this.
A bob night. Yes.
Note: Tonight, Isabelle told me that between the ages of 14 and 16 she was a mainlining heroin-addict!

October 8th, 1983
Saturday (10)
“I wish I was on a more-heavily-populated-with-spunky-Thai-girls-carriage,” commented Paul the night we took the train from Singapore.
Today was the water buffalo fight. It was one of the most exciting things I’ve ever seen, but it was also a rare fight. Before they lift the curtain between the two bulls, the trainers smear their bodies with a variety of ornaments. They touch the bulls asses to agitate them. The curtain is withdrawn at 4:30 pm. The trainers begin to lead the animals together. One boy unhappily gets in the way and the bull butts him with his head and horns, rears his neck and tosses the boy in the air, who flies like a sack of potatoes and hits with a thud on the ground. The crowed gasps. People run into the pen to get the boy out of the arena.
Meanwhile the bulls trot around aggressively making us unsure if they will go after someone else. The buffalos left the main pen and faced off in the dirt mounds of the outer arena, which was an acre or two, which was fenced off. Finally, the beasts rammed heads and the crowed went crazy. The beasts struggled with their horns and then they backed off. For a full ½ hour they made their way to the other side of the arena, butting heads just when you weren’t expecting it. Then they worked their way back. I dodged up to them to snap pictures, but I often was too late to catch them in the act of butting because it came so suddenly. Boys climbed trees around the buffalo and others warned the boys to be careful. The crowed gave the breasts plenty of room. The buffalos would come towards the crowed and scare the hell out of us. It was like a Spanish soccer match. The crowed was in pandemonium.
Finally, one of the buffaloes suddenly turned and ran and the other followed on its tail, both at top speed. The crowed yelled in jubilation. It was really fun and quite exciting.
I ate a big dinner late at night, I went to Isabelle’s. I brought her to my pad and we fucked on the mattress. It was in my opinion, by far the best sex yet. Totally relaxed. We went down on each other before we did it.

October 9th, 1983
Koh Samui, Thailand
Sunday
Swim when I awoke.
Look! I can hardly remember the day. I’m writing this Monday at 12:30.
(In fact, I usually make my entries the day after.) But I can tell you this: the day passed quickly. Sitting around talking till the buffalo fight. I left at 3. The beasts were gallant. Draped with red, head soon to flow with red, and horns of gold. They faced each other, the screaming crowed, sky overcast with luminous clouds. Once the fight began it never stopped until one turned and ran just like yesterday. I’m running around with my 35 double mm and a telephoto lens, a zoom variety and a tripod. Pictures of them facing off heads turned to either side, eyes flaring red. Then they hit. They wrestled with their horns into the first stages of a flip, and back to their heads in the dirt. The horns tip in the eye of one, behind it the force of a modern dinosaur, they come close to the rain; we are in the arena, many of us, closing in on the action. [Action the on in closing x x x]. Photos in which the heads filled the frame, eye straining a red glow. Back off and then crunch together again. It was action packed. I snapped the frames at awkward angles that will probably work well. No “probrem” (says Baboon) with a tripod. I ran out the gate after them. Took a pair of headshots (blood dripping proud) of one bull when they were leading him back up the road.
I went to the Jupiter with George and Gary. Even standing on a sailboat is nice! Swam back. For dinner, fried noodles with butter and garlic – a white, thin, flat noodle. Salad and sweet and sour crab. Beer too. Paul, Isabelle and I played cards, but we played only a quarter-hour and stopped. I found Isabelle on the beach but she saw me sneaking up to the water’s edge. I went to my room, she came by a bit later. I took off her black underwear. I could have fucked her all night, but I only changed it up on top of her for ½ hours, then we lay back (changed it up is supposed to be indirect reference to copulating in varying hand arm leg and ass position while doing it.) I asked (when I got back on her) if she wanted me to stop doing it and she said just for 2 minutes.

1. Get away from the Tourists.
2. Travel alone.
3. And they love the King – be Royal.

I was hurt and lay on my stomach on the bed. She corrected me so expertly on my legs and rear then, grabbing my cock from behind. She gave me a bj and I tongued her pussy which was delicious and of wet, 20 year-old pussy texture. I worked it into her vagina from behind. I laid on her back, felt her nice-sized, velvety-nippled breasts (which I’d been sucking and licking previous) with one hand (I love how [a] well-chested girls’ chest (just below the collar bone) grows when you rub it upwards, the tit tissue is so massive! I fucked her holding her pussy and clit in the other hand. I fucked her so good. Culminating the previous ½ hours worth of excitement, I burst in her deeply. I laid on my back and she took my cock in her mouth twice and I had my hand on her vagina, my arm extending towards her pussy, gently flicking the back of my index finger up her crack and touch the clit with my fingernail. She rhymed to my movements and her pussy had the feel of Kwim but I couldn’t tell for sure if she orgasmed.

October 10th, 1983
Koh Samui
Monday
In the early morning, I woke up. Isabelle’s bottom was against me and I grew rock hard. As I was pushing it in, she rolled to the other side. At 6 am I awoke and went outside and said goodbye to George, who was leaving. I went back to the room. Isabelle was worried when I told her George had given me the key to their room because Lucian had not yet come home. She went to check. Then she came back, walking with only her shirt on and her little black panties which she’d left with. We went to eat breakfast. Lucian returned. Wanna, a girl from North Carolina, came and talked to Isabelle and I. Isabelle went to the beach and then I saw her going into my cabin. I excused myself from Wanda: “There’s a burglar in my bungalow.” I lay down with Isabelle, we talked and joked. I wanted to fuck but time seemed too pressing so I didn’t go for it. She asked for my address. I’d already gotten hers. Exchange of sweet kisses. When the taxi left, I went with them to the road. I told them I’d follow them to town running laughter. I smacked Isabelle on the lips and patted her back, hopped out and ran after the truck barefooted for ¾ km. Goodbye.
Back at Mama’s. I spent some time talking with Wanda. She offered to share a bungalow with me, but later acted disinterested. Perhaps staring at my growing dick under my swim trunks had given her the idea and later she’d cooled down. I was getting hard looking at her. She shifted her sarong and I saw the side of her pubic triangle – I bulged!
At 5 pm I ran about 7km down to the Big Buddha, then 60 pushups, then ran back. I ate dinner – delicious (prawns with vegetables). I decided to go to Phuket in the morning and I made preparations. Smoked a joint before sleep.

October 11th, 1983
Tuesday
12:30 pm.
I am not proud of myself and yet, I can’t blame myself. It happened like this: I promptly awoke and I was on the ferry at 7 am. For some reasons, I thought of my red head necklace and noticed it was missing. The boat was just casting off the lines, I could have jumped off, but a bit numb, I hesitated and soon was heading away from Koh Samui. I thought about going back to find it, but the backtrack seemed uninviting. I even got on the bus in Surat Thani to Phuket. Finally, I decided I should go back to look for my necklace. This mistake is costing me 170 baht (about $7.50) and 8 hours, but even if I don’t find my necklace, at last. I will be sure that I didn’t leave it behind unnecessarily. (I lost 60B fare to Phuket!)
It was a bad stroke of luck to find my necklace missing seconds before departure. Otherwise I’d be happily on my way to Phuket. I could have lost something else and not been worried about it, but even though I have more heads at home, and Kelly has heads, I would like to wear my heads on my trip. I really love them and I hope I can find them again. Maybe this whole thing was fate!
7:55 pm I back tracked, took a bus back, caught the ferry again to Koh Samui Island. Saw Mama again, dropped my pack, searched the sand from the toilet to my steps, looked in the bungalow, no necklace, I looked under the bungalow and there was my necklace in the sand! Happily, I put it on my neck like it was a lost child “Where have you been?” I was amazed I found them it made coming back worthwhile.
The Thai girl who fell in love with Lucian came to see me and said that she’d gone to Surat Thani with Lucian and Isabelle and that Isabelle told her to tell me she gives me a big kiss (and to be sure to tell me that)! I felt most happy, really.
The girl who made me food last night said she’d pick out my food again tonight. I bought a bag of ganja and I got in a conversation with Mark of Toronto who told me to go to a place called Charelle? In north Pakistan where you smoke hash by a fire in snow sheltered tents. He says of his travels that the major observation derived was to really, always stay free. The girl brought me a meal of prawns and vegetables and fried noodles. It was spectacular. The girl is a really good cook! I love her!
Well, no worldwide revelations, but one important determination: to get to Nepal ASAP as Mark from Toronto said the good season lasted Oct. Nov and Dec getting cold every day. Today’s the 11th. So tomorrow, it’s up and out of here. I spent $10 on food and booze since I got back to Mama’s today and Mama gave me a free room for the night.
I got my beads back and I’m glad, really.
Tonight I told Wanda that I thought she was full of shit. (Before I’d told her I was 22.) I insulted her because she said, “You (I) act so young.” I swear I wasn’t even trying to pick the bitch up.
I’m glad that Isabelle sent me that small message of love. Thoughtfulness like that means a lot to me.
I think of Kelly, no I haven’t forgotten you. Lover, mother, girl, friend, daughter, sister, friend, Kelly, pyramid-top, the red bomber, 4 eyes, tiger teeth, super love. How could I ever forget you making me boil with rage on bushwalks or making love to me on the morning of the day we knew our fate would be determined: life/possible death, licking my mouth with your tongue. Talking whenever I wanted to your head resting comfortably on my chest. An ode to you, Sweet Pita.
As for me, Joe Samui, I am heading out of here mañana, ‘tout suite’ to Bangkok. Later I’ll determine either to drop or go to: Burma, 7 days and Chung Mai, 7 days, which would still get me to Kat on Nov. 1.
Sweet Pita, I have been trying to collect my thoughts together, but the only plans I can conceive of are to: fill my life with the ever-increasing sense of intrigue and adventure. Plan the fantastic and don’t be late. Move on.
Finished reading Another Roadside Attraction, and although the style is a bit dated, it’s a document, it’s great.
I will have to do a problem solving on where to go.

October 12th, 1983
10:45 am
Coffee Shop – Surat Thani
I thought last night and this morning that it was Fate that I should go back to find my beads, discover that I should go to Nepal ASAP, so get on the boat this morning for Surat Thani (again!) and meet Maggie and Trix, whom I fell in love with immediately! To me, they looked so wholesomely beautiful, both Swiss. Trix is 23 and Maggie is 22. They’ve been traveling together for 10 months from Sri Lanka to Bali. Trix has a clear complexion and white teeth and baby plump arms and cheeks. Maggie looks intriguing, beguiling, mystifying. I looked in her eyes and I saw a person so beautiful. My first impression was so strong and I really love them both. They sat near me on the upper deck of the ferry, which we shared pretty much by ourselves except for a sleeping German and 2 Thai men and a Thai girl all aft of us. This boat sped away and they lit up a joint. They both have pink shirts on. (I want to write a song about them.)
The wind was warm and strong. Beautiful steep shored islands jutted out of the green water in the morning sun. We laughed and laughed and talked and had some of my Mekong Whiskey (one of the best whiskies in Asta for $3.50 a fifth? (750ml). We smoked another joint. We sat close and laid down, changed positions and kept talking then resting for awhile. I could smell one scent from each of them. A baby smell - like the sweetest smell nature ever provided for the nose of man! The sweetest essence of a baby. It was wonderful. I can see in my mind’s eye, Maggie’s face and nose – with a silver pin in it with a little orange stone in it – her left nostril is pierced like in India (they spent 3 months there). Her teeth white and fairy straight with some plaque and in between her teeth, even a patch of hair under her chin in one spot (!) and a rough complexion, but emanating a Mona Lisa beauty and eyes and mouth and hair to attract my attention and deserve my love. And Trix, well, I could just bite her. Maggie’s hair was tangled and free and diary, I would love to be able to watch this hair at long stretches. Trix has the brightest smile and they both carry the most basic admirable and feminine graces of the European women. O la la.
I told them that if they gave me their phone numbers, then I could call them if I came to Zurich I could call them. Maggie got a piece of paper and wrote the phone numbers of their parent’s houses, and said and wrote “You are welcome always in Switzerland” the boat left the big ocean and into a canal bordered by boats and houses it went. Ah the breeze.
We got off and got a taxi and when I had to get off and leave them suddenly (my destination Bangkok, theirs Penang) they moaned and I reach for Trix and kissed her on the check and she welcomed it and kissed me on the other cheek and of course it was reciprocated.
Maggie and I enthusiastically kissed twice too, all 4 being full of feeling and jubilation. We said goodbye and they said “See you” and I “Yes I hope to see you.” Smiling and laughing all of us (I blew them a kiss and got 2 back) they drove off. When they were 15 feet away from me they simultaneously whistled using 2 fingers each, a loud whistle and strong. (They had also hummed Blowin’ In the Wind together – and other songs – in a female unison while we laid back on the boats’ top in the ocean in the breeze and sunshine – I said “I love the wind” and Maggie said, “I love the wind, the ocean, sunshine, and you,” It struck me as beautifully poetic and happy and pertinent.
It made me feel so good. It wasn’t like she was saying it to me but it shot straight to my heart. I felt like I could look at them, look right through them and see beautiful souls, and feel so destined to fall in love with them. When I was thinking of asking for their address, the words from Tom Robin’s filled me with happiness: Amanda – You can be as free and happy as you want to be, because you’ve got nothing to lose and nothing to gain!
[Note: Quoted directly it goes: “Nothing to lose, and nothing to gain. Nothing to lose and nothing to gain. A man can be as free and happy as he wants to be because there’s nothing to lose and nothing to gain.”] I felt it was fate they would give me their address (I only asked for their phone numbers) – like that was why I ended up on this boat.
I feel fated to fall in love with both of them.
Girls – God, do I ever love them. Nothing makes me happier than friendly, open girls.

It was magic.

[Two girls, Maggie and Trix, gave me a green ellipsoid with white opaque fruit in it. I ate the fruit and came under their spell.]

I tried to catch a bus at 10:30 but it was too full. I sat in a coffee shop and went through all my possessions, did some sewing and writing. The woman and 2 girls working there kept coming around to look and try to communicate with me. One girl spoke a little English. I learned some Thai:
Cheung Maw law: I drink whiskey.
After hours and 3 coffees and some eggs, I went to the train station and caught the 4:21 pm train to Bangkok. I put my bags above me and dozed off and on in my seat until 4 am the next morning. Goodnight, Trix and Maggie – goodnight Isabelle – goodnight wonder girl Pita.

October 13th, 1983
5 am nearing Bangkok
I woke up about an hour ago.
My bags are still above my head, okay. I went to the bathroom and took a drag on a cigarette. This must be good stuff, I’m stoned out just fine on one hit!
I’ve just been sitting her reviewing this journal and making notes, interesting.
Got off the train at 5 am. It took me till 9 am to find a room, and I couldn’t find the Sawatdee guesthouse. By 12 noon, I was ready to go out. In succession, I discovered:
a) Kelly had sent my money, and it had arrived.
b) I can fly to Kathmandu (3 days in Bangladesh, 5 days in Burma) for $200, arriving Oct 7th in Kathmandu.
c) I received a letter from Gam, but I couldn’t pick it up because I wasn’t carrying ID.

I got home when it got dark. Talked with people, took a late night walk in the rain. Sipping a little whiskey smoking a bit of MJ, I glided through today. Mostly pleasant, a good first day in Bangkok.

October 14th, 1983
Enroute to Chiang Mai
By bus, Thailand:
I attended to business all morning. I picked up letter’s from Gam (She says when I want to borrow money, just provide the details of where I want it sent!) a letter from Taylor (telling me how bob I am – it makes me feel good. Why is it that Taylor is the only one of my best friends with whom I can keep a correspondence going?) and a postcard letter and flat package. In the flat package were photos of our trek in New Guinea. From the American Express Mail window, I went to the Wang Lee Bank. There I received $800 in traveler’s checks and $264 worth of Baht.
The girl who had helped me (and to who I talked yesterday): I was admiring her Siamese beauty, and I pushed a note across her desk before I left ”I think you’re one of the prettiest girls I’ve seen in Thailand.” I bet she read it (and smiled) and I grabbed it from her hand, joking that I didn’t want her to show all her friends at the bank. She said she wanted to keep it, so I took it back and signed it: USA boy. She was really flattered. I told her: “If I have something nice to say, I like to say it. If I’m thinking something good, I like to make someone feel good by saying it.” It made us both a bit high.
While I’d been waiting for the checks I’d looked at some of the photos – I’d passed them around – some of them – to show the girl and her female coworkers – I was really pleased with what I saw. They were not all perfect by any means, but I really love the pictures and I am happy!
After the bank I went to the travel agent — Educational Travel Center. The man who confirmed by bookings yesterday was out (he’d said the ticket was $200). The woman there asked what price I was quoted. I said $195. The man came in and I said I though he’d said $195. He wanted 4580B ($200 @ 22.9) – (I’d gotten 22.96 at the bank). I said to make it 4500B and he said okay. But when I asked if he was making money he said yes, but not so much, so I gave him 30B more and he seemed happy. I got a receipt for the ticket (I’ll pick it up when I get back from Chiang Mai.)
I brought the receipt to the Burmese Embassy and I’m going to pick up my passport (w/ Burma Visa) also when I come back.
Next I went to the G.P.O post office because Kelly had written to SEA Tours that she’d sent a package. I’d gotten a letter and postcard from her. I had to wait till 1 pm to get the package. I read the letters and she seemed happy but sad to be away from me and from traveling. I tried to call her, but there was no answer. I got the package, long john bottom (yellow), the Kelly Hansen to - the thick red wool socks, a shutter release cable. A battery for my calculator and another nice pair of socks. I wrote a quick note right on the spot. Basically I thanked her and expressed my amazement at her efficiency in handling everything she said she would, and I told her she had a special place in my heart and I loved her and I hoped she’d meet up with me again. (Dear Sweet Pita, you lilt pyramid top, I love you deep in my heart! ← that’s not from the letter, I’m just saying it now.)
It began to rain buckets. I dashed into a bus. It was 1:30 pm. Glad to be out of the rain, I discovered that I was on a bus that was not really taking me home. It took me 2 fucking hours to make it home. 3 busses later. I even talked in the wrong language. I was getting upset!
The man at the hostel was really nice about letting my check out so late. He said there was a bus at 7, 9 and 10 pm, so I didn’t have to worry about missing the 3:45 or 6 train. I got my things together, talked to poor Rachel (from Israel) in our room – she’s waiting forever for money. I went down the street, ate, and I went to the Sawatdee Guesthouse (finally found it). A woman there had just come back from a Chiang Mai trek, and she loved it. She said to bring my camera. I left a note for Paul. I returned to my hotel, got my camera and lenses and I caught a bus to the bus station. I read In Cold Blood (which I borrowed from my hotel) while waiting for the 10 pm bus. I went to the bathroom and smoked a bit of Koh Samui cigarette and boarded the bus. I could not find my book! I ran back to look for it twice but could find it nowhere. I gave up. But a man who’d seen me looking for it came on the bus and said he’d put it away – I’d left it on the table! He got it for me.
The bus was dark. Only the 2 reading lights above my seat weren’t working (the others were), so I sat back and slept on and off all night. The hits of the MJ cigarette allow me to sleep anywhere! I’m on my way to Chiang Mai. Hooray!

October 15th, 1983 (10)
Trekking in Northern Thailand
A banner day!
We changed buses in early morning, rode for an hour and arrived at Chiang Mai. I had fried eggs and 2 coffees and by then I was finished, the café owner (dirt floor) had found a man to take me to the Mee Guest House. As I was trishawed about the quiet streets of this side of town, passing the shop or two here and there and people about, I produced a Koh Samui cigarette and smoked it as I was regally carted around (a trishaw is bicycled powered). A lovely morning. I arrived at the Mee and no sooner did I enquire when the treks left than a boy from Belgium, Lode, said: “Right now.” I left some of my unnecessary things behind me, and in 15 minutes we were headed out of town on a taxi 7 of us and a female guide from the hotel!!
Once out of town, Lode and I rode on top of the bus. We passed some Mekong whiskey back and forth. He told me he had lived in Africa (Nigeria, Zaire, Kenya and Burundi) for 18 years. We were both looking forward to the next few days. We stopped in a town Lode brought some Mekong whisky. We continued to ride on top of the truck. We had to get down because we passed through a police checkpoint, but later we rode again on top. As the wind blustered past us with a roar, we intermittently exchanged facts – him about Africa and me about PNG.
After a time, the taxi pulled over - we got out and along with Sa-O, our Thai girl guide, and 2 German couples (and a 9 year old boy), we started off walking. Lode and I walked much more quickly then the rest of the group – we reached the first village before the others. There was a provisions store there; I bought some candy and 6 eggs and some noodles, in case I didn’t have enough to eat. We ate lunch at a village house. We smelled something that could have been opium coming from the cigarettes. After lunch, we continued walking up a road that can accommodate motorcycles and maybe even a 4WD.
Lode and stopped occasionally to wait for the group and we smoked some of one of my marijuana cigarettes which got me stoned, but he said it didn’t affect him. The walk was very enjoyable. In late afternoon we stopped at a place that sold cokes, and the whole party rested and had some refreshments. The last leg of the walk brought us to another dirty village. We were shown a nice house of rattan to sleep in. We all rested. Some went down for bathing in the rover. While it was still light outside, I sat up on the porch of a family; a man painted a cigarette with opium, and Lode and I smoked it, but it had no effect. We ate a dinner prepared by Sa-O, which was quite good except for the fact that on the first bite, I bit into a pepper. Yuk! After inner, Sa-O came down to tell us that the men were smoking opium. Lode and I went up to check it out.
We entered the room where women lay on the floor with small hard pillows under their heads and their hands busy over two identical sets of apparatus - a small lamp made from the top half of a coke bottle, a pipe, a thin skewer of iron like a large needle, a small metal mixing receptacle, a few packs of headache powder. They crushed up the brittle black burn off of already-smoked opium, mixed it with the headache powder and some fresh gooey opium. They heated this concoction making it into a solid ball. Heating this ball on the end of the metal skewer, they eventually shaped it into a long tube of opium about 3/8” in diameter and 7” long. This hardened. They broke off a piece ½” long from this and put it on the end of the metal skewer and softened it over the flame. Then they put the pointed end of the skewer in the hole of the pipe and ran it through, thus depositing a small mound of opium on the end of the pipe, and withdrawing the skewer, left a hole in the middle of the mound of opium. Both pipes were similar – they both consisted of two parts – an 8” long ½” diameter wooden piece – over the end of this one man had a larger metal cylinder with a hole in it and the other had a ceramic piece, shaped like a vase with a hole in it, and the top of the vase fit over the wooden tube.
The smoker lay down and put the end of the pipe over the flame. The opium began to bubble and the smoker inhaled the sweet smoke. We watched them smoke a few pipe loads and then were called upon to smoke ourselves. The taste of the smoke was the best part – it was sweet and unique. Lode and I took pictures – he with his flash and, since I had no flash, I put my camera upon a pillow and set the self-timer. It was marvelous, the feeling of intrigue in the room. After all, you hear of forbidden stories of opium eaters and illegal opium dens your whole life. Now, sitting down with them, you try it yourself, and find it quite enjoyable! I smoked 12 pipes and Lode smoke 10. A mild euphoria overtook us and we also became drowsy. When we stood up to go, we could not walk. It was as if we were excessively drunk physically and yet mentally, I swear we were clear, for we had maintained a flowing conversation on rational subjects the whole time we were smoking (It was really wonderful). Even as we made it back to our cabin, we laughed at our physical incompetence! But we were cognizant of our rational mental status, and exclaimed so.
We made more coming into the cabin, but none of the Germans said anything. I passed Lode some of my candies. I felt all right and immediately passed into sleep.

October 16th, 1983
Village, northern Thailand Sun.

We awoke and every one wanted to see what state we were in. As soon as I had a cup of coffee, I felt great, and in fast, as the day proved, we were, as ever, immensely superior in agility and stamina to the rest of our party. Apparently, this was an inspection for Gammar and Mariana (his giant-breasted girlfriend) to try opium this night, as if they were waiting to see the results of our intrigue of last night. It should be mentioned that the village men claimed that smoking opium enabled them to do their day’s work – it made them strong, while those who didn’t smoke were weak and unfit for the hard day in the field – but I don’t believe this literally.
We ate breakfast and rested, and at 11 am we left. It had rained last night, and the rails were slippery. Lode and I charged way in front of the group. The trail was leading back to “town,” i.e. the village where we’d bought cokes the evening before. Lode and I headed back to town and ended up at the same spot as yesterday evening. We had 2 cokes and smoked some of my ganja. Lode said he really got stoned (unlike yesterday). I also got stoned – it is such good pot! It really make things fun.
Sa-O came looking for us, and found us sitting there. We were informed that we’d taken the wrong trail (if my writing is shaky, it’s because I’m on a train.) We followed her back and set off once again with our group. We went over a hill and down. Lode and I galloped like madmen down a tilled piece of ground. I ran down the trails, as is one of my favorite ways to descent trails. We were on a well defined bush trails the whole way, though smaller than yesterdays’. We would wait at rest shelters and at forks in the road for the others. We arrived ahead of them in one village and rested, took off our shoes and socks. In 15 minutes we heard their voices. (In truth, sometimes we would leave them, walk for 5 minutes, with them waiting behind us, and then wait for 10 minutes, which means we were walking 3 times as fast as they.) It turned out that this was the village we were to sleep in. By now, Lode had brought my attention to the young boy, who was constantly crying and carrying on. In this instance, we heard him scream. He came into the village being carried by his father, the elder German.
When I saw the German girl, Mariana, going down for a bath in the water, I followed her for a bath, remembering that Lode said he’d seen her huge tits yesterday when she bathed in the river. And so I took my bath watching her (and the wife of the elder German) running around in her panties and nothing else. What full tits. Not stretch marks. It was really wonderful!
During dinner, we were harassed by a village man who wanted to smoke opium with us. Young pretty girls watched us. After dinner, we went to smoke, and we asked Sa-O if we could have one of the girls, but she asked and the answer was no. Gammar came to smoke with us and he interrupted the air of intrigue with his stupid questions and naïve observations, which seemed to plague the poor man. After 10 pipes, Lode went to sleep, but I spoke with Gammar about his future with Mariana, and I ended up smoking 22 pipe loads! (It sounded like Mariana was hard to handle, and I didn’t envy Gammar, even though she had nice tits, for he seemed too pussy-whipped.) He is so naïve, it was funny – and I told him. I thought so. Like he mentioned how he, wanted to travel but he couldn’t because of his girlfriend and that her aunt bought them some furniture so he’d probably have to marry her!
I thought Lode had gone to pick up his girlfriend which is one of the reasons I stayed talking, but I found his earnestness reason enough; I like talking to sincere people.
I kept asking for one more pipe load, then we finally called it a night. Gammar went into the hut. I stood outside and I had a piss. I stood there in the darkness in an opiated stupor and felt the dreaminess.
When I went inside, Lode spoke to me. He had been trying to sleep, but couldn’t, so we smoked some ganja and we slept just fine. He’d not been trying to put the moves on Mariana.
All in all, a very fine day. I felt elated, strong, well-exercised and content.

October 17th, 1983
Chiang Mai, Thailand Monday
When I woke up, I felt as if I hadn’t had enough sleep. Breakfast was being served. I gave Sa-O my remaining 2 eggs and she had them boiled.
We had until 11 am to rest. After I’d eaten, Lode and I were sleeping and the German brat was tromping around the room. Mariana and Lode had collectively told him 30 times to go outside, but he continued to ignore them, so I picked him up and put them outside myself – and when the parents returned, I explained to them why I did it.
The walk began with me and Lode catching up, passing, then walking ahead of the others. We were some ways ahead and we detoured to a bush house off the road to wait. We smoked the roach leftover from last night while waiting, which got us really stoned. When the party came up the road, Sa-O thought we’d gotten lost again, which we hadn’t. She told our one porter to keep up with us as we continued ahead. I was aggravated by him following and I didn’t like the surveillance. Also, I should mention that before we left the village in the morning, I bought 50B worth of opium – about 4 grams. ($2.20). I intended to mail it to Clymer, but as the walk progressed, I grew thoughtful as to the desirability of this course of action.
In an effort to retaliate against this unwanted surveillance, I went off into the bush a few times. I bought a slingshot from a boy for 8B.
We reached the main road. In short order, a taxi picked us up. We (Lode, Gammar and I) sat on top, and I hid the opium and Marianna in a bag on top of the truck. The police checkpoint was unmanned as we passed it. Later, when we got near Chiang Mai, a roadblock was up ahead. Seeing this (now I had “the stuff” in my pocket) I stuffed the evidence into an opening in a plastic roll-up window, though in my haste it was left visible.
The police stopped the taxi because it was overloaded. I sweated it out, and we passed after a 10-minute stop.
We arrived at the Mee Guest House, and I retrieved my cargo from its hiding place. I noticed a sign in the Mec G.H. restaurant warning that the place is regularly raided by the police. In our room, I, gathered together all the roaches I’d been saving, and I cut them up along with the contents of the last joint, and from this rolled 2 pin joints. Lode and I smoked one of them and got deliriously stoned. We were both paranoid as hell, but neither of us said anything.
Lode tells me that when I came down the hall, my thongs were setting up a racket, and as he lay on the bed, he imagined the sounds were hundreds of soldiers coming to take him away.
In truth, the sign said that many guest were serving “long jail terms” due to the raids at the guesthouse. Very possibly people had been arrested in our very room. The bad karma hung over he room like a shroud.
I had put the opium in a letter addressed to Dr. J Clymer PHD General Delivery, Daily City, California and hidden it outside by a junk pile. The last remaining joint I had also hidden.
I mentioned my paranoia, and Lode and I began to exchange thoughts, which were focused on the one thing -fear of being busted! (What a bummer to spend the next 10 or 20 years in jail over a small amount of opium!!) Note: I would have mailed off the opium if the post office had not already closed.
We decided to get away from the hotel and so I collected our illegal paraphernalia and we walked across a footbridge across the big river. I took the opium from the envelope and I flung it in the river.
We had dinner and returned to our hostel. We sat outside and I smoked the last joint, it made me “deliriously stoned.” I quite enjoyed it.
We returned to our room, evidence destroyed. Lode fell asleep. I stayed up and read “in Cold Blood” until I was too tired. I turned out the light and fell immediately asleep.

October 18th, 1983

The bed was “harder than some concrete that I’ve slept on,” but anyway I slept in till about 9 am. I began to have the runs yesterday on leaving the village and one of my first acts today was to visit the toilet. I felt a bit disappointed that I’d smoked up and destroyed all the drugs yesterday but c’est la vie. (By the way, Lode speaks Swahili, Flemish, French, German and English!)
We rented a motorbike and went to Wat Do: Suthep, a temple over looking Chiang Mai. It was a tourist trap like all that I’ve seen since New Guinea! At 2:45 pm we were on the train to Bangkok. We have been writing and reading. Also, we’ve been doing our best to finish off the bottle 750ml of Mekong Whisky which we bought just before departure - 48B (Just over $2.00 US)!
Diary, I think of Kelly. Her letters had a sense of longing to be with me. In truth overriding any criticisms I could possibly imagine of our time together, I have a longing to be with her. I only wish I could talk with her and reaffirm our love. The liquor of love has never delivered a more potent effect than our love, which was borne upon the waves (of mankind’s biggest ocean, out there in the tremulous blue, in the boggling vastness). Oh, sweet Kelly, can you hear me – there is no reason to be sad if it’s longing that is making you so. Believe me, I wish you were here right now. I wish that I could hold you tight.
At 9 pm or so, some men sat down next to us, we could no longer stretch out. Consequently, I searched in other cars and found one extra seat. We changed cars. I stretched out of the extra seat and fell asleep and remained so (pretty much) until 3 am.

October 19th, 1983
Rangoon, Burma
Went to the hostel first thing in the morning and looked after my things. I went and got my passport, then my plane ticket and I found out that my plane was leaving at 5:20 instead of 8:00, so I had to rush. The busses took forever and the streets were flooded; I returned to my guesthouse, and I got my things. I had a brief talk with some Germans’ who, finding that I was American, gave me a lot of shit (not really, I mean, were being friendly) about the fact that the Americans are installing missiles in their country and I can’t say I blame them! The bus took 2½ hours to get to the airport. I check in, washed, ate, wrote a letter to Gam and one to Mandy (I hope she hasn’t forgotten about me, but it has been a long time – she’ll probably be married by the time I get home – god, she’s so beautiful – I love her.)
The plane ride was short – on it, I had a beer (Heineken.) We arrived in
Rangoon in the dark. With 3 other traveler’s, I rode into Rangoon YMCA – in an ancient car. I was hungry when I got there, so an American guy, named Al, and I went around looking for something to eat, but most places were closed. We finally had a snack, but it was old (a pork bun). Things are really cheap here!
Before I caught the plane, I bought a liter of Jonnie Walker Red and a carton of Rothman’s cigarettes. The official rate of exchange is 1 USD = 7.67 Kyats. But the black market rate is more like 19 = 1 USD!!
Went back to my room – I’m sharing a room with Al and a retired Australian man named Doug Fairbanks who is traveling just like all us youngsters, for which I respect him!
Rangoon looked very strange tonight – sort of like it was frozen in the 1950’s!

October 20th, 1983
Rangoon, Burma Thursday

Well, this morning, 3 couples took off on a taxi trip around Burma, and they tried to get me to go too, but it seemed like a drag – it’s one of those bemos where the exhaust comes in the back!! – they rented it for $200. But I didn’t feel like being carted around Burma for the next five days. I may just stay here in Rangoon. It is a strange but interesting and, for me, pleasant place.
I brought my clothes in for laundry service this morning and I bought 8 Aerogramme as I intended to do some letter writing.
I had lunch at the Strand Hotel, and I quite enjoyed myself – mushroom soup, a steak, bread and butter, vegetables, potatoes, coffee, and an éclair with ice cream in it – all for 35 Kyats (chats). At the black market exchange rate, that’s only $1.75. And, for Rangoon, the Strand is quite ritzy. They had orchids on the table and silver plated severs! (and some stainless steel too.)
I watched a betelnut vendor on the sidewalk, and it was quite fascinating! They have a myriad of different ingredients, and each customer likes it prepared a bit differently! They wrap the ingredients up in a betelnut leaf.
I just walked along in the afternoon among the deteriorating sidewalks made up of slabs of stone 2½” x 1½” feet, in the light drizzle under gray skies.
In the early evening, I went downstairs and weight lifted in the weight room. Not like at Jay’s gym. Now at Jay’s Gym, we had the walls absolutely covered with photos of the prettiest cheerleaders in the school district in bikinis. But here, they have magazine pin-ups of muscle men. And I noticed quite a few of the Burmese guys looking admiringly at themselves in the mirror – it made me laugh to myself. I had a good workout. At the end of it I was going for one last squat with the big bar and almost toppled over, and they had their laugh on me but it was a good workout.
Afterwards, I went to the Strand with a Japanese guy who took Al’s bed (Al left today for Pagan). The service was almost non-existent and the lobster was pretty bad, but I thought the Mandalay beer was okay – the bill was $3.00 US.
After dinner, we walked around the town – again - very strange (The Jap guy said India is stranger!) When we got back, I fell asleep, being quite tired.

October 21st, 1983
Rangoon
I took a leisurely morning letter writing alone on the veranda, and it was slightly regal. I took lunch at the Strand, and I wrote letters all day. By the end of the day I had written to Jeff C., M. Taylor, Mom, Renada, Kelly, the AmEx office in India (asking them to hold my mail till Jan 21, 1984.) Fred Billy in the Soloman Islands (returning his letter of April 8th (!) Which Kelly sent to me, and Norma. Since the Aerogrammes didn’t have any glue on them, I asked for some, and found out that the local way of sealing paper is to smear boiled rice on it! I tried it – and it works remarkably well!! It smears on like glue and holds even better!!
I has having a snack downstairs and I was invited over to the table of two men, one 65 and one 73, both Burmese, one of them has a daughter who is working for Bechtel as an engineer in San Francisco. This man, the 65-year old, was formerly the Deputy Secretary to the Minister of ¬¬¬¬¬¬¬_____?.
He said that his salary was 1400 chats per month! He said that the prime ministers’ wages are 1800 Kyat per month! (At the black market rate [the equilibrium rate of exchange] that is only $90 USD per month – for the top government official! Of course he gets house, car, etc, to.
These 2 old timers wanted to travel (they’d traveled aboard on official business years ago), but they were not allowed to exchange their Kyats for dollars and this prohibits them from traveling!! (Of course, they could exchange them on the black market, but I said nothing about this). They said they envied my ability to travel without hindrance, and I don’t blame them.
After talking with them, I picked up my clothes from the laundry, dropped the letters in a post box, and shortly after returning to my room, I feel fast asleep.

October 22nd, 1983
1:30pm
(Note: Activities included weightlifting in the evening)
Note: Diary, I just note here that I am in the process of considering the future and of planning and sorting out my variety of desires/wishes/goals in an attempt to arrive at a cohesive and workable plan to achieve ends, which in lieu of such a plan would otherwise go unachieved.

9:45 pm:
I spent the day walking around the city. I sweat a lot here, both from heat and humidity. The sun seems exceptionally hot here. I went to the Swe Dagon Pagoda, but I didn’t go right up to it; I just observed it from outside. For some reason (as I told some guy this morning) pagodas bore me stiff!! Here in Rangoon I have even seen Buddha’s surrounded by flashing neon lights!!
Inevitably, as I walked around, I thought about me and my life; which is good, I want to think about this now that I am on my own. I went into a church and knelt down and prayed (to a God that is both within and without me) that I might be able to find hidden power within myself that will enable me to excel beyond my present abilities. [Specifically, I prayed that I might see the light and enter it, that I should discover the way to happiness that I might be able to show others, and I prayed –
i) That I could gain the ability to find women on any given night and make love to them for mutual satisfaction,
ii) To receive the admiration of the populace and
iii) Have the ability to amaze people with my music. I did a Super Suggestion – that is, relax my body and then count to 20, then repeat these suggestions, and count back down to 1.]

Diary, I will admit that I have felt, perhaps, some despondency about my life. There are so many unfulfilled wishes, and I feel inadequate in so many areas. 1. Women: I would say that my skills for picking up girls are certainly adequate – that is, at least as good as the average guy, if not better. But on an absolute level, they are terribly inadequate. I say this because I haven’t been able to fuck even 1% of the girls I’d like to, and I have spent so many nights alone (like tonight) when I’d rather be with a woman. And if I am to be fair to myself, I would have to describe my penchant for women as a Need rather than as a luxurious want! Lord only knows that most men feel the same way! And it makes me despondent that I see thousands of girls walking the streets, many of whom are virgins or who have no lover, and whom I want – it seems like such a waste that I shouldn’t be enjoying them – for that matter, a lot more enjoyment could be had by all! Why do we live in such backwards ways! What I wouldn’t give to be able to grab one of those little cuties off the street, bring her to my room, fuck the daylights out of her, and then send her on her way. Heaven, sheer heaven it would be!!!

October 23rd, 1983
Rangoon
8:10 am
To continue my discussion of last night.

1. So, in short, my despondency over the lack of women is possibly greater than a personal problem – it could be considered as a worldwide dilemma! (I might mention that even when I do find a girlfriend that I really like it doesn’t stop me from wanting the others.) I mean to say that this problem is largely a result of the societies I live in than due to any inadequacy on my own part – (except I do allow that in some positions – like rockstars they have the capacity to fuck many more woman than I – but can they just walk down the street and grab the girl they want? Doubtfully!)
Lastly, I want to say, that if I lived in a sexual heaven of this sort, I would probably be more generally happy.

2. Music: My lack of talent makes me despondent. I suppose this may have stemmed from an early association with music and a sincere belief in the well-intentioned compliments of others. Later, as I studied music, I became very serious about it - and, of course, following that, I put all my efforts into the group I formed, and after it broke up, without having ever sold a record (and the subsequent years of dealing with the guilt of letting Tom down), followed by my buying recording gear and finally and truthfully listening to myself – well, the long and the short of it is that I realized a huge disparity between my productions and that of the professionals!!
I cannot totally disclaim any talent – I can’t judge whether or not I may have talent as a songwriter. Even whether or not I can match the professionals is secondary to me! The problem I am writing about is mainly that I have lost the compelling need to write songs and poetry!! I theorize that perhaps this development has largely to do with despondency over a lack of talent. That is to say that talent is an incentive to do these things. But if I truly believe that I will never amount to anything in this area, that I will never produce a work worthy of public notice, then I might feel that it is a waste of time – but this is only a theory.
But, diary, the point is that I really miss that feeling of creating something, which I think is really great - something which flows from my heart. I used to love it when Tom and I would write three songs in one day – it was a joy (though at the time I was worrying about marketing them).
I have thought that I could develop my talent through application, but I find that I grow too easily disillusioned with my lack of progress. I get lazy and feel I can’t concentrate on it! I worry that it is a waste of time. When I compare myself to others, I grow more despondent!!
And in all this process, the meaning of song is virtually lost! I mean that song sprung from the heart and set my mind a glow. Then visions of making a livelihood from it came. Followed by an honest appraisal of how I compared to others who made a livelihood from it! Followed by despondency. This crept into my heart, and the songs of feeling and happiness topped.
Broken, limp and useless. The chords of my soul sound tiresome.
My heart wants to make music but the imprisoned muscles have wasted away.

4 pm (Above) What a bunch of bullshit! Boo-hoo!! I’ve been walking around all day, and now I feel happy. In fact, I am thinking that I was happy before, but I just wasn’t realizing it. I was just walking along a minute ago (the sun is going down, there’s that special glow in the sky) and I thought, “You know, I really am happy.” And as I thought this, I had a sudden burst of perception, as if I was seeing more deeply. I saw the glow of the sun on the leaves, the snail perched on the side of an old cement wall – then I wasn’t just saying it, because I saw in that instant how full life is, I saw the beauty.
Diary, I want to capture this moment, because I think it is important, and I think that many of my most sublime and important realizations are supported by it (e.g. perception to everything) I am happy! I have my body, which is unmarred by disease, it is complete and well – formed, I have my health and my sanity.
Diary, the reason I have sought to pursue money, adventure, music, love and “success” is because I thought it would make me happy, that is what “it is all about” – for me (and probably for the majority of people). I foresaw a life of happiness, of fun, of leisure. I envisioned the perfect life for myself at the age of 18 – so that I had a guideline, which I could follow – so that I could pursue something with energy and I would have something to let me know when I got off the path. But happiness, well… it’s just there. It is there to take.
Let me move on for a moment to a related topic (but first let me say that Happiness should be the foundation for all my goals, of all my actions!)
Can I say that many people have a need to worship a higher being - God, Buddha, Shiva, Mohammed, Jesus, you name it - well, I suppose I do too. I remember how appalled I was when my friends Jeff and Gary called each other “Godly” because I thought it was sacrilegious, but, we evolved into calling each other “Gods” quite regularly until I’ve taken the notion quite “seriously.” And now, I admit that I am a “man,” but I also like to think I am a “god,” because, perhaps, doing so intimates the greater potential that I and all of us have. It is, then, more just a very positive statement than a sacrilege, and indeed man has conquered portions of this material world that would bewilder the Popes of the 13th century into thinking it was sorcery!! Or a miracle! Perception: that the human has an ever far reaching potential.

~~~
Midnight
What a revelation that was today! What a long walk will do for me! I walked back home, and I took a nap. Afterwards, awakening, I met U Thet and his colleague downstairs. Incredibly, U Thet went to school with U Thant (The 3rd Secretary of the United Nations) and knew him personally!! 2 girls from Switzerland were talking with them. I sat down. To make a short story of it, I decided to put the moves on one of them.
Diary, in the meantime, U Thet and I carried on an interesting conversation – yes – indeed – he explained to me the 4 truths of Buddha (1. That we suffer because we believe [incorrectly] that we are a person. 2. That our cravings keep us bound within the 32 planes of life/death cycle [4 planes below men – hell, 2 spirit planes and the animal plane – and 27 planes above us, the first 6 above man being that of nats** 3. That to escape the planes to Nirvana or nothingness i.e., to end suffering, we must end our cravings and 4. There are 8 paths to Nirvana, the most important of them being Morality, mediation (concentration) and faith in the teachings of Buddha – and others: good effort.
The physical body is not a permanent entity but ever- changing, and impermanent – it is composed of Hardness, Water (Liquid), Wind and Heat. The mental body is composed of our 5 senses and the 6th sense, which is growth – and is a direct result of the contact of the physical body with the material world.
U Thet has translated a Burmese book on Buddhism into English and hopes to market it. I also encouraged him to write a book on Buddhism himself because he explained it so clearly (and he’s read many books on it). Most importantly from a directly practical standpoint, he says that there is a lot of money to be made in Burma (and I can see that myself) and what is needed is to export stuff in a big way – to involve big companies. He says they can be my liaison with Burma and I can be the liaison with the companies in the states. We are to maintain a correspondence in the future.
Well, Diary, I swear I have practical mastered the art of getting a girl alone and kissing her, if only I could now further it to making love. So, from a point of sitting with the 2 men and the 2 girls, I ended up in my room with the one girl (under the pretense of having extra Baht to give her – which I didn’t – since she’s going to Bangkok tomorrow). She and the 2 men and I had ended up taking a walk.
I showed her my pictures of New Guinea and then I kissed her. She pushed me away in a friendly way and said, “No, I don’t want.” I kissed her again and our tongues lolled about the others’ and then she bit mine (not hard) playfully.
I said, “Gee, I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” and then, I said, “Hey, you bit me!” and I grabbed her and kissed her again to get at her tongue!! So she kissed me for a moment. But after we talked right on, no problems, I told her she’d better go because it was getting late and she had to go - but that I would have liked her to spend the night. She said she couldn’t because she had a guy at home, and she said she hadn’t slept with anyone since she’d left home. We talked about it and I expressed how I wished the world was different because, basically, guys are hornier than girls, and I think it would be better if we were both promiscuous! She said maybe I’d be able to have it like that when I was older, but when I asked her what she meant, she didn’t really have an answer. So, by and by, when she’d finished her 4th cigarette she left. I went to sleep. (Oh yeah, in between the conversation the YMCA guy knocked on my door because there’s not supposed to be any girls here but I just locked my door on him!)
Diary, it was sort of fun really. I really believe she couldn’t. It wasn’t that she didn’t like me - she said I looked something like and old boyfriend. Given that it wasn’t in the stars, I did the best I could. It made me think that I’ve got to start out with the right kind of girl.
A clue: she went to the north of Thailand, but she didn’t smoke opium because she was afraid to. If this denotes conservation – do I want to seek out, shall I call them – Progressive girls! The kind of girl who takes a chance!! When I think of it – many of the girls I’ve gone to bed with were girls who drank (Lenora, Diantha) smoked pot (Norma, Kelly, Debbie), generally took drugs (Isabelle) had liberal sexual attitudes (Linda E., Joy W.), started smoking and drinking, etc when young (Tonica) and others I’m sure. It seems there’s another kind who seek status to be with you – to be with a California man (Bernadette from France), to be with a musician (Lynn?) and then others who obviously just do it out of sheer horniness (Cayuko for example)!
This is very interesting!! I wonder… if it is possible to outline the behavioral characteristics of types of girls most apt to fuck!!

October 24th, 1983
[Dacca, Bangladesh]
9:15 am
in the Strand Dining Room after a coffee 2) and toast (w/ Butter and jam) breakfast, Burma.

Diary, good morning, and a fine morning it is!! I suppose that just resting in Rangoon for five days was a wise decision, for I feel so rested and happy, and prepared for the rest of my trip, and specifically from Nepal and trekking that it must have worked wonders.
I want to note here (as it seems to be good for me to write things down) that I want to begin some work:
i) I want to use the blue notebook (that Kelly gave me) as an exploratory device armed at defining my future for the next five years and the rest of my future as well. I want to write out my thoughts (In pencil) regarding –
a) What I want to do
b) My philosophies
c) My conclusions
d) My thoughts and
e) Any and everything relating to my life and philosophy.
I want to develop, as it were, a “personal mission” and, and I mean this, I want to examine it backwards and forwards, test it, and make damn well sure that it is realistic and workable and that it suits me well. (Eventually) I want to think out how I am going to do what I want to do and to test my plan for the countless contingencies that are bound to pop up and then become obstacles between my chosen destiny and myself!!!
I may suggest that I just write all the related topics out. Later, to categorize them and refine the conclusions. Because I know that I am going to end up with scores of different ideas – but I want to sue these ideas, put them into play.
Also, I realize that this process is really a continuing one, one of continual examination (although, for example, Dn. Harrell said that a firm made its mission once but that the plans were constantly revised). Thus, I want to derive a cohesive statement of my mission!!
Later (and during this process) I should derive a plan, and afterwards I should keep a journal of any ideas that seem pertinent to this (and my) endeavor.
So, the blue notebook will be a starting point, but I highly doubt that I will be finished with this task by the time I’m finished with notebook. So, I should continue in another book and so on, all the time, collecting, processing and synthesizing my ideas with a rock-hard-core!
(Diary, I can see that being alone is good for me – just what I wanted: to start thinking and planning for my future!)
Well, I fly tonight at 9:40 pm. I plan now to return to the Hotel, do some weightlifting, shower, check out of my room, then come back to the Strand for lunch (the Chinese part – Roast Duck!!) And finally to tour the town for picture taking and shopping/trading!

1:45 pm at the Strand (Chinese Restuarant) for lunch.

ITO – My conception of God. As I started writing yesterday, I have a need to commune with a higher source, as do many people. The trouble is that I don’t think Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha or (The man who “discovered”) Shiva hit the nail on the head, so to speak – that is, I think that they spoke the Truth, but how can each one of them have been right, since they differ?? (We have not had a major prophet for 1500 years.) Well, I think that they saw part of the picture. There must be some explanation for the creation of the universe. But I prefer not to explain it away by guess work or by attributing it to a man-like entity who said – “Ok, let’s create heaven and earth!” It seems like a childish and human–centric notion! I look at what I know or think I know or what I see. The world is here, the stars (and I believe scientists descriptions of the distances and of what they are composed) are there, the earth is hurling through space – and, looking at it the other way, the matter of which all this is composed can be examined at smaller and smaller intervals – we have the atom, the protons and sub-atomic particles – and I believe they exist, except I don’t envision them to “look” like the red and blue balls they have in science 1A.
So, there is this (magnificent) array of reality, but no one has told us (though I suppose some claim to know) – that is, a greater authority has not proved to us or shown us, the purpose or way in which all this came about (by the way, to ask for a purpose also seems trivial). It’s not like the purpose of a laundry detergent or something like that – there’s no “purpose” – that word is a conception of our puny minds (they are also great minds). In the absence of an explanation, I can only look at it all and say – there is force in the universe – there is a common denominator which makes the rather barricade (what is the word for those things… they are the same as me – that is everything has a “sameness” about it.
So if I desire to commune with a source of superior power (I’ll pray to an Atom bomb!) where do I turn?? I don’t believe there is a “man upstairs.” What I believe is that there is a farce, which does not discriminate between me and my neighbor or me and a rock or any set or subset of reality for all is common with the Force. (This reminds me of Star Wars!) Within the realism of reality there are certainly startling possibilities – and it is these I pray for. I am no less or greater than anything – it just is.
So to the point!
ITO is the Force, which moves all things. It is an energy.
(Written next day)
After lunch, I went back to the Y. Al had returned from Pagan. We talked a bit and then I walked around the city. Among the interesting sights was a vegetable I’d never seen before. (Also, earlier in the day, I’d seen a government truck that had one of those “forbidden “ signs with a picture of an opium poppy on it – I asked around, and sure enough, it is a picture of an opium poppy and the truck was part of a government project [backed by the UN] to eliminate the crops.)(Also, before I went to lunch, I met again with U Thet and the 65 year old, the two charming Burmese men. We talked in the Y restaurant and then I took their photo and then we said our goodbyes and I went walking). When it was dark, I returned to the Y, and then I went to the Strand for dinner. Al was there. We sat at a table with 4 other travelers and had a grand time, talking, laughing and each drinking 2 Mandalay beers. Al and I rushed off to get to the airport, arriving with an hour to spare. But the plane was delayed (they’d come in from Bangkok on 3 engines only!) While we were waiting, we met a man from Bangladesh who promised to show us around.
We had no faith in the plane as we boarded. The flight felt shaky. Once in Dacca airport, we were told that in Biman airways would put us up for a night due to the delay (it was 2 am). We were bused to a hotel (the Golden Gate), but it was far from the 4 star place we’d envisioned!! Sleep!

October 26th, 1983
Dacca, Bangladesh
“The moon looked like a pearl, and the clouds like floating white brains, in the easel of my vision, as I lay looking at the night say on the concrete rooftop of my Bangladesh hotel.”
Today was very exciting! We took a walk before lunch, marveling at how placid Dacca was, at how wide the streets were. Lunch turned into a marathon discussion on traveling and a religion between Al, myself and a Swedish Jehovah’s witness. The man we met from the plane came by. [You can get visas to travel by yourself in Mongolia! And Bhutan!, you can go to Laos from Kathmandu but it’s really expensive. You can walk with the hill people in Nepal to opium fields.]
After lunch, Al and I walked to old Dacca, bordering the big River. On the way, Al had a shave, and I decided to have a “trim.” I tried to communicate that I wanted only a little taken off, but the “barber,” a young man, took the shears, and with his first cut, took 2 ½” off he back! I was horrified. A crowed of people gathered around as he tried to correct his mistake. (A woman was yelling at a man and he finally threw her on the ground.) I left in the middle of the horrible haircut (before he could do any more damage.) We walked to old Dacca. It was fascinating. The streets are narrow. Ox-drawn carts piled high with smelly skins of cows and ox’s. Kids following us. We turned off towards the river, kids following in greater numbers. What’s this -?- a man with graying blonde hair – he is prompted by the people to talk to us. He smiles a smile stained with betelnut – he looks as if he was of European origin, but now he has been molded into the Bangladesh peasantry and countryside. He shakes our hands and speaks Bengouli so rapidly, exactly like the others, and I know that is his only language – he makes no attempt to speak English – Al and I are dumfounded. Al points to him and asks “Bengoui?” The onlookers chime in with the man – shaking their heads “Yes” saying “Bengouli! Bengouli!” It looked like he had been abandoned as a child here – his head was into this place – his gestures and mannerism showed that he was a Bangladesh peasant – what was his history???
We walked back into the streets and proceeded along - cramped shops, faces peering out. Have you ever seen a rickshaw traffic jam?? (Well bicycle rickshaws) We walked by the central jail and all the guards waved back. Then the rickshaw traffic jam.
Back at the hotel, the fat man stood over us and watched us eat. The dinner was lacking. After, Al and the Swedish guy sat around the dining hall, and I went out. I met a young man and asked if he could direct me to some ganja. We walked among mud pathways to a wooden porch where men were smoking chillums. Having never used a chillum before, I took some practice to “master” it, and after 10 pulls I began to get the hang of it. About 15 men, a couple of women and assorted children were in the gathering. They procured a minute but flagrant bit of hashish – which we smoked in a cigarette.
When the young man and I left (I had to pay 15 taka [24T = 1 USD or I’ve heard unofficially 40T = 1 USD]), we went to a teashop, where I had Bengouli tea and a snack – a fried dough filled with a potato mixture which was quite good. He insisted on paying the 4 taka. Next, we went to his friend’s “pharmacy,” – which – well, you never know in these places – anyway, there was a good shop and we had some egg and onion pastries, and I insisted on paying 5 times and finally got my way, and they kept bringing more pastries (and a tea – “chai”) – they were delicious – on my request. But, alas, in the end, they didn’t let me pay. I’d offered all the food around.
Me and now 3 young men went out and walked about, across the walkway above the street, with the moon gleaming on a platter of crispy dark blue. We walked trough the New Mahit** (which looks old) and I continued to banter back their Bengouli without hesitation – though I didn’t know the meaning of what I said many times! (Kub-kallo- Good!)
[Pus! (Piss!)] etc. One of the guy’s entwined his fingers in mine, as we walked along – I was hoping that he was just following customs cause where I’m from we don’t normally “hold hands,” with our friends – they’re just being friendly I supposed.
Said goodnight to them outside my hotel. On the way to my room I explored a banquet hall and followed steps until I was on the concrete roof of the hotel. There was a dwelling with a light on and a window through which I saw a row of sewing machines and a man inside at one of them - this was on the adjacent roof of the next building – I could’ve walked from one roof to the next – no gap.
Well, I looked at the rich moon and the overflowing rays permeating the amazing lighting of blues and white. I lay down on the concrete and I looked as the strata clouds blew over the skyscape: The moon looked like a pearl, and the clouds like floating white brains in the easel of my vision.
I tried to blank out my mind and OBSERVE. God, how hard this is to do sometimes. So, I realize that the answer to what is beyond the farthest - detected galaxy, beyond the universes’ walls – will, the answer could be deciphered from the evidence of what I was looking at right then – the sky, stars, moon, clouds, rooftops, buildings. The law seemed obvious – the Law of the visual Universe: everything is inside of something else. As protons are inside us, rings of hurling electrons, so are the electron spheres surrounded by groupings of other atoms and molecules. So, the earth is inside its atmosphere and the sky and stars must be inside another entity. (Perhaps, now, on reflection, I should rather also call it the clue of the visual universe). Where this leaves us is without any doubt that there is something beyond. (Could I say that nothing is endless except time and matter?)
I closed my eyes and drifted – and I woke up and returned to my room and went to sleep.

October 26th, 1983
Dacca, Bangladesh
Today was a weird day, but, at the same time, it has proved to be entertaining. Anwar took care of that! He picked us up with his business partner. Al and I were sitting at the table with Rautu, the young man who showed me around town last night (who got me stoned and introduced me to his friends.) Anwar said that he owned 2 Mercedes when we met him, but instead he picked us up in a chauffeur driven Toyota Corona (’68?)!! It was cramped with 3 in the back. As we drove away A.K said that the young man, Rantu, was dangerous (being from a different “class” than he – he never associated with such a character!). Then A.K. said we were going to his friend’s house – a “big man in Dacca.” The banged-up Toyota drove by the tanneries, which smelled worse than anything that I ever smelled – and within “nose-shot,” stopped the car in front of an average house. We picked up his other friend and now 2 people (them) had to share a bucket seat. He said his friend owned a tannery (doubtful).
We drove to a neat-looking fortification, which A.K. described as being 3000 years old, but was in fact, about 400 years old. He pointed out a structure as “the most important monument,” and then described to us how it led to underground chambers but no one had ever successfully followed them (he described how they tied ropes to the legs of dogs, but the dogs had never returned.) Well, he said we couldn’t go in there because it was “restricted.” Well, some other people went in, so we followed. I took a lit match and discovered that there were no passageways leading anywhere!! But still, the incredibly – full – of – bullshit Anwar, said in a tone of warning: (I was having quite a laugh the whole time) “You can go in, but you can’t come out!” And so, we went to a museum on the grounds (boring). Then we went to the tomb of a prophet where one man made a noise like a strange machine and another cried (in rapid-fire Bengali) a musical prayer (then he stopped this amazing activity to come and ask me for some American coins.) A.K. and friends bought some ganja. We went to a park and smoked it – this was good. Then we went to lunch, which drained A.K. of his money. Then to the zoo, where I saw the most beautiful black panthers, lions, tigers and leopards I think I’ve ever seen (I think it’s a shame to keep innocent Animals behind bars.) Then home.
In the evening, Al and I went about this part of the town, and we smoked the remaining ganja left over from this afternoon.

October 27th, 1983
Dacca[, Bangladesh]
Waking this morning thinking we’d be going to Nepal. The bus never showed to pick us up. Rushed to the airport. Even though we had confirmed seats, we couldn’t get seats on the plane. Back to town, we made it to the Biman Airlines office in racing rickshaws (Al and I each in one). We waited around and argued and finally at 5 o’clock we were given reservations of Burmese Airlines for Saturday at 2 pm and we were given a hotel voucher for the Puibani (a very nice hotel across the street) expenses paid for the next 2 days. We had a snack.
I went out and bought some hash. We smoked it before and after dinner, and it was excellent and lent visual intensification. Al and I walked around the city until 1:30 am.

October 28th, 1983
Dacca, Bangladesh
Al and I had a very interesting conversation this evening. We talked about the potential within oneself - how to draw it out. (I suggested drugs, wearing crazy things.) we explored happiness, vitality, and pleasure – goals. Is it happiness through vitality and pleasure? Hedonism is not necessarily the same as pleasure for it can (well, I’ll look it up: the doctrine that pleasure of happiness is the highest good? Devotion to pleasure as a way of life.)

I am of the universal mind.
I am thinking all the time
On every subject.

Went walking through town today. Followed by a mad dancer and old man who yelled “Hiyah! Hiyah!” and kept us laughing for a mile – we turn and dance with him but we don’t give the old daddy a tip. It was like he made his voice as obnoxious as possible when he cried a muddy verbal musical script between his Hiyahs!
Down on the river. Followed by safari trains of children. Sails torn and re-sewn catch the wind mobilizing wooden craft. The sails are arched squares of red bleached by the sun, and white ones; but a weathered white, beige with time. A caravan of dusty men hauling sacks of dusty cement, burdened, move to and from the ship like camels. I position and the sun (hold up your chin so your face is in the sun), and he poses.
Hand-held scales. Here you see altercations wherever there are these so-plentiful-people, but (so far they have all ended without bloodshed. People, there are noticeably many here.
Al and I got into a tremendous conversation at snack time 5:30. When we finished it, it was 9:30 pm, we had finished it over dinner. We talked about potential of humans, genius, happiness, vitality, pleasure, goals of life (women).
After dinner, I went to buy some hash, and I had just been sitting, writing and listening to Steely Dan and others in Al’s room and we got stoned to the bone on this imported Nepalese hash. (It costs 60 taka = 2.50 approximately – for ½ - ¾ gm, including transportation and Baksheesh, but it’s so good. Only 1/8th gram to get you so thoroughly stoned!!!
It’s been a good day – experiencing Dacca and a stimulating conversation about goals and life, development of potentials – all the types and directions I want to thinking about it. In the evening, some of the best hash I’ve smoked – and writing and music.

October 29th, 1983
Kathmandu, Nepal

Morning – On bus to airport leaving Dacca.
I loved Dacca. I had a good time. The streets were interesting. Changers chanting to Mohammed. The beggar with the vulture eye (all white). 75,000 rickshaws. The barber was a butcher!! (Ach! Terrible!)

Important: I was lying in bed thinking about visualizing activity.
Okay, it occurred to me that if one visualizes what one wants to occur, for it to work (in conditioning his mind to handle situations more effectively it must be sound. That is, if what one visualizes is unrealistic, how can one possibly hope the situation to turn out as it was visualized!! If one was to plan it out, think how one would achieve a gain, visualize it, act on it, then figure out ways to improve the strategy and repeat the process – this seems like it might make a sound method.
1. Write out a scenario the way you would want a (hypothetical) situation to turn out – reason it out, think of it like the move of a chess game – master the response. [Embed it in your mind through visualization – act it out!]
2. Visualize the scenario
3. Act it out in real life
4. Think about it – feedback, rewrite the scenario.

At the airport, I had 12 samosas – a pastry with meat and other ingredients as filling – very delicious. Cold Carlsberg beers were duty-free at $0.50 each, so I had 4 of them on the plane ride. We sat among the Nepalese people (who were also put at the Purbani) watching them all wearing identical watches, rings, sunglasses (which the ringleader brought from Hong Kong to Dhaka where the others were waiting (on a round trip Kathmandu – Dhaka) – they get a free trip to Dhaka and the other guy reaps the proceeds.
I looked out the plane window, and (to my amazement) there were the Himalayas plain as day sitting above the cloud line, which separated their lofty peaks from the fertile valley 24,000 feet below. Everyone crowded the windows, and some of us looked out the nose of the plane through the cockpit windows. This is the greatest!!
Kathmandu looked great too. The houses rose in the scattered array, aged brick, among the fertile valley floor. We checked into the Durber Square Lodge – ha! What an overstatement. Bought some hash (overpaid over double because the going price is 50 rupees per tala, or .33 cents a gram! We sat in the Ying-Yang Restaurant and had delicious mixed eatables curry (leave your sandals at the door). Smoking in excess is effectively easier the lower the cost. Later, we walked the streets. We found a funeral procession and followed it to a lighted temped next to a river. The ladies wailed and moaned. I never heard anything quite like it! Al left and later I walked and walked. I touched a woman with a bloody lip and she wanted me to pay for sex, but I sensed an ambush and split back to my room. Crash!!

October 30th, 1983
Kathmandu, Nepal
Evening: I just enjoyed a super meal – a B.K.’s special burger with chips and salad for $1 – it was great. I got my trekking permit today, and I made plans and should be able to get a plane in 3 or 3 days to Lakla.
I bought another dinner, this time a quiche dinner – it was super delicious – the cook is an expert.
I went back to my room and crashed out.

October 31st, 1983
Kathmandu, Nepal
Early am: It’s still dark out and I just woke up. I am horny - real horny - it’s been 22 days since I last fucked – and when I go trekking that will make it even longer!! The thought of being with a woman possess me!
I’ve got to prepare my things and go soon. Once I buy my gear, I’ll be prepared.

8 am: Just woke up and packed and I am going to –
a) Eat apple pie and drink cappuccino
b) Look for a room close to the K. Guest House
c) Check the plane ticket
d) Shop the rest of he day and get my stuff put safely away (that I’m not taking).
Last night I wrote: I am a master of indecision. Reading that this morning displeased me – I must learn to make quick decisions. I deliberate too long, I think.

12:30 pm: Feeling great. Bought a down jacket for $25 – Swiss made.

4 pm. I’m still going strong. I’m the greatest. I’m the bobbest!

11 pm: I feel incredibly bob!! This feeling stems from a shuffling off of all mortal considerations, (Loudly!!) and a full-on attitude bent on bobness. This is characterized by confident and rapid decision-making. No wasting time. Today was bob:
1) Got reservations to fly to Lukla
2) Bought boots, down jacket, gloves, booties, and a pair of hiking boots!

Memo
I feel all in all, October has been an awesome month. I smoked opium with villagers in N. Thailand. I made passionate love to the young lass from Luxemburg under moonlit skies in Koh Samui. I met a friend of the late U Thant in Burma. I went to my first Muslim (hardcore) country – Bangladesh, was excited. And I saw the Himalayas.
But most importantly I feel the ball is starting to roll, momentum gathering for a self-derived plan for “success.”

November 1st, 1983
Nepal

Lukla: Woke up at 4:30 am. Al and I got the taxi with Angrita to the airport. I was the first passenger on the 8 am plane. Slowly the plane converged on the white peaks, then headed up a valley and made a violent landing on a little PNG-style strip. Went up to the “Himalaya Lodge” where I spent the day eating writing letters and writing on the project I’ve instituted to define my objectives and pursue them. These guys I seem to be with, Al, Greg, Mario and Tiziano, are a lot of fun, always joking, ribbing each other good-naturedly - yes I feel I fit in; I do a lot of grilling myself. It’s fun, for example, to grill Al (we keep treating him like he’s not gonna make it).
Anyway, diary, the thing is, I have seldom ever been so excited in my life. This makes me happy. Fuck, I hope the rest of my life (and wishing for a long one) continues at this pace.

November 2nd, 1983
walked from Lukla to Namche Bazar (from 9,200 ft. to 11,200 ft.) (8:50-2:40 w/ 30, 50 & 10 minute breaks)
Rise and shine, breakfast and we’re on the trail. The trail is wide, a veritable superhighway. (This reminds me of New Guinea – Jesus, the trails were barely visible. I think that half the difficulty in hiking there was foot placement.) The scenery, viewed through an expanse of crystalline air, is magnificent – it’s unheard of! How dare these mountains be so bold! Jagged crests of white, each peak an individualist. (If they were people, they would be extraordinary.)
The trees – well, it’s a good time of year – like fall in Bavaria, color themselves in spectral array from red to violet (greens, organs, yellows, browns.) A river and crystalline streams and a waterfall by the trail.
There are literally 50 or 100 Westerners on the trail. At the end of the day 116 Tamang passed me in a trading train.
The first part of the trail was down. By Phakding, it began upwards. Ahead of the park, I had lunch at Jorsalle, the entrance to Sagamartha (Mt. Everest) National Park. But the others passed me and had no lunch. After Jorsalles; the trail ascended sharply. I passed 20 people or more, all walking with tired and strained steps. I passed Tiziano, then Mario, and finally it caught up and passed Grey and Al. I feel that eating and hot drink is essential to fitness in these mountains. I felt pretty strong. Greg and I are least affected, so far, by the altitude. He recently trekked in the Kharakorams in Pakistan.
At Jorsalle, I asked a ranger how long to Namche Bazar. He said 2 hours. I asked “How about if you walk fast?” 1½ hours. I left about 1:25 and arrived in Namche at 2:40 pm.
The major peak we saw today was Kangtega – 22,340ft. (6809 meters). Looking out the window of this lodge, Kwangde at 20,300 feet takes up half my view. From Lukla, 2 peaks across the river were visible, but I can’t positively identify them on the map – perhaps Kariolung (21,920) and number to the north (22,817). On the east side of the river, south of Kantega, was one very memorable peak, but I don’t have a name for it. I may stay here one whole day and then hike to Thangboche at 12,683.
Note: We left 7:50 am and arrived at 2:40 pm, but I spent at least an hour eating along the way. Mario came in 50 minutes after us and Tiziani 1¾ hours or so after us.
At lunch in Jorsalle, I wrote some in my project journal, and I feel positive about what I outlined.

November 3rd, 1983
Namche Bazar
1:20 pm. The clouds are rolling in. I have been taking it easy all day. The others have gone to Khunde, 1 hours walk away. I have discovered that a pass exists that’s 20,575 feet called Tashi Lapcha. Diary, my goal is to hike to an elevation of over 20,000 feet, so this looks like it. Two obstacles, a special permit is needed and a tent is needed.
However, I am hoping to be able to surmount these obstacles. Even if I have to circumvent a police post, hike to Na and then return, since I am assuming I will have to rent a tent here in Namche and later return it. Of course, first I’ll go for Everest base Camp. From Namche, it looks like a 2 or 3 day hike over Tashi Lapcha to Na. If I can work it so I don’t have to retain the tent, I can continue from Na to Bedding and eventually Lamosangu. I am also considering entering Tibet for a day, but I doubt it will happen.

3 pm Note: Another map shows Tashilapcha pass at 5856 meters (not 6273). Is South Col a pass? At 7986 meters?? Just below Everest.
Note: I forgot to try to contact Kelly again on the morning of the first. This is the second time I forgot, and this after I repeatedly wrote and told her to remember.
I think that Tashi Lapcha is only at 5846 meters, so although it’s the highest place I can go without breaking the rules (or getting permits in Katmandu) – actually, I need to get a permit for Tashi Lapcha – it is just as well to go to Kala Patar at 5545 meters.
Diary, I’m exceptionally horny. Sometimes I fantasize about going to bed with a beautiful 16 or 18-year-old girl, and this picture seems so desirable. It’s happened to me before, and it can happen again. I am lately thinking about visualizing again. I want my project to progress with an answer, for I feel the need to accelerate progress, to grab a sense of direction, and I think it might help me with women. I feel very attracted to these Nepalese women, especially since that night when I tried feeling up that “prostitute” in Kathmandu – she wanted 100 rps. I should really think about what I want to do and how I should spend my time. If I really want to get into women, I should find the right place. There are some places that are better than others – this must be true. In some places, the women are more prone to fuck you than; say, the local Tibetan women. (I would love to meet one of them, that’s for sure. Like today, there was this woman who attracted me, and we engaged in eye contact, but I didn’t know what to say since I didn’t speak Tibetan or Nepalese.)
Diary, anything is possible. I still haven’t given up on my exalted dreams. I want to investigate them for soundness – I want to examine them backwards and forwards – anything for a clue of how I can swing it – make it happen. But it seems as if I have got to do one thing for the others to be achieved at the same time. (Maybe I should talk to other people about these things. They can offer other clues and perspectives.) I.e., I, for example, have to get a lot of money together for me to be able to negotiate mountain climbing expeditions, get nice possessions, spend time pursuing women. Everything is much easier with money – well, at least in this line it is. Does it also make becoming a recording artist easier?! It may or may not.
When I spot – think it (meaning to think quickly and form a split-second tentative judgment), it seemed a good idea to pursue the career as a rockstar, doing the thing I love, as it can be financially lucrative and seems most definitely to attract women. Curious, as I write that it occurs to me “where does Adventure fit in?” Because women and money seem to be the by products of a successful rockstar, perhaps this part of the decision was sound, successfully incorporating 3 of my 4 loves. Further, if, Success (or the pursuit of my spirit, manifested by Philosophy) is included as a 5th love, music is also incorporation, this, because in order to write lyrics, the head and soul must be together, and also, from the alternative standpoint of being successful as a rockstar, this 5th desire is also fulfilled.
Adventure seems to interfere with this cohesive set of goals on a practical plane. On a philosophical plain, adventure is what a rockstar is all about – taking chances, casting your fate to the wind (in a philosophical sense, surely). But the long spans of time spent traveling to not seem conducive to perfecting another art – this fact, I believe I have learned. Unless one could successfully practice and write “on the road” – I used to do it when I visualized, but maybe not enough.
You see, diary. I still want the same things as I used to! (Note: at these elevations, my mind seems lucid - in the cold, I can escape from my body and concentrate on what I am thinking.)
“They are the things which still occupy my mind,” and make me pine for them. Although, now that I think about it, I don’t feel an urgent need to make money – in fact, I never have. I just want it!
I just had a flash: if I could buy a beautiful woman for $x, then, if I knew for sure I could, I would have an incentive to work towards, but that seems – well – I just don’t have that much incentive – I can’t buy from a woman what I really need - that has to come naturally.

This ‘poem’ should be entitled

ALTITUDE SICKNESS
I love to be warm in the cold, my heart’s
Pumping for you, I’d like to be thumping
With no clothes on, with you.
Would it that I only had to be bold, to
Snatch the quarry, “to find the goldmine”
(Or Norma, did you really mean that!!)
I’m singing singing singing out for you, that woman
Who will find herself alone with me, who I
Will boldly hold, who’ll accept my tongue and
Lay down with tender passion. I address this
To you, a laughing lady – show me a good time
Mama.
I want the unexpected happening to both of us, and all of you that I want to break so much, both of us amazed,
My heart cries out to all of you to join me.
The eyes of love that touch me everyday.
Religion of Love. Religion of Love! Religion of Love! Religion of Love! Maybe I should scheme real hard
To get the love I need – to be your savior –
It’s all aimed to open the mind – for us both to rise
In Love’s ecstasy.
Say little girl, New Guinea beauty, the encounter is Tibet.

- written stoned to the bone on Nepalese Hash at 11,200 ft.

What I had started out to do was to try to express my desire for all the women I see every day… I was fantasizing about encounters. I was thinking that I should write an ode to women generally, that if I could write one so beautifully, maybe woman would flock to me. I want women to flock to me.

Summary: The previous page was written in the visitors center atop of Namche. The room was quiet and all windows. I sat alone and smoked. Later, I walked back. I talked with a woman from an expedition that went to Island Peak 6,100 meters. I had some delicious spring rolls at the Sherpa Trekker’s Lodge. Upon inquiry at this lodge, I found out that the word Sherpa can be used as an anthropological term or as am mountaineering term. The Sherpas are a race of people. People of this race can have any occupation – even that of a porter. As a mountaineering term Sherpa denotes the men or a group of men who serve as guides – as the experts of the mountains. A Sherpa (mountaineering) would never carry someone else’s baggage. But a Sherpa (of the Sherpa race) could serve as a porter – and a man from another race, the Lamang, for example, could serve as a Sherpa or an expedition.
There was some fresh-baked bread at this lodge, so I bought a couple of loaves (12 rupees each) – it’s delicious, but the bread was about the size and weight of a brick. I went to a shop, and I bought a kg. of cheese for 80 rp. Back at the home lodge, I talked and joked with the guys. I was given some yak momo – a sort of pastry with spiced yak meat inside – it was absolutely delicious. I smoked some more hash during the evening, yet my mind stayed alert, and I wrote an entity in my project book, with which I am fairly pleased. There was cloud cover all over Namche since the afternoon. Before bedtime, I was super-psyched to be hiking (tomorrow) in the morning. (The others had hiked to Khunde today, and I think, they were a little worn out.) In the middle of the night I went out to pee and I noticed the starry sky, meaning another clear morning tomorrow with awesome views.

November 4th, 1983
Namche Bazar to Thangboche (from 11,283 feet to 12,683 feet) left about 9 am arrived 11:54 am.

Diary, I’m happy as hell. I am happy just to be here. I am happy to be alive – to be alive – to be alive – once that’s gone, I don’t know, maybe nothing remains – at least I know that my body will perish, maybe I’ll never have another. Yes, to me, life is precious commodity – it’s so easy to lose (I heard about Germans recently being buried in an avalanche on Everest.)
Women – well, I feel an attitude like this: I feel aloof sort of – like of course I want them – I’m a virile male – but my time is precious, and unless a woman shows serious interest – well, what I mean to say is that I want them running to me – not the together way around. I must have had some dreams lately because I feel lusty, spurred by this image of a young, cute girl giving me all her love. The Tibetan/Nepalese women turn me on. Before I sleep the last few nights, I’ve visualized a few encounters with women – I think it is beneficial to my well-being –it gives me a tinge of happiness to think about something so pleasant as giving and getting love from a woman – a young woman, a beautiful woman. Ah!!!
It’s about 5:30 pm now. Today was awesome. Up early, hiking by about 9 am. We gained the hill above Namche and soon, turning a corner, I caught my first view of Mt. Everest. In the distance northwards, we saw Naptse, Lhotse, and Mt. Everest. I let out a yell, and another. I lost the others after that. Al started talking to a Nepalese girl, also going to Thangboche.
(We’ve had a good time kidding him about him thinking he was gonna get somewhere – he came up bragging about getting “hot lemons” from a beautiful Nepalese girl at lunch – he stopped at the village before the river.) I made it to Thangboche just before noon. Diary, the beauty is immense all over – there’s no escaping it – everywhere you look!! When I get to Thangboche I took several pictures. (I took almost 20 pictures today). I took close-ups of Everest, of Everest and Lhotse, of Ama Dablam (the most awesome and beautiful mountain I’ve ever seen – shooting straight up – alone – covered in billowy snow, veined, sharp); I shot a wide-angel of the whole scene.

Later, Greg came up. We sat outside with this scene before us, and drank Milk tea and ate my bread and yak cheese. Later, Al came up. Another 40 minutes, and Tiziano and Mario showed up. We’re all here at the Thangboche Trekker’s Lodge.
By the way, the name A.K. Khkan has become famous between Al, Greg and I. What a character A.K. was. – [There was a moment after dinner when the skies cleared and many of us raced outside to take pictures of the [Mugnificura**??]
After dinner, Al and I talked to two friendly girls. One of them had a rich Georgian accent. They both lived in Washington State. The Georgian, Lucia, and the other woman, Joy, were friendly. Al and I talked with them. The conversation soon became Al and Lucia and Joy and I having our separate conversations.
Joy and I got into a heavy one. Well, first off, I was told that the meaning of my name, Jeffery, is God’s Peace; secondly, John, means Beloved. So my name is thus rendered: Beloved God’s Peace. What a lovely name! Rather Bobly!
I asked her what was the meaning of life - what is the best possible outcome of my life?? She said that she knew it was to be happy. Happiness, said she, comes from self-love. I asked if it was possible to make millions of others happy by suffering, which was the right choice – to suffer and make others happy or to be happy. She said she couldn’t imagine how by suffering you could make others happy. I said I was down on religion for fucking up people’s heads. She said that a baby is borne with only 2 fears: fear of falling and fear of loud noises, and that all other fears are learned. She said:
WHEN YOU LOSE YOUR FEARS, THEN IS WHEN YOU BECOME POWERFUL.

(This comment made me want to throw my arms around her and kiss her, but I felt inhibited – it seemed to me that the other people in the room might take notice. It made me reflect about social fears – both real and imaginary. It made me resent that I should have to deal with religion – impregnated minds and archaic and immoral social maxims. [But as I write this, I realize that whatever has been must have been exactly as it was.] The conversation turned to this. I expressed my dissatisfaction with not being able to behave the way I would like to behave. She asked for an example. I said: Sometimes I feel like throwing my arms around someone and kissing them. I said sometimes pressures inhibited me from doing something like that.
She placed her hand on my head and spoke soothing words. She put her hand over mine, which was gripping the edge of her double bunk. I stumbled away, mesmerized, not meaning to be rude, I went outside and back in, and when I finally went over to ask her if I could sleep next to her, Al hopped off of Lucia’s bed, and everyone went to turn in. I lay in my bed and then got out and walked outside. I came back inside with a sound, and I stood in the darkness and felt the room full of people resting – How beautiful, I thought; sometimes some people are bothersome or rude, but when people sleep they send messages of peace. I made my way to my bed and I grabbed my sleeping bag quietly and came back to the center of the room and sat by the warm hearth.
After listening to the room; I got up and crawled into the upper bunk where Joy lay on the outside third of it. I tried to get her attention, but to no avail. Finally, she moved, sitting up and I said, “This is Jeffrey.” She was startled and said good naturedly, “What are you doing here.” I told her to wake the others and I would explain. She turned off her flashlight and I spoke into her ear: I couldn’t sleep I’m so worked up. I thought you were the only one who could calm me down (since it was the things you said that got me worked up in the first place). She placed her hand on my head, drew it down on the mat, beside her head and said, “Sleep, dear Jeffrey”. And I said, “But there’s other things I want to tell you: remember how I said there were things I wanted to do, but I felt inhibited, well, one such thing was that before, when you said so any beautiful things, I wanted to throw my arms around you and kiss you but I was afraid of what the others would think; I thought that you would understand.” Her hair smelled good as I whispered all this with my nose muzzled to her head. She said to rest and calmly put my head down. After a moment’s silence, she said, “May God’s peace be with you,” my arms went around her, I kissed her lips, and our head and shoulders and arms clasped with feeling. Then I lay back and slept.
A bit later, Lucia, Joy and I all had to pee, so we went outside at the same time. The sky was brilliant with stars, and we laughed, and even back in bed, we smirked.

November 5th, 1983
Thangboche to Pheuche
(from 12,683 ft. to 13,917 ft.)
Rise and shine. A snack. The plan is Breakfast in Thangboche. We proceed down the hillside. Greg and I walk together and engage in a conversation about traveling and trekking, sharing our experiences with each other. Al is out in front. When we reach Thyangboche, Al is sitting there and he says there’s no place to get tea. Greg and Al wait and I go further into the village. I find a teashop, shortly after they follow. Mario and Tiziano show up. We all have Breakfast. We take pictures of the runny-nosed little kids. Mario shows us the turquoise and Himalayan red coral that he bought in Namche.
After Thyangboche, we continue. I finally take the lead. We get to the crossroads of Thyangboche and Pheriche. Al and I cross the river and take the low road; and we can see Greg gaining on us from the ridge above us. I run to catch up with Greg and we enter Periche together. Pheriche in a flat, barren plain. We pass the “Khomeini Guest House;” I stop and shoot a photo. (Iranian Himalayan Expedition written below K.G. House).
We check into the Himalaya Lodge and get top bunks. Have some Sherpa stew and bread and cheese. The afternoon goes by – I take a short stroll and see (with Mario and Tiziano) the memorial carved into a rock for Dino DeNieu of an Italian Expedition.
Everything beds down early here. I smoke some has and decide to take a walk (to look for Joy and Luria, who looked in but went to sleep elsewhere). I don’t find them, but the walk is brisk, the stars are amazing.

November 6th, 1983
Pheriche to Lobouche (From 13,917 ft to 16,170 ft.)
When I woke up, I didn’t know my plans for sure, but I decided in short order to proceed to Loubouche. The others were of a mind to stay a day in Pherche, at 10:15 am, I left. I crossed the flat plain and then I turned up into a gorge to the right. At 11:45 am, I got to Dugla (Dhukla).
There I stayed, sitting in the sun, drinking tea and eating pancakes in the cordoned courtyard of stone. The child played with my mirror, after I’d shown how we could reflect the sunlight into the darkness of the house where his mother tended in the kitchen. A Spanish man came by. We talked ‘en Espanol.’ Estaba muy Buena hablar Espanol otra vez, y estaba sorpendido (surprised?) que yo pude hablar tan bueno que yo hable! The man was from San Sebastian – he is a Basque.
When he left, I was alone. My sexual drive turned my attention to the lone woman. Inside, we looked over her selection of candy. I touched her hand and, from practice, she drew it slightly away. I examined the beads on her neck. The child was ever present. In the end, I left; I asked where her husband was – away in Khundie. Then I left. I climbed the hill to the valley wherein lie Lobuche. Past the prayer columns, surrounded by diverse geographies of ice and stone. I examined the craggy black peaks to my right, assessing which was Mt. Pokalde. Up the valley for a ways, not a particularly difficult turned, sloping ever so gently upwards, I walked parallel to the stream. A left turn brought me to Lobuche.
Inside the lodge, I began talking with Dan, the mountain climber. “Hello” from my right, and to my surprise, inches from my face was Joy. Joy and Luria had enough room between them, so I set up my sleeping gear on the lower bunk.
I went to the kitchen and had a marathon conversation in Spanish with El Vasqo. Among the things I learned were that the Running of the Bull in Pamplona occurs around 5-7 Julio. Javier described Pamplona as a great place; likewise, he very much liked Andalusia. An ugly Nepali woman sat next to us. He joked that she longed for me. We had a good time, and though I didn’t understand everything he said, I got onto the Spanish well – if I can lead the conversation, it makes it much easier to flow. He described the people of San Sebastian as sort of uptight, whereas Pampolnas were loose, more spirited. He told how when Franco came into power, he forbid the speaking of the Basque language!! I drank a few ho changs – sort of like mulled wine – and, since, during the course of our conversation, it became apparent that we both smoked hash, I procured some of mine, and we had a few hits. He promised to bequeath to me half of his stash he left in Pheruche.
At about 7 pm, I was nestled between the 2 American women. A few jokes and all was silent. 7 pm is too early to go to bed, that is for sure, up here. If you wake up in the middle of the night, it’s dark, people are rustling around. There’s no lights, nothing to do, the thin air keeps you awake. So you can light a candle and write, but the light might keep people awake.
After some hours of sleep, I was awake and so was Joy. We made a few comments about our sleeplessness. I thought of something to say, and though I thought maybe Joy would from then forward avoid me because of it, I thought that the saying of it was worth it in itself, “If I could… (catch breath)… If I could… (catch breath)… if I could… give you an orgasm… with my tongue… then maybe it would help you sleep.” She said, kindly, “Well, maybe just having said that will help you sleep!” And then I fell back asleep.

November 7th, 1983
Labouche to Kala Pattar II back to Lobuche. (From 16,170 ft to 18,567 ft. back to 16,170 ft.)
When I awoke, Dan was just about ready to take off to go to Kala Pattar. The girls were friendly. I set of at 6:45 am for Kala Pattar. It took me about 2 hours to get to Gorohship.
The morning air was spiky cold. Up the valley. Take a dump by the big rock. Then up the wall and across a glacier to Gorohshep. Passed the crevasse. During the walk, the expanse of the Khumbu glacier opened up. Wow! That’s the 1st glacier I can ever remember seeing. Much rubble – the ice poking through in jagged intervals – tan colored rocks. Down into Gorokshep.
I had some tea and chapattis with jam – breakfast.
Up! Down into the sea of sand. (The Himalayas were once covered by ocean – as evidenced by the red coral worn around women’s necks.) Up the first part of the mountain. There’s a trail to the right and to the left. Wisely, I go to the right, and more stable looking, trail. Plug along. On and on. Met a Canadian and then on. Up the rocks to the top. The top. The highest point I’ve ever been to. I didn’t check the time but it’s probably about 11 am (figure 1 hour rest in Gorshskep and 1 hour to arrive to the top.)
There’s not a cloud in the sky. Note the geography. Everest looms clearly in sight. Awesome, 10,500 ft. above me. The South Col – the pass between Everest and Lhotse used by the climbers. Nuptse takes on the appearance of a peak. The mountain behind the clearly visible Lho La pass is wholly in Tibet. Pumore has the acclaim of many as one of the most beautiful of peaks. Pumore stands directly above us, the Kala ridge rising into its tremendous bulk. Base Camp is visible at the bottom of the Khumbu icefall – there’s the Japanese tent (hoping to make a winter ascent). The icefall is an amazing jumble and tumble of ice – my God, how do they go up it – no wonder so many have died!! I can see up the icefall – the top part is obscured by mountainside – but farther up it emerges to the South Col. – and the ridge of Everest – the route for the climbers is clearly visible in its (basic) entirety. The Khumbu glacier is visible from its highest point – at Base Camp – down the valley for 10 miles. Form Pumore to Nuptse, a crown of peaks creates a semi-circular effect.

As you can imagine by this excellent illustration, the view is something unique, impressive, and mind-boggling!
Myself and the Canadian exchange wide-angle shots of ourselves with Everest as a background. Later, I am asked to photo an American man (“I’ve paid $9,000 to come here – I can afford to waste a roll of film on myself.”) I take 10 shots or so (“Let’s try one with my glacier glasses on.”) He takes a few of me on “the summit.” Later, he has another man take photos of him – and later still, he has a woman take more – I was going to ask him if he was in show business! He lent me his binoculars, and (they being Leitz- excellent German binocs his Dad bought for $80, 15 years ago, but now they sell for $500!) I examined the tremendous icefall, the South Col, the summit of Everest, the Nuptse wall. Nuptse is really prominent from here. Excellent. Fantastic.
Some black birds with yellow beaks came and took away some of my glucose cookies. One of them had a red tag on its neck. I shot its photo. (By the way, there are some black crows, different from these birds, which are all over up here. They are huge. About 2 ft + long, and a body 6” in diameter (or more.)
Before I left, I ceremonially took a few hits from my hash pipe. Stoned at 18,500 feet!!
I suppose about 3 hours. Passed on top. I started down at 1:45 pm. I walked to the lower peak of Kala Pattar (18,187 ft) feeling airy and a little scary. Then, giving reliable information and encouragement to the package – towers on the way up, I made my way down to Gorokshep.
I was drained and faint. I sat by the kitchen fire, and closed my eyes. I drank tea and ate some porridge. I felt weak. I nearly slept, but retained consciousness enough to be cognizant of the woman and young man, who were joking about my state of obliteration – or so I thought.
I would’ve slept there, but my bag was in Lobuche. So I gathered my determination and walked back to Lobuche, arriving just before dark.
Lucia and Joy had moved, so Dan (who had returned in early afternoon) informed me. Joy came in and talked with Dan and I put in a comment or two every so often from my sleeping – bagged position.
I had some tomato soup and later some fried potatoes for dinner. I fell asleep when the lights went out, but I awoke in the middle of the night, put on the candle, and I tried to write, but I could only write a page or two, and the cold forced me to retire again, but my sleep was restless, and I prayed for morning to come. But this I did realize – that it was only the altitude that was making me uncomfortable – and once adjusted these mountains are a wild and spectacular tramping ground.

November 8th, 1983
Lobuche to Everest Base Camp to Gorakshep (from 16,170 to 17,567 ft to 17,000 ft) (though my map says Gorakshep is at 16,892 ft, all the other sources say 5184 meters = 17,003 ft.)
Joy and Lucia came in out of the cold in the morning, claiming their night in the tent was the most miserable ever spent – Joy said she was even crying – the altitude and the cold sun do strange things to us.
Dan set right off, hoping to reach Gokyo via Tashi Lapcha in one day – good luck, if anyone present can do it – he can. I started out hiking with Gary and Al (and Tiz and Mor whom we soon left behind.) It was enjoyable hiking with them, as jokes are ever present. For a while, I was apart from them as I sought a short-cut which turned out to be a long-cut. We arrived in Gorakshep. Greg and Al were soon gone up to KP Liz and Mor came by and I still sat there, having tea and talking with the folks gathered in the sunny “patio” of Gorakshep sole structure. An American man told me about the logistics of getting to Base Camp. I had brought my full pack up to Gorakshep to Lobuche, so that in case I had to sleep in Gorakshep, I’d have everything necessary, (This man was funny “Well, last year I want to 16,635 feet, and this year I went to 18,576 ft and I guess my limit would be 4 miles, 21,120 ft. blah blah blah…” so concerned was he with how high he’d gone. He told me he had a football game in Kathmandu if I wanted to play – he’s at the Star Inn and his name is Jeff Bej.)
At 10:20 am I set off with my daypack, some food in it. Left behind was the big pack, my down long johns and my sleeping bag.
As I started across the glacier, I came upon the American (the “$9000” man) and the Canadian couple who’d let me use their tripod atop KP yesterday. They’d only gone as far the ice pinnacles.
I crossed a stream and then I got lost. Finally, I caught sight of the cairns (markers of stone atop stone) again. I traversed north on the glacier. I met two guys coming back. Then a few minutes later another guy on his way back. Again I got lost, but I saw a couple and a Sherpa and got on the right track again. This guy told me I shouldn’t go further with just my tennis shoes on. Since my boots were in Gorakshep, I ignored his advice.
I had to walk on ice, but I didn’t slip. By and by, I came across the expedition’s garbage heaps. Finally, I arrived at the orange tent. I went to the door. Inside, a young Sherpa whacked some thermos bottles. I asked if I could come in.
I sat down, tired, and I opened up my cheese and bread. He accepted some of my cheese, and gave me some black tea with sugar, which came in mighty handy. I ate slowly and drank a second cup of tea.
Once finished, I stepped outside and shot about 10 pictures with my 3 lenses. The sound of cracking ice and a spume of ice spray a mile off on the icefall, caught my attention. After my photos, I decided I’d better go before it got too late. [I think I left my 28 mm hood on the ground by the tent opening.]
Just like everybody said, Base Camp was a garbage dump, it held no real significance, and all of us who went there just to say they went there, will tell everybody how fantastic it was (in order to justify their going there): the most significant thing I could say before I left was this – “At Base Camp: the fulfillment of a dream, however meager.” Diary, only you and I know how special this feeling was, how humble yet exalted. As Mario might say, “Bravo! Jeff.”
OK the walk back – I knew time was critical “The time (tap the wrist?” The dial on the Sherpas wrist read 2:45 pm.) So I set off determined to concentrate on the trail. I made my way through the ice, once veering slightly, next overshooting the path South, but I was proud to soon have realized it. All the way across the glacier, I successfully negotiated the yak dung and the cairns and the footprints until towards the end, when I had to keep backtracking. There was a cairn next to a stream crossing but it looked (mistakenly) different, so I thought it was “wrong.” I continued south on the glacier. After much, deliberation, since it was getting dark, I thought I’d just better get off the glacier, so I turned back to the cairn by the stream crossing.

(One of the reasons that I had first hesitated at the crossing was because it looked more difficult then I’d remembered.) I noticed my footprint once I was across, and again I was on the right trail. But not for long. I picked my way across the ice, finding a Cairn here and there, going up summits, trying to get an overview.
(“Well, if I have to spend the night on the glacier, I’ll probably survive, just find a ‘warm’ place to bed down. [I’ve got my down jacket, booties and gloves, wool sweater, long john bottoms, sweat pants, 3 pairs of sock, t-shirt, wind breaker and warm cap.] But I think you can make it. I’ve got faith. Just keep trying,” I’d said out loud after my resolution to cross the stream had energized my legs to carry me in that direction.) The darkness growing from fainter and fainter shades of powder blue and ice. I recognized a pool South of me, which I’d rejectingly considered to shoot a photo of on my way to Base Camp. Then, in a moment, another similar pool became noticeable. I crossed the glacial depression, and I was confused as to what the mountain to the North West was. I climbed it.
It was getting dark. I could see Gorakship’s sea of sand. Higher up on this increasing ridge I suddenly saw my way. I saw that I was above on the ridge sloping northeastwards as the base of KP. The pink from the black (the rim of the horizon over dark ranges of mountains) grew into violet with a star and a new moon! I let out a projecting primitive cry of glee that I thought must reach any unoccupied ears in Gorakship. I swiftly made downward progress (“Stay to the right and be sure,” I told myself, whatever that meant!) Down to the lake. Rock-hopping to the sea of sand. In the door of the “Lodge.” The woman sat alone. This I noticed. There were one or two people sleeping, an occasional shortcoming from the together room.
I drank a half-canteen full of ice water. I felt so damn great!! I felt energized. I felt I could run up KP and back “right now.” At 5:55, 3 guys, then 1 more came in. Andrew from Mill valley, Chris who’d gone to Berkeley, though never bumped into Andrew there, even though they’d gone during the same 4-year span, and who’d met up recently, and Simon and François. They claimed to have descended in 21 minutes, leaving KP II at 5:30 pm – and they were incredibly psyched, like me, having watched the Sun set from their respective perch. [Note: as I’m writing this, just now, on 10/11/83 at noon, I look out the window and I see Andrew. He waves. He comes in. Chris sits on the end of the mattress bench/bed 15’ long. I’m sitting in my bag in the sun through the window in the middle of it. I read what I just wrote. Andrew says “Right on!”)
They said they smoked a j on top of KP II. I lit up the roach they handed to me and we passed it around. It was a good conversation, I saying things like America is fucked but it’s the best GD place in the world to live.”
Later I crawled into my bag. I fell asleep first and Chris and I continued a conversation in which we described his 20 month trip. 16 months in Europe, across Russia. Mongolia and China. “Our arms building is the only thing that is holding the Russians at bay.”
My sleep was good for 4 hours, and uncomfortably restless for the rest of my first sleep at 17,000ft.

November 9th, 1983
Gorakeshep to Thangboche (17,000 ft. to 12,683 ft.)
I woke up before everyone and started packing. I didn’t leave till 9. I was feeling weak. But I loved the scenery.
In Lobuche, I treated myself to a corned beef hash and egg meal, a Hershey Bar and a can of fruit cocktail – food left over from the expeditions, (and sold “10-20%” of retail price to the Lodgers who sell them for 50% more than retail price.) [Heasay on the former.] A sit in the sun. Sew my shoes. At 12 noon I move on. On the way to Dhukla, I meet Gary from So. Calif – one of the guys who I was on the SS Tamponas to Singapore with. In Dhukla, a cup of tea. Down to Pheriche (the long walk across the valley to the Himalaya Lodge). I obtain the hash (“chocolate”) that El Vasquo bequeathed to me from his bag in Pheriche. I was told it was 3 hours to Thangboche, but I made the determination and left at 3:05 pm. I ran where the trail went downhill. I passed Pangboche, still light out.
I caught up and passed Sherpas. I came upon Mar and Liz at the bridge. I clambered up the steep path to Thangboche. Arrival 4:55 pm. There’s Al around the stove. Then Greg. I down a Star Beer (50 rps.)
This evening was great. Mar, Tiz, Al and Greg and a couple from Israel.
I told them that Base Camp was the greatest place I’d ever been – Ha Ha. I smoked a joint ¾ hash, ¼ tobacco before I blew out the candle. I looked at the burning cigarette and I thought how fascinating the universe of that seething red end is. “The end of this cigarette is even more fascinating than all these mountains.” Well, Perception is Everything.

November 10th, 1983
Thangboche to Namche Bazar (from 12,683 ft to 11,283 ft.)
I dreamt the most ultra-fantastic dream I ever dreamt. There were many parts to it. They didn’t necessarily join together except that they were all ultra-fantastic. (On reflection.) Perhaps what held the whole drama together was that it was exciting and dangerous, but I never felt at a loss throughout. – perhaps always confident.
Scene 1: Perhaps it was Greg, but anyway, there was this guy in coattails in this most-incredible palatial mansion. I think it was set in San Francisco, but we stood outside and he was pointing out to me houses, which were 300 years old and 500 years old. During parts of my dream, I was roaming though the house, though areas with hanging marble almost down to the stairs, carved like the Pieta, hanging down within 2½ of the marble staircase, and, being chased, I (we) had to duck under it and head up the (secret) staircase.
They story partially took place in this palace. (I also remember being led to a banquet.) And I remember sitting at a table laden with the finest wines, graceful and beautiful women, gourmet food, lace linen tablecloths.)
Scene 2: Me and some guy were in a room with two narcotics agents. I said “What’s this” and withdrew a sample of opium that the agents had planted on his person. My friend took it and nonchalantly flicked it away from himself, while the agents acquiesced that we had foiled their plans.
Scene 3: Deep within the palace recesses, the man sprung from the carved enclosure into the air of the cylindrical space whose bounds were other such tiny citadels. An empty, barren, beautifully carved interior like an influx of the Tower of Pisa. He flew, his lower body deformed into a beast-like bird/man. In through the secret passageway, he arrived, his beautiful wife waited in bed for him. Though he’d been transformed physically, her love for him remained steadfast, and they met and loved each other even though he had been cast down into the strange chamber.
Another day, and the other guys left about 9 am, while I stayed in bed in an attempt to “catch up on my writing.” I had the whole room to myself, which was nice. First, I lay in my bag and later, I sat in the sun in the window. Andrew and Chris came by; A. brought me a bowel of curd from the Namaste Lodge. Those guys took off at 2:15 pm. I had 2 more bowls of curd. I left at 2:45 pm. I pushed fairly hard down to the river, running, but I was stoned. (Before I left, I took a last picture of Nuptse – Lhotse Wall and Everest. I forced my tripod, and it caused it to break. [I think of Boysie telling me I’m wrecking his boat.] Across the footbridge. Up the hill. Pass a Sherpa. Past the village. The sun sets behind the ridge I’m on. The cold is freezing, but my heart is pumping inside my blue windbreaker and thus I stay warm. Meet up with Chris in village X. Then Andrew. We round ridge after ridge (all apart of one huge mountain). Finally, the first view of Namche and the last view of Everest. The others pass on as I fold my arms, televise a gaudly message and emit a gaudly call. Then I catch up. We descent to Mache. We split a beer. Chris brings out a gross amount of pot that he picked and dried. I split a yak steak with rice with him, and it is a fantastic treat¬¬! I end up in the Sherpa trekkers Inn. Mar and Tiz and Al and Greg come in.
After Mar and Tiz and Greg and Al and I get into an argument about whether DMSO should be legalized or not, at 10 pm, Mar and Tiz leave and Greg and Al and I continue to discuss it. The discussion hereafter was extremely Bob, and it only ended when Mrs. Sherpa asked us to go to sleep. I said goodnight to those guys, found my way home, knocked on the door, repeatedly and was finally admitted.
The biggest thrill of the day was probably coming in. Hiking at 3-5 pm is a beautiful time to travel. The last few nights, when I’ve come in, I’ve downed a canteen full of water – of ice cold H20! It’s greatly refreshing!!
I slept alone in the kitchen area.

November 11th, 1983
Namche Bizarre (Friday) 11,283 feet.
Felt bob all day. I mulled around and washed my clothes. I took a walk about town and noticed the red coral is either phony and overpriced or real and overpriced! Chris wanted my Kelly Hansen jumper that Kelly lent to me, when I told him I wanted to trade it for some red coral. Joy waved to me. Chris showed me a marijuana bush in the backyard. I trimmed off a bit of it, one bud, and I put it out to dry. Had another delicious yak steak for lunch. I was pretty stoned, having rolled a heavily impregnated with hash joint. I had fruit cocktail for dinner and leached cheese and bread from Al and Greg (as they had done from me). I asked those guys for their addresses, and (perhaps jokingly) they gave them to me. I bought a bottle of rum and I drank a bit, passing it to Greg and Mario (and the other two who refused sips). We went over to the Khumbila Lodge, where Mar and Tiz had dinner and everybody except Tiz, allowed me to spike their hot lemons with my rum until the bottle was empty.
To my surprise, Mar asked me for my address. I was surprised also that they welcomed me to visit them. I left, visited Joy and Lucia who claimed that they were from the Pleades – the 7 Sisters – that we all were, but [Lucia showed me a triple Bob Space (hand) didn’t remember. Space cadet to the core.]
I went to the Khumbila Lodge. Interspersed in an array of Nepali, I talked with the owner’s wife, who in her simple sexy way, livened up the Restaurant. I was the only Westerner there. She left with a man who I presume is her husband.
I went home and came in the back door, and I climbed in my bag.
I really craved the owner’s wife, in a wholesome, sexy unafraid, nice way. She’s Nepali-Namche Bizzarean – reminds me of Christabelle sort of. But a Toniça-like posture and cute body.
Diary, maybe because of the stone, but musical ideas have been popping in my mind, and I hope their release is going to be complete.

November 12th, 1983
Namche Bizarre, 11,283 feet.
7 pm: I’m sitting in the cold upstairs room at the Khumbila Lodge writing by candlelight. Diary, the events of the day were simple and few. But the most important thing I can now do is to describe what’s happening. But first, let me roll a joint and blow away this mind that is making me suffer under its brilliant scrutiny of the outside world.
Events: Looked for red coral today. It was a depressing scene until one Nobeit who’s living in Kathmandu, though now in N. Bizarre, who had some small red coral and said each bead (near perfect) cost him 3 rp. In Pokhara in April and who’ll sell them to me for 5 rp. Each and has 108 beads mola or prayer bead. 540 r. I mad an appointment with him for 1 Dec 5 pm at Ying Yang or on 2nd Dec at his house, for which he gave me an address (the mola is in the house near Kath.)
Event 2: I have to stay here in Namche until tomorrow because the bank isn’t open till 10 am tomorrow and I want to make sure that I’m gonna be able to have enough $ to last me until Kathmandu.
Event 3: State of Mind
I’m smoking a joint even now. Today has been strange, could even have been alienating but I still have hopes that the end of the night will bring joy.
Mario, Tiz, Al and Greg left today after the market. Tiziano said “See you soon (in Florence.)” Greg said: “Nairobi – last week in Feb - I’ll be there within a few weeks of that date.” – “Poste Restante, Nairobi – leave a message,” said I. Diary, I’m gonna miss those guys, and it makes me feel weird because I don’t know that those guys don’t think I’m weird. I felt like A and M were trying to get away from me. I think perhaps those guys aren’t sure about their roles with each other, but perhaps they’re said I’m alright, but sort of weird. Sometimes the vibes seemed to be getting colder and colder.
Diary, I must in this evaluation of my state of mind, also express a general problem today of hurt about the people I meet. For e.g. Take Joy and Lucia. I suppose that me saying some of the things I said (like “Give you an orgasm with my tongue… and like telling Lucia I wanted to stay with her and Joy for a few days) might have scared them away. They’re really friendly, but I feel I wish they’d lead into a conversation about what they’re doing… about the 35,000 year old man… about me coming from the Pleiades (maybe I’m getting touched!) sometimes it seems I envision a great love or friendship, and the others seem to shy away from me).
Also, I’m sort of bummed out about Andrew. A and Chris were hassling me to buy my Kelly Hansen and purple pouch. Jokingly, I said, “I feel like that’s the only reason you guys are hanging around me.” I even said, “I’m only kidding.” Yet today A said that I made them feel bad. Then later I saw him and told him it made me feel bad and he seemed kind of like an A-hole about it. Also, he fucked some graying motorcycle momma Suzi Parker, who is flaunting her attraction for him. This is going to his head. Also, even though I’d rather not admit it, I wish she were fucking me. And I go to my favorite coffee place and she’s hanging all over him and it reminds me I don’t have a chick.
I come to my room and she’s sitting on my bed flaunting it with him – what makes these chicks tick?? Well, even though I know I’m super Bob, I hate to see a chick who’s a 3 acting like a 10. So I wanted to get away. I’m not getting along with the shopkeepers – they are such rip-offs as I’ve intimated. So I felt a general alienation. (I think I need a good night’s sleep.) – [Note: maybe I should now understand the way the New Guineans felt when I went away – Kelly and I thought it was funny they seemed so sad. Now I realize why – they felt deserted.]
Like yesterday, I was stoned and I was talking to Al and said, “The running of the Bulls in Pamplona – in Spain, for those of you who don’t know where Pamplona is. And Al said: “You don’t have to go to Spain to get the Bull.” The German sitting next to him said Bravo. I was hurt – but that was because I forgot I’d said the end part – now, just now as I wrote this I remembered that ending and now I understand that Al was only joking me back. Very interesting.
I also lost a sock and ripped my sweatpants while washing today which made me feel like I was stupidly stoned. (Now I realize I wasn’t stoned enough. Ha ha!)
Well, my analysis of all this is that I must be lonely. Especially, girls. I am really hung up on finding a partner. It depressed me if I can’t immediately get a fuck, but now a month has passed and I’m really horny too. I feel as if I could get laid more easily if I would be more accommodating to the particular girls – but I have to admit there’s been a scarcity of them here - but Diary, I wish I was the Best Lady’s Man in the World. That is to say I wish I could get laid every night that I wanted. I wish I could more easily get into chick’s pants. This is getting ridiculous. I’ve got to learn what to do. I’ll do anything nearly to get this power to pick up chicks easily even in the most remote places. I want to be the recipient of the clandestine legs that spread in women’s secret lives. Diary, if there’s any help, if there’s any answer to that question, please tell me.
I was so stoned this night that I fell asleep early in my lone cold room.

November 13th, 1983
Namche Bizarre 11,283 ft.
Evening: Today I woke up and packed. I went to the bank and cashed $70.00 Joy and Lucia were there. I said, “Have you ever heard of the Great Karnack?”
“Two minds that are soaring like cosmic birds.” The answer, Lucia guessed: Joy and Lucia.
Actually before the bank, I wrote for an hour or so in my project book. I asked myself to continue for an hour each day for the next 35 days to write about How to Unleash my Potential.
I went back to my hotel. That girl was there. (Also, I found out this morning that she slept in the room next to me last night.) We talked. I was sort of sassy. We went to the museum up on the hill and then we walked back. Again later we, she took me shopping for a bag and socks. By the way, even though I call her Suzy-Q, she told me her name is Dilmaya – and that Dil means Hot and Maya means love! Mainly because of her, I ended up hanging around today. She really turns me on and I have this craving to dick her. Holy shit!! A sequence of events: Dilmaya leaves the hotel. I stick around but she doesn’t show up. I decide to go for a hot chocolate at the Sherpa Trekkers Inn. There’s a hassle where to leave my bags and the nosy hotel manager has me yelling as I leave. Just before I go, Dilmaya comes in.
Later I return, and I walked downstairs. Her door is unlocked and cracked. I knock and then open it. She looks up from under her fur blanket. ‘Hiya” I say, close the door, open mine, dump my stuff off; back out in the hallway and determined to go into her room! She’s standing outside and her door’s shut. She says nervously “Let’s go upstairs. I’m taken with the chance, and I paw around the back of her neck, but she moves away. I grab her wrist to bring her towards me. She unleashes it and walks away. I say “Wait a minute!” And she said. “OK just wait.” As if she’s gonna come back downstairs. But I get these vibes that she’s not coming back, but she’s gonna send someone down. I open the door as an escape route – sure enough, downstairs come a bunch of men. They see my lock on the door and interrupt each other saying, “This room has been reserved by others; you can’t stay here.” I grab my bags and split. I mulled around thinking maybe I should split at night. I felt like a fugitive!
Finally, afraid of repercussion and then pissed at myself for being afraid when I hadn’t done anything bad, I dropped off my bags at the Sherpa Trekkers’ Inn and I marched back to the Khumbila Inn Lodge. I called for Pasang her brother and I was greeted by him and a few mean looking men. I intimated I’d like to talk alone, so he dismissed them and I talked with him and the hotel manager. I explained why I had earlier been angry and later, I gave a partial explanation of what I was doing downstairs without going into the details.
We ended up sitting down. I got his name and address in Japan because he says he has some tiger hair carpets from Tibet - antiques.
I said goodnight (he asked if I had a place to stay) and fell asleep.

November 14th, 1983
GHAT

I left Namche in the morning. I walked leisurely. Passed Jorsalle. I stopped in (Salad and peach wine and fried rice with sweet beans) at the “Japanese” place. Boy, it was memorable!! There, I began walking with Jenny, a girl from Canada, who gave me the hots. After a good lunch I smoked a few hits off a hashed joint. The coal breeze of the canyon came up and licked our bodies. In Phaching Jenny went on while I pruned the herbs, which she pointed out to me! Then I proceeded on slowly. In Ghat, I talked with a group of Chinese climbers that were going up Ywangde. I had to find a tent so I could follow them to Base Camp. The Surdar said I could. The leader seemed satisfied also. A young man, a boy, said he’d be my porter, and he had a tent!! I said OK. We went back to his house, but he stalled on taking me to the camp – said we’d sleep there at his folks house. He fixed me some great potatoes and milk teas. I wrote some and then I smoked and I fell asleep deeply.

November 15th, 1983
(Lukla with side trip to TATE)

I dreamt of Boysie and Connie. They were taking another cruise and I wanted to get on, but the immediate word was ‘no.’ I tired to negotiate with them as the dream progressed. The last thing I remembered was that I went to their door and Mr. Fields, my high school football coach, was playing the part of Boysie while Boysie was on the couch huddled over – and I reflected that Mr. Fields had been impersonating Boysie throughout the dream: (Get out of here Mr. Fields!)
The woman made no effort to be quiet, and it woke me. What I didn’t tell you in yesterday’s entry was that the house the boy brought me to was the house of the man who refused to rent his tent to me when I’d first noticed the tent in his store after I’d just talked to the climbers from Hong Kong. So it was that the whole thing fell through. No tent. But it could have been surmounted if I had been more excited about the idea.
About 2 hours after I awoke, I was in Lukla. There, I was having breakfast when Al walked in. Al was still waiting for a plane, as was Greg and Mario and Tiziano. Greg was sitting outside, bummed out about having to wait. After the planes had left for the day, Al and I set off to go to a village on the other side of the gorge.
I told Al about my project, and Al told me about 2 friends he has. One is a brain surgeon who makes loads of money but doesn’t have any free time. The other is a guy who lives day to day and really seems to enjoy his life, but he has no substantial means.
To get to the village, we had to go down a steep gorge to the river and up the other side.

The trail split and Al took the left side. I waited for him by the river, but he didn’t come, so I went up the hill by myself.
I reached Tate, the village. I was invited inside a shanty. The farmers 3 daughters served me. I drank a pot of tea with fresh yak milk, and I ate 9 potatoes. I gave them 10 rupees and they gave me 5 back. I returned to Lukla, virtually non-stop.
I drank some great coffee with Greg and Mario. In the evening, El Vasquo came in. Mario and El Vasquo (Javier) got into political arguments in Spanish while I ate 2 yak steaks with potatoes and 2 bowls of egg drop soup. We drank Roxie (distilled Chang) and passed a few j’s around. It was an enjoyable evening.

November 16th, 1983
Monzo! (The Japanese place)
I woke up prepared to split to Lukla today, and instead, I did a 180-degree turn and returned up trail. How this happened? I can only say that my legs made the decision.
I ate breakfast. Mario, Greg and Al left (Al running to be first in the plane) on one of the first planes. I was mulling around. Admittedly, I avoided paying for my 2 meals and board at the Guest House. I don’t know exactly why, but I was thinking of how much the lady bugged me. I packed up and put my stuff outside. I chatted with Joy and Lucia for the last time. I had just smoked a j with a guy from Santa Barbara. I felt great. I was listening to a guy who was describing the trail to Jiri. I had an inspiration to go back to Namche, which is seemingly irrational. But I grabbed my pack, after singing the praises of the mountains.
My feet took me down and around the airstrip to the other side of town. I put my pack in a coffee shop, and I went to get El Vasquo to have a last cup of coffee with me. I walked to the “lookout,” a point above the airstrip, and I saw the woman and the guy from Santa Barbara. It was a bit unbelievable, but even though there were hundreds of people and I was a hundred yards away, I could clearly hear the guy say, “He’s not here!” It seemed he was looking for me. He walked back to her and said, “I don’t see him.” Again, I heard this above the crowd. I decided I shouldn’t risk getting El Vasquo, so I went and had a delicious coffee, and I got on my feet, which carried me away back up the trail to Namche. Maybe I’ll go in and pay on my way back, but the lady seemed so greedy to me, that I didn’t care to make her sweat! Maybe this is the wrong attitude - I say, “My feet carried me away” because that’s what it seemed like. My head couldn’t make the decision, so my feet took over!
As I began, I met up with a guy named Jack Roberts, who I’d briefly spoken to before my exit. He’s up here to climb Pumore – touted to be the most beautiful mountains in the world by some. We talked on as we walked on. I stopped and picked some more dried herb. In late afternoon, I arrived in Monzo, where the old Japanese man has his garden and his lodge, the delicious peach wine and food. I had my special-order sweet beans and rice fried and a bottle (coke bottle) of peach wine for 30 rps and a salad. Boy, it was great! I retired to a private room, where I took a nap for an hour or two until it was dark. When I awoke, I re-ordered rice and beans, tea, and rice pudding. I sat up and wrote a lot in my project book. I really like writing in that book. I feel that it is very worthwhile. Afterwards, I got stoned. I became inspired to do a night walk. I went and paid the man and I returned and wrote. I became tired, so I blew off the night walk and I went to sleep.
I felt a bit funny about returning but, realizing that it is not ridiculous, but possibly holds an interesting adventure, I felt explained; it’s all good.

November 17th, 1983
Namche Bazaar
The first thought of waking, and I was up. Soon, I was walking. I made it to Jorsalle in a wink, I ripped off a prayer flag from the bridge, and I walked by the river and easily avoided the police post, because they want an extra 60 rps, which I’ve already bought in on. Up to Namche in a flash, no problem! I began thinking about doing Island Peak.
In Namche, I went to the Sherpa Trekkers Inn where I gleaned information from James Bernard Cross (Zabie) and Parker, the younger, who are two men bent on walking from Nepal’s East Border through to India and Pakestains Y2 during the next two years. They’ve been out 40 days. Their Sherpa recommended a guide to take me to Island Peak. He helped me rent crampons, tent, etc. and buy food.
Jack Roberts was around, and Nawang, my Sherpa, Jack and I went down to visit the Tibetan traders who set up a real, authentic Tibetan tent in town. I tried to trade with them but they wanted cash. I was given a grain snack, which had a weird orange-colored thing in it. It tasted all right. I took a photo of the Tibetan guy with his knife raised over his head.
At Nawang’s house I had chang, which was good. And I spent the night in the attic room with his wife, 2 kids and he. For dinner, he made a stew out of some sheep or goat meet that the Tibetans had sold to him. The Tibetan guys are neat – they’ve got leather/fur coats and pants and wear the traditional shoes. They have braided hair draped up on top of their heads.

November 18th, 1983
Namche Bazar
I was going to leave today, but in the morning. I got talking with an American guide who said I should have double boots to wear on Island Peak, so I spent the day on and off looking for boots.
I met two guys Marcus and Greg, who are climbers, and who are the guys who have come to give moral support to Jack on the base of Pumo Ri, the most beautiful mountain around. They say Jack is a world-class mountain climber.
Nawang took me looking for boots, but no luck. Though we did drink a lot of chang.
Marcus and Greg say they may want to climb Island Peak with me, depending on Jack’s plans.
I saw Dilmaya on the street, and she barely wanted to even speak to me!
Angel woman, come to me!

November 19th, 1983
Thyangboche
First thing in the morning, I arranged to rent some boots from a guy who’d show them to me in Thyangboche. I tried to take pictures of the Tibetans at the market today, but I had to do so in a clandestine fashion. I lashed out of town at noon, wondering if I’d ever get out of there!
The first view of Everest on the trail! Ah! I stop and roll and smoke a j. The trail is alive with wonder and color. The first view of Phorse causes me to stop, eat and look. In Phunke, I study a bracelet of red coral for ½ hour. The man wants 200 rps. I end up giving him 98 rps and 2 limes! My first red coral! Clouds rolling in.
Down to the river and I have some tea. On the way up to Thyangboche, I spot a pheasant of luminous blue and of orange. I race after it with my camera, but I think it won.
In Thyangboche, the lodges are packed. I eat. I talk with Marcus and Greg and Jack.
When I go to the tent to sleep, my place has been stolen, so the lodge man leads me to a house, past the yak in the garden, through the barn-like room and upstairs to the kitchen, where I sleep. In the middle of the night, the shaved headed girl who was sleeping in there with me sat up and started yelling. A-Lo! A-Lo! She went out and crawled back in bed and I saw her tits by kerosene light (and then I knew it was a girl)! It was all I could do to keep myself from crawling over and trying to fuck her. But sleep, and the thought of being in jail for trying to sleep with a female monk got the best of me, and I dozed off. I’m really horny.
“We came from the sky, which is like being high.” – on the trail.

November 20th, 1983
Thyangboche
I awoke with the monk girl running about the kitchen. I was given tea. The yak in the garden had frost on its back, but it didn’t seem to mind. I got a bed at the lodge. Found 10 rps. On the floor.
I pissed the day away, mostly because Greg gave me a brownie that got me stoned crazy the whole day. I was abhorred when I saw how cruddy my teeth were, and I made an effort to clean up; god, am I groddy! When I took a walk up the hill, I saw the procession of lamas and the layout of the tents. Back at the grounds, I think I took some awesome pictures of the “mass” that they held:
The mountains behind the alter gave the already colorful ceremony the most awesome, picturesque and book-or-movie atmosphere.
This “project” or “exploratory work” I am doing is making me up in knots considering the future.
The moon is out tonight and the sky is picture – clear. Singing crowed in the kitchen adjacent to my room. The scene outside is awesome flooded moonlight. It is a vital night, even if everything I want isn’t presently at my feet.
Also, today I got a look in an exotic room in the monastery where monks practiced a strange instrument. There was an air of fantastic here. Cloth of purple and orange, jewelry and sunlight through the window. I felt that beautiful feeling of realization: “I’m here.”

~~~

MOONWALK: I was lying in bed and writing while the partying was going on in the restaurant. I kept staring out at Kantiga, being more inspired by the minute. I finished writing, got up and began walking up the ridge without food or flashlight. The sky was crisp and clear and the full moon shed its fantastic light on the scene. The horns billowed in the monastery as I climbed higher and higher. After I reached the cairn, I was going to go back, but I continued until I reached a point where I’d have to start climbing (5.6 or 5.7). I got as high again from the cairn as the cairn is from Thyangboche. I took my shoes off and rubbed my cold feet. I smoked a j occasionally. At my perch, I let out a long godly yell, and I made repeated calls, all, which echoed off the canyon walls. The scene was spectacular.
My descent was leisurely and enjoyable. What time did I return? 2 am? 3 am?
“…disassociate myself from my past actions.”
I felt inspired.

November 21st, 1983
Thyangboche
This morning were the lama dances! My, but they were fantastic. Colors and the sound of their drums, their cymbals, strange oboes and the 10 ft long brass horns. Colors, blue satins in the sun. Masks. The courtyard was surrounded with foreigners and locals. It was really worth it. I’m glad I came back. Really worth the wait and trouble. Ya-hoo!
After lunch, they continued to dance. I went back and watched, fully marveling at the scenes from various viewpoints. A comic came out and then his sidekick. It was funny. After sometime I left for some tea. Then I found Greg, Marcus and Jack talking and I listened and spoke with them. When I returned, the comics were still on. I watched them leave the courtyard. The music began again; the music fascinates me and holds my attention. The 10 ft. pair of horns the hat – shaped cymbals, the drums, the high lama’s bell, chanting, a gong, shell trumpets! The dancing continued. It became dark. The orchestra continued to accompany the dancers in rhythmic (I want to say “consonance”) consonance. I stood frozen and jumped from viewpoint to viewpoint until the last dancers left, until the last toot of the huge horns. I remember one part toward the end when the 2 horns mad a higher blaring sound, like the players really had their chops together to make the horns affect a note other than their usual bellowing blows.
I went to the Namaste Lodge and drank roxie. I got in an enlightening conversation with a Yugoslavian anthropologist who I first spoke to while he was washing his clothes in the stream at Namche Bazaar. He explained about the area, the tremendous difference between the Solo Sherpas and the Khumbu people. There are 32 permanent settlements in the Solo Khumbu area, but places like Dingboche are close in the winter. There are 4 kinds of medicine:
1) Prayer
2) Shamanism – which is a link between this world and the spirit world (2 others unmentioned). The most famous shaman is A-TA-U (??) from Khumjung, the largest Sherpa settlement then we talked about the ethnocentrism of anthropology – its either Marxist or capitalist or… but after the 60’s this got better.
I was quite high. After eating an unfinished plate of rice, I snuck out without paying (pulling a runner when you’re drunk) and crashed out at my Gomba Lodge residence.
Before closing, I must mention that I had a flash of inspiration at the closing dances of 1983 Mani Rimdu. I saw myself with long hair in the back, short on top and a red feather in my ear. And I felt and pictured myself singing, feeling strong as a singer, and I was be bopping to a tune in my head.

November 22nd, 1983
Thyangboche (And to Namche and back)
When Nawang didn’t show up by 11 am, I ran back to Namche, arriving at 12:30. I found him sitting at home. He said he’d sent a porter with the stuff. I told him he must come to help me identify the porter. On the way back, we left at 3:30 pm, I saw one of the Nepal pheasants flying. It was most amazing that, amidst plumage of violet, red, yellow, purple, blue, green, etc. it sported a large pure white patch in the center of its back. Later, we saw a deer (?), and still later, we saw another pheasant. It was doing something with the dirt in the garden, and I was able to see the myriad of different colors of its plumage.
As we walked, we talked about going to Tibet. I asked question about ‘If we went,’ and we discussed bypassing the check posts, walking at night, etc.
I said I wanted to fuck a Sherpani and soon we saw one on the road. She agreed to be my porter, and the tree of us walked to the river. At the teashop on the opposite side, she refused to make the climb in the dark to Thyangboche. Nawang insisted on having a flashlight so I brought one. We made a walk up the hill in the dark.
In Thyangboche, we ate dinner, and then retired for the night at the Gomba lodge.

November 23rd, 1983
Thyangboche
We didn’t locate the porter last night before sleeping. Before, I fell asleep, I planed to get my gear in the morning and then to “dismiss” Nawang. As it turned out, the first new was that the porter had left the Dingbohce yesterday.
I told Nawang that I couldn’t afford him. He agreed to go with me to Dingboche on a contingency basis, and he took full responsibility for my food and the things the porter was carrying. We left the Namaste Lodge and I said I wanted “to say goodbye to a friend.” Nawang started down the hill. I went and sat with Judith in the sun where she sat; I asked if she wanted a smoke, and she said yes, so I put down my pack and I got out the j. She had one hit and me two.
The conversation was a flower of philosophy, love and reflections. It was beautiful and inspiring, and the white, brown and black mountains sang a rhythm to the Nepalese who colored the scene before us. By the later afternoon I had told Judith all the main things I had thought to say to her.
I thought she must be artistic as a lover. Would she camp with me? Would she paint me in the nude? And a few others that came out when I read her this “poem.”
Artistic as a lover.
Camping with me.
Paint me in the nude.
Spend the afternoon in bed with me.
Would you like to enjoy me?
I want to be enlightened as a lover.

During the course of the conversation, I took some of her water colors. In remembrance of New Guinea’s Chimbu I put 2 yellow strips on my right cheek, and for the Wigmen, I put a bright red line under each eye. I’ve been wanting to paint my face for awhile now.
We went to have potato pancakes. She was talking about walking to Namche in the dark. I said, “Why not do the fun thing?” (Come with me.) I also told her that I felt like I’d been making love with her all day. We talked about her coming with me. After listening talking and thinking she said, “I’ll do it!” I, in a fit of happiness, threw my arms around her neck, and in essence, in a bear-like sense gave her a big hug, to which she protected herself from injury and laughed good-naturedly.
I came back to sleep it at the Gomba where I am now; she’s at the Namaste. We’re to leave in the morning.

Why don’t you do the fun thing?
Come with me.
I feel like I’ve been making love
With you the whole day
Why not continue it through the night.
I should mention this: after the day’s talk, I went up to the monastery (with my face painted red and yellow). I asked to see and play their instruments and to see the monastery. They said come back tomorrow. We have not time today. We’re too busy.
So I went up to the gong tower and evoked a few clear tones form 2 shell horns. They even had a metal gas cylinder for a gong. The shell horns looked very old. Then I picked up the cloth mallet and lightly banged on the fine gong - the main gong. First, lightly, then harder. It brought 10 of them running. It was a major commotion. They kicked me out of the monastery: Get out… why you no ask permission? It was all in good fun!

Judith came by in the evening
She jumped back when I jumped up
I told her not to be afraid
She said let’s keep it simple

I painted her like a photograph

Later, while I was writing.
She was eating vegetable momo
I had a bowl of curd at the Namaste.
I came back and had a bite
But I had to spit it out because it was so bitter

Meanwhile the moon rose over Ama Dablam.

I finished writing and went to sleep.

November 24th, 1983
Chukkung, Kumbu
I’ve lost track of the days of the week. The man who runs the Gomba wouldn’t let me rent the boots without a deposit. (He saw me at the monastery yesterday with my face painted.) He even had the nerve to tell me that Nawang went back to Namche yesterday, so he says he heard through the grapevine.
Judith and I left on the clear Morning at the stroke of 9 am.
We reached Pangboche in an hour. I had tea. We reached the restaurant on the plain before the hill before Pheridre, where Judith had a few changs and a few teas.
We crossed the river and came into Dingboche. So far, the walk has been wonderful. We’ve been talking. It is another golden day in the sunlight with Judith, the Dutch girl artist with silk clothes of green and blue hanging from her body, the rosy cheeks, the blue gray round sunglasses and the beautiful aqua blue and gold scarf glittering in the sun, held on her head by their white visor. I’ve been carrying her pack up the hills. We talk and it is beautiful. Judith is a vision, a specter of wholesome loveliness, a complete universe. Her voice is clear and lovely. She pronounces English with a noticeably Dutch flavor. Now as I write this I know why I want to love her – it’s because I’ll be able to hold her attention long enough to look at her and listen to her to experience her as long as I/she projects this unforgettable persona.
Nawang, the Sherpa, yells for us from the mat he is laying on in the sun in Dingboche. He’s found the porter. Over a lunch of potatoes, Judith and I talk. I make some generalization about Jewish people in America being both industrious and pushy, and then she tells me she’s ½ Jewish. Oops!
We walk to Chukkung in the late afternoon. Our talking goes on and it is wonderful. We arrive in Chukkung – three dwellings: the Ama Dablam View Hotel, the Namaste Lodge and another one, where I slept.
When we got there, I found Jack, Marcus and Greg celebrating Thanksgiving Dinner in the Namaste Lodge. Norbert, the guy who’s supposed to sell me a coral mala in Kathmandu on Dec 1st, was also there. We changed the date to Dec, 7th, 5 pm at the Ying Yang.
I slept at the other lodge. Judith slept at the Namste.
[Note: One of the sights today was seeing a nak (a female yak) getting milked into a wooden pail in Dingbohce.]
Walking up the valley where Chukkung lies was awesome. It’s a slightly inkling plain of glacial tundra.
Diary, life comes moment by moment. At this moment, I perceive in me a fascination with Judith. I had thought during the fictional: why not find the best female in the crowed and go for her. Judith was it. I think her hair is beautiful, her eyes are pools of meaning, her nose sculptured, her rosy cheeks so Dutch that I just want to cream in her pants.

November 25th, 1983
Island Peak Base Camp
A cold night alone next to the wall, next to the door.
Woke, ate, washed. Judith is game to come along, so we rent crampons, ice axe, 2 sleeping bags in which to put our existing bags, a yak blanket, a space blanket. Actually, Judith pays for it all. She also rented a roll mat for herself.
We’re, along with Norbert, the last of about 25 Sherpas and climbers to leave for Island Peak Base camp today. There’s a mountain Travel Group and there’s Jack and Greg, Marcus, and a Scott.
On the trail Nawang (?) reminds me that last night he asked Judith for a kiss but she refused him. (And he meanly says that she slept with Marcus last night.) He says he wants to fuck her, and he asks me how it’s going with her. We laughed about it. He really wants her.
He very reluctantly carried my pack at intervals. Judith and I walked along talking. We arrived at Base Camp, where the porter had set up our tent. The meal was a fiasco. Judith and I got stoned. The porter had spilled the sugar in the rice, and ‘lost’ the porridge. The food tasted weird, and we have no salt. I was stoned and 4 of us were in the tent. It was a crazy scene. Judith started complaining about this and that. She was acting like she was in charge of the expedition. She said she was going to sleep in a lodge no matter what tomorrow night because she “Couldn’t stand the tension in the tent.” There was tension, because I was getting angry at Nawang – I felt like I had no control over any of what is going on. Since I’m paying for it all, I feel like I should be in charge, but I also see the need to work as a group, which requires me to sometimes put others’ demands before mine. But when we got ready for bed down go the space blankets (this is the 2nd time in the last day or two that I’ve had deja-vu about Judith and (this scene). Then the mat, my sleeping bag goes inside the rented one, and over all four of us goes the big yak blanket (It’s toasty warm in here.) – the mood changed.
I lay back next to Judith (God! I’m falling so in love with her! When we got to the tent, she came in and something was said and I spontaneously kissed her neck through her hair – and I smelled and felt her hair, and I love it so much it made me very sure I want to love her.) She began explaining to Nawang what she wanted to do. I got stoned. At one point, I spoke up and said that I love all the people in the tent.
I told Judith, “Fuck, you spark something in me.” She said: “Well, as long as it’s good.” I said, “Good! Why… it’s like a rush of sight to the blind. It’s like finding an oasis in the desert.”
Diary, I don’t want to be too forward with Judith, but I really, really want to be her lover for at least a couple of weeks. I want to touch her and be touched by her. I want her to fall in love with me.
Now I write by candlelight and the other sleep. The mountains talk to me. The candle is almost out. Judith is lying next to me. I want it to be perfect, as thrilling as the perceptions she incites!

November 26th, 1983
Island Peak High Camp
Judith said, in the middle of the night, that she wanted to summit and go back to Chukkung in one day – I said I wouldn’t mind walking myself right then by moonlight. However, we fell asleep till 5:30 am, and I decided it was too late to try. She left early, but I stayed in bed, and I wrote while I was served tea by the guys. I waited in my sleeping bag, writing, until the sun came out. I got stoned before we started walking. It was a leisurely morning. Me Nawang and the porter were the last three to leave (there was a mountain travel group also at Base Camp – 5 white guys, plus Marcus, Greg, Scott and Jack who left at 5 am.)
We climbed up to High Camp in a matter of hours, halting to catch our breath. I was sort of surprised how soon we arrive (and wondering if I haven’t been mislead because we probably, no, surely, could have made it from Chukkung to High Camp in one day’s walk). We ate some of the “bread” that Nawang fried in the morning and then we pitched camp. I was inside writing and just rolled a j when Judith appeared. Nawang was totally uncooperative with whatever Judith wanted to do, and it bothered me, but I tried to make the best of it.
We ate noodles for dinner. I stayed in the tent most of the time because of the cold, but I could see out of the opening, and looked on the snow-capped peaks to the north.
When darkness came, the four of us got in our sleeping bags. The others tried to sleep, while I wrote and got stoned by candlelight. Periodically Judith woke up and we talked. I tried to tell her how beautiful she appeared to me. She dozed off as I read to her about my vivid memories and sentiments about New Guinea. I told her beautiful things though I knew she was probably asleep. I recited impromptu poetry to the best of my ability.
Through the night, again, the porter mumbled and groaned and fasted, Nawang talked in his sleep, and Judith remained peaceful and beautiful.
I slept stoned.
The goal is to reach the top. I was really pretty much unaffected by the petty upsets of living with 3 totally different people. Actually, before I slept I said things like – you know “I love everybody in this tent!”

November 27th, 1983
[summit Island Peak and back down to] Chukkung

We awoke at about 6:30 am and began to prepare for the day. We left at perhaps 7:15 am. Soon, Judith was lost from our sight behind us. Nawang and I scaled the mountain, reaching the beginning of the ice within an hour or so. The 5 guys with the Mountain Travel group and a guide were there, fixing on the crampons. They had all sorts of climbing equipment we didn’t.
Apprehensively, I fixed the crampons on my New Balance boots (which aren’t designed for crampons). The 6 guys moved on. We followed 15 minutes later. Only minutes out on the ice, and I had to readjust my crampons with Nawang’s help. Soon we passed over a small hump and the ice field revealed the other group, going 3 to a rope, moving slowly across it. We caught up to them and had to wait for them to move on. I thought that the path was going to be a gentle slope to the right and around the far side of the peak. To my surprise and excitement, however, the climbers took off on a 50-degree ice slope. I asked Nawang if we were going to go the same was and be affirmed my supposition. We traversed a small obstacle and climbed slowly, by necessity, having to hold up for the other climbers. By taking measured steps, I reached the crest of the ridge with ease. I figured that I’d already gone over 20,000ft! My goal reached!!
We stopped and had a snack. The view was magnificent. There was a panorama of about 100 degrees which revealed about 80 (am I exaggerating??) snowcapped peaks – it was a revelation to me – these are the Himalayan – their extent is grand – and I never before fully viewed their wide extent except for from Kathmandu or from a plane – but then I could not so fully see their form and array.
The others went on, and Nawang and I proceeded along the easy ridge, alternating now, me going first. Nawang showed me to walk with my feet apart

The ice was packed into a narrow trail while on either side, I could push my ice axe up to the handle in the snow. It was an easy task to mount the summit. As small an accomplishment as it was, for me, it was a great thing. For one, I used an ice axe and crampons on the snow for the first time. It was great – I loved it immensely. I loved the feeling of the spikes crunching into the snow - the feel of it was satisfying!
The weather was essentially perfect! Not a cloud in the sky, the sun shining the wind was a mere zephyr at the strongest times!
We lunched up top. I forgot the can opener, so Nawang opened a tin of meat with the ice axe. The Sherpa for the 5 others gave Nawang a nice chunk of white chocolate, which he gave to me since he doesn’t like sweets. It was delicious. After lunch, I walked on the small bluff, which marked the peak and Nawang took a photo. I noted that there was a finger of ice which was perhaps 4 meters higher but no one climbed it, nor were there any signs of others climbing it, for it was riddled with a crevasses and powdered snow.
I noted to the others: isn’t that the summit. The one most knowledgeable of the 5 Americans reluctantly offered: the peak shifts all the time. I felt vibes like: Don’t say anything that points out to us that we didn’t actually summit!!
Before I’d yelled out: Anyone like to get stoned?? No reply at all! After I’d gotten my pictures taken, and also of Nawang, I lit up a roach that I had and mounted the summit. I emitted a low but clear internal frequency and projected a message to Clymer, Cappa, Hockridge, Nelson and Taylor and Kelly and also a visual message to my Gram. I raised my arms in exaltation, again thinking of each of my friends. I raised my arms “Ridiculously” high as I thoughts of Hock and Nelson, and I felt as if I was initiating Nelson into the ranks of the (symbol) (as I remember Hock referring to his face once as being only an angel-and I felt that I was also initiating Taylor. I think that at 20,3000ft. with a view of the top of the world (minus Everest), is an appropriate place to do such a thing.)
Then N. and I got ready and descended, leaving behind us the excellent view of Makalu and Lhotse, the 4th tallest of the worlds’ peaks. The descent was easy, slightly more difficult than the ascent. We continued to High Camp, where Judith explained how she’d gotten lost. The porter handed me a cup of rice I had a bit off coffee, and we shared a can of beans. Judith was missing ½ of one of the crampons that she never used. We packed up and made our way to Base Camp, arriving at 4:05 pm. We continued on to Chukkung. Judith told me that in the morning she was going to go on down towards Kathmandu. Although I was disappointed that she wasn’t going to come to Gokyo with me, I said nothing.
We four arrived in Chukkung in the dark. Marcus was at the Namaste Lodge when we got there. He was talking mountain climbing with another climber named Scott. Judith and Nawang had an altercation over my flashlight. Marcus tried to make a mockery of Judith, telling me how she “snuck down” to their Base Camp tent and asked if she could come with them. I didn’t remember till later that I suggested she do that. But J was pissing me off anyway. I went to bed feeling great about the day and myself, but feeling sad about how cruel even nice people like Marcus are, and feeling disappointed that I may not see J again. J woke up twice in the middle of the night, short of air, and I wrote.

November 28th, 1983
Everest View Hotel
I started packing before anyone else awoke. Nawang was worried I was going to cut out on him. I said goodbye to Marcus. (I’d left my Trekking Permit with Nawang who was to follow afterwards.) As I left Chukkung, there was the German guy who J had told me hated me because I’d joked “From my mothers’ womb, Mt. Zion hospital San Francisco” when he’d asked me at Mani Rindu where I was from. I gave him a big “Good morning” to see if that could break his iron stare at me. He said nothing but when I passed him and chuckled he said, “Why are you laughing?” I replied. Because you don’t like me” He: That’s right. And I: You take things too seriously buddy - much to seriously. Judith soon caught up with me. We began a discussion. She: Are you happy?
This was my opening to express my dissatisfaction with her selfishness and my disappointment with her leaving. Naturally, she took it the wrong way, trying to make me sound like a forlorn suitor, when I felt more like a concerned and loving friend. We had words. Me; You’re blind, J! You miss the point! You’ve got no heart! Her: I care, but I guess I don’t care enough to satisfy you. She stopped to change clothes and I went on. I had tea in Dingboche and she passed me. As I left, I admired the gompas (Stone pagoda-like monuments) on the hillside. I saw Judith’s tracks and followed. I caught up with her just before the restaurant on the flat plain before the hill before Pheuche. J and I had tea. I explained to her what Marcus had said, some things Nawang had said and soon the air cleared between us. The real Judith comes out when we have an opportunity to communicate – just the two of us.
We walked together/apart to Pangboche. Before we arrived we were talking about why Nawang told me he’d tried to kiss her. She leaned against a rock and my body moved, my mind readjusted, and I leaned forward and pressed my lips against hers. I saw he move not at all. Her lips were soft and good, and her eyes shined a happiness that came from her heart, which message her mind was unaware she had given.
When we arrived in Pangboche, she was going on to Thyangboche/Namche, and I was going to the right: to see the Yeti skull cap in Pangboche, then Phoortse, then Khumjung/Kundi and finally Namche. She had been telling me about how my behavior with Nawang had seemed unbalanced. She had been saying – make your balance like that of a ball. I said, as we were going to part: How do I make my balance like a ball when someone I really like is leaving me and I may never see her again? (I had told her earlier things like: Judith, you’re a vision!) She suggested we exchange addresses then I asked her where she was staying and she said Sherpa Trekkers probably, but only after some prompting by me. To say goodbye, I held her close, and I kissed her lip to lip 2 or 3 times, the last time real hard for 5 seconds or so.
I went to the monastery, but no one had the key so I left Pangboche (upper). I saw another pheasant, but no photo. Just before Phorse, I saw a mountain goat peeping over a rock. I took out my 80-200mm and took a photo, and another. When I got closer I saw a 2nd goat, and soon a whole family appeared. I took photos. Then, when they’re walked away from my line of vision on the bluff above me, which they’d been viewing me from, I placed my pack on the trail, and I climbed up quietly. At the top. I peered over the rock. They looked up from their graying 25 ft away. I took more photos. I walked up and stood facing them, finishing my roll of film. I was wondering why they seemed so unafraid. I walked on to Phortse and found a man who made me tea and potatoes, and who sold me extra batteries for my night walk. He explained to me that the mountain goats are protected and sometimes there are herds of 100 or 200!! I had seen a family of perhaps 7. They almost had deer-like bodies but the horns of goats.

(P.S. – the trail to Phortse was spectacular an overhanging now mountain).
Phortse, when I saw it captivated me, as it did when I first saw it rounding the mountain from Namche to Thangboche. There are no teashops, per se, in Phortse.
After I had some potatoes and tea, I quickly departed and made my way down to the river. I started my climb up the opposite mountainside, and it was necessary to use the torch, as it was now too dark to walk quickly up the hill without it. Some musical ideas started going through my head, and I made it to the top of the hill in the dark without stopping. I refreshed myself with some tea I’d had him put in my canteen. I looked for the trailhead going down the mountain, but not finding it, I headed straight down the mountainside thinking I’d run into it. Mistake!!! For the next hours, I fought and sought my way through the steep rock and forest. I sat down and realized I had to come across a trail further down because I was out of the river crossing from Thyangboche (which I could see by a single light in the village) – there was someone walking by the river far below with a flashlight. Voila! I hit the trail, a trail, but not the one I’d previously traveled on.
In an hour or 1½ hours, I arrived in Khungung. A woman got out of bed to make me 5 teas, a pancake and an omelet. She kept feeding the floor heater with coals, while I, tired and cold, hovered over it like a well-cared-for zombie. I hesitated to sleep there, overpaid her 20 rp bill with a 50 rp bill because she had no change and I said I’d come back “tomorrow.” She had been so good to me, I even wanted her to have 50rp for such good service!! I made my way out of Khumjung at 10 pm or so; I thought I heard a Yeti growl – I must be getting tired. I walked on. The mountains confused me in the dark. Which way to go? I came to a staircase. A big building I went around it, and I realized where I was – the Everest View Hotel! The “abandoned” place.
After going completely around it, I went in the front door. It was weird. It reminded me of the Shining! It was real nice, except for the floor, which was covered by a cloth like layer of burlap and creaked as if it was only laired by boards. I sat in a chair main the lobby, and I studded the map. I saw my relation to Namche [?] and Khumjing, but because I was worn out, I didn’t feel sure enough (which way to go) to go on, so I decided to sleep there. (Usually, I could have easily gone on, but the time, about 1 hour to get there seemed too long.) The room keys were behind an empty front desk. (I had yelled Hello! But got no response). I grabbed a key, but rm #3 was out of order; rm #1 was kept operable with 2 beds – but the bathroom had no water. I went to the dinning room, and got some candles.
In bed, I did my exploratory journal writing. I though: Wow! What a find! No one here! I’ll try to get Judith to spend the night with me here tomorrow night. I’ve got to wake up early, got to Namche and find her!

November 29th, 1983
Mondzo
As I walked out briskly from rm #1 and past the dining room, I cam headlong into the sight of a group of 5-8 men having coffee in the dining room. “Where did you come from today??” “I slept here last night,” I replied. “Oh.” I asked the way to Namche.
On the way out the door, I said I had to drop off the key at the desk. The man, who was the manager when he found out that I had slept in the room, said I had to pay. Oh no! He said it was “only” 10 dollars. I said I couldn’t pay. A big hassle ensued. I finally paid under protest, writing “Paid under protest.” I said I was going to go to the police and have them arbitrate. He threatened to tell them I stole things, which I didn’t. The other guys laughed, and I thanked them for having a good sense of humor.
I walked down to Namche, passing the Tyangboche [?] Airport, and I was wondering how I could have been lost since I knew exactly where I was on the map last night.
I went to the Sherpa Trekkers Inn and had cinnamon rolls and coffees, Yum! Judith came in – she came to see if I was there. We talked with some Israeli people. She said she was leaving. I said “Do me a favor: walk slow.”
Nawang, who’s house I’d dropped off my stuff at to get my Trekking permit back (which I had) came in. I went to the bank and met him at his place, prepared for the disagreement over the payment. He presented me with a bunch of bills. Then, when all were settled (besides pots and pans = 115 rps!), we turned to him. [332 rental, 270 porter, 150 borrowed]. My lowest estimate was 200 and his highest was 600 or so. I gave him 400 and he wanted more and he wanted to fight. I talked to the administrator of Namche “and he made sexual advances to a woman I invited along,” he just laughed. I went to Nawangs’; he refused to return my sunglasses, so I took a water bottle. I finally just split. (I even told him to step out in the street, so we could have it out like me, but he declined the offer.)
At about 3:15, I started down the hill feeling the joy of being free and free of complications. I arrived in Mondzo, the Japanese place. I ate and ate – beans, rice, salad, peach wine. I had 2 super delicious yak-momos that a trekking agency cook prepared for his sole guest. I could have sworn that the girls in the room were looking at me and attracted by me. I stayed up and wrote. After everyone went to bed, I got out my sleeping bag and laid out on the stone floor in a back room. In my dreams, I dreamt that women were in love with me, and I was finding a new girl to touch and feel very easily.

November 30th, 1983
Puiyun
I admit I purposely forgot to pay, clandestinely sneaking out at first light. I was in Lukla for breakfast. Four coffees and an egg. I checked on the planes. Again, I thought a woman was attracted to me. I followed a young man, we both running to Su. There, I had 8 oranges and lunch. We pounded up a long mountain non-stop, at full pace; only I had a real pack. I picked up Judith’s footprints. At Puiyun, I rounded a corner and saw her setting in front of the “Holiday Inn.” The 2 boys went on and I stopped there. Judith went for a walk and I took a bath in the light snow in a tub of hot water. I told her I might not be there when she came back, but I was.
We had delicious beans for dinner. We were the only ones there, eating by kerosene lamp, fantasizing we were in a fancy restaurant by candlelight. I had five eggs between the time I got there and the end of dinner.
We had the sleeping room to ourselves. We had a fire built. We sat on a bench together. You’re not going to get a more romantic night.
Before, in the afternoon, Judith said she was going to paint. I leaned over to give her a good luck kiss, but she turned her lips away from side to side. “Don’t ever do that again,” was my planned respond. (Don’t ever deny me!)
We sat by the fire. We talked. I excluded charm from my heart, and I dashed my tongue inside her lip in a moment. (Later, she told me she felt the kiss in her vagina.) She told me she felt confused about her feelings. She said she valued her freedom. (This is getting interesting). I assured her that I didn’t want to infringe on her freedom. By the tone of the conversation, the right thing to do became the masterful touching and kissing, and soon, I was lying on top of her on the bench by the fire, and then we straightened up and she suggested we sleep together. As neither of us had any protection, we slept without making love. As I got into the coves I lied on top of her and shoved my dick against her pussy through our clothes. This, however soon subsided, as I realized it wasn’t going to happen tonight. She must need time to think. Goodnight.

December 1st, 1983
Puiyun
The daybreak brought a new message – that things seem to have opened up with Judith, the object of my recent desires.
We planned to write during the day, yet I covered little ground. I ate delicious wheat chapattis and fried eggs that were incomparable. Judith and I sat in the sun watched hundreds of people, some barefoot, come by with some incredible loads, carrying produce to the Saturday Namche market. How many oranges did I eat and buy – 2 or 3, per rupee? Chapati and eggs. Touching and kissing sunny Judith. So, in such a stance, the afternoon waned and the darkness descended again. Judith and I took a walk before dinner with a flashlight. I told her I once considered the possibility (in Foster City) of entering a new universe through physical hotels in reality – we had been talking of inanity/sanity.
At dinner, there were 3 men who had come to spend the night, ours being the only available room. When they went in our room, we dashed in and bought them off; I paid them a bottle of beer to sleep in the kitchen! Judith and I went to bed. We had our clothes on to keep from the cold, and Judith made some inane comment like “We’ll be cuddly and sleep at night.” To unspoil my despoiled amorous mood, I smoked some pot, which brought forth the consequent and expected change of atmosphere, one of openness and explanation. Then I pulled down her pants (she took a hit too.) I went down towards her legs and proceeded to eat her pussy like determined and prolonged lightening. This reached the desired point, where upon I plunged my dick into her. She sang some words of apprehension, but once the verbal was secured, I rammed her with delight, as long as it lasted, until almost instinctively, she pushed my hips away and I voluntarily flew backwards and spurted on her sleeping bag, as planned. And so it goes!
Then I wend down on her again. I put it in again, but we curtailed any further action on the topic till she felt more secure with the question of her own fertility.
And we slept. I woke up with no clothes, freezing, and I donned some warmth.

December 2nd, 1983
Jubing
Chapati and eggs. We really didn’t get going till maybe 11 am. We took a stroll around the ridge and the headed iced over trail. She told me about sticky mucus meaning fertileness, and about her father falling 15 meters onto a rock, skiing off a ledge. “He broke every bone in his body.” They kept him alive artificially, but he was going to be a vegetable – they pulled the plug on his life support. Her brother needed his own life, tormented by visions. Now we are happy. We round the curve into the sunlight.
At a roadside shack, I enjoy my first cup of the most delicious milk I ever tasted – of yak. I eat some ‘dilo,’ what a meal, also delicious. We have corn chyang, also delicious.
Kharikola was descended upon by this pair. We discussed how my kiss of the tongue under the lip was from the heart and how it touched her vagina. When she was tired of talking, I went on. Kharikola [?] was like the Twilight Zone, everyone seemed lethargic like a zombie. I tired to order food, but it was met with numb perdition of my own words.
We walked on to Jubing when alone, I sang. When I got to Jubing behind Judith, I found her talking to a California – type girl. This girl, Adik, did a dance with her face, hands and even sometimes legs while we talked. In the first hour or two of veneration, she informed me that she was a real sexual beast (but see, she’s actually cute), she lives in Kathmandu, I heard her speak singsong Nepali off the top of her head, and I wanted to fuck her and run away with her, to make her the greatest love of my life. After dinner, Judith went to bed, and I was outside at the table by lantern-light alone with A-dik.
I tried to convince her to take our hash-smoking to a good viewing spot for astronomy. She said she was only going as far as her bed. She was coming back from her piss and I was going to take a dump. Crossing paths she asked me a question then, she said, “Just forget about touching me – I’ve got bed-bugs: Lice!!” It seemed hard to believe that such a cute, clean girl with a French jacket on did, but she’d been camping in obscure places the last few weeks. I acted confused as to why she would say that!
Back at the table, we smoked our brains out, and I leaned across the table on impulse and kissed her forcibly, let her go just as she began to struggle, saying, “That’s just to show you I’m not afraid of you!” I think she said, “I know!” We talked, we talked. I came and sat next to her. She told me that her mind was on this guy in Kathmandu. (Before, a lengthy story about how she went all the way to Switzerland to chase a guy that didn’t love her.) I told her, I’m not going to kiss you or touch you, because your mind is somewhere else and you have lice, but maybe later in Kathmandu, when you get back.” I got her phone number. She asked me if I wanted to trek in Lang Tant with her. We’ll see. We had some of her cheese, butter and sampa flour. When she went to bed, I said, “Could you give me a friendly kiss on the cheek goodnight?” She said sure, landed forward, and, her standing, me sitting with my arms at my sides, put her lips to mine once, back off, twice, and turning her head, a 3rd time.
We went inside and she got her bed ready, and I wrote. We exchanged a few happy words. I got in my bag in the dark and I put my hand into Judith’s bag, where it was accepted.

I also mention that our conversion may have flowed into the nearby open dormitory window. At one point, Adik said something like “Don’t try to kiss me,” when I leaned foreword stupidly while she had a cigarette in her mouth. That was when she explained where her head was at. OK, thought I. Maybe things will be different in Kathmandu. I said things like I find you attractive. She said Thank you. [“I was going to run away with you!”]
Thanks Jack Harpster: Flattery will get you everywhere. (So start talking).

December 3rd, 1983
Cheese Factory, Tragshindu
A burst of a good morning. We got ready, munching ½ popped popcorn. I was sitting outside when Adik left for Puiyan: see you in Kathmandu she said briskly. I threw popcorn at her chest. I said I liked her shoes, they made her remind me of a yak. “They have a slit up the middle” (In the back.)
Judith and I crossed the river, and she sat on my lap in the sun and plagued me with questions about Adik, and smeared her with not always complimentary observations. She told me she sense the way I was looking with interest at Adik, and I knew that she had noticed, but I don’t feel ashamed.
We took a pleasant stroll up the mountain. In Mandingma I had 5 cups of yak milk and lunch. A man offered to sell me some of his hand rolled hash. I bought about 8 grams for 55 rps. I smoked some and vividly walked on. When Judith said “Hash smoking doesn’t always make you happy,” I said see you later before she cold get into the forthcoming illustration.
On my own, I pounded my way to Trangshindu Gompa. At the lodge I waited for Judith. When it got dark I went down trial to look for her. I met some people that had come after and hadn’t seen her, so I assumed she went to the cheese factory. I followed the trail and found her footsteps. I felt sure of her presence, and, in the dark, I walked into the lodge and found her there. I had cheese racettes (fired mashed potatoes with cheese top and bottom) for dinner, cheese, bread, apple cider.
I shared my hash with Judith and 2 Swiss guys and we laughed and had a good time. Judith and I slept in the fireplace/restaurant room. The man’s son slept across the room. I was sitting by the fireplace when Judith came up to me. My hand ran up her thigh to her ass from between her legs. I heard a startled sound and looked up at the staircase where the mother coughed, and ran upstairs. It was the funniest thing. It reminded me of a Charles Dicken’s scene. The woman had been watching through the posts and my hand touching Judith made her exclaim. Realizing she’d been caught, she coughed as if that’s why she’d stopped on the stairs. It was a good laugh for all. Judith and I went to bed. I felt her pussy, my hand in her sleeping bag. She said, “Shall we make a bed?” We got up and opened the sleeping bags. But when we got it all made and laid down, Judith fell asleep, despite my amorousness. Oh well. I was tired too, partially from all that good hash.

December 4th, 1983
Junbesi
After an interesting apple pancake, Judith suggested we go to Tragshindu Gompas Lodge, so I could make good my bill of 10 rps. That I couldn’t pay before I left cause the lady didn’t have any change. (By the way, the lady of the cheese factory and I had a good laugh when we saw each other in the morning, remembering the comedy of last night.) Judith and I went over the hill, and I paid he bill. We had a few chyangs, and on the walk back, we laid right in the middle of the road kissing. I said I was thinking about taking her in the bushes, and she said let’s go! We took a short trip to a secluded patch of dirt and scrub, took our clothes off in the sun. I got it in and, well, like I told her. I was gonna come (too) soon, I did.
I explained to her, the Himalaya in the background, how, at first I do things like that, but, after I get used to a girl, I can go for a long time. She said, “But don’t you know?… all men are like that!” We lay around each other. She said she wanted to lie on top of me. We were lying there, and just about ready to go when I slid down and started eating her pussy. Then, I slid back up and put it in. We fucked for a minute or so, and I pulled out (For birth control) and spurted on the ground, my leg, her butt. We both seemed happy about this.
When I explained how it took me doing it a lot to get real good, and she, ‘Oh, we’ll do it every day.’
We finally made it back to the cheese factory, me with my long john bottoms hanging over my shoulder. It was 1:15 by the time we left the cheese factory. Shortly afterwards, we stopped in Ringma. The apple wine was pink like petroleum and tasted like it. The cider was artificial yellow and tasted watered down. The apple pie not so great and I hear they’ve got the good stuff in Junbesi. So much for Ringma.
45 minutes down the trail a guy with a Himalayan Rescue Association patch on who tells me I’m on the wrong trail. I remember the Swiss guy saying either way was OK. Finally (after some more guys told me I was on the wrong trail); we met the incarnate lama [blama] of Tragshindu who, according to Adik (who said that he tried to fuck her), hasn’t yet taken the vows of celibacy, abstinence of liquor or tobacco; ahem! This man showed us which way to go. From this village, it was down to the river, across and up a canyon. Shortly after it was dark, we reached Jubesi.
At Anchopka’s Lodge, I had the most amazing vegetable soup and 2 pieces of delicious fresh—baked apple pie, popcorn and hot lemons. Ecstasy. We sat around and smoked my hash, mostly me and a guy from Mill Valley, though Judith smoked and laughed.
Afterwards, we retired. Again, Judith fell asleep, and my resources to purse her were depleted shortly, leaving me in a deep hash sleep.

December 5th, 1983
Junbesi
Apple pie, Sherpa stew. In the morning Judith asked if I’d like to go to the monastery tonight. I though it might be a chance to be alone with her, so I said yes. I wrote in the sun, different colored prayer flags like streamers of holiday from the “pagoda.” Warm day, then cold wind.
I was late and Judith snapped at me, which ended up in a friendly battle on our way to the monastery. The anthropologist, Rick Kohn, came up as we were walking, and our attention turned to him. “Some monks take vows of abstinence from liquor, celibacy, while others (who wear slightly different shawls) don’t – you can renounce your vows once, and twice but a 3rd time… well, I really don’t know. You can lay their shawls out on the ground and have someone who knows point out the difference, and then you’ll be able to tell… but otherwise?!”
When we arrived, we had to ask through Rick, for permission to sleep there. We were allowed to share Rick’s room with him, that was a drag considering I wanted to sleep with Judith, but there were 3 separate beds.
All the monks are escaped from Tibet. Rick told me one of the monks, who laughed in the courtyard said “Oh, he’s from American and she’s from Holland? I don’t know Holland.” [Rick: “It’s even smaller than Nepal.]
Oh, and America is big… big and bad!” “No, America isn’t bad… Americans are bad… no… it isn’t Americans who are bad… it’s just you who’s bad!” (Addressed to Rick). When Rick left the room (I’d already had. Tibetan butter, salt tea, which I liked) – and Judith and I were faint at dinner we talked (the dinner was pounded rice – the first time I’ve tried this [I liked it], and some dahl and peas or something).
Before, when we’d first entered the room she’d said (in front of Rick): “If you don’t want to stay here, just say so - we can go back down.” Now I told her it made me uptight- not because I minded what she said but because she said it in front of Rick. Before she’d said (When I said… Just a little joke) “You’ve told plenty of jokes lately, and I’ve gotten them all!” She looked pissed off. Anyway, Rick walked in again. I donated 20 rps and said I was splitting. Rick seemed disappointed. We 3 walked outside to smoke a j. When we sat down, Judith said she was coming too if I was. We smoked the j. She put my legs over her knees. Rick told us about how great this monastery is, etc. Judith seemed cold so I said let’s go inside. Back in Rick’s room, Rick told us about some of the things he’s done here. He’s worked on his PhD. He’s recently translated his oldest ever recently. It is a prayer to the god of Central Tibet, who predates Buddha:

The Cloud of Worship of the God of the Plain
(translated by Rick Kohn)
To name the body God’s Father -
He is Ote, Gung Gyal,
To name the body God’s Mother
She is the one-winged Turquoise bird
To name the body God Himself –
He is Ya-shud, the God of cruelty.
Take the name of the country in which you dwell
It is shivering swamp bottom
A wild throne of shimmering green turquoise
Verdant in summer, verdant also in winter.
The country in which you live is
Called Delightful to Experience.

The rest was totally awesome. We said goodnight and started downhill. (I’d given him my address to send me a copy COD when it’s published.) We were stoned. I told her I was happy she’d come. It was all simple: I (we) wanted to sleep with Judith on our last night together. In our walk, she gasped and claimed to just to have had a vision: I was a Scotsman and she was a Scots’ girl… “We were talking… and then all of a sudden it was us here…” the implication that we were loves in a former life sent a mood though me. I was saying. “OK, so if it’s true… OK… so what… I’m not afraid of that reality.” Judith told me when she’s afraid she sends a white light through her that’s God and protects her. I was thinking that she is a bit nuts, and I ought not let it affect me… besides I was stoned… and I’ve nothing to fear for no fate to fear… I’m not afraid of ghosts… not afraid of being attached… nothing.”
The wind rustled through the tiny bamboo rushes sending up a clattering that sent the most awesome feelings through me – like fiery electricity that was so new, it scared my body, though my mind was calm. It was as if I could suddenly view the night sky, landscape and hear the sounds accompanying them, for the first time, with no knowledge of what it was – the reaction of a being with out cry preceding or explanation of what was around them. Judith, holding my left hand said, “You’re afraid,” “I can feel it… you’re afraid.” “No, my mind is calm… I’m not afraid… my body is afraid but my mind is calm.”
We got to Junbesi after an hour. We ate dinner. We both uptight until we got to bed. This was the first time I really loved Judith good. I knew it was gonna be good even before we did it. I got her pants off and her silk under long john bottoms too. I got on top of her and she said let’s play around for a while first… and I said OK… just wait a second thought as I shoved my hard cock in her. We did it… I’d pull out before I cam and put it back in her. Her lips were awesomely soft and moist to kiss while my bottom played with pussy. We made noise enough to keep people listening if they were awake… Judith seemed too carried away to notice, thank God! I went down on her and ate her sopping fun. Again, fucking. I finally said: I feel like coming. She kicked her legs up wide and accepting my pounding cock. I backed off as I came doing it on her sleeping bag. Marvelous, it was! I had held her butt with my left hand as is my habit and it felt awesomely good.

December 6th, 1983
Shivalaya
When we woke up, I felt like boning this wench again. She popped open her pants, just as I was about to come she said, “Don’t come for awhile… okay?” I wanted to just because people were waking up for the day in the next room – we were in the “dining room.” Sure enough they started filing by on their way to take a piss. The lovemaking kind of fizzled out right there, and I was momentarily pissed off that I hadn’t just come, and I mentioned it. Again, I felt that I was causing strife without realizing it, due to internal frustration. In the final analysis, it was really non-important. We sat on the bed, her wrapped in her bag, me sitting up, my hand in her bag, feeling up her pussy through her panties the whole time we were talking… and we were kissing, and it felt great…being affectionate. I had 2 pieces of pie for breakfast, and 2 cups of milk coffee (and 2 pieces of pie for the road, making it 12 pieces since I got here!) No one could see me rubbing her pussy. Yum! I really love her pussy. One could say I feel attached to it!
We made a variety of plans, aimed at getting us together again in Kathmandu, Pokhara or Junbesi. The basic plan is to meet at the Paradise Restaurant on Dec 16th (17th or 18th too) between 12pm – 1pm. She gave me the address of a man whose house I can leave a message at if I go to Pokhara. I gave her the name of my lodge – the Kim-Shaun, where she can find me if she gets there earlier than the 26th. She gave me the names of some people in Pokhara with whom I can leave a message there if I go there. And she reminded me that I can come back to Junbesi if I want to.
She walked me out to the road. We kissed. She said, “Remember, I love you.” I ran off, looking back. She stood there, looking and waving until I was out of distance, but I turned around at a higher curve in the trail and saw her walking into a shop.
I cruised on the trail like a locomotive. I passed everyone who had left earlier within an hour or so. I looked at the Lamjara pass as if it were a hill. I suppose it must have been at 9 am when I left Jubesi. I saw Behandar from the top of the pass, and I reckoned it would only take me a couple of hours to get here, but I was wrong. Descending the hill to Kenja at the river as in involved process – a long one, at least, Perhaps 2 or 2½ hours.
In Kneja, I had 4 eggs, 2 chapatis and 3 teas, 4 glasses of water. When I started up the hill to Bhandur, a Nepali man was just behind me. We walked fast, I hopped from rock to rock and we made good time. When we started up the rail we were now accompanied by his 2 friends and 3 young men with porters baskets. At one point, I stopped to let him pass because my calves cramped once or twice form the long days’ abuse, but he was tired as well and allowed me to keep the lead. In Bhandar, I was worn out and debated about going on. Scott, a climber last seen in Junbesi and before that leaving Chukkung with Marcus was there. He described the trail to those. At least over the pass and down the river - easy. I had an hours light left. A bowl of rice budding and 2 reviving lemon teas later, I was off. Over the pass with daylight, and down I arrived in Shivalaya about 7 pm.
The Nepalese that had been following me were not having dinner, so I joined them. The woman gave me portions less than ½ of the other men, but I got charged the same. She was very hesitant to give me seconds of the most minute portions, while she had just dumped the larger part of the remains of dinner into the bowls of the Nepalis. After dinner, I slept in the kitchen where we ate. I figured I’d only sleep a few hours and go. I was really beat, and still, if I’d known the right trial I’d have gone on. The man at the restaurant had given me directions to bypass those and 1 hour of the trek, but I didn’t feel up to trail finding, so I went to sleep. I am hoping to get to Jiri for the 6 am truck that’s supposed to leave. Can I make it to Kathmandu by tomorrow evening to meet Norbert to by the coral mola?
It seems doubtful.

December 7th, 1983
Kirantichap
The people of the house made noise. I was up and out the door into darkness. Already, people with porters baskets were out, and pointed the way to Jiri via Mali, the short way. I crossed the river. By the time the sun came up, I was almost over the last hill: at a teashop. I was in sight of Jiri when I heard, then saw, a green truck leaving. I figured I missed it by only 20 minutes. If I’d just walked faster, if I’d not stopped for tea. I got to Jiri by about 8 am, 23 hours from Junbesi.
A group of 4 people told me that there were not trucks. The green truck was a local emergency truck (but I still might have gotten a ride)! I found out that the bank won’t cash travelers checks or money, contrary to what Rick said. So I started a walk to Mina Pokhari, a purported 4 or 4 hour walk, like the other 4 not ½ hour up the road, there was a truck going to Kathmandu. We waited more than an hour for it to start.
One of the 4, an English dude named Trevor, got super uptight when I told him I wished he’d given a seat to a Nepali man that he’d taken – because now the man’s smelly feet were closer to me. He wanted to fight but I declined. He passed comment about “Americans,” and I passed one about racism. Two Americans sat next to me. One guy, Dave from Alaska, passed some pretty witty comments about this guy (who is a jerk). After all, Americans stick together, I guess. We had fun saying “I hate you Easterners! (They were both originally for the east) The only thing I mind about being called American is that they group me together with guys like you!” We smoked my pot and ate their opium. The ride was thus assuredly nice. Not until after nightfall do we reach Kirantichap where we all got off because there’s a bus in the morning.

December 8th, 1983
Kathmandu
The horn on the bus was blaring at 4:30 am, and the first thing I saw was the whole room full of people frantically packing the first thing I said was “Thanks a lot for waking me up” which I think bothered Dave and Jacob. I was first out the door, sleeping bag, shoes, socks, etc., in my hands.
The bus ride, part inside: most of the way to Lamosangu, and afterwards to Kathmandu on top of the bus. It was an OK ride.
When we got to Kathmandu, I checked into the Kim Shun Guest House, cashed $50 (for 16.1 rp/dooar) and got a taxi to around the Boudinath Stupa to see if I could find Norbit to get that coral mala. After quite a search I found out that he flew to Delhi this morning from a lady whose house he stayed at (through a Nepali girl who was my interpreter). It seems simple and a fact: I’m too late: no coral mala.
Ho: Inflation is primarily caused by forcing people into jobs they don’t enjoy to meet crushing pressure of industrial living.
I returned to Thamel. I saw KC’s restaurant, went in and had a pepper steak, 2 cups of cappuccino, a “small” salad, a cheeseburger, a piece of pumpkin pie, and a cup of black coffee for dinner over a period of a few hours. I went back to my room, cooked at a picture of Kelly (sweet, dear, Kelly!), tried to read, but fell asleep.
On the truck today, I began reviewing my notebook. Quite interesting, thought it felt a bit doubtful reading it. Maybe what I mean to say is really impatience. I can’t wait to implement the ideas I talk about.
So, ends this notebook. One of the best times of my life is continued in these writings.

December 9th, 1983
Kathmandu
My first day back. Devoted primarily to getting my new trekking permit for Pokhara area, which I got for 2 weeks time.
I ate at K.C.’s, which I thoroughly enjoyed.
I bought new notebooks, of which this is one, which is supposed to last me till the end of the year.
I smoked a lot of hash, which is my prerogative.
I didn’t see any girls, who really caught my fancy, and consequently, I didn’t move on any.
I checked out a musical instrument shop, which may rent me a guitar if they can find one.
I spontaneously thought of a tune to some pseudo-lyrics I wrote in my last journal.
Come, Sit in the Sun, Inside My Room, We will be as warm as the cindering soul inside of me, which longs for you.

I wrote about what I want, but I came up with no new revelations though I’m knocking myself out trying to think of them.

I got a letter each from Isabelle of Luxembourg, Amanda from Daly City (moved from San Bruno) and Grammy. I got 2 letters from brother Mike and 4 letters from Sweet Kelly.

Dad fired Mac!! Amazing!! Hell, I’d really love to talk with Dad! And Mike reported that Dad talks as if “no one can replace me”. Wow! That’s good news!

December 10th, 1983
Kathmandu (Saturday)
At breakfast, I met 2 guys – Aram, a guy from Massachusetts who recently spent 11 months in Africa and Nick, a fellow from England. Fed up with electricity going out in the Kim Shun Guest House, and with the noisy Indians next to me and the ½ minute hot shower, I moved across to the Everest Guest House where they’re staying, with the 75 gallon hot water heater! Private room: 30 rps.
Saturday in Nepal is like Sunday in the States: most things are closed.
Nick, Aram and I walked to the monkey temple. The temple was pretty weird and commercialized and the monkeys were interesting, and every bit as bickering as could be – they went for the grains of rice on the pavement. The people did weird things like throw water on others, put broken flowers on their heads and lots of meaningful movements with their hands that escaped my understanding.
I didn’t understand. The temple looks impressive from a distance.
We returned to K.C.’s where I munched heavily on tomato soup and then lasagna (I Believe it was). I moved my stuff to the other hotel.

I did my usual writing in the exploratory notebook. I wrote about the five areas that I have long felt represent my innate drives. But I almost feel like I’ve got to get my head out of the clouds no matter what it is I do. There’s so much competition in every field. I’ve got to get going if I want to be No. 1 in anything!
I saw some huge coral, 3 pieces in a nearby shop. I feel so much like “acquiring” it, if I could only think of a way!!

December 11th, 1983
Kathmandu (Sunday)
I left my notebook at the post office, and it was gone for good when I went back to find it.
Tonight I picked up my down jacket – they did a great job! I left my Hilly Hansen, etc. to pick up tomorrow.
The notebook I lost is only 2 day’s writing, but it is still a shame to leave it there. Someone is going to find it and say: This guy is crazy!!

I spent a lot of the day writing letters. I wrote to Gam and asked her for money in one letter and a general description of events in another asked her to send all or part of $2100 to Delhi. I hope she doesn’t mind me asking for so much, and I hope she sends at least part of it, because I’m going to need it!! It would be great if she would send it and it would be waiting for me on my arrival.

I wrote to Dad and told him I thought it was wise (“great”) to fire Mac if he wasn’t compatible with him. I wrote to Mandy and sent her that picture from Singapore and a photo of the sing-sing in Lake Kopiago. I hope she doesn’t think I look too ugly! I wrote to Isabelle in Luxembourg: it seems strange that Lucien was so unhappy on his return that he sold his café!
I saw the Swiss guys (From the Cheese factory in Tragshindu) at the Paradise Restaurant tonight.
In the late afternoon, I almost felt weak. I had a touch of the bug in the morning.
At night, I took a walk about. I found out that the drug I took in the morning for the runs Mexafrom has been banned!
Stoned before sleep. Fell right off again for the 4th night in a row.
I really miss Judith.

December 12th, 1983
Kathmandu
Today? Well, oh! Tonight I found a purse. I walked into Jamaly’s and went to sit down and sat it on the floor. I touched it with my foot and knew somehow that I was in black. I touched it and knew it was money. I peered in and there was a 50 rp and 10 rp note on the outside of a small wad: I went in the bathroom. There was 233 rp, the little cloth purse and a small ying/yang silver pendant w/o chain! There were 5 others at the table, so I had to be discrete. I was with Nick and Aram, and 3 ugly girls who happened to be sitting there and left… thank God!! Well, those guys kept me in stitches. We ate apple pie till out our ears it came! Aram ate 5 pieces of pie!
Today at the Paradise Restaurant, a Swedish girl asked to sit with me even though the restaurant was empty. She was leaving on an airplane right after we ate. She was really nice!
I went to the Indian Embassy to get my visa renewed. I almost hit on a woman I asked directions from. But I decided “no” even though I would’ve liked to have her.

I wrote a letter to Kelly and one to Gam. In Kelly’s, I told about the mountains and also about forgetting to telepathize, but telling her about the time I did. I gave Gam info about yaks, monks and my feelings for the future. I gave both of them my love and a copy of the excerpt from the prayer to the god of central Tibet (pre-Buddhist).

I checked out guitars and found one for 525 rps that sounds decent. I packaged my film.

I’m supposed to move into Nick’s room tomorrow because Aram’s splitting; however, the Swedish girl told me about a trek where you start walking out of town, also I might sleep out on the 14th and maybe 15th.

I had steak for dinner. I loved it. I had apple crumb pies, a good eating day.
I had more energy today, and its been building all day. T’s late now but I’m still going strong, whereas the last nights, I’ve been really tired.

I really miss Judith. Wow, I really hope we meet up.
I’m wracking my brains over my “objectives” exploratory work. I can’t figure out how to “fantastic-ize” myself!!
I really miss Judith!!

December 13th, 1983
Kathmandu
They’re playing an Al Demeola tape and the guy… I can’t believe how well he can play the flamenco guitar!! It sounds like Montoya.

Well, today I finished all my chores. Mail is sent, everything is washed, trekking permit obtained via for India updated. I suppose I could use some super glue and have my shoes fixed too. (Done 16/12)

I moved into Nick’s room (to save 15 rps), since Aram took off for India today. Last night Aram told us some pretty dinky story about how some pervert paid Aram and 2 other guys to beat the shit out of him. It was really gross! Nick and I were polite even to listen!

I bought a map of Helambu for my “trek” tomorrow. I really miss Judith. I hope she shows up. If she doesn’t I’ll just have to go look for her, it’s that simple!

Diary, I’m going crazy!!! I need creative release. I will buy a notebook and write nonsense (I mean lyrics.) if that’s what it takes! I wish I could afford a $25 guitar!! They sound pretty good.

I met a former chief of staff to the governor of Iowa tonight. He enlightened me on how people get elected to the presidency… it was fascinating. It made me want to be a politician!
Jeff Bejach and I played a board (bored) game of football till midnight – it was so boring I almost cried. To his disappointment, I resigned at halftime!

December 14th, 1983
Kathmandu (Wednesday)
[defined the “path,” outlined the requirements in the exploration journal.]
Wonderful day!! I was just walking out of Thamel with my backpack on when I saw Al riding towards me on a bicycle! I was surprised. I thought he was in Jumla. We had coffee together and then went to the Kim Shun to see Greg (about Africa). I went down stairs when I was leaving, and I noticed my note to Judith was missing. I looked on the floor, but didn’t find it.
I went to my motel and tried to sneak up on her. We went to my room, lay down and talked. Glorious happiness.
I shuttled her around (to help her with chores) on the back of her bike. A mantra: I love Judith played over in my mind. She had to split at 3, but said she could come tomorrow or the day after for sure to stay with me. When we’d been lying down she said, “I’d like to make love to you all afternoon.”

The rest of the day:
I went to eat at K.C.’s, but they are Closed Wednesday’s. I bumped into Nick. We chatted at Govinda’s across the street – I had a steak lunch special!
We went there together for dinner – both had a pizza, it was Ok.
I went by to see Al and Greg, but their light was out, I thought they were asleep or listening but not wanting me to come in and keep them awake, so I left.
Nick and I chatted before sleep. He’s quite a nice fellow. Very easy to talk to. Pleasant. Humorous.
(It turned out Al and Greg were at Up and Down bar partying with the Nepali/Tibetan friends.)

December 15th, 1983
“If you think I’m trying to impress you, you’re wrong.”

Wow! This is one of the best day’s of my life. My experiences with Judith tonight were the most beautiful love I’ve ever known. It all seems so perfect. Every time it’s too weighty, she laughs. She’s such a good lover. She’s so soft and she moves like no other I’ve ever been with. She does this motion with her hips, so graceful, you could almost say she’s artistic!
I thought, “Kissing other girls is like just a guy kissing a girl, but kissing Judith is like all of England kissing the sea!! It feels momentous.”

We fucked on and off for 2 hours before I came the first time.
I had her turned over on her tummy. With a lot of girls looking at them makes me less excited, but when I open my eyes and see her, it gets me super excited. She is so warm. I’ve never been in love like this before.
Over and over I must repeat it, how intensely wonderful bedtime was. We got to bed at 10 and not to sleep till 3 or 4.

When I got up this morning I went by (To see Al and Greg and) to check into the room that Al and Greg left this morning. They were just leaving. They gave me hash, candles, books, a map, a scarf and some other useful items. We talked about sending notes to each other via Delhi, Bombay, Nairobi. Said goodbye as they got in the taxi to take them to the airport (to Varanasi, India). Good men.

Hung around the rooms in both hotels and made the transition of my things between 12 pm and 2 pm, but Judith never showed.
At 4 pm, I had an appointment for a haircut with a woman who cut the Queen Mother’s hair this morning (all at the Annapurna Hotel). A few times, I felt that she was deliberately pulling my head into her chest, which I liked very much. She gave me one of the best haircuts I’ve ever had.
When I got back to the Kim Shun Guest House, Judith was there. God, I’m really in love with Judith, and she loves me a lot too!!
We lay down and talked and kissed. Then we went to K.C.’s for dinner. I had spaghetti, garlic bread and salad, and it was fabulous!!
About 10 pm, we got home and went to bed. We made love on and off for 2 hours, at which point I finally came. During that time we talked joked, laughed and exclaimed repeatedly to each other how incredibly and amazingly good it felt. I personally believe I’ve only had comparable sex and warmth a few times in my life, but this is the best. Can you imagine my happiness?? She’s so totally positive about the whole thing: (the love, the sex, the relationship, me) that it is super-charged love and affection. She repeatedly says:
“I like you. I like you so much.” And “I love you’s” are exchanged.
Her face looked so pretty while we fucked. Her movements, her expressions and exclamations all filled me with delight. We seem to agree on most important points about our interactions.
We were both plainly wondering with amazement at how good it felt, how wonderful the sex was.
Afterwards, we began to fuck again and finished in not too long a time.
Then I started reading Carlos Castenada, and she prepared some boiled soya bean cheese. We had the stony munchies!! I finally passed out at about 4 am or 3 am! (Had a beer with the cheese.)

December 16th, 1983
Kathmandu
Judith and I are planning to go to Pokhara and be down in Delhi together in late January. We are both psyched to the max about the prospects of enjoyment.

First thing in the mornings here in Kathmandu, for me, is always a minimum 2-hour munch-out at Jamaly’s pie shop downstairs.
This morning being no exception, with the addition of Judith, I was enjoying my apple crumb pie. J. B., the guy who’s walking from Darjeeling to K2, came in. I showed him one of the best photos I have from New Guinea. (I was labeling them.) He said, “Did you take this picture?” “Yes,” I said. He seemed surprised!!
The friend of his sitting next to me expressed how fantastic it was. He said that he sells others photos in L.A. and he’d buy this one. (Well I told him later I’d send one to him gratis.)
I got to talking with those guys. (Judith left to attend to chores.) It turns out this J.B. is a pretty unusual dude! He’s got a history of these walks: Calcutta to Amritzar, a walk across Malaysia North to South or vice versa, he’s lived with the Bedouins in Egypt (and into Libya) for 6 weeks, and with the Berbers for a short time. He owns a Judo school. (Parker, his partner on this walk, is one of he’s former judo students.) He learned photography, which he’s into. He’s sold pictures. He learned photography from a Japanese man who’s won several international awards, who made him take 7 or 8 rolls a week for 16 months, pointing out his mistakes in a once a week review session, before he could say, “Now you know how to take a picture.”

Before he left, he had told me he might like someday to walk from Egypt to Tanzania along the Nile. I told him I’d like his address so I could write to him and make him an offer cause I wanted to go. I got an address to write to.
The other fellow gave me his address, and I gave him mine at Gam’s.
I stayed at Jamaly’s till 1 pm, writing and listening to music. I wrote down an idea: to make musical videos in remote areas of Earth and other interesting places, thus incorporating music and adventure together. Could this be the brainstorm I’ve been looking for?
I met Judith at the Paradise Vegetarian Restaurant near Derber Square. We had a soya bean burger. The rest of the afternoon, I slept, sold a book, walking about, attending to minor chores.
I changed a $20 for 17 rps/$. I picked up 27 passport photos for 35 rps = $2.25.
A few hours later I went back down to he Derber Square area, picked up my down gloves at the cleaners and bought Dune Messiah. On the way back, I saw a man with Elephantiasis in his left leg. It was astounding whereas his right leg was 2½” in diameter at the ankle, the other leg was 6” in diameter? I didn’t want to get within 10 feet of him!
Judith had a 7 pm date with Sambu, a Nepali suitor. She invited me, but I didn’t go because I wasn’t hungry at 7 pm.
Later, I went by the restaurant, and I let them sit side by side while I ate a garlic steak and wrote in my journals privately in a seat facing them (I chose this seat because it is my favorite) from across the room.
Later, 12 minutes after they left the restaurant, I was walking down the street when she came by in a Land Rover and called out my name. She introduced me to Sambu, the driver. Then I said, “See ya around,” and proceeded to go into a store I was headed for. She said goodnight to Sambu, and came up to me. She said she’d spent the entire evening telling him how much she loved me. Jokingly, I said, “Girls like you ought to be shot (‘cause I thought she might’ve hurt his feelings).” She misunderstood an old expression and went off to the room, where I found her. I refused to get involved in her guilt-feelings. She flung herself on the bed. Then she came to my arms. The inevitable beautiful lovemaking ensued, so magnificent!

December 17th, 1983
Kathmandu
Sitting in the garden of Yeti Cottage Restaurant – “This place is like an airport, say I,” what with the birds and insects all landing and taking off.
“You know, man has this idea that airports are a thing of the modern age, when actually the world has been an airport since life began. Birds and insects have been lying for ages! They’ve even developed wings on their bodies!! How far ahead of us are they.” It must be jealousy that prevents us from seeing their innate superiority.
Diary, what a life! I’ve never been in a situation like this before: never where there are so many ideal, things happening simultaneously!
1) I’ve never been so in love so quickly with such a sensuous girl who appeals to me as much as Judith
2) We’ve both got the next month to do as we like
3) We’re in a beautiful place, that’s interesting, has good, inexpensive restaurants
4) I can smoke all day for next to nothing – hash is so cheap (I’m planning on buying some opium too!)
5) I am experiencing one of the most exciting times of my life not even counting the fact that I’m so in love. I’ve come across the ocean on a sailboat, crossed the interior of New Guinea, climbed a 20,000 ft mountain, and now I’m finally exploring the possibilities for my future
6) The sex is better than I’ve ever had looking at Judith’s perfect complexion, loving eyes and warm smile is an aphrodisiac in itself.

This morning, I spent my usual few hours in Jamaly’s having pie. Later, I went to the Yeti Cottage Restaurant, sat in the sun, and then Judith, who had gone to do errands. Met me there. We were proceeding on to Mom’s Health Food Restaurant when we stopped at the hotel to pick up my sunglasses. We got sidetracked into bed, and we made love and it was great. We lay there until 6:30 pm when it was dark, and in the meantime, we made love again. The sex with Judith is often ideal (which is really an incredible statement)! We will make love for a while, and then, we will lie side by side, talking about love or other things, kissing a lot, touching, then we will make love some more. I usually save an orgasm for right before we have to go somewhere.
I was craving for a meal at K.C.’s, so I went there while Judith waited for me in the room. Then she came into K.C.’s and said she was going down to Mom’s Health Food Restaurant. I had spaghetti (delicious), garlic buttered bread, cappuccino (delicious), salad (Delicious) and a baked apple (delicious). Before I finished eating, Nick came in and grabbed a seat next to me. We laughed and laughed, both having compatible senses of humor I suppose. Since he was leaving early next morning for Delhi, I stayed and talked while he ate. I went to his room after, and he showed me a painting he paid $120 for, which was awesome. We exchanged addresses on my suggestion, and I left I went to her room – Judith was there:
I was supposed to meet her at Mom’s but I blew it off to talk to Nick – she wasn’t angry.
We went to Jamaly’s and stuffed our faces. I also rolled a joint. Back in our room, we made great love again. After I came outside her, I licked her pussy for 20 minutes, which really was nice for us both.

December 18th, 1983
Kathmandu
By 1 pm, I was not yet breakfasted, having spent the morning since sunrise, making love and lying in bed with Judith, 2 happy lovebirds, during which span of time I had 2 orgasms. We might have continued the encounter, but she had an appointment with the Polarity Therapist.
We met up in the afternoon. The Polarity Therapist sure works wonders: just like last time, she came back saying she felt great, but she also involved me in an argument and acted like she had a screw loose upstairs. She accused me of being greedy over a pendant of moonstone she wanted. I felt she was being irrational and a pain in the ass and eventually said “fuck off” which apparently was simplest to understand. I met her back in the hotel. It’s funny how much I love her. We went to K.C.’s for a late dinner.
I feel asleep when we got home. I’m feeling a bit sick today, a bit heavier diarrhea.
Today I bough a multicolored vest and a colorful t-shirt. I ordered a passport pouch to me be made.

December 19th, 1983
Kathmandu
I’m really crazy about Judith. I’m really in love with her. I think she’s beautiful. We made love in the morning. Breakfast at Bhutoai’s stoned, began by studying each other’s eyes. We lost track of each other all day, and I went along to the Post Office. Kelly’s letter was cheery- she seemed better. I still love Kelly dearly for sure.
We met again in our hotel room. We decided to eat at the Paradise. I had a delicious quiche. Afterwards, I tried to buy opium, but turned down a “tola” for a 70 rps, ($5 for 10 grms.)
My piss was orange when we got home. I thought I had hepatitis, but later realized that it was only the coloring of the pill I took for my diarrhea.
(I’m writing this on the morning in the 21st) I don’t recall: I marked down we made love twice today, but the second time must have been before dinner, for, to celebrate not having hepatitis I went to Jamaly’s for apple pie, and when I returned, Judith was asleep. She’s been sick for weeks, since she contracted diarrhea, right after I left her in Jumbesi.

December 20th, 1983
Kathmandu
Judith wanted to get going early this morning to Pashi Putinath but by the time we’d finished saying good morning it was 11 am, though I didn’t care to cum.
Breakfasted at Bhutovi’s. I am in love, dairy, deeply!!
Checked into Star Hotel. Talked with Sydney: introduced her to Judith. They seemed to have an immediate attraction for each other.
J and I rented bikes. We biked out to Pashi Putinath. The area was quite nice.
During the course of the day. I gave Judith an idea of the freedom I sought on a daily basis. It is great how much time we will save foregoing having to be with one another all the time. We seem to agree to be flexible on scheduling. We can do whatever suits us individually moment by moment.
I feel satisfied with Judith: sexually, emotionally, and intellectually, spiritually, even financially (we always just pay for our own selves.).
We met at the Paradise Restaurant; again, I had a delicious quiche dinner.

At a pie shop, we discussed the travel plans for our 6½ more weeks together. Judith said that it would take her 3 months to earn enough to travel 3 months more (or ½ a year in an inexpensive country such as India). She said she’d be ready to travel again with me in May.
Back in our new room; we both took hot showers. It was one of the best showers I’ve had sense leaving home.
In the room, we smoked a joint. Judith looks so beautiful to me so much of the time!! I love looking at her.
I lit a candle. I made love with her, repeatedly licking her vagina, then inserting my throbbing cock until I came near orgasm. Finally, after a moment of a few strokes where I felt my full length rigid against her innermost recesses, I pulled out and orgasmed on the sheets.

December 21st, 1983
Kathmandu
When I awoke this morning, Judith was leaving to go to the hospital and to handle some errands. She ordered some coffee for me, and the room service man brought up a tray with coffee in a small pot, hot milk and sugar. I lay in bed for hours writing, and it was good.
Later, I got up and walked down to Derber Square area. On the way, I bought 10.4 gms of opium (Chinese Red) for 60 rps. ($4.20). I ate lunch at the Lunch Box, and talked to a Swedish girl that sat down at my table. I went and played a guitar in a store that I would really like to buy, but I’m so short of money, I think I should wait until I get more.
I talked to Sydney and Neil in their room. Judith came in. We all went to Narayan’s for dinner. Afterwards we returned to their room. I had eaten some opium and while we talked, my stomach turned round and round but I still felt good. Judith went up to bed. I stayed talking to Sydney and Neil until late. Every time I said I was going to go, they invited me to smoke some more pot, so I would sit down again and gladly carry on with our interesting conversation.
When I got upstairs, I went down on Judith, but gave up making love cause she wanted to sleep.

December 22nd, 1983
Kathmandu (Thursday)
What a day. I felt like shit most of the day. The only reason I was able to give the day a rating of a 6 was because the finish of the day was so magnificent, with Judith and I making love 3 times before we went to sleep. After my 3rd orgasm, I went down and licked her vagina, gave her an orgasm; she said it was mild but quite pleasant. She described seeing colors (“blue…”) or some sort of visions like that. When we make love, I always time my orgasms perfectly so that I don’t come inside her. I pull out of her and spurt my semen on the bed.
Judith woke me “early” and we went to Pashi Putinath, but the day started off wrong because I was so tired from partying last night, and I didn’t want to get up so early. (Note: Forget to say how we danced love. See Dec 24th entry.) I went because by mistake, I agreed as soon as I woke that I’d go along. As it turned out, I could not be sociable, and we got split up. I found a seat by the water and I wrote in my journals in the sun. Later, I went back to Narayan’s for a lunch. I had taken a bit of opium; felt very tired. I missed Judith: I went back to the hotel and slept from about 2 pm to 6 pm. Judith came in.
We went to dinner, but I felt insane with ill vibes that I didn’t want. I went off by myself, leaving Judith at the Paradise. We dined separately.
When we met again in the hotel room, Judith told me how she’d been mildly attacked by a group of 4 men on her way home.
Then the floodgates of love opened, and we had fantastic sex 3 times.

December 23rd, 1983
Kathmandu (Friday)
When we awoke, we made love again for the 4th time since we went to bed last night. We were going to do it a fifth time, but abandoned it, as Judith was getting anxious to get up for the day.
We went to Jamaly’s Pie Shop and then to the Lunch Box for lunch. I wrote after lunch. We split up at dark (We’d not gotten to the Lunch Box until almost 3 pm.)
I went at 6 pm to my appointment. At 9:30 am this morning, the friend I’d met yesterday and his friend brought ½ kg of hash in walnut shapes. They would sell it at a rate of 1750 reps/kg or about $100 for 2.2. lbs. We scheduled a meeting, where we could weigh it at Paszus’ shop. I bought a 25 gram walnut of hash (20 gm + ½ total or 26 gms.) for 40 rps or about $2.40 or less than 12 cents/gm.
Judith came back to the hotel at 7:30 pm. She had been physically sick. I told her it would be best for me to dine alone. I had a pizza downtown, which was okay. I walked back. Judith seemed in a foul mood. We were both hinting at possible break up. She wanted to leave tomorrow for Pohkara, and I secretly didn’t want to leave yet.
Before we slept, we made love in a sort of perfunctory way. We were both very tired, and I came rather soon and I felt okay because I was so tired.
The sex is so good with Judith.

December 24th, 1983
Kathmandu (Saturday)
When we awoke, Judith said it’s 8 o’clock. I was pleased, because I didn’t want to go to Pokhara today. I was unhappy that Judith said she’d go to Copan Monastery until 2 days after Christmas. I was turned off when she said she’d like to try to masturbate while we’re doing it. I was on my way out the door when we started a talk.
I told her that I wondered if the reason she’d never gone down on me. She said that sometimes it took her time. We went on the roof where the sun relaxed us, soothed us and cured us. The upshot of the conversation was that she was going to stay here with me until the day after Christmas when we’d leave together to go to Pokhara and that’s she be alone today and we could be together tonight. It was lovely in the sun. We talked about fucking right there up on the roof, but there was some ladies on an adjacent roof who could see us.
We returned to the room, where I brought her to the bed, saying I’d only keep her a short while. I removed her pants and mine. I fucked her hard and strong as she melted into a position with her legs spread wide apart. After a minute I was ready to come, but I pulled out, waited, then fucked her aggressively for another minute and came.
We lay around, and talked, and fucked around wrestling. She expressed her desire to keep fucking, so, in short order, we were fucking again, and I came after not too long a time, saying to her that it was one of those days where it’s better for me to just come.
Again, we lay around and decided to stay five more minutes in bed. With 2½ minutes left because she wanted more, I licked her cunt, got stiff again, and came a third time in a period of say, 2 hours.
I felt proud of my virility, and I passed a comment she said, “You’re so virile, such a man!” And other similar comments, which made us laugh as we made love.
Judith took off by herself for the day, and so did I. I sat in the sun at the Sunny Garden Restaurant and wrote.
In the evening, I went to Neil and Sydney’s room and we all went to K.C.’s for dinner. Judith came in the middle of dinner. I feel sort of electrified by Sydney sometimes.
Neil didn’t feel well, so we didn’t stay up talking. Judith and I returned to the room. She felt sick gradually. We made love but never finished. She progressively didn’t want me –
i) To kiss her
ii) Put pressure on her knees or elbows or a particular