Collecting Memories

     In an earlier blog or two I have mentioned bringing back things of interest from Third World travels. I wrote earlier about my collection of masks, about artifacts which I use for programs about my travels and folk necklaces which my wife loves. These, as well as miscellaneous, meaningful other artifacts and the knowledge I have gained on these journeys, have been important to me, but the most important collectibles of travel are the many memories that one has of events, places, and especially, people one meets along the way. These are precious as well as rather permanent and they are what makes the travel so worthwhile.

     As I search my many recollections of experiences, there are certain ones which stand out strongly, either because they were so memorable or moving, or because they were so surprising or scary or pleasant. Any of those characteristics tends to cement a moment in one's mind and it is a possession that just never goes away. I have mentioned a few of these earlier but here is a list of some of the most important ones. I leave it to the reader to attach the justifying adjective to the event.

     There was the boy I met in a small restaurant in Djenne, Mali, who was born unable to walk or even stand upright who had been taken to the States by a generous family that passed through his town invited him to live with them for over a year while he underwent a series of operations that enabled him to propel himself without crawling along the floor. The story he told me of his eternal gratitude and the generosity and self-sacrifice that the family from Texas provided him provided one of the most unforgettable personal interactions I ever had in my travels. There was the old peasant in My Lai, Vietnam who guided us through the little rice growing village remaining at that location while he told us the story of the bombing and cruelty which took place there during the war. His forgiveness and his commitment to the memories he carried with him were overwhelming.  I remember well the restaurant owner in Portugal who adopted me when I was younger and traveling alone and took me to the Fada cellar to hear his favorite music and to listen to him join the singers in one of the most authentic folk scenes I have ever experienced.  I can picture the young man who worked on the boat we took on the Niger River to explore villages in West Africa. After we had a conversation about the voodoo necklace that he wore, he saw himself as my protector and voluntarily walked next to me to keep village kids from "bothering me" as we hiked along.  I can picture so vividly the ovens in the Dachau Concentration Camp and the shard and bone laden paths in the Killing Fields of Cambodia as I trod through both of these sites of terror and torture.

     One can even retain niceties and courtesies from travels like the boatman on the Mahakam River in Borneo who ascertained my interest in maskmaking and stopped the boat along the river to take me to one that he knew who was in the process of designing a mask for an upcoming ceremony in his village.  One that same boat a day later, we ran into a storm, had to close the protective tarpaulin and suffered a long night of heat and insects. I guess things do balance themselves in the long run. The young woman I met in the slums of Acapulco introduced me to the kind of poverty I needed to experience for my own growth and the German tourist I met in Toledo, Spain challenged my newly acquired German skills by having me translate the words of the Spanish youngster who took us around to explain what the buildings were that surrounded us in that beautiful city. There were moments of pure frivolity like the evening I spent many years ago trading clothing for vodka and caviar for hours in what was then Leningrad. There was the discovery we made traveling with our young kids of a disney-like park which we all enjoyed for days in rural Guatemala for a quarter of the price of the original one and which we had pretty much to ourselves.


     But these were not all. There was also the sunset over the Taj Mahal and evening ceremonies in the Meenakshi Temple of Madurai. There was the boat ride on the Ganges alongside the crematoria
and the turtle release on a trip with our kids on the Pacific coast of Nicaragua. There were the temple filled plains of Bagan in Myanmar, the distant Himalayan mountains viewed from the hills of Nepal and the heights of Darjeeling as well as from the Karakorum Highway in Pakistan. My eyes fill with such scenes when I close them and my brain stretches to contain the many reflections and memories I have accumulated. Those are the intangible, unforgettable moments which flood my mind as I write these words. The Third World beckons forever.

My Protector, Mopti, Mali

Those Special Unplanned Days

     Serendipity will likely overtake the traveler in the Third World especially if he or she travels independently. There is no guarantee, of course, that something remarkable will happen on any given day and, as a matter of fact, there is always a possibility that disaster could catch up with the tourist. Nonetheless, wonderful unplanned experiences are part of the Third World traveler's regular menu. Several such moments come to mind as I write this. Perhaps the most mundane of these occurred to me, not in the Third World but on a cruise ship on which I was lecturing. I encountered B.J. Habibie, then recently the president of Indonesia because his brother came to one of my lectures and was interested in what I had to say. That evening, Habibie, his brother and their wives joined me and my wife for dinner. The invitation was formally tendered by the fancy cruise ship and Habibie was grateful for the special attention. He brought a couple of his books as gifts for us and we had a fascinating conversation. We talked about his interests, my experiences and his interactions with various heads of governments. We found that photography was a common interest for us. It was quite a memorable evening culminating with what seemed to be a very sincere invitation to stay with him in Jakarta. I tried not to ask him any embarrassing questions about his government.

     A second very memorable day occurred in the countryside of the island of Sulawesi, the octopus shaped isle not far from Bali in Indonesia. We were exploring the territory where the Toraja tribal peoples live and hoping to witness one of their colorful traditional happenings. We had very good luck locating a funeral which we quickly made our way toward. It was a spectacular sight. There were dozens of tents set up designated for specific groups of visitors-close family, neighbors, visitors, etc. We found a place in one of these and were served food and drink as honored guests while we sat on cloths laid on the ground. We then got to witness the sacrifice of a pig in honor of the deceased- not a pretty site but extremely unique and unforgettable. A wooden carving of the deceased looked on, her spirit probably reveling in the wonderful event held in her honor. What a fascinating example of a traditional ceremony.

      On another day in Indonesia, this time in a small town in Sumatra, we were able to see a bullfight like no other I ever imagined. I had attended bullfights previously in Spain and Mexico although I am no admirer of the sport but this was not to be missed. When we got there, they were just beginning to bring the bulls out onto a field in front of us. We and most of the other spectators stood on a small hill watching the ceremonies below us. There were scores of townspeople below and we realized that they were betting on the two bulls that were brought to the field. They examined the bulls, decided which one looked tougher and places bets with each other about which would win the fight. The fight itself consisted of the bulls looking at each other as they were urged on by the crowd that circled them and shouted for action. Usually, they fight over the territory and the winner is the one who causes the other to withdraw. Sometimes there is actually fighting but often one of the bulls just walks off. The betting is furious and the shouting fills the field. Most of the spectators are within dangerous proximity of the bulls. We did see one actual fight. That was a different kind of day.

     There have been other such opportunities that stick in our minds but the most surreal and amazing was the night we arrived at the Karawari Lodge in the heart of the jungle in Papua New Guinea. We were guests at the small jungle lodge that night along with the Prime Minister of the country and his parliamentary entourage. We knew nothing about his presence until mid-afternoon when he arrived by helicopter and was transported like an African Emperor on a palanquin carried down the hill by several of the local residents. We heard him deliver his speech in Pidgin English (We did not understand a word but neither did most of the crowd) to an assemblage of half naked local citizens sitting on the ground on a hill. Many of them had traipsed countless miles over the hills and through the jungle to hear him. Their faces were painted from ear to ear, their heads were covered with colorful feathers and they brought their entire families with them. It was a scene from National Geographic but we were there.
     But that was not the end of the experience. Back at the lodge that evening, we (a total of six Westerners) sat at a table in the middle of the small dining room. On one side of us were a group of Japanese birders who were shouting "Hai" each time their leader read out the name of a bird they had seen that day. At the next table on the other side of us sat the Prime Minister with a few other politicians while at the head of the room a local band was playing Papua music dressed in straw skirts and penis gourds. Except for the prime minister, we all wound up dancing to the music after dinner. It was the most incredible moment of travel we have ever had. It is hard to imagine anything quite this dramatic happening on a trip to Chicago or Berlin. The Third World is indeed a potentially serendipitous, rewarding place to travel.

Road Repair, Tribal India