Category: Uncategorized Page 8 of 13

No, I did not get swallowed by a big black bass in Lake Winnipesaukee, nor fall off my favorite cliffs in the White Mountains. But I did indulge my passion for swimming early in the morning, and enjoyed the solitary serenity of my New Hampshire woods for a few weeks and the less serene return of my children for a birthday celebration I will always remember. If I ever sort out the thousands of photos that digital cameras encourage you to take, I shall post a few on Facebook. They’re not all of exotic countries. Some are of the beautiful New England landscape, the sunsets behind Rattlesnake Mountain across the lake, and the back roads and little towns of both New Hampshire and Vermont, where I spent a most glorious July. Thanks to the Goodmans, who have a barn near Stratton Mountain in Vermont, I was able to work my way back to life in these Excited States in slow stages. And now I’ve taken possession of my home, again, just in time to leave it for the Northwest.

Those who think that all the good trekking is overseas need to visit the great Northwest…the Cascades and the Olympics, where you can find snow even in July and come upon challenging blow-downs at the most inopportune times. They don’t believe in clearing the trails in the backwoods, but leave the old trees to rot and refurbish the forest. I always think of those forests as New Hampshire with hormones. The trees are so grand and the woods so deep and dark and mysterious. I could wander through them for days.

This year my climbing buddy from the Himalayas, Jon Pollack, and I won’t be going to Rainier, but after a visit on Whidbey Island with my daughter, Cary, will do a three-day backpack in the Olympics before heading for British Columbia, the Assiniboine Mountains, Banff, Lake Louise, and Lake O’Hara. I’ve visited this part of Canada, but never camped by the lakes or climbed on the surrounding trails. My son, Christopher, told me that he felt that Lake O’Hara was the most exquisite lake on the face of the earth.

I try to visit the Seattle area once a year to get my Pacific fix and see old friends. Frequent flyer miles make it possible. But even so, because of high gas prices and the need to helicopter into the Assiniboines, this trip may cost me more than my recent seven weeks in Asia. Hard to believe, eh? But you know me. Traveling off the beaten track is my specialty. The U.S. and Europe are fast becoming too expensive for this ancient wanderer.

It’s been exactly two weeks since my beloved Dawa greeted me at breakfast
in the Goba Guest House with a pale yellow kata and a farewell
breakfast–with Grandma and the whole family in attendance. I was sad to
leave after six glorious weeks, but eager to have at least a glimpse of
exotic Kashmir, a place that has eluded me twice. I had been warned
about the pressure exerted by Kashmiri tradespeople, and the vast
difference between the Ladakhi and Kashmiri psyche and modus operandi,
and I found this true, starting with the wild jeep ride in the Karakoram
Mountains over the Zoji La (pass), the most dangerous of all passes so
far. I know–I say that every time, but this time was so perilous that I
promised God total fidelity for the rest of my life. Good works, you
name it, I’m your humble servant!

This was not the jeep I had been promised, but one driven by a cowboy
who picked up six other men, among them two Kashmiri policemen working
in Leh. One looked like Omar Sharif and the other like John Travolta. An
interesting pair. I was crushed in one corner by one of the amorous
policemen, who was intent on “making me REALLY happy” (It never changes
in India!), and in my attempt to get away, I could see down every abyss
and yawning thousand-foot chasm as the jeep bumped and twisted over
roads, some of which were little more than stream beds. And, as with so
many roads I traveled, they were “under construction” (for the
foreseeable future). At 3 AM the driver, having had a few drinks when we
stopped for rice and dal, nearly hit a rock wall (better than going over
the cliff, I figured), and decided it would be better to transfer the
driving job to a sleeping comrade in the back. He, too, had imbibed, but
at least gotten some sleep. Add to this the blaring of Hindi music at
high decibels for 15 hours and you have a new definition of living hell!

At 9 AM, when I reached the Green Valley House Boats on Lake Nageen in
Srinagar, I fell onto a bed and didn’t awaken until mid-afternoon.
Srinagar is famous for elaborate houseboats fitted with front porches
adorned with carved latticework, dining rooms carpeted in orientals, and
brocaded couches and chairs for lounging. I sat on the front porch
facing the mountains. Their image was silhouetted in the calm lake as
were the many other houseboats lining the shore. Colorful shikaras
(boats with canopies and four comfortable seats for the tourists)
floated by, paddled by a skinny man wielding a heart-shaped paddle. Many
other boats stopped, hoping to sell their wares by walking up a ladder
and displaying them in front of me on the porch. I declined and just
watched the passing parade–the kingfishers perched on water lilies, and
the pigeons, hawks, and eagles circling. How I cherished the peace and
quiet after the previous night’s ride.

My host, Maqsood Madarie, very graciously took me to his home for dinner
to meet his extended family. I bonded with his charming 15-year-old son,
Aamir, who asked me many questions about my religion and what I knew
about his Muslim faith. We discussed the status of women (burkhas, which
his mother wore), and politics in the U.S. I was amazed at his knowledge
of our government and his understanding of world politics. I found this
true of the young children I talked with over the next few days. I was
also in awe of the number of languages and courses they studied in
school. They were eager, of course, to practice English with me and
spoke better than their parents.

Driving in Srinagar is like being in the center of a whirling dervish!
As in Ladakh, no seatbelts are used, and there are no traffic lights.
Whoever is the boldest gets to enter a traffic circle (roundabout)
first. Near misses are the name of the game–and a game it is! Nobody
worries about passing on curves and is deft at swerving to miss cows and
garbage and pedestrians. There simply doesn’t seem to be a concept of
right-of-way. Add to this the fact that every other driver is talking on
a cell phone, and you have a recipe for disaster. I’ll never complain
about Delhi, again!

On my marathon flight home, which started early in the morning from
Srinagar, with the most thorough examination of luggage and person I’ve
ever endured, and included a twelve-hour wait in the Delhi airport, I
found myself, once again, drawn to the children of all ages that were
probably as curious about me as I was about them. And I noted how
patient they were during those long waits. They asked all kinds of
questions from “What is your favorite team (football/soccer)?” to “Do
you like  Beckham? He’s in the U.S. now” to “Do they teach Japanese in
your schools?” and “Are you glad that George Bush will be gone next
year?” You can cover a lot of territory in twelve hours and I was ready
to sleep  by the time we took off at 12:15 AM.

Of all the wonderful experiences I had in Ladakh, one of the most
poignant was a gift I received from the two young men at the internet
cafe in Leh. They bought me a foot-tall carved image of one of the eight
auspicious Buddhist symbols, mounted on a stand and all nicely wrapped
in lavender paper. On the back they had written: to Mrs. Meg Noble
Peterson of the United States for the remembrance of summer 2008 in
Ladakh, from Stanzin Rabgyas and Lobzang Otzer of the Get Connected
Cyber Cafe in Leh, Ladakh. We pray for your health.

I hope before long to have some photos mounted on Facebook of these
friends and others I was so fortunate to meet during my seven-week
sojourn. But that won’t be before September, after my three weeks here
in New Hampshire, my big birthday bash with my children, cousins and
assorted relatives, and my visit to Seattle, Whidbey Island, and the
Assiniboine Mountains of British Columbia. I’ll close this chapter by
urging you to visit this lovely area of India, and when you arrive, pick
up the excellent brochure at the airport entitled Mindful Travel in
Ladakh. It’s put out by the International Society for Ecology and
Culture, part of The Ladakh Project I mentioned earlier. It will give
visitors valuable information to help them understand Ladakhi traditions
and common etiquette, and avoid misunderstandings by increasing cultural
sensitivity.

Any of you who complain about the slowness of your internet connection should come here and learn what slow really is! Last night, after two days of not being able to get on line at my favorite internet cafe, I wrote a long blog at a competitors, only to have it lost in cyberspace in an instant. So count your blessings. But I am also aware that the Himalayan and Krakoram mountain ranges, to name only two, make it difficult to reach the outside world. If you’re going to be surrounded by such beauty, you sometimes have to pay the price! So, too, when it comes to international calls. James was unable to get on a plane to Delhi, along with hundreds of other stranded tourists, because of the weather, and you cannot imagine what he went through trying to change his Delhi-NYC ticket. This, by the way, is why I’m leaving for Srinigar tomorrow or Sunday, so I can be sure of getting to Delhi to catch my Newark flight, and see my daughters and two eldest grandchildren before they leave for India. Besides, I’ve wanted to go to Kashmir for years!

I forgot to mention when I wrote about my birthday that Stanzin made special veggie and paneer (a type of solid cottage cheese that I love) momos, because he knew we were tired of rice. It was a superb meal! We also passed around a little chung to add to the festivities.

On June 4th, which I always remember as my parents’ wedding anniversary, we started with our usual breakfast of tea, curd (excellent homemade yogurt), and chapattis with butter and apricot or mango jam. I needed the energy for the last day of climbing, first down into the rocky valley, then up a cliff with narrow switchbacks to the top of Bong Bong Chan La, its prayer flags fluttering encouragingly. Here it turned cold with snow flurries, but soon warmed up as we climbed down to Ang village. We had negotiated the pass in record time, so after stopping for the usual tea and soup, decided to spend the next hour exploring the area all the way to the small town of Temisgam.

The streams were very full because of the melting glaciers, and were expertly directed into the fields to irrigate the recently planted crops. We were absorbing the life of the farmer in action. The cows wandered freely in search of vegetation, and large stone houses, whitewashed over cement or clay, commanded the landscape.

Phunchog finally arrived in his van and we headed for Thekchan Chosling, a woman’s nunnery and school. I was especially impressed with the primary teacher, educated in Manali and Leh, who was in charge of five grades and twenty classes a day. She taught them all together at various levels–Hindi, English, Tibetan, and Math. History and social studies would be added later. You couldn’t have found a more dedicated, enthusiastic advocate for the young nuns. We arrived during recess and enjoyed a lively game of cricket as well as good old-fashioned jumping rope like what I did as a girl. The teacher said she didn’t really know the cricket rules, since they change every year, but she really enjoyed seeing the girls have so much fun.

After visiting another temple and palace nearby, we headed up a steep mountain road, passing the Indus River, which flowed rapidly way down in a gorge on its way to Pakistan, and delighting in the unusual rock formations on both sides. Just before arriving at Lamayuru Monastery, we passed through a section called “moonlands,” which can be seen glowing on a moonlit night.

The monastery is one of the most striking in Ladakh, positioned on top of an eroded crag, complete with rock pinnacles and caves. It stands over the small village below and is probably the oldest site, having been declared a holy place in the 16th century. It now belongs to the Kagypa sect.

After visiting a couple of chapels, we decided to stay overnight, and with the help of Stanzin and his friends, got a reasonable pre-tourist rate for a huge room and hot showers. And the restaurant, run by Nepalis, offered us spring rolls and garlic/spinach soup, a real treat. No rice!

The last monastery, Alchi, was really special. Known for its authentic old wall paintings, it’s the only monastery situated in a valley, and quite different from any other we’d seen. Being in the valley may be the reason that it is so well-preserved and was never ransacked or destroyed. We visited several very old chapels with diminutive carved doorways and extensive small repetitive wall paintings. It was dark inside and no photos were allowed, with or without a flash. There were also elaborate sculptures and a giant thangka rolled up and ready for the next festival day.

This chosker, as the religious enclave is called, is one of the most important cultural sites in Ladakh. Build in the 11th century, it’s a treasure trove of early Buddhist art in the Kashmiri tradition, quite unlike other monasteries we had seen.

After lunch, and a tour of the new tenting facilities with another one of Stanzin’s friends, we headed home. Upon arrival we noticed a great many more tourists in Leh, and a plethora of new shops that had been completed in the five short days we’d been gone. I’ve never seen such rapid construction, most of which was done by hand. We also discovered an excellent new restaurant, The World Garden Cafe.

For the past few days James and I have discovered several new areas of Ladakh, the latest being the Tso Moriri area (Tso means lake), reached by following the Indus River until Mhae, then picking up various tributaries and climbing through rock canyons to 15,000 ft. There is no way to capture the vastness of the unfolding mountains and cliffs, but the ride was as scary as any I’ve already reported. It’s hard to get used to narrow roads where meeting oncoming traffic means passing on curves and near edges of ravines that reach hundreds of feet below.

Unfortunately, we did not know that there had been violent wind storms that heaped sand over the roads, making it impossible for our small van to pass. We got as far as Kiagar Tso, a beautiful aqua salt lake, and, after pushing the car for an hour, decided it would never get through and we’d better tent in a pasture nearby. It was, indeed, an adventure! But also a big disappointment. We had so wanted to see Lake Moriri!

Karin, James, and I squeezed into a small tent after having a dinner cooked by James–rice and canned veggies, the remainder of which we ate for breakfast. No comment. Oh, yes, we also had two cantaloupes of questionable quality. We were a bit short on water and, of course, couldn’t use the lake water, so found a small stream on a high slope, where we could use James’ purifier to advantage.

Early the next morning we were assured by our driver that TsoMoriri was only about 7 kilometers away. Yeah, right! An easy walk, uphill in the broiling sun. Three hours later, having stopped a returning jeep, we were told it was about 30 kilometers more, so we turned back, walking past several nomad enclaves, and staggering through the sand to the van. I couldn’t understand why I was so tired, but climbing dehydrated at 15,000 ft. was, ultimately, the reason. Couldn’t have been that birthday.

Despite our disappointment we enjoyed the scenic beauty of the trip and were glad that the little van made it over the steep passes to Leh.

Two days ago was a day of bus riding, loud music, and two more phenomenal monasteries. We reached Shey Palace first, the old capital and home of the kings of Ladakh before the new capital was established in Leh. It sits in a strategic position on a spur jutting into the Indus Valley. The main temple contains a large Buddha statue sculpted by Nepalese craftsmen. In the courtyard there’s an impressive gold-topped stupa and on the top of the palace, reached by some very dilapidated steps, are excellent views of Stok and Spituk, as well as hundreds of stupas on the desert to the north-east. At the bottom by the road, from where we started a four kilometer walk through the field to Thiksey, were large ponds full of ducks, swans, and those large-mouthed carp I had seen last year at Tso Pema.

The walk to Thiksey monastery was very hot, but we passed an interesting mani wall as big as any I’ve ever seen. Pastures full of grazing horses and cattle, and rock walls stretched for miles on either side of the road. I was actually glad to face the hundreds of steps up to the monastery so as to get into a chapel and out of the sun! It was also nice to meet the assistant lama, again, and have him remember me as “one of the courageous ones” who actually walked up the stairs. There were quite a few tourist groups who had come in cars.

We had planned to see the huge sand mandala that was being constructed in the main temple, but discovered to our dismay that it was to be unveiled the next day at an all-day puja. What a disappointment! Still, it was nice to have lunch with Mark Manning and catch up on his teaching and meditation practice. If I have time, I will return to view the completed mandala. The bus ride back was long and noisy and very local. I liked it. James wasn’t that enthusiastic.

That evening we celebrated James’ final Ladakhi meal at Sheldon Green Restaurant, another open-air eatery we enjoy. We’ve added a few new restaurants to our list, including Flambee, The Himalayan Cafe, Zen Garden, and The Tibetan Kitchen (superb). There are also numerous fine coffee and espresso shops where you can sit and relax during the day. And don’t forget to try chai, the milk tea of choice in Ladakh. I’m becoming quite addicted.

I forgot to mention Choglamsar, a small Tibetan refugee village near Shey, where the Mahabodhi Meditation Center is located. Karen Skogstad will be living there this summer and teaching yoga. Across the main road in a field is the beautiful temporary residence where the Dalai Lama will stay when he visits this summer, and where the Central Institute of Buddhist Studies is based. All the stupas are being repainted in anticipation of his coming. In fact, we’ve noticed a great deal of painting and refurbishing going on all around Leh.

I’m convinced, as I see the tourists pour into Leh, that I planned my trip perfectly. And the beauty of this kind of travel, where you come to a place and stay for seven weeks, is that you get to know the people and observe how they live day-to-day. They greet you like a family member when you return from a trek or a trip. They talk to you about the dzos that Dawa’s husband just walked up to the high mountains and freed for the winter, knowing that they will return on their own in late September. They show you how to make chapattis, Tibetan bread, and tsampa (from their own barley flour). They let you try on their wonderful Ladakhi clothes and even help you buy them. And you are a part of the evening meditation, which, even though you don’t know the language, is calming to you as well. I spent a long time listening to Dawa and her children talk about the months of bitter cold winter endured by these people. And the hardships and the joys and the challenges of living in a place that is fairly isolated for six months of the year. How do you keep warm? How do you get water when the pipes are drained so they won’t burst? The Goba family has a type of plastic greenhouse that heats up during the day, so they can shower and wash. School is out from December to March. What activities do they engage in? All of this is fascinating and so new to me.

This is a perfect country for solar heating, and it’s unfortunate that the Indian government would rather collect monthly payments for hydroelectric generated energy than encourage the one-time expenditure of solar panels. Expensive, to be sure, but reliable. And it will give heat and light all year long.

Tomorrow I leave my new “family” and drive to Srinigar, Kashmir. I plan to stay on a houseboat, but will probably not write about it until I return home.

I must say, before I close, that I have been helped, immeasurably, by the superb and very computer-literate staff of my favorite internet cafe, Get Connected Travel and Cyber Cafe near the SBI in the Main Market. It’s always packed because these guys know their stuff! They even made me two CD’s of Ladakhi classical and pop music as a farewell gift. And just gave me chai. How about that? Look them up if you’re ever in Leh.

James and I took the “Sham” route, starting on May 31st, and spent five days exploring the countryside, climbing over four high passes, and encountering a variety of weather–from baking in the endless sun to snow-flurries on top of Mabtak La (also called Bong Bong Chan La) the last day. La, of course, means Pass, and we always were greeted with dozens of prayer flags and white katas to celebrate our accomplishment.

As with this and other trips I’ve taken in Ladakh, I have never been anywhere that can boast of more varied scenery or as many different rock formations crammed into a small area–small compared to the vast spaces we Americans are used to in the western U.S. One moment you’re looking at shale and splintering rock that was at the bottom of the ocean 50 milion years ago, and a few meters later you’re gazing at convoluted sandstone moonscapes reaching hundreds of feet into the river valley, hanging rocks resembling Inca statures, or swirling lava with orange striations. Sand flows between shiny coal-black outcroppings or purple and green folds bereft of any vegetation, an ever-changing pattern of stone that amazes and delights.

The chanting began, and then the drums started beating very low at 5 AM on the day our big adventure began. Stanzin Lhawang, our friend and guide ([email protected]) picked us up in a van, driven by Phunchog, a cheerfull Ladakhi, who drove us, first, to the Hindu Temple, Gurdwara Sri Pather Sahi Ji, dating from 1517, and then delivered us to Liker, site of the famous Liker Monastery at 11,000 ft. The original structure was built in 1065, but later destroyed by fire and rebuilt in the 15th century. Like so many monasteries in Ladakh, it has the flavor and beauty of the Potala Palace in Lhasa, Tibet.

We stayed at a lovely hotel, The Lhukhil, and since we were the first guests of the season, enjoyed luxury at reasonable rates. After this is would be homestays, where we lived in the homes of Ladakhi farm families in small villages along the trekking route.

The first afternoon we took a strenuous walk to the monastery high on the hill. I felt as if I were bushwacking most of the way up and could only sympathize with the monks who did the climb frequently. Stanzin’s great uncle, a monk, had just died, so his family was gathered there and a special puja was being offered. We sat in the chapel with the monks, listening to the chanting, the long, mournful horns being blown, and the two large drums as they accented the end of each chant. As is customary, chai, or sweet milk tea, was served.

That evening I spent talking with a ten-year-old and her cousins, who were eager to speak English and sing songs, which I recorded and played back. We had a lovely time and would meet the next morning at breakfast to practice reading some of the stories they had written in their notebooks. I was amazed at their proficiency and at the complicated stories they were given. And the handwriting was as good as any I’ve seen in a U.S. primary school.

I spent the next few days climbing over trails slow as a tortoise, sliding down steep scree paths and walking with terror along high cliffs. I felt that I was beginning to get over my fear of “exposure,” which had dogged me in the Himalayas, but, mostly, I just crept ahead, knowing that one false step would mean curtains. I was not ready for any curtain that wasn’t on a Broadway stage!

We reached the small town of Yangthang at 3 PM and I clambored up side alleys until I met the donkey driver, Stobden, who led me to the Norboo Guest House, where we would stay for two days. Our room was ample, but the facilities were Ladakhi, which gave us an authentic taste of native culture. I actually enjoyed the bath room, which consisted of a large bucket in which you could wash, and even soak your feet, plus basins for such activities as brushing your teeth. When you finished you simply poured everything down a drain in the corner. The toilet (a separate room) was a rectangular hole with dirt and ashes around it. And, of course, a shovel handy.

The community had about fourteen families, and we witnessed a type of town council meeting across the alley from our room. The Indian government was about to do something the citizens did not like, and we would hear about it at dinner. Coincidentally, this is the family of another Stanzin, one of the young men at the internet cafe, with whom I had become friendly, and who was overjoyed when we told him about eating and talking with his family. We also took pictures which he eagerly downloaded.

My last day of youth before my birthday was spent climbing to the Rizong (Rizdong) Monastery, another Potala-like structure built into a hill, with a large school at the base for young monks. There was a great deal of construction going on and the paths to the buildings were slippery and steep. But I enjoyed the labyrinth of tunnels and alcoves secreted in the upper stories. I even got lost on one of the roofs trying to find a passable stairway down. Stanzin, who has relatives all over Ladakh, found that one of his cousins was in charge of the kitchen, so we were given a lunch of rice and dahl that sustained us on our way back to Yangthang. At one point we stopped at a lush grove of apricot trees (not yet ripe) by a rushing stream. The long grasses that I had so liked in the Numbra Valley were lining the stream like the hair of a shaggy yak.

At dinner there was grandpa, turning his prayer wheel and chanting, and several other members of the family, including a three-month old baby. After the meal we all took turns churning butter. I have the photos to prove it!

I shall end with June 3rd, my birthday. On this day we headed up the Dsermangchan La, meaning thorny path, at 11,500 ft. By noon we were in the village of Hemis Shukpachan. I had never seen so many stones in my life! Evidently this is the way all the fields had looked at one time. There were stone walls and stupas everywhere, and a small monastery on the hill. We visited a primary school in the afternoon, and James became embroiled in a fast game of frisbie with the youngsters.

This time we stayed at the Diskit Guest House, and got to know the family during long conversations in the evening. In communities like this there are always conflicts between parents, who educate their children, but then want them to stay home and continue the family tradition, and the children, who are also drawn to the family, but have professional lives calling them.

I was resting in the late afternoon, when Stobden burst in and indicated that I was wanted by the stream down below. There were James and several new friends “celebrating” MY birthday with one bottle of beer cooling in the stream. But what about ME? The bottle was passed around and, suddenly, out of nowhere appeared six more Ladakhis, even a doctor, who seemed impressed that I had lived so long. Hugs all around and another bottle of beer. The brand was fitting…Grandfather’s. How can you not be happy with so many exhuberant, happy males congratulating you?

James and I are heading for Hemis Monastery and Shey Palace tomorrow, so I shall finish relating the trek and an exciting, but disastrous trip to Tso Moriri on the next blog. Don’t want to make the postings too long, do I?

One last note: I’ve mentioned several times that the homes here have very low doors and the monasteries are even lower. There are many theories about this and perhaps you can add a couple more. First, it’s very cold here in the winter, so you want to conserve heat by having smaller openings and higher sills. Or, as one young lady told me, the low doors keep the ghosts out, because ghosts can’t bend down. Hmmm, that seemed a bit far-fetched. But the last one is that you have to bow down, so you show respect for those in the room you are entering. I like that the best!

I’m off to absorb more of the perfect sun that shines every day, all day in this beautiful country.

February is almost over, and I’m headed for California to see my two sons, Robert and Tom. We’re in the middle of a blizzard, so I couldn’t have picked a better time. 

I’ve been receiving a lot of e-mails from people of all ages, who have read my book and want to relate their adventures to me and their hopes for future journeys. I urge all of you to write in the “Comment” section of this blog, so my readers can enjoy your insights as well. You will be doing us all a favor. 

I do want to share, briefly, the stories of two such adventurers I met recently. A dynamic lady and kindred spirit, Jean Kellogg began traveling at age 52 and is still going strong at 80. In 2004 she went back to college and earned a BA (Phi Beta Kappa) from Drew University, after which she organized a writing class for retired people and was able to persuade Edna Doll, a retired professor of poetry and English at Union County College, to teach it. The emphasis was on memoir and poetry and she was a gentle, but strict taskmaster. Edna had started traveling, extensively, at 70 and continued into her 90’s. Jean traveled more conservatively, but Edna, who died yesterday at age 94, went the backpack route like me. What an inspiration both these women are! 

I like to remember Edna’s words after she went whitewater rafting down the Colorado in her late 80’s.  “Get out and look at the world around you. There is so much to do and see. You don’t have a choice of how and when you die, but you do get a choice in how you live.” And she added for good measure. “I take my life with a grain of salt, a squeeze of lime, and a good shot of tequila.”

 A newspaper headline, in honoring her life stated: After nine decades it never occurred to her to stop. 

I’ve added another link to my latest facebook album. The other four links are in the Jan. 15th blog.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=16605&l=aabc1&id=584094331 

 Last Wednesday the taping of my interview for Seeking Solutions With Suzanne, presented by Suzanne Roberts, went well. I urge you to watch the program. It airs every Sunday night at 6 on CN8 here in NJ, and three times a day on CNN Headline News. It’s a very informative program aimed at people over 60, but inspirational to all ages. She has an incredibly varied range of subjects and interviewees. I shall announce the time of my interview as soon as it’s scheduled. 

Here’s the latest report from Lee Compton and Yana Viniko in Myanmar.  

“Mingalaba (greetings)! We head out of Yangon for the bus to Bago. Hope to stay at Dr. Tin’s place near the village in Taungoo [where he trains elephants] tonight if we can make the bus connection on the main road to Mandalay. So far we’ve had no problems. Last night we took a walk over to Shwedagon Paya and noticed that the big monastery next door to the complex was completely dark and ostensibly deserted. There were even a couple of somber soldiers stationed at the entrance. It was creepy, to say the least. We probably won’t know the full extent of what happened here, but it’s safe to say that the remaining monks seem to be keeping their heads down low as far as the authorities are concerned. Let’s keep them in our prayers.

Well, we made it back to Kalaw and have been enjoying ourselves here for
almost a week now—it’s one of the easiest places to hang out in the whole country, I’m convinced! Weather is wonderful—warm, not too hot with a nice breeze to tie it all together. We’ve been doing short day treks around the area from our home base at the Golden Kalaw and here, as elsewhere, there is a dearth of tourists. We practically have the run of the place. Made it up to a cool spot called Viewpoint, a day hike to a fabulous overlook, and then stayed the night at a farm cum homestay run by a Nepalese family. Probably we’ll go to Bagan day after tomorrow, deciding that we’ve had enough interesting trekking around here, and will spend a few days there before flying back to Yangon.”  

You may remember that I took a trek from Kalaw to Naungschwe at Inle Lake last year, staying at a monastery along the way. I’m sure there will be much more information from Yana and Lee once they return to Thailand. You have to be very circumspect when writing from Burma. But it’s wonderful to think of their seeing our old friends and getting a chance to find out, first hand, what the Burmese people are thinking and feeling. I can only imagine. 

The highlight of the opera season for me was a performance last night of The Barber of Seville at the Metropolitan Opera. I have the overture on my cell phone, so you know I love Rossini’s music. But this was one great production with the best Figaro I’ve ever heard, Franco  Vassallo, and the best Rosina, Elina Garanca. Jose Zapata, as Count Almaviva, and the entire cast were superb. It was sheer fun, something we need to counteract the news of the day. 

I mustn’t forget that I also enjoyed Otello last week, with an outstanding performance by Renee Fleming.  

In closing, I’d like to recommend a book I’m enjoying and that really speaks to me: Touching My Father’s Soul, by Jamling Tenzing Norgay, the son of Tenzing Norgay, who summitted Mt. Everest with Sir Edmund Hillary on the famous 1953 expedition. The author’s climb up Everest in 1996 as the climbing leader in David Breashear’s expedition to make the IMAX film, Everest, was, first of all, a quest to understand his father. But it was also a gripping story that gave voice to the life of the indigenous Sherpa people of the Khumba region, revealing a world that few, even those who made it to the top, have ever seen.

You may remember Lee Compton and Yana Viniko, friends from Whidbey Island and Seattle, with whom I spent time in Myanmar last January. They decided to explore Laos this year and return to some of the places Lee had previously visited. Their letters are long and enthusiastic and I’d like to quote some of their observations for you.

“Sabaidee!

Here we are in Vientiane, – great weather and a lot of French tourists, a few Anglos and Allemagnes, though oddly we haven’t seen any Americans. Seems that there’s more traffic, especially motor bikes, though the many more shiny small cars compete with the old lorries and tuk-tuks that seem to reflect a growing affluence. Vientiane, the capitol, is charming, with its former French Indochina overlay. We had an excellent meal last night at a French expat’s bistro with all the trimmings. Cost for both of us was under $20.

We cruised the silk markets yesterday, but, sadly, the average quality of goods has declined as noticeably as the shrink-wrapped electronics have increased, thanks to neighbor China’s relentless expansion in growing new demand for consumer goods. They’ve (China-Lao consortium) even torn down part of the old original  ‘morning market’ to build a soulless new mall-style building in the name of ‘progress’. If imitation IS the sincerest from of flattery, rest assured that the American dream lives on as one of our most successful exports (sigh). Everything is getting too ‘modern’ for Lee. His disappointment is almost a daily affair.

I did have a delicious 1-1/2 hour Lao herbal massage ($8) where this 100 lb gal can turn your limbs to Jello and then, when you’re immobilized, press hot and steamy herbal bundles into your flesh to completely rout any tension that might remain….ahhh. I slept like one of those happy and adored Lao babies you see draped like fashion scarves over their mom’s shoulders.

We’re now in slightly smoky, but not too sleepy, Luang Prabang, the second largest city in Laos and a heritage site for old wats (temples) and Buddha images. We’re exploring the Mekong River and enjoying a few days of laze in the haze, a welcome reward after enduring the ten-hour bus trip on the “VIP” bus from Vientiane. [Folks, I know what those bus rides are like. Don’t you believe VIP.] After we came up for air from that adventure we’ve been on a slow ramble about the town with many pleasant interactions among young orange-robed monks, ever-smiling, undemanding merchants, and assorted mellow tourists. Lee says that the place has grown by leaps and bounds in the last two years, having been seriously discovered, as evidenced by the plethora of new buildings, fresh paved roads, and kilometers of charming herringbone brick sidewalks, including an expanded night market that doesn’t quit. 

Today we took a long walk across the Nam Kan River via a rickety bridge of bamboo and up the other side where the riverbank sported bright green terrraced rows of the most gorgeous looking vegetables, like spectators on bleachers, watching the rushing water action below…drenched skinny kids throwing wads of river weeds at each other (and any tourist brave enough to join them in play) and those young orange-robed monks floating downstream on old truck tire inner tubes.

Looks as if we will be going back to Myanmar/Burma after all. Getting our visas approved in Vientiane seemed to be a “sign” that we should go. It was so much easier to do here in Laos than in Thailand. We’re somewhat apprehensive, but also eager to find out how things are after the terrible crackdown last Fall. Overall, I have a positive feeling that things will go well.”

It has been ten years since I visited Indochina, and at that time things were still pretty rough. You were strongly advised not to travel from Vientiane to Luang Prabang by bus for fear of land mines and bandits. So I flew. But I shall never forget the beauty of the Mekong, the caves I paddled to, or the sunsets over the river. It was a tranquil, friendly country that had suffered a great deal. I suggest you go there soon, while it still has its old charm.

I look forward to Yana’s report from Myanmar. I don’t know if there is any internet connection, yet, but I long to know if she made contact with any of the wonderful people we met last year.

One last bit of news about Myanmar. Reports are few and far between, but I found this tiny squib in the NY Times on Jan. 18.

“The military government’s Press Scrutiny Board ordered the Burmese-language edition of the weekly Myanmar Times not to publish this week for having run an article that was not approved, said Ross Dunkley, the editor-in-chief. The article, from Agence France-Presse, was about the junta’s plans to raise license fees for satellite televisions to almost $800, three times the average yearly income. The current fee is $5.00. The move would prevent most Burmese from seeing news that is not rigidly controlled.”

And this is just the tip of the iceberg.

In a much lighter vein, I know you’re going to laugh, but I just took down my Christmas tree–and my Santa Claus collection, and the fir boughs that encircle the little wooden orchestra members on my mantel piece, and the carved Norwegian nativity scene. Am I sentimental? You bet! I like this winter season so much that I was very close to heading for Ladakh (on Caroline Martin’s recommendation) this February for a winter trek on the ice of the frozen Zangskar River to several out-of-the-way monasteries in the mountains. Well, actually, everything in Ladakh is out-of-the-way, but this would have been especially isolated. Instead, I’ve elected to go in late April through mid-June, and to make my plans when I get to Leh, the capitol. James Wilson, with whom I traveled in Myanmar, will join me for three weeks of trekking. I’ll be writing more about this in the next month.

By the way, if you want to get an idea of where I’ll be, there are maps on www.shantitours.com  This was a difficult decision, time-wise, because I really would have liked to accompany Tamara Blesh, whom I met in India, when she returns this summer. Visit her website at: www.travelinglibrarian.org to see the work she did last summer setting up libraries for the children of Ladakh. She is currently raising money to purchase books in Delhi to distribute to villages off the beaten path, promoting literacy among young people. In order to get to these villages you have to trek in with pack animals and I would love to have gone with her and observed her work. But the summer is for New Hampshire and, this year, the Assiniboine Mountains of British Columbia.

Ladakh is a small Buddhist country nestled in northern India between Tibet and Pakistan. It was Lee Compton who first opened my eyes to the region over twenty years ago. Here is a description of the country from the website: http://www.health-inc.org

I’m presently reading a fascinating book, Three Cups of Tea, which starts in the Karakoram range near K2 and deals with Pakistan, a country on Ladakh’s western border, and Greg Mortenson’s project to build schools for poor children in remote areas. It gives a realistic picture of the people of this region and their needs.

Theater note: I enjoyed the revival of Harold Pinter’s Homecoming, starring Eve Best. Great ensemble acting. Complicated Play. Catalyst for heated “after play” discussion. Also enjoyed a revival of Beth Henley’s Crimes of the Heart, directed by Kathleen Turner.

HOUSEKEEPING NOTE: I have finally gotten my archives posted by months, as you may have noticed. If you want an old posting, just click on the month. And be sure to click on the title of each posting in order to read the entire entry. You probably already know that. I didn’t, and figured that there are still a few computer neophytes out there like me.

 Next time…more local news and a new facebook album. Check in the previous entry for the links.

What a year this has been so far, with primary overkill, balmy weather, and roaring fires on the evenings that turn cold. I’ve taken a look at life’s ongoing frustrations and vowed to either conquer them or ignore them. Somehow they all center around new technology—computer malfunctions, DVR glitches, you name it and I’ll try to stick it in my ear to make it work. And even that doesn’t help, since my earpiece–to keep me from being stopped by the cops while driving and talking on my cell phone, or helping me avoid cancer of the left frontal lobe–keeps dropping off my ear in mid-sentence. So you can see how happy I was when I finally fixed something with only a piece of picture wire, pliers, and my Himalayan headlamp. Yes, I repaired the carbon-encrusted damper in my fireplace, giving me the feeling that I was somewhat in control of my destiny. I may have looked like a chimney sweep when I emerged from the dephs, but I was triumphant.

I started New Years at the theater. Surprise! I was disappointed, however, in David Mamet’s latest play, November, with Nathan Lane. I had seen him in Butley last year and really enjoyed his nuanced performance, but this play was just too ridiculous and frantic, held together by a liberal sprinkling of the “f” word. No build up, just high decibel shouting from the beginning. Maybe it will calm down after the previews. Perhaps I’m jaded and should lay off the dramas for awhile. The audience seemed to enjoy it, but I chalked that up to New Year’s Day. Could they still have been hung over?

Xanadu fared better–a delightful spoof of the old Olivia Newton John movie with good dancing and good singing. Lots of fun. A mindless, entertaining evening on the town.

I finally got to see Spring Awakening with my grandchildren, the coming-of-age musical set in a small town in 19^th century Germany. It’s scary to think what can happen when you withhold sex education from young people. But it was a lot deeper than that and had excellent singing and dancing. The kids, however, felt the sober message. It had more depth than many of Broadway’s musicals.

The most fun I’ve had this year is playing my violin in my son-in-law Gary Shippy’s rock band, Walk The Dog, at The Dancing Goat Café in South Orange. I played in only five of about 45 songs, those with an Irish or a western theme. We had a terrific crowd and played until well after 11 PM.

Watch for more information about future travels. I’m looking into two treks in Ladakh, and have been encouraged by both Caroline Martin and Tamara Blesh, whom I mentioned in the last blog. I want to go there before the onslaught of tourists. It seems that the winter is really quiet (could I stand it?) and the snow and ice are spectacular (a word that no travel writer should ever use. Sorry). I’ve never trekked over a frozen river before and the thought intrigues me. I’ve wanted to get to this little country for 22 years.

 I’ve also received glowing reports from Beth Whitman, who is in India this month, and Yana and Lee, who are headed for Laos.  

I know I’m repeating myself (at this age I have a right), but here, once again, are the links to my facebook albums on Myanmar. I just put up the fourth one and hope to do one a week this year, completing last year’s Asian trip before starting this year’s. Wish me luck! Don’t forget to click on the first picture of each album and read the captions.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=5607&l=c0270&id=584094331

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=9669&l=34922&id=584094331

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=13360&l=3fc94&id=584094331

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=15341&l=25215&id=584094331

I’m eager for news of your travels, and first hand observations from those now in Asia. When I’m in Ladakh, next to Pakistan, I’m sure there will be a lot of news from that area. Until then, I only know what I read, and that’s rather depressing.

I started this entry on December 20 and then the Broadway strike ended, so, of course, I had to catch up on my cancelled plays, which were all rescheduled. What fun that was! Don’t miss The Seafarer, which challenged hardy souls to wade through the first and only snowstorm of the season. I loved it and pretended I was being battered by high winds on the Thorong La in Nepal, a strategy I often use when faced with nature’s fury at one end and a non-refundable ticket at the other. A few more recommendations are: Is He Dead? with my brilliantly talented comic genius down-the-street-neighbor, Norbert Leo Butz; The Farnsworth Invention about Philo Farnsworth’s struggle to get recognized as the inventor of television; Jump, a fabulous Korean family tale complete with martial arts and superb acrobatics, which my grandsons loved; Chazz Palminteri’s compelling one-man show, The Bronx Tale; Tom Stoppard’s fabulous Rock ‘n Roll; and The Glorious Ones and Cymbeline, two great productions at Lincoln Center. 

Lest you think that I’m neglecting another great love, the opera, know that I took my son-in-law, Gary Shippy, to see The Marriage of Figaro at the Met, starring the great Welch baritone, Bryn Terfel. What a night that was. This was Gary’s first operatic experience and he actually stayed awake! 

Christmas letters keep flooding in from friends all around the world, with good and bad news, and always the hope for a peaceful New Year, proving that hope springs eternal and our daily blessings are not to be forgotten. Every last little one of them! I appreciate these messages and photos and will get my own letter out before next Christmas. That is resolution #1, and one I will keep. 

It’s been slow going with my multitude of pictures from Asia, but, like the tortoise, I keep plugging along and now have three single albums of sixty pictures each on facebook. (My son, Robert, thinks it’s hysterical that his mother is on facebook, the official site of the college student!) Here they are. Just click the pictures to enlarge them and read the captions for the story of my first weeks in Burma. Each link needs to be copied and pasted, one at a time. Watch my next blog for more albums.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=5607&l=c0270&id=584094331 

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=9669&l=34922&id=584094331

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=13360&l=3fc94&id=584094331

Friends who have gone back to Burma tell a sad story. Places where James Wilson and I saw thousands of monks being fed are now seeing only a few hundred or less. I don’t know if it’s that many have died or are still incarcerated, or that they have just disappeared into civilian life, knowing how dangerous it is to wear the robe. People are extremely cautious about talking to foreigners and there seems to be a pall over the whole country. I just talked with my friends from Whidbey Island, Lee Compton and Yana Viniko, and they urged me to accompany them to Myanmar, again, this January. How I wouId love to go, but feel that it’s too soon after the protests and the brutal crackdown, and we could be endangering anyone with whom we spend time. I shall eagerly await their report, however, and pass it on to you. Their reason for going is to show their support for these beleaguered people, and I applaud them for it. And wish them a safe journey.

Here’s an interesting footnote about the textiles—wall hangings, silk pillow covers, scarves—that Yana and Lee were collecting during their trip to Myanmar, Thailand, and India last Jan.-March. They held their annual sale and donated thousands of dollars in profits to ENSO, the Home for End of Life Care on Whidbey Island. ENSO is the Japanese Zen circle that symbolizes the unity of all things and has no beginning and no end. They will do the same this year as they travel in Southeast Asia.

There is good news from other quarters. My renter, Jimmy Siuty, introduced me to his good friend, Katie Krackenberger, who is doing wonderful work on behalf of the Nicaraguan Garment Workers Fund. She has traveled a great deal, so we enjoyed swapping stories, and is now concentrating on getting the word out about the sweat shop conditions in Nicaragua and the desperate need for their eradication, one factory at a time. To support and empower these workers she has helped partner with the Woman’s Sewing Cooerative (Comamnuvi) to help such groups as destitute Mayan widows, who make beautiful jackets, scarves, and handbags, using their ancient back-strap looms to weave chenille and cotton cloth. I recommend your visiting the website: www.ngwfund.org

You may remember Tamara Blesh, whom I met in Delhi and Dharamsala. I recommend her blog, which tells of her three months last spring and summer setting up the first library for Ladakhi children in the Siddhartha School in Stok, Ladakh. She lived in Leh (where I want to go next spring) and commuted to the school…and will return to continue her work next summer. Her website is www.travelinglibrarian.org.

Another friend I met in Dharamsala during the Dalai Lama’s teachings last February is Caroline Martin, “Indologist at Large.” What a delightful person she is! She just returned to India from Ladakh and I highly recommend her website Feringhee: The India Diaries. It’s full of great stories about her Asian travels as a woman alone, and great insights into traveling abroad as Americans.

One more dear friend, who goes back and forth to Asia, and with whom I attended the DL’s lectures last Feb. is Trees Muijlaert, who lives with her partner, Joris Broeders, in Eindhoven, Holland. She writes some pretty interesting news, such as a strike by the high school children in Amsterdam, who are complaining about the long hours in school and the fact that part of the time they are doing nothing that matters. The students communicate through MSN chatting and there is nothing much the police can do. “It’s kind of hilarious,” says Trees.

This began on Nov. 28, 2007. The strike was condemned by the whole Second Chamber of Parliament, but they still conceded that it doesn’t make sense to go to school if you have nothing to do. My thought was…well, why not study? Is that too practical? So, on Friday, Dec. 2, there were 15,000 scholars at a demonstration on the Museumplein in Amsterdam. Sixty scholars were arrested amidst egg throwing and fireworks. According to the police the demonstration was peaceful and orderly. Tune in next time for the exciting end to this tale….Don’t you wish we had such problems?  

Lastly, on a more serious level, Trees has been telling me about the situation between the Muslim extremists and the various factions in Dutch politics. Like all such problems, it’s complicated. She sent me a wonderful book, Infidel, written by Ayaan Hirsi Ali, who has had to flee to the U.S. because the Dutch stopped providing for her protection, even though she continued to receive death threats. She has been a member of the Dutch Parliament and a good friend of Theo Van Gogh, who was murdered by Muslim extremists because of his movie about their treatment of women. Her first book was The Caged Virgin.

Twice this past month I’ve been visited by TV advance personnel to get background shots for the interview I’m doing in February with Suzanne Roberts of Seeking Solutions with Suzanne. It will be aired on Comcast (CNN) Headline News, so watch for it in late February or early March. I shall post more details as soon as the interview is over. I have never seen so much preparation for a seven-minute spot, but these TV people really do a thorough job of researching their interviewees.

I’m still giving speeches and slide shows about traveling off the beaten track and am also available for in-person or phone conversations with book clubs. A reader’s guide for Madam is available on my website for individuals and clubs.

I urge you to sign up for the RSS feed to the right of this blog entry. Just click once on subscribe to this site and they will do the rest. I hope.

The trees are screaming with color and every morning I look out my window at the sun-drenched red maple in front of my house, watching the leaves beginning to curl and flutter to the ground, and enjoying ever last image while I can. What a way to wake up! 

I’m receiving sympathy notes from friends who feel that I cannot survive the two week strike of Broadway stagehands without painful withdrawal, but they are wrong. There’s more going on off Broadway than you would imagine, and between TDF (Theater Development Fund) and Audience Extras I am more than busy. True, the three shows I had tickets for are waiting out the strike, but I do hope for everyone’s sake that they won’t close. They are Mark Twain’s Is He Dead?, Conor McPherson’s The Seafarer (both still in previews), and Spring Awakening, which was to be my Christmas present for my two grandsons, Adam and Thomas Bixler. Let’s hope for a speedy settlement. The most outstanding of the plays I’ve seen in between is Edward Albee’s Peter and Jerry. The first half is a new play, Homelife, written as a prequel to the original Zoo Story, his first play (1958), which now becomes the second act of Peter and Jerry. The superb Bill Pullman starred. The last time I saw him was when he was the lead in Albee’s The Goat.  

I must add that I spent an evening at a benefit for The Barrow Group, with my friends, James Wilson, with whom I traveled in Myanmar last January, and Sean McCarthy, a fine screenwriter. The one-man play, written and performed by Martin Moran, was moving and shocking at the same time, dealing with difficult, but very important material.  If any of you get a chance to see the Pennsylvania Ballet this season, grab it. I was thrilled with the imagination of both ballets, but especially taken by the fireworks in the second half–the combining of dance with the New York Choral Society’s singing of Carmina Burana by Carl Orff. It was dancing at its best, with great orchestral and choral accompaniment. Two friends, Phyllis Bitow and Flossie Ierardi played percussion. Both are very talented ladies, and Phyllis is also my “theater addict” friend. 

A quick update on progress or lack thereof in Myanmar. I think it was summed up in a November 21^st article by Wayne Arnold from Singapore in The Wall Street Journal entitled, Differences on Myanmar Weaken Asia Trade Pact. It’s encouraging that a few of the countries are fighting for change, thereby causing a rift between Asean’s old and new members. The southeast Asia leaders signed a charter to bind the region together in a European-style economic community, but, instead, the pact has exposed the sharp divisions over one of its member, Myanmar. The older more enlightened and democratic countries like Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia, and the Philippines, are threatening not to ratify the charter if Myanmar does not improve its human rights standards, institute democratic changes, and release the long-detained opposition leader, Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. We can only hope that pressure for change continues from the West as well as Asia. 

 where we’re getting some crisp Fall weather and finally seeing the leaves turn red and yellow. The hiking is great in Harriman State Park with the beginning of that open winter view through the trees as they slowly shed their foliage. I’m really looking forward to snow.

On a much less happy note, I’ve been reading some of the hundreds of hits on the Facebook site, Support the Monks’ Protest in Burma, a group of advocacy organizations with over 430,000 members.  I’m still wary of the recent visit to Myanmar of the UN special envoy, Ibrahim Gambari, feeling that it was anything but effective, but it looks as if Daw Aung San Suu Kyi is moving toward her own talks with the junta leaders. This could be good if it deals with the severe problems of the Burmese people and doesn’t just give the junta a way to calm western criticism while continuing its repression.

I also wrote an opinion piece about putting pressure on China through the Olympics. I received several replies from people who had similar opinions. It seems that this is the only leverage we have with this country, since it owns so much of our paper and we are increasingly dependent on its cheap goods (maybe not dependent…but we sure buy them!).  This is a sorry state of affairs, but an understandable result of our crippling national debt.

I’ve attached this link from today’s NYTimes, which summarizes the situation at this moment. http://www.nytimes.com/2007/11/09/world/asia/10myanmar.html?hp

I’ve also attached a link about the riots, shown in a video on http://www.kaltura.com/index.php/browse?kshow_id=20444

It’s been a busy couple of weeks here in New Jersey. On Nov. 3^rd I played with the Plainfield Symphony in a splendid concert under the direction of Sabin Pautza.  We performed Franz Schubert’s string quartet #14, Death andThe Maiden, this time as a world premier orchestral transcription by Maestro Pautza. The highlight, however, was Chopin’s Concerto For Piano And Orchestra No. 2, played magnificently by the young pianist, Allen Yueh. In addition to his flawless performance, he played two encores–by Mendelssohn and Liszt (variations on a theme of Paganini), which enchanted and wowed the audience. Here is a young man to watch! This will be the last concert until March, when Maestro Pautza returns from teaching and conducting in his native Roumania.

I’ve posted my second album on Facebook and here are both links. Be sure to click on the first picture to enlarge it, and read the captions. I hope to tell the story of my journey and of the condition of these people as they struggle to live in a repressive military dictatorship. If any of you wish to join as a friend on my Facebook site, please let me know.

://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=5607&l=c0270&id=584094331

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=9669&l=34922&id=584094331

I haven’t been neglecting the theater these past two weeks, having seen some superb plays such as Mauritius, a revival of The Ritz, and the energetic spectacle, Curtains, which gave David Hyde Pierce the 2007 Tony award. Daughter Martha and I went together and waited to talk with David afterwards, since we had a mutual connection with the summer camp on Lake Winnipesaukee, Camp Kabeyun, where he had been the drama counselor and where my sons and grandsons had gone. What an enjoyable conversation we had about mutual friends. He is one charming, delightful person.

I think I attended the best concert of my life last Tuesday at Carnegie Hall. The Bergen Philharmonic, under the superb direction of Andrew Litton, performed Shostakovich’s Fifth Symphony, and Andre Watts played Grieg’s Piano Concerto. There was also a modern piece by Vaage and the Festive Overture, Op. 96 by Shostakovich. Spellbinding is an understatement for the evening.

This week I went with my old classmate from Syracuse, Peggy Menafee Henning, and her friend, Milly Kohlman, to see Kevin Kline in Cyrano. He is one actor you don’t want to miss! We had hoped to meet Jerry Stiller, another classmate, after the performance, but he couldn’t make it. So we sat at a Vietnamese restaurant on 48^th Street and heard the story of Milly’s amazing six years (1976-1982) sailing a 41-foot ketch around the world. She did this with her husband and then 6-year-old son, Robert. During that time they visited 42 countries and 7 territories, stopping at ports where they discovered whole communities of sailors (mostly families), making for lots of camaraderie and a core group of new friends. Robert was home-schooled and at 12 wrote (long hand, of course) a story, “Cruising By A Kid,” which was published in Cruising Magazine. This is some ingenious and go-getting child! During those six years he continued to write, starting a magazine, which he printed by hand, using carbon paper and making four copies at once. This was the first magazine ever published afloat, for sure, and it sold for ten cents. In Cyprus one winter he started a newspaper and gave it away free. Fortunately, someone in the marina offered a mimeograph machine so the writing went easier. Robert continued writing and had his last essay published in the newspaper when they returned, entitled “A Cruiser is a Friend Waiting to Be Found.” By this time he was in public high school where he graduated with honors. Since then he’s been a journalist and is now a practicing lawyer. Let’s hear it for travel, adventure, and home-schooling!

Perhaps the best story of all is Milly’s description of a Thanksgiving feast held in Cyprus. It started with six American boats, but an invitation was sent out to all who might want to join. One hundred and eight people signed up, a church gave the hall, the British Air Force gave the tables, the school provided folding chairs, and a bakery baked three huge turkeys. Everybody brought something and at the end people from ten countries arose and gave special thanks in their language. I shall think of this when I sit down for my Thanksgiving dinner in two weeks.

Milly has not slowed down one bit. Among her present activities are tennis and hiking. I can certainly relate to the latter, but have always had trouble hitting the ball in the former.

The off-Broadway show, Three Mo’ Tenors, completed this delightful evening.

Again, I call your attention to my daughter, Cary’s, blog. She has some interesting things to say about China. Evidently they are still angry about the reception Congress gave the Dalai Lama last month. So censorship is tighter than ever.  www.carypeterson.wordpress.com