Traveling With Dennis L. Siluk

"The Donkeyland Bums" (a short novelette)

2009-06-02T21:03:00.000-07:00

The Donkeyland Bums

Part Three of Three Parts

(The Fall, November of 1967)

Chapter One
The Gas Station

John was in the car and the gas tank was full, the tires were being checked and filled with air, as well as the oil, all was fine,
“I’ll start her up and see how the motor sounds,” Chick Evens said to John, getting into the driver’s seat of the car “You got the things put away?”
“Yaw,” said John L.
“Open up a beer for me than.”
“You want a full one?”
“That’s right, for the road.”
John was by the widow opening up beers and Chick was at the steering wheel waiting for the car’s motor to warm up when he heard a noise like a motor mount loose. He open the hood looked down into the motor. John saw a policeman pull up into the gas station. He had a look in his eye, and he came walking toward their car. Then he walked by him, towards a pizza restaurant, then he was out of sight. A few more folks came out of the gas station with items bought in their hands walking in different directions to their cars. John looked at Chick busy looking at the motormount. A second policeman, who was waiting in the car stepped out to stretch, his hand on top of his revolver, checking to see if it was in place, and as he closed the car door a siren in the gas station went off, John in a long breath holding, yelled and Chick looked toward the gun muzzle of the policeman aiming it at the thief running out into the street from the gas station, Chick jumped to the side of the car and heard the screeching and howling gas station’s siren.
The young man had turned to see where the policeman was and ran, the policeman ran after him, then stopped to aim and fire, firing three shots, two in the air, one at the black lean and slanted lad running, the thief, as Chick stood by the window looking in the car saying, “Damn, he must of robbed the gas station. Man, what can we do?”
John heard the siren of more police cars coming down Rice Street and one out of the side street and saw them moving toward the gas station, “We best just stay put,” said Chick, “Don’t draw attention to us.”
There were now three more police cars surrounding the streets by the gas station.
“Stop!” yelled one policeman.
“Shoot, the fool,” said another.
“Come on. Come on for god’s sake!” said John, “let’s get out of here.”
“That’s Officer Howe,” said Chick watching the event.
“Get in,” said his partner to Chick. “Get your ass in here and let’s get going.”
“Hand’s up,” yelled Howe,” to the black thief.
“You shot me,” screamed and cried the young man, who was bleeding from the left leg, had fallen to his knees.
“You were told to stop three times, it’s your own fault,” said an officer next to Howe, and then yanked the trousers up almost to the young man’s knee to see the wound…
“Get-a going,” said John. One of the police officers looked toward John and Chick.
“Come on, Chick,” he said. “Let’s go.”
“Take it easy,” said Chick. “Stop yelling.”
“Put the damn car in gear,” John said. “You’re going to get us in trouble; we got an open can of beer in the car.”
“Just wait a minute; they’re too busy taking care of the thief to bother with us…” Chick said. “I don’t want to take off yet. Let them take the robber away first.”
The biggest of the officers turned and swung his revolver and held it, aiming it at the brown 1959 Fort Station Wagon of Chick’s.
“Hey, don’t! Don’t! We’re just bystander’s watching,” Chick said. “Don’t aim that gun at us—please!”
The bust had been so close to their car that the sound of the bullets echoed in the air like five smacks.
Chick leaned back in the car seat, his eyes wide open, his mouth open and dry. He looked like he was about to say, “Don’t!” again, but the policeman turned about to talk to Howe, who had seen Chick and knew him by face; he had taken him home once when he was drunk, and another time to the police station for being too drunk, both times underage, and still underage, at twenty, the same age as John.
“Hit that gas peddle, and let’s get out of here,” said John.
“We’ll go,” said Chick, “just cool it.”
One of the police was holding a pistol against the side of the boy’s chest; the muzzle almost touching him.
As chick swung the car out of its parking spot, spinning the wheels, burning some rubber on the asphalt of the gas station platform, he looked astern to watch the last of the policemen picking up the lad from his knees, pushing him head first into the backseat of a police car, the boy falling or slipping sidewise, his leg giving out. His trousers wrapped around his ankle, his hands handcuffed, cussing the police with an unstopping open mouth. There was still more police cars coming down the street.
“Come on. Make a turn on Highway 94,” said John. “Let’s make up some lost time!”
“If I make this car go any faster, that motormount may fall right off the motor.” Remarked Chick Evens.

Chapter Two
The Highway

Chick sat quietly at the steering wheel. He was looking ahead now on Highway 94, heading for Long Beach, California, out of St. Paul, Minnesota, it was the summer of 1967. Out of the city he looked back. John looked out of the back window also—perhaps thinking of Karin, a girlfriend he was leaving behind for this road trip, one he’d miss along the way, one he’d marry, but not this summer.
Everything was now running smoothly, and they were going with the wind. Down highway after highway, across the country, heading for Denver, and over the Rockies (the Rocky Mountains); once in the Rockies, he noticed the heavy slant downwards, the sharp curves and their markers, he passed dozens of cars, but going up hill the motor scarcely made it, they all ended up passing him again, and then down the mountains with a current swirling under the car, helping the brown beast of a car along (as one looked down over the cliffs, hundreds of feet below them, you could see snow topped roofs, America at its most beautiful and loveliest, as if out of a Norman Rockwell picture: smoke coming from chimneys, and pine trees dotting the land). The motormount now clanging, and the engine’s motor starting to run rough, and the exhaust pipe, hanging loose under the car creating sparks, and police lights rotating in back of them, and a siren screeching, then over a loud speaker, “Pull that junk heap over to the side,” a voice said.
“How far are you boys going?” asked the police officer now standing along side the car, Chick with his car window open, then before he could answer, he took a quick look around the beat-up station wagon, rusted out here and there, the floorboards had holes in them, and you could actually see the road under your feet.
“What in tar nation are you boys trying to do,” said the Highway Police Officer, walking back to the window.
“Where you coming from, where you going?” the officer said to the two young adults.
John and Chick were chatting between themselves, then abruptly stopped, had kicked the few empty beer cans laying on the floor underneath their seats with their shoes.
“We came from St. Paul, Minnesota, going to Long Beach, California officer,” said Evens.
“Hum…m,” said the officer, “You’re about halfway, if I pull your car over have it impounded as it should be, we’ll have to find you a way home, if you go any further, you’ll end up being someone else’s problem, not ours, I hope you at lest make it out of this state, just wire up your exhaust pipe, and get going, and good luck.”
The Highway Patrol Officer was watching them now, even after the boys tied up the exhaust and all, he followed them for several miles, hoping I suppose they’d make it out of his jurisdiction. And evidently they did, because then he had stopped turned about, and took off as if he was the Lone Ranger, in the opposite direction.
John and Chick felt a little more at ease now.
“Look down there John,” said Chick, “it’s Denver I think.”
“Where?” the sun was bright, Chick pointed “Look!”
It was a long ways off; so far you could hardly see it, like a little oasis rising up and out of nowhere.
John now was looking quite content spoke pleasantly.
Chick could see the tiny building rise on the calm surface below him, but thought, ‘Just another city, go around it.’
“Those clouds over head I think are going to get darker and
Denver is in for a shower, let’s go around it, find a café have lunch?”
“What time is it?” asked John.
“Maybe 2:00 p.m., my watch stopped working.”
“We’ll be okay with the money, right?” questioned John.
Chick didn’t answer, they had made a few stops for beer, and John knew that, and each stop required more of the money they had, and it wasn’t all that much. John had $125.00 dollars and Chick $40. That was it, and his car.

In thirty-minutes they would be at a café eating hamburgers and French fries, drinking down a coke, filling up the gas tank, checking the oil, getting another six-pack of beer, and a few packs of Camel Cigarettes, and noticing the motormount that was before loose, was now gone, the motor had three more, but one side was lose, and that caused the motor to shake except when on a smooth road, what could go wrong was going wrong, but it was still luck holding the car in place; so—thought Chick: maybe our luck will holdout longer, enjoy it while you can; had it not been for John’s worrying out loud, he would have been a great sidekick, because he was a good fellow, but if anyone had to worry, Chick had felt, he was doing enough for both of them, so why join in on it, it wasn’t constructive.
“What’s the matter with you Chick? Can’t you figure it out; we don’t have money to buy beer every time we stop.”
“What did you ask me?”
“If we starve to death, it’s because of you, give me a beer.” John told Chick, and off they were again on the highway like two …Dharma Bums, Jack Kerouac would have said.
“Nothing can stop us now John.”
“Do you think we’ll make it?”
“Not today, it’s going to be dark soon, we’ll have to find a roadside rest, and sleep until morning, too dangerous to drive at night and if something happens to the car…well, you know what I mean, let it happen in the daylight.”
“What do you think, Chick?” asked John, his face a little apprehensive.
Chick did not answer.
“Don’t worry, don’t think about it, give me a beer?”
“How much money we got?” John asked in a pleasant way.
“I don’t know. We haven’t counted it for a while, it’s enough to get there, and we’ll have to find a job quick.”

For the first half day, most every hour or so, John brought up Karin and the money, he talked not much more than this, didn’t intensify on the subject of Long Beach, or California at all, or the ocean, the subjects Chick brought to the conversations, and John compared themselves to those two guys who drove a Corvette in the 1960s series on television, crossing the country, on “Rout 66,” the transcontinental highway (the main highway of America, which ran from Chicago to California, in which Nat King Cole, sang a song about, and later on, the Rolling Stones capitalized on). But John was referring to the two fellows: Tod and Buz, not sure who was who on their trip; the series ran for four seasons.
“Are we bums?” asked John.
“I suppose so, but mighty happy ones!”
“What’s a bum,” asked John.
“I don’t know for sure, you’ll have to ask that Jack Kerouac guy I guess, he called himself a bum and made a million I think off his books.”
“Well, you’ve travelled by train and car cross-country before, are we bums or not?”
“Kind-of I suppose, but I worked wherever I went, like to Seattle or Omaha, Nebraska, bums don’t work, hobos do, not sure about tramps, they’re more like homeless folks, we don’t have a home but we do, I mean, we got parents that do, I think willing to help, if indeed we need help, I think. We’re not beggars yet, but maybe by the end of this trip we will be.”

A light rain came down, and it got foggy, and Chick spent the following hour trying to find a rest stop, and it got a little chilly, and John huddled and meditated on the warmth of holding Karin I suppose, he flapped his arms and legs to like a duck to warm them up, the heater was not working and the windshield was fogging up. John’s teeth started chattering.
“We brought a blanket along, pull it out, it is in back of the backseat,” suggested Chick, and John did, “We’ll be stopping soon,” added Chick.

Chapter Three
The Rest Stop

It was 9:00 p.m., where the boys were, they didn’t know, they simply stopped at a rest stop when it got dark, parked the car by several others, had a few beers, and John started to fall to sleep in the backseat, and Chick up front. There was a light near their car, a dumpster nearby, bathrooms in the forefront.

“I’m sorry if we’re ending up spending too much money, I feel bad about that, but we are only spending on gas, food and beer.” Chick told John as they started to talk before drifting off into a deep sleep.
“I guess you mean well,” said John (he had a letter in an envelope in his hands).
“What’s in the letter?” asked Chick.
“Before we left, Karin gave me the letter, told me to read it later on—she was crying, so I read it when you were in the bathroom back-a-ways this afternoon, at one of the gas stations, she said she loved me, and would be waiting for me when I got back.”
“It sounds poetic; she’s a nice gal, not sure how you got her.”
“Maybe this trip will make me appreciate her more.”
“And bug me more.”
“How about you?”
“And who am I? I don’t have any girl worthwhile keeping if that is what you mean.”
“How about that girl you were taking out, called the Shadow?”
“You mean, Cindy or Sharon?”
“Whatever, whoever.”
“I’d say that we lost it somewhere along the line, didn’t see eye to eye, in both cases.”
“I think I’m pretty serious about Karin.”
“I think you’re horny right now.”
“Are we safe here?” asked John.
“Hell yes who can do anything to us, we’re the Cayuga Street Bums), and someday I’ll write a book about this?”
(Cayuga Street being the street in St. Paul, Minnesota, where Chick Evens lived, and John hung out with the Cayuga Street Gang, known by the police as Donkeyland, the police officer, Howe nicknamed it that because the guys and gals were so hard-headed, and I suppose like donkeys: there were some twenty-five young people from that neighbourhood.)
“I hope no one tries to sneak in tonight and cut our throats.”
“If they do, and I survive, I’ll let Karin know you talked about her until I got blue in the face.”
“Funny, funny, funny—pal!”
“Just be careful of the snakes tonight, they can crawl right through those big rusted hole in the back there.”
“Snakes, you’re kidding, there are no snakes here.”
“You see,” said Chick to John, speaking quietly, “this here is dangerous country, snakes kill folks all the time, bit yaw. I don’t think it’s funny either. But the best course is not to think about it, if either one of us really get bitten, just get me to a hospital as quick as possible, and I’ll do the same.”
John now looking over the top of the seat at Chick almost on the verge of laughing but holding it back, Chick looking back at him, “We got anything more to drink?” asked John.
“Nope,” said Chick “Go to sleep.”
“I can’t, now you got me worried about those snakes.”
“Their nothing, I was just kidding, kind of.”
“What do you mean kidding—kind of, you were or you were not kidding and there are or there are not snakes here?”
“Of course they’re snakes but chances one will crawl up and bite you are next to nil.”
John looked seasick and still sitting up.
“Let me sit up front with you?” asked John.
“Sure, it’s going to be uncomfortable, but go ahead.” And John jumped over the seats to set by the passenger side window.

It was about 3:00 a.m., in the morning, and there was a tapping at the widow.
“What you two doing in there,” said a voice, “Open the door up, I want to talk to you.”
“Chick,” said John, “some tramp out there I think, trying to get in.”
“We’re not in the mood for making friends tonight mister, get lost!” said Chick.
“He won’t leave,” said John. (You could smell whisky on him. The window was opened slightly.)
“What do you want to do?” asked John.
“If he doesn’t leave in a few minutes, I’ll get out here go around the car, you get out, and we’ll both kick his ass.”
Chick now straightened up from his laying position. “Wish I had a drink.”
Then Chick opened up the car door, “We’ll go easy on him!” he said, and started to walk around the car to meet the guy head on, John’s hand on the door handle, ready to open it…
“I got some trouble for yaw mister, just what you’re looking for.”
“Don’t kid me,” said the suspiciously looking stranger.
“Why should I try, you’re looking to wake us up cause trouble, you got us up now, and what you got, you got coming, let’s bring it on John!”
“Tak’e it eas-y young man, I’m for-ty-five years old, a lit-tle drunk.”
“Why do you get so tough then, waking us up?”
The stranger stepped back, as John started to open the door, and Chick stepped forward another step, about ten-feet apart, then the stranger ran off to the bathrooms.

Chapter Five
Long Beach

The boys woke up about 7:30 a.m., and headed onto Long Beach, their destiny. They figured they were somewhere around Salt Lake. Chick kicked the gas pedal to and almost through the floor of the car, it was losing its energy, its zip, its get-up-and-go: about 1:00 p.m., they hit the highway leading into Long Beach, and then onto a main road. Three girls were hitchhiking, they talked to the boys some, but left them alone, just wanted a ride, gave them some directions, and then got dropped off. They seemed to be a bit sorry; Chick and John were not from Long Beach, feeling they were not going to stick around town.
“We got any money left?” asked John.
“I tell you, we are down.”
“Oh, shut up, you’re damn drinking, how much we got?”
“Let’s look for a café, get something to eat,” said Chick, John counting the money, looking across the front of the car, the motor was starting to produce grey smoke.
“Watch that, Chick, the smoke,” then the car started to spit and sputter, right then and there by a closed gas station, it was Sunday.
John opened the devise under the hood, the hood popped open and was put into place, they were on the street alongside the gas station.
“The car’s shot, it blew a piston I think,” said John. When they started it back it, it had no compression. The car wouldn’t move. “Not yet,” bellowed John.
“Why not yet,” said Chick, “Thank God we made it this far that was lucky.”
“I suppose, what the hell difference does it make to you.”
“John, it was my car, not yours,” said Chick as John climbed down off the fender, after looking down at the motor.
“How we doing for money?” asked Chick.
“Seven dollars,” said John, “How much you got?”
“One dollar and thirty-three cents!” said Chick.
“The hell with this,” John said. “You keep drinking our money up.”
“So do you,” remarked Chick, “Let’s put the car in back of this station, and bury the license plates, and go find a room for the night.”
The boys walked down to the heart of Long Beach, bought two hotdogs between themselves, and walked along the beach; it appeared to them it was a retirement area of some kind, not much going on. As it started to get dark, it was a pretty twilight. John found a room that cost $5.00. And the hotdogs were $1.50 for two, and they had each a coke, another fifty cents. And now what had been left was one-dollar and thirty-three cents. They sat in their hotel room thinking what was next on their agenda, the afterglow of being in California for the first time had warn off of John, for Chick it was just starting to blossom.
Chick looked out the window; saw a small grocery store open, “Let’s go get a quart of beer, and some crackers. I mean we are broke, we might just as well remain broke, and what’s a dollar and change going to matter.”
“We are damned, and you are thinking of beer, alright, you go get it, while I think of what to do, but give me twenty-cents, two dimes, I will need to make a few phone calls.”
Now Chick had one dollar and thirteen cents. Went out of the one-star minus hotel, across the street, found a quart of beer for eighty-nine cents, and crackers for fifteen-cents, making it $1.14 cents, one penny less, which the good proprietor, overlooked, out of his kindness. And Chick and John had their last meal of the night, John allowing Chick the majority of the beer, John being too unsettled to drink much.

Chapter Six
Conclusion to part One

That evening, John called up his Uncle Whitey, in Los Angels, to see if they’d meet him and Chick at the bus station that his mother was going to send $140-dollars to get them back home, first thing in the morning. And Whitey, a most pleasant man, an albino, did just that, and showed them around Los Angels, and then luck was on their side, they found a friend of Whitey’s going to Minnesota, and that is another story.

Bums in a Haze

Chapter Seven
The Lead

(Chick Evens narrates from his diary :) “We were not tramps, or nomads, in that we were not drifters, perhaps more on the order of bums, in that we didn’t really have a home, and John did have to do some begging to get that $140-dollars from his mother, and we were not forgotten men, per near, but not quite; we were not hobos, because hobos seek work, and bums don’t and although John and I wanted to, we didn’t; so bums we, in that respect, bumming around, but I would have said, had you asked me at the time ‘I felt as if I was on a magic carpet, things just worked out as they did.’ And for the most part they did. But you couldn’t have told John L. that. There was no rainbow for him, and he kept thinking about Karin, and at times even with me by his side, he felt utterly alone. And so our adventure would be cut short. But we did survive the hard times, self-induced hard times of course. And we were both seemingly were always in haze, myself, with booze, and John with anything he could find, from pills, to pot, to alcohol.”

Chapter Eight
Los Angels: Uncle Whitey

(At the Greyhound bus station in Los Angels,
Sitting, while waiting for Uncle Whitey)

“I suppose we’ll have to wait for your uncle, to get here, do you think he’ll come?”
“He’s one of the few people that no matter what we did, he’d help us, so sure, I’d bet my $140.00-dollars he’ll be here.” Then John hesitated, and added, “Indecently, Chick, I do feel badly about your car, even though the policeman in the Rockies was right, it was a piece of junk.
“Very funny, it got us to Long Beach though.”
“I suppose, we don’t know how bad things could have got, had the cop pulled the car in.”
Then Uncle Whitey came in, white as a ghost, hardly could see, eyes squinting, and wavy white hair, tall and lean, with the biggest smile, Chick Evens had ever seen. Whitey looked about; saw the silhouetted of hands waving of two young men,
“Uncle Whitey!” called John.
“He’s half blind Chick, and he’s only in his late thirties.”
“You son of a guns, how the heck you been John, haven’t seen you since you were knee-high to a grasshopper!” (Then he started laughing: ‘ho, ho, ho…ooo!’ as if John was his lost prodigal son.)
As we stood up, he grabbed my hand, “And you’re his partner, Chick, I heard you were coming with John,” then he let go after a minute of shaking hands and added, “let’s go have lunch, on me boys. I haven’t any money to lend you but I got enough gas in the car and food in the house and a place you can lay your head for as long as you want.” (‘Ho, ho, ho…ha, ha, ha!’ he laughed)
(Chick and John sat in the back seat, Whitey, and a third cousin, Gene, a few years older than John, sat with Whitey in the front seat, Gene had his own car and in the following days would decide to go back to Minnesota, and thus, provided the ride for John and Chick to return. But of course at this point none of that was known, and I don’t want to get too far ahead in this story).
“So I heard your car blew up in Long Beach, that’s a damn shame, hell-of-a-thing to happen.”
Whitey hung his chin, neck and face almost over the steering wheel, as he drove, “I’m not suppose-to-be driving, but what the heck.”
He looked hard at what the stoplights read, waiting for the green. “Go, Uncle Whitey, its green!” said John, near smiling.
“That’s what I got to do, stop driving before I kill us all. The doctor says to take it easy as I can, that albinos never live long he says. Says I got a few years left then puff…I’m gone. Oh well, I’ll just try to breathe steadily.”

Then they pulled into his driveway.

(Chick Evens narrates from his diary :) “In the following days, Whitey took John and me, along with Gene on several tours around the city, up and own Sunset Boulevard, looking at the whores walking back and forth. Driving slowly, and stopping by Dean Martin’s nightclub. And then up into Beverly Hills. The police stopping Gene, who was doing the driving, and questioning him why the carload of people buzzing about these premises: and Whitey simply said, “We’re showing our Minnesota kin, how the rich folk live down here.”
The police officer said in a mild manner, “If these folks see you circling about they’ll call us gain, and if we got to come back, we’ll have pull you in for suspicion, so it is best you don’t not come back.”)

Well, they didn’t go back, but they had a number of memorable spots, or sites they saw—and they had some nice dialogue between the foursome.
It was the third day in Los Angels Gene suggested they, Chick and John, head on out into the desert to Lancaster, a small hamlet, and visit a group of young friends of his, that it was party time there, all the time there, and there would be lots of everything from grass to booze to hallucinating drugs and much more. All free of charge.

Chapters 9 thru 12, incomplete

End:
Home for Thanks Giving
And beyond…

John and Chick had left in the beginning of November of 1967 for California, and returned a few days before ‘Thanksgiving.’ Prior to California, he had spent the spring of that year in Omaha, and prior to that a winter in Seattle, all three trips within eleven months. And in eight months to come, July of 1968, he would be going to San Francisco for one year; which he didn’t know of course at this time, and after that, to Germany for ten more months, and to participate in the Vietnam War for another eight months: all within two months less than five years (December of 1966 to October 1971). And since that time, he has added, 700,000-more miles onto his past memo.

Written 6-2-2009

Note: two days going to Long Beach, one full day in Long Beach, then a bus to Los Angels (day 3), that night at Whitey’s and two more days there (5-nights, 6-days), and two nights in Lancaster, and two days back to Minnesota, total, nights, and 10-days)

Part One

Light in Seattle
(Winter of 1966)

Chapter Thirteen
Seattle Bound

I think she wanted revenge, an eye for an eye, for some undisrupted pain her husband inflicted on her, or perhaps it goes deeper into her childhood, I’ll never knew, but whatever I said meant very little, on and during our trip from Minnesota to Miles City, Montana, onto Seattle, Washington, in our 1957-Chrysler, Jeff purchased from my mother for this trip (we were to go alone, him and I). We got stranded in Miles City for a day, blew a piston in the motor, had to leave the car there, right in Miles City. Had to let the car roll down the mountain, slowly, and it was cold, snow up to our ankles, and Jeff’s wife, who we didn’t plan on bringing with us, came at the last minute, decided at the last second to punish us all, and she brought her two kids along, I was emptier than a dry well in the Moabite desert for words when I saw this uncovering, but what could I do, and he was caught like fly in her web.
We had caught a bus out of Miles City, and Jeff had lost his billfold at the bus station, luckily an old lady found it, and my nineteen-year old bones became refreshed again, as did Karin’s twenty-three year old ill disposition. I was learning in life, bad luck comes no matter what you do, and good luck also comes the same way, and in-between, you make your luck, however you can (and where there is no luck, you pray).
Karin was Jeff’s wife and she was no happy glimpse of light, not until I saw the signs leading into Seattle. Once at the bus station, Jeff called his old Navy friend, it was about 7:00 PM, and it was getting dark quick, and it was raining, and I’d find out in time, it always was raining in Seattle, or at least for the time I was there. Anyhow, Jeff’s friend showed up, saw us all, two winy kids, a wife, a teenager (me), Jeff’s luggage, I took one long glimpse at his face and knew we were in trouble, and Jeff’s long time Navy friend at the end of the night, would no longer be his friend.
I don’t know what they said, I suppose he told him our hard luck story, whatever, he did not have much pity to give, and told Jeff face to face, shoulder to shoulder, eye to eye, he wasn’t in the hotel business.
Jeff stood silent, tightening his face, he was six-foot-three, and thin, and could be mean I heard, but seldom was. Had it not been for Karin, he might have punched the guy’s lights out, or tried, I think if he couldn’t have I would have helped. But that wouldn’t have solved our problem for the night, and so he escaped with a trashing of the mouth by Jeff, and that was the last we heard or saw of him.
“Look Chick,” said Jeff, “we got to find a paper and rent an apartment now,” we were outside by a telephone booth, getting wet and cold. We still had most of our money left, gas was cheap, and I think it cost about .30 cents a gallon back then. Karin didn’t like Jeff asking me first on what he and we should do, she felt left out. She said right after he stopped to take in a gulp of air,
“No, I had nothing to do with this, you got me into all this, and you get me a house, rent one for us!” She made her point quite clear, but we were in the process of doing it anyhow.
I figured out, sometimes you simple have to disconnect with certain people who do not want to connect, lest you tire yourself out trying in hopeless to please the unappeasable, and end up being a tightly curled wire. And that was exactly what I was in the process of doing, disconnecting. As a result, my intuition told me to have a plan ‘B’ ready, an escape plan in place, it may come in handy. And so it would.

We, me and Jeff drank a few nights in a row at a local bar, found a job and one evening Karin said, “Stop it, stop the drinking now! Do you hear me, or you both can leave.”
She made me think often, why did she come along, perhaps only to haunt me, or her husband, or was it she had no other place to go, I really don’t know. As I look back perhaps it was that she was ill, in the sense of depressed, and she had two kids, and was alone in this world. Not sure, I never asked, or perhaps didn’t care, I was young, and felt it was not my business to analyze her, nor if I tried, could I. But the adventure was turning into a nightmare.
That night she took the last two bottles of beer we had and drained them into the toilet. It caused me a little heartburn but it was no great loss. Jeff tried to reason with her, but she wanted his attention I suppose and the booze didn’t allow it. And I knew if I said a word or two, it would simply be dropped into a bottomless pot, so I remained quiet for the most part. In time, in years to come, when I’d travel the world, this would come to light, meaning, I’d remember traveling alone was better than traveling with someone who demands too much of you, or more than what you want to give. And it proved to be an asset knowing this, and saved me many a nightmare I’m sure.
You see, I was almost a drunk at nineteen years old, and Jeff at twenty-six, I suppose this was getting to Karin, who was of course, to the contrary, just a tyrant.
In a way it wasn’t a big loss, so I laughed about it, it simply was another triumph for Karin.

—Jeff and I went for two weeks straight with eating only one peanut butter sandwich at lunch for work, nothing in the morning, nothing in the night. I felt sorry for the two kids and Karin, but we only had what we had, and we were down to three dollars, and it was bread and peanut butter for everyone. But one thing got to me, or at least I took note of, and felt it was funny, or unusual, it was that the kids were not complaining, and they were winy kids to say the least. And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure it out, you know, that feeling that something is missing.

It happened in the morning, on a Tuesday, just before going to work, the milkman came early and said to us, as we were leaving, Karin and the kids sleeping, “Do you folks want the usual?”
“What,” Jeff said.
“The usual, your wife, Karin—she is your wife isn’t she? (Jeff nodded his head yes) Well I usually drop off a half gallon of milk, some butter and eggs and now and then cheese.”
Jeff and I looked at the milkman, then each other, as he handed us the usual items, and we carried them into the house, somewhat numb (dumbfounded). Jeff woke Karin up, they all had been sleeping on the floor on blankets, like Jeff and me.
(I figured she had outsmarted us again, and didn’t care if we starved to death or not, her excuse would be: “I had to take care of us, the kids and me, you two wouldn’t, you just care about yourselves, so I just cared about us.” Thus, she justified the whole charade, in one long breath of air.)
Well, there really wasn’t much we could do about it, we’d get paid soon, and there wasn’t much light to be shed upon this betrayal, matter-of-fact, with the daily rain, and the dark hostility, resentment, and secrets Karin was pushing on us, there was no light at all in Seattle. She was surely laughing again, but not so loud, this time, rather in a hushed tone, this time, not to disturb Jeff too much, he was really mad, and in three days it would be payday.
I had plan ‘B’ now, and I would soon implement it. I wasn’t going to, but I figured this had to take place now, living with Karin, was no treat at all; it took all the adventure out of the trip. I planned on getting the last laugh, if only for a high, call it over-learning, I was taught a lesson, life teaches you such, that when it looks bad, it is bad, or better put, if you see smoke, you can bet there’s a fire, and it was smoky along our path from Minnesota, to Montana to Seattle, and now while living in Seattle.

It was payday, and they, the company I worked for, a window company, paid their employees up to date, up to the last day, actually a few hours in advance. I had asked my foreman if he could have the office pay me in cash, and they did.
On our way home, I bought three hamburgers, French fries and a coke, my stomach had shrunk to the point I could only eat one hamburger and the fries.
When we got home, Karin was buzzing around the house like a happy bee, likened to a happy bear after honey, and was very kind to me and Jeff. I could see, and I am sure Jeff knew, she was up to no good again. Her intent was to rob both of us, willingly. But I was no longer her prisoner, I figured, she could go drink her milk and eat her eggs all she wanted, I was not going to go along with what I figured I knew was on her mind. (She quietly reached for Jeff’s check.)
“I’ll cash both your checks, you both must be tired.” She said with a smirk on her face. She felt, or thought because I was unspoken all this time to her nasty dealings, I was easy prey at subject to her whims, and that I didn’t put two and two together, or have a plan, she thought perhaps I was her second husband, and subject to her will.
“No need to cash mine, I already did.” I told her.
Her face turned an ill-yellow, “How is that?” she asked.
“I had the foreman cash it out for me at the company.” I responded, as if it was really none of her business, yet she was making it so.
Her smile left her face completely, and we stared at each other for a moment, her trying to figure out a new plan to get my money. It was two full weeks pay, plus two days, and overtime, it was a big check, $375.00 dollars; if anything I was now somewhat of an instrument for creating a dramatic moment in her life.
I turned to Jeff, and then back to Karin, said with a somber look, “I got my ticket for the 11:00 PM train back to Minnesota, and I’ll be leaving tonight.”
I really had not bought the ticket, but had intentions to do so soon, and they didn’t ask me how I got it, and had they, I would not have answered the question. The point being, I did not want to be talked out of leaving.
“What!” Karin said, and Jeff also looked surprised. I guess Jeff was hurt I didn’t let him know, but under the circumstances, he had no need to know, plus, it would only have given Karin time to talk to Jeff about throwing me out of the house early, for Jeff did not seem to be in charge of his family, and I’m sure would not have stopped her.
I am not sure how to describe her mouth or whatever it was that hung in front of me, like an empty furnace, but it was heated…
“You have to pay us some money for staying here.” She said in a commanding voice.
“Sorry,” I said, “but I need the money to live on, and get a place when I get back to Minnesota.”
“Jeff, say something!” Karin barked.
Jeff did ask me for some money, he was a tinge shy on the matter, knowing the selfishness, and demands his wife made on both of us, and I had to turn him down also.
“Get out of here, go on!” she yelped. And I did gladly, and to be honest, I had the biggest light in my eyes Seattle had ever seen.

Written in the summer of May 24, 2008 (ds)

Part Two

Milwaukee, Nebraska, & Omaha

Milwaukee Bound 1967 [spring]

Chapter Fourteen
Leaving St. Paul, Minnesota

I didn’t know it, but the following decade would be one of intolerance—and some growing pains for not only the country, but me. We lived in the same old neighborhood both Jerry Hines and me, only two blocks west and down a block on Jackson Street from one another—this was Jerry’s and Betty’s house I often visited, just a hop-skip-and-jump one might say to each other’s abode. Across the street from Jerry’s house was Oakland Cemetery. I was twenty-years old and I was available and usable in the sense of travel—something that was stronger than most anything else in my life for some peculiar reason, something that would stay with me all my life most variably; and so in the fall of 1967, Jerry got into a dividing, and harsh confrontation with his girlfriend Betty, and that is when it all started. Having told me about this, we both decided to go to Milwaukee, Wisconsin. And this is where the story begins.

—I had a 1960-Plymouth-Valiant [white], it didn’t run all that good but Jerry Hino and I figured it would make it to Milwaukee, and so in the first weeks of November of ‘67, a chill in the air we loaded my car, when Betty was gone [Betty being Jerry’s live-in girlfriend at the time], each of us grabbed what money we had, I having about $125.00 and Jerry about $250, and off they went.
As the miles went by on our way to Milwaukee, one right after the other, we kept drinking cans of beer, smoking cigarettes—chain smoking for the most part, as the Valiant strolled along the black asphalt interstate making stops along the roadside to go to the bathroom, buying more beer at the nearest gas station, or roadside stop, drinking more beer, making more stops to take a leak: kind of a circular motion to these ongoing events. Matter of fact, we were making so many stops, we both got tired of stopping and started peeing into cans, and whomever was not driving would throw the cans out of window into, or onto the fields along the thruway; sometimes just barley missing cars if a good upper wind got hold of it. It was party time all the way, and for the most part, all the time for us two.
Now with loose conversations, the heat coming through the windshield from our heaters, the breeze hitting our hands as we flipped out our cigarette butts, out of the window going down the highway, we felt a bird wasn’t any freer. We lit cigarette after cigarette, talked, laughed, drank and sang, and started all over again from the cigarette after cigarette. We didn’t do a lot of planning, but enough, —barely enough, but enough, our great plan was to sleep in the car until we found an apartment, then get a job, and stay in Milwaukee for a few months, then we could figure on what to do next—not a big plan or even an elaborate one by any means, but then the world and life was simply for us, and again I say, at least we had a shared plan, like a slice from a piece of pie.
Yes indeed, our quest, goal, if you could call it that, was to chum around, and that’s what we’d do, and just chum around is what we were doing. Life’s responsibilities or demands were irrelevant, if not cumbersome, and if ever one was caught in a vortex of remoteness, Jerry was, he had enough for the moment of everything in life, yes, and in a way he was running away, as I was not. That is to say, I was simply running to escape a city for the adventure of another city, whereas, Jerry never got the travel bug early in life like I had; he was running to run, and the farther the better for the mean time. I perhaps was simply available, usable, along with willing, and had an ardent desire to see how far I could go, travel, and the farther the better, and Jerry found in me a companion for the moment.

Chapter Fifteen
Milwaukee

The beginning of spring It was a chilled night, as black as dark-ink, the moon was one-quarter lit, and if there was such things as ghosts, they seem to have been running back and forth across the moon’s light with a grayish robe of a mist. It was a little past midnight when we caught a glimpse of the highway sign that read:
“Milwaukee to the Right…turn-off 2-miles”

—and so Jerry, whom was driving did just that, took the turned-off where the arrow was pointing, whereby, we were on a one-way that lead us directly to the downtown area of Milwaukee. My face flashed with undeniable excitement, it was as if I was being reborn, my blood was regenerated, there was no logic or reason to it, it was a high: a desire filled, a craving to the top, like an empty cigarette package replenish, akin to getting drunk, a destination-high, a quest, all that and more: save for the fact that the boredom from driving helped turn the moment into a rage of excitement.
“Oh boy, I get to see the city,” I said with anxiety of not being there at that very moment. Jerry gave me a more mature chuckle to the fact we had made it; I suppose, cows often forget they were once calf’s; no disrespect intended, Jerry and I were close friends, but there was a decade difference in our age and at times it showed.
Anyway, we were specifically about to make it into the city limits; our destination. “Just hang on, we’ll be there in a moment,” said Jerry, turning the wheel a bit to the left, as he was turning onto the entrance to the city: then straightening the car out to go directly ahead I could now see lights appearing in the distance, an illumination of dotted-lights spread across a distance. We both smiled, we had almost or nearly almost gotten to our end—it was getting closer by the second. Just down and around a bridge or two now.
The one thing we did not take into consideration was the times: it was the 60’s, and neither I nor Jerry, could bridge, or even conceive the white and black dilemma that was sweeping the country, the Midwest, or at least Minnesota was not like or that engulfed with the racial issues of the day, like the West and East coasts, although Chicago and Milwaukee was evidently the showcase and exception to the rule; for the most part, we were isolated from it. Oh yes it was on TV all the time, but until you are in the mouth of the whale, one never can conceive the depth of the situation, or should I say, the depth of the stomach of the whale. There had been some café’s, stores, and tenant-buildings that had acquired damage in the black areas of the City of St. Paul, but not much, not in comparison to the rest of the country. Back in those days, every city had its riots, its racial issues, and to degrees. It was like a plague; but St. Paul, being the conservative city of the Midwest, the City of Culture as it has been called, was almost naive to its engulfing presence in the rest of the country. We also lived in a neighborhood that didn’t read books, occasionally a newspapers, it wasn’t a big deal for us, only one black family lived in the neighborhood, someplace—no one even knew when they had moved in but a few years back might be adequate: the black man had befriended my grandfather, and therefore was left alone. But no one ever saw a black man in the neighborhood before this, much less deal with riots.
In a like manner, no one came to the Cayuga Street area the street I lived on—or walked through the area without good reason, unless they lived there; there was a gang of some twenty-two guys and gals that hung out on the church steps. It wasn’t called Donkeyland for nothing; at one time it was the highest crime related area in St. Paul, and they boasted of that, and the police even tried to avoid us; matter-of-fact, they nick-named it Donkeyland because there were so many hard-heads there—and yes, it suited them. Members of the gang, beat the police up if they chased them up into Indians Hill, which was enclosing with foliage and one could hide easily behind trees and bushes, and so forth and on, which was to the south just off of Cayuga Street, right next to my grandfather’s house. But as I was about to say, as we rode down the turnoff, and into the city center, a white, a huge white car was following us. I first noticed it—a bit after we entered the outer rim of the center.
“Something’s wrong Dennis?” said sleepy-eyed Jerry, driving. I turned about for the third time to examine the white car, again seeing the car following us…then all of a sudden I produced a crisis voice you might say, a voice trembling, and decadence came to my face:
“Oh man, look at what they just pushed out the car window, the white car—there…” I was now pointing at the car,
“…looks—J-j-Jerry, a shot gun…!”
Jerry looked quickly, “What is going on?” he said, as if I knew.
Then out of another window of the car, came a voice from a loud speaker coming right from the white car, you couldn’t make out what exactly was being said though—so we continued on, Jerry driving closer to the center of the downtown area now, looking at a gathering of people on two differed corners—in a four or five square block area; if anything, it looked like a protest, if not some combat zone; —the voice over the speaker now, indubitably said—[even louder than before]:
“Move out of the city’s area, immediately, or we’ll shoot!”
I looked at Jerry, “Where’s the way out Dennis,” asked Jerry [the word shoot sticking in both our minds like a spider to a fly caught in a web, “To the right, to the right, over there man…!” I said loudly, with pointing toward a half lit up bridge: without hesitation, and responsive to my tone of voice, Jerry immediately turned the car southwest, and out we went as fast as that six-cylinder car would go.
In short, both Jerry and I temperamentally was in shock, disbelief, and spellbound, but somehow we must had caught a sign that said, “Madison, Wisconsin” for that is where we headed; and sometime down the highway we had stopped to check the map, and talk about Madison to see if both he and I agreed on the new destination, prior to this stop it would seem we were both ill-balanced, and couldn’t or didn’t want to talk about it for the moment, trying to get our equilibrium back.
When we both arrived in Madison, it was a stinky city, too small, and jobless. We went to the stockyards and they didn’t want anything to do with outsiders, it was a fruitless pursuit. We would flip a coin and figure out where next we’d go.

Written July, 2006 (Re edited 5-2008)

Nebraska Fields
(Spring of 1967)

Chapter Sixteen
Omaha Bound

So, although in a sense Milwaukee (for the few minutes we spent there, and flew out of there in our 1961-Valiant, I won’t miss the city at all), it wasn’t a good experience by far, the racial riots didn’t allow that, it was November of 1967, things were hot throughout the United States, in the white vs. black area.
Jerry was older by twelve-years than I, in actuality, this may have been his first escape out of Minnesota though; on the other hand I was nineteen-years old, and I had been to Seattle, North and South Dakota, and a few other places, and was thinking about San Francisco, but I wanted to visit Milwaukee.
In time, everything in time, I told myself. I am not sure why Jerry Hino and I picked out—of all places—to go to Omaha (other than it was on the map, and near Chicago), but I suppose it was a matter of elimination. When we had got to Madison, we were going to stay there, but it was so impoverished looking, and smelled bad from the stockyards, we high-tailed it out of the city like two cats running from a bulldog. I suppose to an onlooker, we were like some unconscious unwanted creatures torn fiercely from the roots of the world (we were unshaven, and perhaps smelled bad ourselves, from the constant drinking of beer and sweating, in the car, as we drove aimlessly here and there, looking for a nest to roost in, by the likes of others—in addition, we were dirty, and untidy, but we really were not conscious of it, half in a haze most of the time.
Jerry was escaping from a relationship, me, I was just trying to see the world, one step at a time. I perhaps thought I was like some Greek hero rushing off to Troy to battle with the Trojans. In time I would find my war in Vietnam, and go to Turkey, to the site of Troy, but today it was simply, a trip that started at St. Paul, Minnesota, and onto Milwaukee, and now out of Madison, Wisconsin; there we sat going down a highway peeing in an empty can, throwing it out the window, drinking another beer, refilling that, then all of a sudden Jerry says:
“Let’s flip a coin for where we go, Chicago or Omaha?”
It was a question, I suppose, but I simply pulled out a coin, and that was my answer, “Okay, I’ll flip,” I told Jerry, “heads we go to Chicago, and tails, onto that place here on the map called Omaha, matter-of-fact, what the heck is in Omaha?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, but it has to be better than Madison—I hope!” said Jerry.
Oh well, we were too drunk to laugh, and too tired to think of another place besides those two locations, plus we didn’t have an abundance of money to be too selective.
“Well what is it?” asked Jerry.
“We are my friend, Omaha bound,” I said, and Jerry turned onto another highway, a few minutes later, and we were on our way.
It was Tuesday, and the highway was a mere empty road widening here and there, where construction was not, and we passed several small towns, a few taverns, we stopped at one to buy a six-pack of beer, and on our way we were—intact, blocked minded, sort of speaking.

It was the first week of November, and there really was no snow on the ground to speak of, although the ground was hardening, and the fields we passed were browning with the cold weather, and the crows and pheasants were out in the fields and the dogs the folks dropped off, out of their cars, the unwanted pets, they had bought for their children, and then had to watch and take care of because the children were too lazy, and they were too lazy to teach them not to be lazy, thus, dropped them off in the fields to did, to starve to death, who would be the wiser, perhaps the farmer will be kinder and pick the dogs and cats up, even though each farmer perhaps had twenty dogs now to feed from the irresponsible folks of the big city. And I looked at them running, some even after our car, hoping we’d stop I suppose, or perhaps their memory transposed our car into the car that they were thrown out of, thinking their owner had come back to save them. These were moments of gross and simple lusts of the people, forcible incarceration into idleness of the frozen fields (or thawing out fields) of Nebraska; the newly bought dog houses, now thrown into the garbage so the kids do not get new ideas of getting another dog to feed and watch.
There was even a few deer in motion, shapes dashing across the highway, as if on an endurance run, passion and hope in their eyes, they too were on the hit list for the governments of the Midwest, too much overlapping, extended beyond their limits, that now they were drifting into the main cities, and bothering the noble people of the good State of Minnesota, yes indeed, these were the results of generations of deer, healthy, but in need of food. So the state hired hunters, killers to kill them all, vanish them from the city, this was their objective. Now they were in the Nebraska fields, like the dogs.
Anyhow, there was lots of room out here in the wild countryside, so I felt as we drove past fields that would produce corn, one after the other, almost hypnotised beneath the vast incredible and enduring land of growth of food. I had heard we fed half the world with our wheat and corn, and now I could see how. Every time I turned my head, it was empty fields, or straw bundled up for winter feeding of the farm animals. And then we got into the more condensed populist areas filled with watchful eyes and arrogance and less strays, new generations, and old ones sitting on benches waiting for buses, and asking each other unanswerable questions to pass the time of day away. We were going through Counsel Bluffs, a city next to Omaha, which was across a bridge, Counsel Bluffs being in Iowa, and Omaha, being in Nebraska. A new adventure was about to start.

Written: 5-24-2008 (see: “Milwaukee Bound,” and “Rat hole in Omaha,” for the other two parts to this story)

Rat hole in Omaha

Chapter Seventeen
The Apartment

“Come on,” Jerry Hino said, it was morning and we needed to get an apartment there was a light film of snow on the ground, it was November of 1967 and this was my second great trip. The anxiety and dilemma of the night driven through Milwaukee had passed, we had driven from Minnesota, to Milwaukee, onto Madison, Wisconsin, and here we were in Omaha, Nebraska. In Milwaukee we had almost got shot. Anyhow, we had high-tailed it out of Milwaukee, onto Omaha.
I was a little disappointed in the city; it didn’t look like much, I spotted Dodge Street right away, and we drove up and down it looking for an apartment. Jerry was running away from his girlfriend Nancy, and I was on an adventure of my own, my second one to be exact.
I looked about at the huddled set of crude buildings, duplexes and corner grocery stores, dotted around what I called upper Dodge Street, and down an offshoot, here and there (Dodge being the main branch to the tree).
In my adventure in Seattle, I ended up with Jeff’s wife coming along, and here again I got a friend who had left a love sick woman, for an adventure, and I was hoping she’d not popup into the scene, and so far so good. Anyhow, we found a Rat hole of an apartment just off Dodge street, and the duplex was side by side, so our neighbors were closer than white on rice. I didn’t really have a plan ‘B’ here if things did not work out, only hoping they would between Jerry and I, and they seemed to. He, like me, liked our drinking, and he was perhaps a bit over weight, him being about my height, five-feet, eight inches talk, and two-hundred and forty pounds, I was kidding, he was way over weight.
The duplex was grey, and I expect it was built in the ’80s, and it was as I said, 1967, so I mean, 1880s. We paid for two weeks rent, that was all we could afford for the moment, it cost us $65-dollars, and that was highway robbery if you ask me, I mean it was crude and meager accommodations. It surely was not unfamiliar with me for the times, during those years anyhow.
Jerry seemed to speak for both of us, and him being the elder, I took no insult to it, I often listened attentively during those drinking days, we had our stories to tell, and we told them, and laughed half the night. We must have gotten drunk every night we were in Omaha. And in-between I looked for work, Jerry did not, he slept the day away, as I looked; I think that was one of the reasons he and Nancy got into fights; I could be wrong. Anyhow, I went to the Omaha State Employment Office, and they asked me were I had come from, and why I was up there trying to take work away from the good folks of Omaha, who needed work worse than I. I had no other answer than, “I didn’t realize I was stepping on forbidden ground,” he didn’t like my comments, and told me to go back where I came from, and stop taking jobs away from other good folks. I know what I wanted to tell him, but I just shook my head and left the buzzard to his fields of corn.
I did find a job across the bridge in Iowa, good folks there I felt, working for Howard Johnson, as a dishwasher. It paid well, and the work was not hard, and I got a hefty discount on food, and usually they’d give me an extra portion, and I’d bring it back for Jerry, I think they thought it would be my late night supper, but supper for me was beer, not food.

Well, a few weeks went by, and Jerry sent his mother a letter, telling her how he was, not sure why he did that at first, I mean, I never did, I kind of felt no need to, we had just been gone a few weeks, not months or years. Anyhow, our address was on it, this now took away the secret of where we were, and of course Nancy got hold of the address, as you would expect. It was now inevitable, she’d someday show up on our doorsteps, but of course I didn’t know all this at the time. But it didn’t take long, and yes, she was there one evening when I came back from work, and again I was in bewilderment, but not as shocked as I was when Jeff’s wife, showed up from nowhere wanting to go with us to Seattle. I thought at the time: what is wrong with these guys, do they not have any stemma staying away from their patsy women, the ones they are running away from, can’t live with, or deal with. I had old girlfriends also, and I was glad to get away from them, and the farther the better, and the longer the better. In fact, I never went back to one I left, or anyone that left me, what for, once the bond is broken, it is broken, like my mother used to say: get off the bus, and find another.
I was perhaps their shadow the following two weeks; I think we spent a month to six weeks in that Rat hole. I went on my own, visited the museum, which had a lot of Indian artifacts, and we all got drunk at night, like always.

But to make this story more interesting, and build up the plot some, not much though, because it is really the end to the story, we simply went back to Minnesota, I lived with them for six weeks, they asked me to leave after that, since they had kids, and I was sleeping on the sofa, and you know, that gets old. Anyhow, I do remember the Jewish Store, down the block in our Omaha neighborhood. I spent some time down there, talking to the old redheaded Jew. Gold teeth, not in bad shape for fifty years old she had pretty nice curves, and I of course ripe at nineteen. Her place was a Rat hole also, but I suppose, it went along with the neighborhood. The store had high ceilings, you could see the wooden beams, and there was dampness in the place, clutter, and everything looked old, can goods with rust on them. Perhaps she was a dope dealer and this was her front, but I couldn’t have imagined that at the time. I liked her, and she allowed me to come in and out and not buy a thing, and hang around.

5-17-2008

"The Cadaverus Journey" (New book in English and Spanish by D.L. Siluk)

2008-05-07T18:20:00.000-07:00

“The Cadaverous Journey” is an eldritch journey into the spheres of dying souls, — a forty-page chronicle, a profoundly influencing story, showing a psychosomatic revolution within the strange, ghostly, unearthly world, with a spell binding ending. In addition, here, is a hefty, brilliant collection of poetry by the legendary poet of the Andes of Peru, international poet from St. Paul, Minnesota, Dennis L. Siluk. Here you find several books in one, and the poems are in English and Spanish; also, translated into several other languages, on over four-hundred internet sites, with over two-million readers a year. The author represents three cultures here: North American, Peruvian, and German: incorporating grieving poetry, legends, to include “The Muhammad Papers”; “The Poetry of the Miners” (of: Cerro de Pasco, Peru); his old “Neighborhood Poetry” from the 50s and 60s (from Minnesota); “Stars over Germany;” “Anvil,” and “Orion’s Orchard”; confessional poetry, cosmic poetry of a theological nature—also poetry on “Death” –and two complimentary poems. Included is “The Nightmare Demon,” an article on sleep. This book is five years in the making. Integrated in the book are photos of the author with: Poet and Radio Story Teller, Garrison Keillor and Diplomat Dr. Miguel A. Rodriguez Mackay.

Dennis L. Siluk, Ed.D. is the author of 37-books, several in English and Spanish, eleven in Poetry. This is his seventh book on myths, with supernatural beings. He lives with his wife Rosa, in Minnesota and Peru, and is working on three more books. Front sketch by Clark A. Smith.

Book to be out in August of 2008

Beware Going to Peru

2008-04-24T11:31:00.000-07:00

They are trying to put a law into effect, that if you rob a tourist in Peru, your punishment is double whatever the law reads: that should tell you something. But Peru is a beautiful country to visit, the dollar is down 25%, but still good, and the people are warm, most of them.

Alas, in Lima, the robberies are up, and the law and president are doing little to nothing about it. In Cusco, and Machu Picchu, strikes will delay you, the natives put boulders on the road, on the train tracks, block the airstrips, to stop transportation, and do not care if tourism is altered, actually, that is why they do it, to get the government’s attention: only the businesses care.

Inter Bank, a smaller bank in Peru, has a lot of Instant Cash machines around, they take your credit card, and tell you the transaction did not go through, and it did, but you did not get the money, and you will be charged, for instance if it is $200. Plus $2, making it $202; and it will take 45-days to settle the dispute (if you can figure out when you get the bill what happened), and if they give you back the money back, they will try not to; the hassle is not worth it, I suggest you use other machines; these machines are specifically put into tourist spots, where Americans and Europeans, Chinese and Japanese visit (and their international law and Visa back them up because you have to use a pin number, and the benefit of the doubt is not taken into consideration). The taxes from the airport to Lima should be thirty soles (or about $10), but they are charging tourists $30+-dollars. The buses, beware, they area robbed all the time on long trips beyond Lima, and the government has done little about it, that is, to stop it. The bandits are armed, and usually come in groups of four to ten; they put road blocks in the Andes, and wait for the bus to stop, rob the tourist, and take of to nearby villages, never to be found. Unfortunately, it is not getting better with President Garcia; under the last two presidents, it was. I love this country, I’ve been to Peru nine times, but I do not share in their idleness, and although their tourism has grown nine fold, since I came here in 1999, its care for the unaware tourist has not gained anymore respect. I carry a gun, with permit of course, and for good reason. The taxi drivers will drive you around a corner, and there will be two more folks waiting, and that is that, they rob you. Often times they do not hurt you if you cooperate, so make sure you do not go with an unknown taxi company—taxis will make a deal with you, if you do not speak Spanish, you may end up paying dollars instead of soles.

Two other items might be worth noting. In Peru, you do not have the right-away, as you do in the United States and Europe, meaning, pedestrians need to be extra careful when they come to the corners of streets, and cross them, even on turning on green lights (and when there are no lights, it is most dangerous), cars will, and do not stop for you. So many people get hurt and killed here every year because of that, and the law basically says, written or not, watch where you are going, you take your life into your own hands. Actually, the car drivers will scream at you if you do not give them the right-away they feel they deserve, and have gotten for ages, and may purposely hit you. Going to court here in Peru, is not like going to court in other countries, you can buy the judge as simply as you can bribe a police officer.

The last thing to note is: be careful when you exchange money. You give the exchange person a hundred dollar bill, he looks at it, hands it back saying: “You gave me a bad bill,” he says, and then asks for another one, and actually he hid the good one you gave him, and gave you the bad one back (a counterfeit one), most likely he will have a friend standing by him to help with the transaction. Now you got a phony bill, and you will not be able to pedal it off. This happens a lot in Trujillo (north part of Peru, but in Lima, it is also happening, and Cusco I expect; in Huancayo, they will try to short change you by having the adding machines rigged). Often times the police are nearby, but turn their heads when such things are happening, perhaps getting a payoff. And I tried to talk to the Mayor of Trujillo about this taking place about the one-hundred dollar bills being exchanged for phonies, in the plaza area right by where his office is, and he refused to talk to me about it.

This is something no tourist book will tell you, so take heed, and have a joyful trip to Peru.

The Mntaro Valley, of Peru: Another Wonder of the World (Edited and Revised by Dennis L. Siluk)

2007-07-22T13:10:00.000-07:00

ENGLISH Short VERSION

THE MANTARO VALLEY, of Peru
ANOTHER WONDER OF THE WORLD
Written by: Jose Arrieta
Translated by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk & Edited and Revised by Dennis L. Siluk

Note: as you read through this synopses of a trip through the Mantaro Valley, keep in mind not all these locations can be gotten to by train, it may take buses or cars, but in Huancayo, there are travel agencies.

Through this brochure (by reading it, it will guide you through the REGION of JUNIN); what we hope it will do is: help you become aware, with your eyes, ears and mental images (imagination) to capture the majesty and splendour of one of the marvels of the world, the “MANTARO VALLE (of Central Peru within the magnificent Andes) which is becoming known throughout the world as another marvel.

“I wish I would be a great Shaman or a powerful Andean person to possess the power of the spell and the charm, and in this moment to transform and to transport all of you for a few minutes to see, to feel, and to enjoy the charm, marvels and tourist attractions of my majestic Mantaro Valley.”

By: Miguel Antignani.

Believe it or not, there is a restless power, vitality, energy in the Mantaro Valley that will captivate you, it is almost like magic, it draws you into it, into its Wanka history, its unconquerable legacy, with its celebrations year round, beautiful sun, and delicious assortment of foods, it is like a spell, in that it will fascinate and spoil those who try to possess her; her being, the Mantaro Valley with all its old time customs, traditions, and culture.

In the process of coming to the Mantaro Valley from Lima, you may wish to visit the Valley of Hatun Mayo also: so let’s present here an imaginary trip for a better understanding:

It is possible to get there using different means of transportation but I suggest, for the first time travellers to this area (and for a beautiful view), take the Central Railroad a portion of the way (and buses and other transportation as needed), and celebrate its 100th year anniversary of its operation and construction.

Assuming you will be taking the train a portion of the way, you come aboard at “Desamparados”; next, the train will ascend to higher altitudes ((close to 16,000 Feet)( busses will also do this)) and throughout this journey, it will also pass through some sixty-tunnels, and a number of zigzags, to include crossing forty-five bridges, thus, we end up almost touching the clouds at the famous city called Ticcllo. Beyond this point, the train will take you even higher, in the process one can see towering summits and lagoons, and then through the renowned city of La Oroya, where here lays the bowels of the Andes, and where precious metals are transformed into human wealth.

As we continue on this course (via, train)to the famous Hatun Mayo, one will see typical highlands, beautiful landscapes; and enmeshed within this excursion, one will hear the tranquilizing sounds of the flowing waters of the Mantaro River. Along this passageway, it will be somewhat possible to see Old Inca Roads, and perhaps capture some old Inca and Wanka stone walls, with your cameras.
Further on, is the dark and telluric snow-capped mountain called Pariacaca.
There at Pariacaca, one can hear the endless flow of the rivers Cochas and Pachacayo, and see the surrounding forest called ‘Raymondi’ in Canchayllo
.
(Check to see if the train runs this way, or you may take a trip from Huancayo to this location by car or bus.)

As we continue on this journey, there is an abundance of vegetarian and the climate abruptly changes; hence, we are now entering ‘Jauja.’
(Incidentally, this is the way earlier settlers went, when visiting, settling or seeking to settle in this country style haven; here one wakeups to a hearty breakfast of rolls of corn, hot bread, and eggs, at many of the hotels and restaurants.)

Laguna de Paca
(In The Mantaro Valley)

Still in the Mantaro Valley (in the province of Jauja) one may wish to visit the famous Laguna de Paca, it can be reached coming back from another destination (heading into the Huancayo area), or from Lima through the Andes, and into the valley. It has been said (by legend, and the editor of this article has seen one of the ghosts) there is a sunken city in the lake, and a ghost or ghosts thereabouts linger about the edge of the lake at night, and people have said they hear them howl at night, and the bells of the sunken church rings at midnight.

Also, the valley has the lake called Tragadero, which the Wanka race is very proud of.

In addition to these two lakes you may wish to become familiar with some of its legends and folklore, perhaps you will find a guide to tell you some of them; they make for a good past time, socialization, and are very interesting and entertaining.

The Monastery & Blue Valley

The next city, before the Blue Valley (a valley within the Mantaro Valley), is Ocopa, a must see place, its monastery, and library with antique books making it a most interesting historical site. Here you will see layers of culture, Christendom as it was developed in this region, and the hardships depicted on old paintings.

While in the Mantaro Valley, you are in the Central Region of Peru; here resides the Blue Valley I previously mentioned, that is, the valley within the valley, with a most handsome river running through it, and restaurants with delicious trout, and women doing their laundry the old fashion way, in the river itself, while pigs, dogs, cats donkeys pace along the river’s edge idly.

Furthermore, we must not forget the famous and rich artichokes this area is known for, and the land of the trout, a delicious fish, that will satisfy most anyone’s appetite.

The City of Concepcion
(And the Second largest Statue in South America)

In another city called Concepcion, a tinge larger than most of them in the Mantaro Valley, excluding, Huancayo, they have a fiesta in July, of the bread, and the renowned ride of the donkey who carries a number of baskets of bread through the city.
By all means, there is much to see in the valley, to keep the busy person active, and for the more tranquil person, there are ruins and museums, among other sites, where one needs not be as active.
Let me talk a little more on the city of Conception, it has what is called the Ugarte House (predating the Pacific War with Chile and Peru); across the street is the Main Church, where there was a great battle in front of it; and its famous fountain of water in the Plaza de Arms, just a few steps across the street.
“Stone-Still, “perhaps can be considered a lookout point, for the view there is overwhelming, it captures almost the whole valley, and you can rest numerable times on your walk up to the point, and there normally are a number of handcraft sellers on the ascension. On top of the hill is the second largest statue in South America, of the Virgin Mary of the Immaculate Concepcion. Perhaps if you are lucky, you can enter the statue, climb up its several flights, and look through her eyes, looking out upon the city and valley.

Huancayo
(City of the Wanka and the Treasure of Catalina Wanka)

Just before you enter Huancayo, seven miles to Huancayo you will pass the silver city of the world, San Jeronimo; do not pass this city up, for kings have ordered their gold carving from this little village. This also is the land of the dancing Los Avelinos, where in August of each year there is a big fiesta.
Also in San Jeronimo, the most famous lady of the Mantaro Valley once lived here, “Catalina Wanka” most famous for hiding a treasure she was going to give to the Spanish to free the last Inca King. Well, no one has found it, yet…and her house can still be seen in San Jeronimo, and so for the treasure hunters, good luck.

Now let me introduce you to Huancayo. There is a saying, and street, referred to as “The Little Way” and perhaps if you drive into Huancayo during daylight you will notice it.
Huancayo has a lot of history behind it, and you can get most everything you need there, if not in the other smaller cities in the Mantaro Valley; they even have a large hospital, and a number of good restaurants, and hotels (three Stars) to chose from, and a famous Sunday market that you can buy most anything you wish, and bargain for it, it is a shoppers paradise, a must for a hunter of odds and ends.
The Cathedral and Plaza de Arms, have a profound history. Here slavery took place, and was abolished, also it is the place in Peru, where the First Constitution was proclaimed, and that was in 1839. Huancayo dates to around 1572 AD, as a city, and predates that as far as being inhabited by the valley folks. And when you walk the downtown area, you cannot miss the famous ‘Real’ street. It is an artist haven, or poet’s corner.

Pachamanca

As Peru is well known worldwide as a place for different tastes of food, the Mantaro Valley has its own also (for it is a world sit aside from the world). That is to say, it has a particular food called: Pachamanca, which is only possible to get in the Mantaro Valley. And also, the famous soup for breakfast “Mondongo.”

THE MANTARO VALLEY can boast of many things, but let’s simply say, it has come to the edge of its awakening age, its people wish to welcome you, and are very hospitable to strangers, and visitors. Come one, come all and join in the land of mystic, dance, songs, fiestas, foods, and the Andes, come to the Mantaro Valley, it is a different world, you may never want to leave once you see and experience its magic.

The Legend of Cumbayo (The Guardian of Cumbayo, 6000 BC)

2007-05-08T17:29:00.000-07:00

The Legend of Cumbayo (The Guardian of Cumbayo, 6000 BC)

Cumbayo, the Sanctuary (Temple, 6000 BC)

Note: Half of this account was written in flight, leaving Cajamarca (5-7-2007), to Lima Peru (a few days after visiting the site of Cumbayo (5-26-2007), the other half was written a day after my arrival back at Lima, at El Parquettos restaurant, 5-8-2007.

The Sanctuary (or Stone Castle)

(Written in Flight, diary notes: part one) It was in may of 2007 I visited the temple in the valley of Cajamarca, better known as the Sanctuary, a most impressive site, dating back to 6000 BC, and the petrography (Rock Art) dating back to 1000 BC, when I, by myself entered this most famous, but most recently discovered narrow passage of Cumbayo, likened to a natural castle like stone structure in the middle of nowhere, towering into the sky like Babel, the passage going from one side of this solid rock formation, mountain size almost, to the other side, perhaps some sixty feet long, one third of those feet in pitch darkness, and tight as two feet wide in some places. I ventured to enter and zigzag across it alone, knowing here lived a people, 8000-years ago, who used this place as a sanctuary, and this narrow passage discovered some thirty-years ago, was perhaps their hidden doorway.
The rock art or petrography dates back to 1000 BC, some 5000-years after the place became inhabited.
As I wedged my way through this curving maze, I got stuck between the walls, my arms became limp, its muscles inactive, my breath almost nil from exhaustion, I remained motionless for the moment, trying not to panic, I was in the middle of this passage way, in the dark area.
I got thinking of the great stones in front of this stone castle like structure, it seemed to have been carved into a face, a section of it anyway, perhaps of some great warrior, or king I thought. This stone structure had tower like formations around it.
I was becoming more exhausted by the minute. Cramped and caught in this dreadful thin passage, my mind seemed to drift, by purpose or force, drift I say, into a dream or visionary state, who can tell at such a moment, under duress.

I saw a figure, its eyes brighten and his breath came more quickly as He replied, saying, “What is your care?” There was some kind of infinite pride in his voice and manner, he meant what he said.
I shrugged my shoulders, I really didn’t know. I nodded. His mind was working his face I noticed; he said to me, “I am the guardian, and I sense you cannot, and I can….” It wasn’t a question I noticed, rather a statement. I think he meant, I was stuck, and he could help, if he wanted to. It didn’t seem like he really didn’t want to, but perhaps he might.
He told me to tell you of their existence “Tell the world,” he said, “and for those who come to except this as an honor to enter this ancient temple and not to touch.”
I was still into this dream or trance state, perhaps he was waiting for me to say, or agree with him, yet if he could read my face, as I did his, he would know I would write this article, or story as I am doing now.

The Captive and the Walls
(Part Two)

(Written at the Restaurant, while having Coffee) At this point the whole offer was a private one—almost personal between me and the Guardian, but with a public agenda, which belonged to the ancestors. I remember now, however, there was no energy left in me, just a sanctuary of worship and a guardian, and he felt a tinge like I was invading, and perhaps wanting me to go on my own.
He seemed to know; the world would come to this location in time, and didn’t want to deny it, but wanted to preserve it for the future use in its destined way.
And now, a few days passed, sitting down at this restraint in Lima, and this is still held in mind—and unsure if he guardian was, or is devoted to his word of ultimate undoing of me, should I not do as I agreed.
I remember asking the Guardian said, “How was it back then?” and his Reply was, “Thee came anarchy in the valley, and that brought the lack of all things—with heart-breaking persistence, we tried to overcome, and this brought our writings into existence, but we could not tell the whole story until perhaps 1000 BC, from the rock art, or as you call it, petrography!”

The Walls

(I remember staggering back against the wall, I actually had room I told myself, and still I heard his utterances, the Guardian’s)
As I looked about, I noticed hands and finger marks scratched into the wall, all the way down the wall, how I could see this in the dark area was beyond me, I must still had been in a trance or dream-vision state; it is hard to tell now that I look back at it…but I do remember the thick stone walls, the deep dust on the floor, and the marks on the walls. The walls seemed to take my breath away. The walls seemed to have impulses: that is to say, they reached to the mind of the Guardian, and obeyed him.

Captive

This narrow passage was to me not only thin, but locking me up, captive, imprisoned, caged, yet I kept my head, and now I understood why my struggles ceased, and I seized the moment and found myself moving a few more feet forward in the passage, and light, yes, light appeared, and as I moved out into the day (I don’t remember how long I was in there, but the sun was like a big lamp upon me, thus, it must had been a few hours, I rubbed my eyes). So I would tell myself at the time: never go back into this cave unless you are with someone. But still I was not sure if all of this was a dream or not, so as you can verify, I am doing my duty, by writing this, and you reading this, so no curse can befall me. Inside this cave, in the dark section I read (I do not know how, for it was in a language 3000-years old, written on stone): “For men whom come through this passage, be quiet, hands free, be like feathers, thin and masked.” The Guardian.

Three Poems from Cajamarca, Peru (While Traveling)

2007-05-07T20:38:00.000-07:00

Three Poems from Cajamarca, Peru,

Part I

“The Black Andes”

The black mountains of the Andes
Caped in sporadic greens
Beams of light cast through the clouds
Give a haunting cadaverous scene
As I descend into this city called
Cajamarca, in the morning
Of May!...

Note: (written: 5-4-07), written while in flight, from Lima, Peru to Cajamarca. It is 6:20 AM (observing the mountains as we come into this valley city. #1807

Part II

The Mashua Lady of Cajamarca

The Mashua Lady of Cajamarca
Sits, across the street from my hotel,
Selling these potato like vegetables,
With a tall white hat (traditional)
Wide rimed—(pink blouse)
Counting her coins, checking her Mashua
(and grabbing more from her sack);
Selling them fast…dark clouds over head—!

!2:50 PM #1809 5-4-2007

La Collpa Farm (From Cajamarca)

Animals cry—and I don’t know why, in Cajamarca;
And the cows know their names, at La Collpa Farm.
Rosa and I watched this funny little escapade,
As the farmer slashed his whip, and called their names
One by one they came: Teresina and Paula at first,
Then rest of the cows, perhaps ten more:
Came and went to their stalls, with their names.
It would seem they were almost human,
With shot, weight, and medical records,
And real personnel names…!

#1808 5-5-2007

Note: At Collpa Farm, in the Cajamarca, Valley of Peru, in Northern Peru that is, they have this farm where they have names, the cows have names, like Catalonia, etc., and when the farmer calls them, they come, and the poem tells the rest of the story. My wife I think liked this part of our trip the most.

New York City: The Sleepless Neon (a Travel Poem with notes)

2007-05-07T20:05:00.000-07:00

New York City: The Sleepless Neon

The bulky skyline danced around me
The first time I drove through its winding maze—.
Flimsy I felt in this Roman candle like city,
With grand towers, and bridges, uncountable
Side streets—cars hissing!
It is one big sleepless neon city—;
What a rush, it gives.
Here you don’t run out of people
You just run yourself down
Trying to keep in step
With the curious!...

Note: Long over due is this poem on New York City—for I’ve been there four times, equal to Paris, and I’ve never been to any city four times other than these, and I’ve been to almost every big city in the world, so, yes, New York City is special. To be frank, and honest, I feel much safer in New York City than such cities as Buenos Aires, or Santiago, Chile, Lisbon, or Madrid, or for that matter, Chicago, or Minneapolis, Minnesota, and I live in Lima, and St. Paul, Minnesota, and I feel saver still in New York City. Anyhow, as I was saying, the poem is over due. It was written while in traveling in Cajamarca, Peru, a beautiful city of 165,000-folks, in a very green valley (9:01 PM, 5-06-2007). #1808

The number one thing I love in the city is always seeing the Empire State Building, the most impressive building in the world. And I like Central Park, and the big museum next door. I like getting pizza or a sand wish brought up to my hotel room, and watching CNN at night. And I like walking down along the banks, and seeing the Statue of Liberty, actually my wife who has been around the world with me, feels that is the most precious landmark in the world, her being a Peruvian.

Horse’s Hoofs and Old Soldiers (Part Three)

2007-04-02T09:27:00.000-07:00

Horse’s Hoofs and Old Soldiers
(November, 1969; Week Two in Basic Training) (P

Part Three, to; “Last Moment of Light”

1
Running

In the barracks it was chilly. The Drill Sergeants smell worst. I knew my smell. Why be polite, it was long days in back of me and in front, long days running, and today I had to run around a field three times, two miles each lap, six miles complete, in some specified time, can’t remember it exactly. I took a number of salt tablets as I ran; some of the men were eating chocolate, to keep their energy up. I quickly learned running was part of the Army, like white on rice.
Yes indeed, running is part of a soldiers life, I told myself, after two weeks (about to go into the third) of running everyday, sometimes with our M14 rifles held over our heads, sometimes carrying our duffle backs full of cloths, and now, today, around in circles. The voice beside me said, “China, China…” a Chinese man, small in stature, who wanted to be an American. In time we would become good friends, and go on to Advance Training in Alabama together, but at this particular moment, it was of course unknown. He had come over to San Francisco, from China, got drafted into the Army, given the choice to join, or return to China, but the offer of citizenship was too great to pass up, so he allowed himself to be drafted into the US Army. He was here on a visit of some kind, originally.
The two divine Drill Sergeants were standing on the side of the circle as I passed them, going on and into my third circle, anger on their faces; they only smiled when you obeyed them. Smiley was right in back of me, my friend from Alabama. It was a hot mid morning, an insane day to be exact, and I was still somewhat drowsy, my brain that is, had gotten drunk the night before, as usual, and was paying for it now (a second time). And here were all these bodies running, running the length of the field, and China, keeping up with all (all his 110-pounds); many of the men just dropped to the ground, passed out from heat exhaustion. But us three kept going. It was the whole company today, all four platoons, perhaps 160-men in total.
One man came along by my side, said: “I say where we are?” and dropped to the ground, just like that, as he dropped I said, “In hell…!”

I think the Drill Sergeant, the older one, was faint and felt almost dead from exhaustion, he had run around the circle once to show he could; I stopped a few times, my hat had fallen off my head for the 3rd time, “Get moving,” he yelled, the old fart couldn’t do it himself, but expected me, I gave him one of his same old grimaces back.
The third stop somehow allowed me to catch my wind and I started back up after a brief swallow of air into my stomach, Smiley, had stopped, was resting on the side now, couldn’t go any further, I think cramps did him in; next, I got back into my running posture and finished the third circle. Perhaps there were about twenty of us, ready to go into a forth, but the Drill Sergeant, told us to stop, and like the others I rested, found the few select people I liked from our platoon, Smiley among them, and China. We all grunted a bit. Moreover, the young sergeant, came up to us and said, “Well,” he then struck his chin, adding (I merely looked at him) “Get down Siluk and do fifty pushups,” (for being cocky I suppose, and to show the rest of the group how out of shape I was. I said, “Fifty, is that all!” And I did the fifty in a few minutes, got back up, and he said again, “Get down and do fifty more!” And I did, and I got up and said, “I will make note of this…” implying, the necessary sum that he could make me do was at its point, and I was not afraid of him, consequently, if he wanted me to do more, I could legally defy him, this he did not want, no challenges.

2
Horse’s Hoofs

I didn’t make any friends this day of course, and felt a little under the horse’s hoofs, several of the platoon faces, recruits, like me, felt I was a trouble maker (for them I suppose), and I was I suppose. And this got back to the Captain, whom would confront me in time on this very issue, in another two weeks to be exact. It was mid November, and we heard we’d be going home for Christmas, and have to return to basic training to finish it, thereafter. One of the soldiers would not have enough money to go home, and we all pitched in from the platoon and made that possible, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
The young Drill Sergeant led us to the front of the barracks, and had us do several exercises, he said it was because there was a soldier with a bad attitude in the platoon, and all would have to suffer from that. The older sergeant vaguely looking at me from afar, but I read his lips, “Siluk, you again!”
“Squat, crouch, and walk around the barracks,” commanded the young sergeant. This was not only humiliating for the platoon, because we looked like ducks, but tiresome, thus, I got a few unfriendly faces, and whispers like: Siluk, stop causing trouble, straighten up…and so forth and so on. And I simply went, or said “Quack, quack…” to all this—loud!
“Who said that? “Asked the young drill sergeant, then he walked along side of me…”It’s you again, I know it’s you Siluk, another walk around the barracks,” he announced, and then I whispered to the guys, “Ok, ok…I’ll shut up (but I couldn’t help it, I did it a second time, then I shut up)) for now))”
After it was all done (the duck walk), most everyone collapsed comfortable on their beds, while the drill sergeants adjusted their smirks.
Enormous pomposity was shown in the two drill sergeants, and displayed around me, or perhaps I was the only one that saw these expressions, gestures, everyone else too busy being nervous about what was next. It was going on to the third week of November, that the Captain had called me into his office, and I asked what for, and he said, “Just wanted to see who you were,” and he kept an educated serious face about the matter, and dismissed me, yet I knew something was coming.

For the most part, I was in a new world, and having a hard time devouring the customs, the inexpressible nuance of the pretense they expected out of me, willingly—to appreciate their fine work in sculpturing a soldier out of a neighborhood bum. My uncouthness was not appreciated either.

That night, the night that followed the duck-walk, Smiley was to meet me at the EM Club, it was the end of the second week, and we were allowed now, to buy freely at the PX, and go to the Company Recruits club to drink, 3.2 Beer, that is, beer that taste like water. But I was already into the EM Club, and drank there. They, the Drill Sergeants had actually escorted us that first day to the PX, like tourists.
I gave Smiley a consultation on my EM club drinking, and told him to meet me there this evening, around eight or nine o clock; our bed time now was 10:30, lights off, or the last moment for lights, at 11:00. PM, weekends, lights off at 12:00 midnight, and now bed check, being 11:00 PM. Life was improving.
As I waited for Smiley, I thought about what the older Drill Sergeant had told the platoon, that next week there was going to be a show for us, the 82nd Airborne, whom was stationed there, would jump out of airplanes, parachuting down to where we would be sitting. I told myself, only birds and their droppings fall out of the sky, and thus, let it be at that. (But when the day came, the old sergeant asked me, sitting on a hill, “Go down there and join up, Siluk!” And I said, “I’m not a bird…!” And he kicked me, and I rolled down the hill, and waved to him, from that position. Another peeve he had with me.

3
Froilan

There was a young female, a Froilan, German girl unmarried woman, who was the waitress at the EM club, a daughter I expect to one of the higher ranking sergeants on base (she spoke with a broken English accent but clear clean German, perhaps twenty-one, or younger; perhaps a second marriage I thought between an older sergeant and German. Anyhow, she was dangerously appetizing I thought, I never did chat with her, a long chat that is, other than, a hello and goodbye, I figured I was under observation at the club (and a few young bucks were always around her at the bar when she finished serving her drinks), and as long as I kept to my own, they left me lone, and should I try to get a date with her, they would expose me as recruit, I was sure of that, and I’d have to go to the main drinking hall, with the rest of my Company.
She was lean, perhaps five foot three inches tall, lovely in many ways, and friendly, and customers liked her. She wore tight dresses, benignant in a way, with breasts that bulged slightly out of her blouse, and had small hands, dark hair—penetrating eyes.

Written 4-1-2007

Silhouette of a Soldier (October, 1969))2nd Day of a Soldier))

2007-03-31T14:45:00.000-07:00

Silhouette of a Soldier
(October, 1969)

Part Two, to; “Last Moment of Light”

1
Reveille

(It is always the sound of the bugle that awakens one in the morning, called reveille, in the Army, the sound to make formation that begins the day, a signal that it is time to get out of bed, summoned to duty. And all one sees in the morning, as one prepares for the second day of duty is shapes and outlines of military personnel in a camp; or so it was for me.)

Silhouettes, that is all they were to me when I first glanced out the window, 2nd day in the Army, soldiers rushing to get into a standing position in what was called a formation, under the autumn sky; the darkness of morning was lifting, an intense darkness it was, a haunting dark blue sky, extra ordinarily cold for a North Carolina morning, it seemed.
I had noticed in the distance, throughout the day, across a field, a club resided, ‘Enlisted Men’s Club,’ to be exact, so I was told, a bar in essence, or so it would be called in my old neighborhood, in St. Paul, Minnesota (called: ‘Donkeyland,’ by the police for its hardheaded drunks, that lived and died at two corner bars).

2
The EM Club

I was particularly thrilled to have discovered it so close by the group of basic training barracks (mine in particular); whereat, when our two Drill Sergeants, our escorts throughout the day were done with us, disembarking for the evening, but beforehand, let us know they’d return at 10:00 PM, to insure lights were turned off, (which was to them, the very ‘last moment of light,’ to be seen within our barracks, lest we wanted to be disciplined))it was really a curfew in essence)): in any case, disembarking for the evening, this would allow me to make acquaintance with the establishment, the EM club. In outcome, I felt a little at home now, likened to finding you are nearby a church, something familiar, if indeed I was a priest.
As I was saying, or about to say, at 10:00 PM, would be the last moment of light to be seen within our barracks, and we stopped work at 7:00 PM, a very full day; I had woke up at 4:00 AM, not much sleep, I was stiff and cold and only half awake, in the morning, and now, in the evening, exhausted, I had my Army green fatigues on, and moved grimly without speaking to anyone, now after duty hours, after having a quick dinner at the mess hall, moved quickly over the field to where the EM club was, it was 8:15 PM, when I arrived there, par excellence in my quick study of the matter, most all the new soldiers had no idea the club existed. Plus, they were too busy trying to be good soldiers, and I was the second oldest person in the platoon (I learned, the younger the easier one can be led).

As I walked across the field, I told myself, “You’ve never been in an EM club before.” How true this was, but I knew bars well, was drinking in them since I was 16-years old, fighting in them, drinking in them, and getting sick in a few, most are the same, smelly, dingy, and alive or dead, plus, I told myself, “You will know in a short time.” Hence, in a few minutes I was walking through the door of he club, yellow flares went off in my head, I acted like I belong there, I always did when I walked into a bar, a strange bar for sure, I was at the time, just turning twenty-two years old.
The insides of the club were small, and formless, nothing special; mostly square, with figures moving about, to and fro, a crackle of conversations, going on everywhere, seemingly sadly suppressed, abnormal for a bar one could say, not lively at all. I was use to deliciously insane bars I suppose, but nonetheless, I was gulping down my first cold Army beer in no time flat.
Everyone seemed to be wrapped in ghostly Army Green, this was to be, I knew the, an unearthly patch of the world, hereon, and forevermore, save, I remained in the Army. (In years to follow, I’d find bars off bases to cater to, rather than the on base Army Clubs.)
I leaned on the bar, drank down a second glass of cold mouthwatering beer, and stared at nothingness.

3
The Corporal

My elbows now on the bar, I got staring at and out the window, the mist had created a moisture onto the bar window, formed a fogginess on the glass; everyone seemed like talking shadows all linked together around the bar, I recognized no one, especially no one from my platoon, that is, ‘D’ Company, 4th Platoon as they called it, called us. I thought briefly about Smiley, a Private like me, a year younger than I, and from the South, I think he said, Alabama, he was easy to talk to, liked to drink, a friend to be found I pondered, a worthy friend, most people I accepted as acquaintances, and only a few select would I categorize as friends.

“You’re the one,” I heard a voice say next to me, I turned, a stranger, Corporal sat about seven feet from my stool.
“You speak to me?” I didn’t care if he had twenty strips on, bar folks get a few drinks in them and try to command the world, this was neither the time nor place to play chief, I told myself.
“Yaw,” he said, a clean shaven kid, couldn’t be over 19-years old I told myself, but he had a few more strips than I.
“What you want?” I asked somewhat brusquely.
“You’re the one I asked for the time, yesterday, I work in the mess hall, and you could get in trouble for being here, because new soldiers, or new recruits, are not suppose to come here, you got a place down by the PX, and you can’t go to that until the second week you’ve been here.”
“So are you going to tell, or what?” I asked. He laughed a bit, and then smiled, “It’s your head, not mine, if they chop it off, oh well.” And I bought him a beer. In time we’d get to know each other, and he’d even give me excuses to use incase I came back after 10:00 PM, for he worked with the Colonel, often after duty hours.

Soldiers’ First Day (October, 1969)

2007-03-30T17:05:00.000-07:00

Soldiers’ First Day (October, 1969)

1
Chapter
The Bus

When we arrived at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, Basic Training, Camp, the Fall of ’69, we were greeted (we, being, a number of us who had come from the Minneapolis, Minnesota’s Army Recruiting Station, now coming off the bus), greeted I say, by cynically sneering, and frankly hyper, drunk looking white sergeants, two of them, with a Forest Ranger, type looking sombreros on their heads, I had my ninety pound duffle bag by my side.
My lip did something like a snicker back at them; my hand did something like a fist.
We were like a little wobbly, staggered train coming off the bus, into camp, forming some kind of a zigzagged line in front of the bus. My captors faced me, two white sergeants (one perhaps in his mid twenties, the other in his mid thirties)) one being a Buck Sergeant type sergeant, the other a Sergeant First Class sergeant, so I would learn these ranks within a few days, this being our first real day in the Army)) they faced us, I should say, stood in front of us as we formed this jagged formation of sorts.
Next, they encouraged us to obey them, as they treated us like criminals with beautiful smiles in-between their sneers.
They grinned, and we grinned, at each other trying to figure out what they were grinning about. Then the engine of the bus stopped, turned off, silence seemed to pass over the bus, onto us, and circle the two Drill Sergeants.
At the same time, the sun was coming down, as the two divine sergeants debated on if we should be allowed to eat dinner, while us new soldiers, smiled at one another appreciatively.

Chapter 2
Mess Hall

Now we were being escorted, if not a bit pushed down a dirt path between two rows of barracks, to our so called destiny, the Mess Hall. I balanced my duffle bag on my shoulders, as they had instructed me, but many of the men couldn’t and so they dragged them, another peeve that would come out later with the two sergeants. As this dragging occurred though, the older sergeant got what I’d call a devilish smile with eyes big as silver dollars, and thus, a few insults reached the ears of the many. That is when I got the smell of their strange cologne, and garlic breath. Several faces (perhaps for the sake of sympathy, so I thought at first) looked out the barrack windows—“What time is it?” a voice said, and eyes looking in my direction, I saw corporal strips on him. I didn’t look at my wrist; I think he wanted me to lose balance of my duffle bag for a laugh.
“I said, what time it is soldier?” the same voice, the same eyes, a rougher tone, said a second time, then it added, in a screaming tone “I’ll see you in the mess hall some time, and then…” he left out what might follow, but he didn’t get the time. I remember thinking: you’d think we were in the middle of a war, or comedy play. I did say something back the second time, something I thought was funny, but not him.

I wasn’t hungry, I had eaten with the few friends I had met in Minneapolis, Minnesota, after getting off the plane, and going to a restaurant, we had a pay voucher for $30-dollars, which in 1969, was a lot of grub, between four or five of us, or enough anyways for a healthy meal, and a small tip.
Hence, our divine hosts were pushing us into the mess hall, seating us, and having us grab excessive portions of food to eat, neither one listening to us, or in particular I, when I said I had just eaten, “Eat anyways so you can’t say we didn’t feed you,” was the reply I kept getting.
As I put down several table spoons of whatever it was eating (and I think I was eating spaghetti), along with some bread and milk, I got thinking this is crazy, and looked for the kitchen, and saw a square opening, window type opening, and saw some soldiers putting their trays through the hole, so I got up, looked at the two sergeants, that were looking at me—somewhat (not paying all that much attention really, and I guess not wanting a confrontation), and the other forty odd solders that got off the bus with me (our duffle bags outside), I aimed my tray at the hole, some several feet away, and tossed it like a spaceship, and it landed perfectly on the other trays, gliding over them like a car gliding over ice, and I headed towards the door, to where my duffle bag would be waiting for me.

Chapter 3
Twilight

My reddish eyes and hair were becoming devouring, as I left the mess hall. I had gulped and swallowed what I could, and was feeling overly full, if not a tinge ill from the lack of sleep, and too much food. And now all this unnecessary control; whatever inspiration I had for the Army was now diminishing. I had an inborn taste for revenge almost.
I stood outside the small mess hall in a pig-like position waiting for our leaders, and the rest of the platoon, it was now twilight. I figured I did my best, though protesting in my own way.
I would notice later on that evening, tears in the eyes of a few soldiers, perhaps irritation in mine. The Army never bothered me, only the disrespect I was feeling, or received. I think bachelors are lucky in the Army, confinement less an issue for them, for married folks, to the contrary.
As I was saying, it was twilight, which now had vanished, and turned into night-night, a dark, heavy blue night. My stomach heavy, and most of us now had come out of the trance like fog we had first found ourselves in getting off the bus, now in the barracks. Digestion was settling, and they, the sergeants were settling us like prey into a lull. We were given our blankets and a pillow, with a few grunts of satisfaction we gave back, we took them, taking pain not to show our defeat, as we smiled at one another, wondering what was next.

4
The Barracks

Strange tongues, forty strange grins, bare hands, white, black and brown faces, and feet belonging to strangers, all among one another. Hands stretched out over the beds. This was a new experience for all of us. The central figures, two sergeants now telling us ‘lights out in fifteen minutes,” and another voice saying,
“…let’s hurry up and get a smoke!”
I looked about at the faces, disagreeable with curiosity, and then looked out the window with itching fingers to have a cold beer, and get on with the show.

Written: 3/30/2007

A Brief Look at the Wanka Warrior of the Mantaro Valley of Peru

2006-09-04T15:56:00.000-07:00

GWB

A Brief look at the Wanka (Advance): the Chavin culture is the oldest of the great Peruvian civilizations; it flourished between 1800 and 300 BC, approximately two millennia before the Inca Empire. The jaguar being a symbol to the culture; the Inca was perhaps the most cleaver and imperialistic of all the cultures that appeared in Peru, but the Wankas from Huancayo were perhaps the toughest of all the warriors that emerged in Peru’s history: located at 3’260 m (of altitude) in the fertile valley of Rio Mantaro.
The city of Huancayo is most famous for its Sunday markets, and two-2 km from Huancayo there is Torre-Torre, red-colored geological formations due to erosion. In a new park of the city, Wanka statues of stone evoke the culture of the old Huanca civilization.
The Wanka warrior lived between 800 to 1400 AD (Huanca: or Wanka) Waaka Michiq (or: Huanca Quechua: original). I have traveled all over the Mantaro Valley, and it is beyond description, its beauty, and spectacular views (vistas) from the top of nearby mountains. It was natural for the Wanka to deal with their differences by talking, not always war, and what usually followed the talking was “Kawagley”, or singing, dancing, drumming. The Wanka had a love for the earth (Quechua language, the word pacha is used to describe earth)) or allpa, which means ground or land; and Urqu Pacha, refers to the world of the dead.))
The Wanka
One must remember in the world of the Wanka, or in particular, Andean world, nothing is finite. Life and death is like water, a necessity, and part of creation. Pachayachachi (to live on this earth), one must accept the normal process of life and death, lest he be haunted his whole life with bewilderment.
WAR: I do not know of any specific word for War, in Quechua, or in the Wanka dictionary: the word: awqatinkuy, meaning to fight, is pretty close. Or wañuchina kushunchu, which means to cause death. Taking this to a more personal level: the word “warrior” in, Yupiaq; thus, a warrior is called: a warrior’s name that is, is anguyagta.

The Warrior used: bows, arrows, harpoons, and spears, a kayak, and lived in villages. They had a community house to talk things out; and they often fought among themselves. They also played games, games of skill, things like that. There was perhaps a period of time when the Wanka tried psychologically as well as a spiritual approach in dealing with a way to do away with war. And used dancing instead, as we see today, thus, holding together the culture and language, its revitalization efforts, you could say.

Waging War: The focus of this story is not so much about how one wages war, or its ability to wage war, but rather on the ability to look at war, to reflect the individual and the peoples actions—in this case, using tools as weapons to kill each other. As we see today in the Mantaro Valley of Peru, Harmony has replacement war, based on singing, dancing and drumming,

The Wanka Today: The Wanka today are much like any other group of people in many ways, they have their problems such as: alcoholism, domestic violence and suicides at the community level and self-governance and education rights at the institutional, political levels. There is no word for alcoholism in Quechua, no word for suicide, thus, it had to be invented for the 20th and 21st century (we can call it: hatun wasi or yatray wasi ((the learning house)).

The Avelinos of the Mantaro Valley of Peru (August Feast)

2006-08-17T11:46:00.000-07:00

The Avelinos
(The Beggars Legend)

Dressed like old beggars they attacked,
like the old warriors: the Avelinos:
these soldiers from San Jeronimo—
of the Mantaro Valley—of Peru;
spies for General Andres Avelino Caceres
(in the 1880s)
attacked the Chileans, in the Pacific War…
now celebrated yearly.

Spanish Version

Los Avelinos
(La Leyenda de los Pordioseros)

Vestidos como viejos pordioseros ellos atacaban,
como viejos guerreros: Los Avelinos:
estos soldados de San Jerónimo—
del Valle del Mantaro—de Perú;
espías para el General Andrés Avelino Cáceres
( en los años 1880)
atacaron a los chilenos, en la Guerra del Pacífico…
ahora celebrada anualmente.

Prologue (Feast of the Avelinos): Five days in August each year, the little town of San Jeronimo de Tunan, of Peru, has its biggest festival that draws the whole Mantaro Valley to it, to include many folks from all over Peru, and the world in broad-spectrum. It is the “October Feast,” of South America you could say, of culture and devotion to the famous Avelinos, which is brought to its zenith pertaining to the Pacific War, fought in the 1880s with Chile, in the form of dance, drink and eating, and a mass given to bless the festivities. Along with a bullfight; several musical bands play throughout the center of city during these five days; Cable TV, along with every TV station available, and radio station in the valley are present and--presently, Mayor Jesus Vargas Parraga has insured the feast goes smoothly, and does a wonderful job doing it. It is an enduring event to say the least, watching and seeing and participating in all the events.

The Mighty Sore Foot

1) “El Quest de Avelinos”

With dark wide eyes,
a long red nose,
red thick lips and thick eyebrows:
the Avelinos came (with their
dark gray feathered bodies:
covered from head to toe):
came out of nowhere
to celebrate their own feast—
“The Quest of the Avelinos!”

With a horn attached to their side
a brown sack, on their back,
like beggars they came
to the Plaza de Arms
dancing like little mice:
stopping here and there
sharing—feeding (with
bits of meat, bread, fruits and
salads—corns) the cities
rich and poor, in remembrance
of the pacific War, once fought
by the Avelinos (long ago).

Note: Written the 1st day of the feast, after attending it for six-hours, and going back to my house in Huancayo, Peru.

Legend of the Archangel of Tarma (A Poetic Fable)

2006-08-15T11:53:00.000-07:00

7) Legend of the Archangel of Tarma
(A Poetic Fable)

Advance: Long, long ago, in the province of Junin, Peru, near the town called Tarma, there came about a severe happening…

On top of a hill, there was a cross, here appeared an Archangel and on this certain path, we the people saw this angel, he looked like a priest with white feathered wings, and the rays of the sun, brightened him, oh, so very much, it caused us to blink constantly, when looking upon him. I myself wondered if this happening was as it was, as it appeared to be, it would seem to me, he was ready for battle, with armament, battle gear on, he stood tall and straight like a soldier, and us being his folk, were somewhat composed, yet we swore and gossiped at his appearance, with all dirty voices, and the angel said, “I come here to announce what will take place in future time, ye, gather all around me, lest you be left out in the dark.”
And so it was, and so it took place, on this little hillside and in the valley, by Tarma, in the province of Junin.
Next, the Archangle spoke (loud and clear, saying): “Soon there will be a plague in your land: the water will dry up, and the corps will spoil, the corn will not be harvestable, and day will turn into a frozen long night, as the sun hides behind the moon; this will happen my aberrant flock, very soon, it is because of your sinfulness.”
And we all began to laugh, thinking: who could take away our valley comforts. Then I stepped forward a ting, and said to him, the Archangel of Tarma: “Why are there burns on both of your hands?”
And he replied with jest and honestness “I’m glad you asked.”
And he raised his hands up high, for all of us to see, and said boldly, “These are the rope burns from the rope, I climbed down from the high heavens to your hill, save, I flew to the clouds, it is true.”

Afterward: And so the legend ends abruptly, that is, the plague came the following day, but—be not dismayed, all the towns folks scooted to other far reaching cities, and lands, such as Huancayo, and Satipo, and stopped their damn sinning.

Note: Written 8-15-2006, in Huancayo, Peru

The Legend of Mummy Mountain & The Parrots of the Andes

2006-08-14T17:21:00.000-07:00

5) The Legend of: Mummy Mountain
(De Perú: Valle del Mantaro))

Advance: in the Valle del Mantaro by Huancayo, Peru there resides three enchanting sites, where all seem to be tucked away together (in the area of Chupaca/Ahuac): Here resides Laguna Nahuinpuquio (where legends have come and gone, some forgotten), and the 9th Century (800-1400 AD Wanka site) Ruinas De Arwatuno, overlooking the valley below and the Laguna. But there is a third legend, almost forgotten, it would seem hidden from the minds of the youth of the area today, but not from a few old timers: the legend of Mummy Mountain (that resides nearby, and can be seen with the naked eye from any location thereby), a tall tale possibly, or perhaps as true as the mountain itself—for it looks its name. I will leave that for your imagination to deliberate and make a decision on, I can only tell what I have heard, and so I shall tell it to you:

In the year 825 AD, there was a great man by the name of Uraurampi, who appeared in the valley, and brought with him his faith in a god called Tunanmaca. The valley was rich with rain and here he founded the Wanka culture. But in time he knew he would pass on (as Tunanmaca had told him, “To each man, a time and place is assigned him to die”), and so he skilled all his sons in the art of warfare lest some foe take this rich valley away from them.
He lived to a ripe old age, and before he died he asked Tunanmaca a favor,
“Take my body; make it into a mummy, place it so I can watch over my people and land.”
And the favor was granted. And thus, as the years passed, the landscape changed, where his people buried him, into a hung mountain sculptured into what looks like a resting body, one resembling a mummy.
And so the legend ends with these final words: should there be war to where Uraurampi´s people need him, they need simply awake him, and he will make the earth tremble and swallow the rival.

Afterward: Today standing below the old ruins, perhaps the very ones his sons built (Arwaturo) one can see this Mummy shaped mountain, and with rain clouds, its silhouette even more so; it is not hard to realize (without a doubt) why it is called, Mummy Montana.

Note: written after leaving the archeological site, about 35-minutes ride from Huancayo, Peru (in the Andes) 8-13-2006, No: 1424.

6) Los Loros (parrots) de Andes
(De Perú)

During the time of harvest
Parrots (loros) of the Sierras
Search high and low for food
Like hungry children of the Devil
They fly—hundreds of them—
(Like a swarming plague, in packs)
Through mountainous passages
Into villages looking for corn,
Wheat, grains, fruits, foods—!
Always in a group, never alone,
They echo their noisy voices
Unto the high heavens,
Like a dark overlooking cloud.

Now, overlooking the farmers’ fields,
In the clap of an eye, they they’ve eaten
Every trace of corn, every crumb of wheat
Every seed of grain, planted by the farmers
Leaving only tears and pain…!

And the youth of the land
(Early in the morning they wake…
And wait, anticipate,
Wishing to save the harvest)
Grab slingshot, rock and hand
Trying to kill the ascending foe
In the wheat and cornfields—.
But lo, the Loros are keen and swift,
They hide in trees and bushes,
Wait for the youth to fall to sleep:
And with wit, and yellow beaks,
Green wings and red necklaces
They eat everything…!

Note: No: 1423, 8-14-2006 (Written while in the city of Huancayo, Peru, in the Andes)

The Wanka: And the Arwaturo Ruins (of Peru)

2006-08-13T17:39:00.000-07:00

The Wanka:
And the Arwaturo Ruins

(Urpurampi & the God Huallallo Carhuancho)

Over looking Laguna Ñahuinpuquio
from the mountain-top
where resides
Las Ruins De Arwaturo,
one can visualize the Wanka…
walking, talking, ruling, and storing their grains:
cloths, corn, potatoes, olluco y masgua
(storing them in graneros, the towering ancient ruins)
alongside and within this Valley-region, of beauty—.

Here the dark-breathe, that rests
underneath the belly of the rain-clouds
are sucked to and upon the tops of the mountains,
within its gorges and crevasses,
making shadows upon its breasts.
This is the land of the Wankas.

Cultural Commentary: The Wanka culture was founded by Urpurampi, and the God was Carhuancho, in the Man- taro Valley Region. They used to sacrifice the dog, after the sacrifice of the dog, they ate him. The skull of the dog was used for a horn during time of war. The culture predates the Inca culture. The Wankas were warriors, and used lances and shields, also porras, and Hondas (like King David used); and they were rebels who sought their liberty. They took advantage of the rain, to grow the many fruits and vegetables within their valley regions. They also so had herds of llamas and alpacas: from these two animals, they made there sandals. Arwaturo, the name of the ruins, means: ´burnt bones´. The Wanka culture dates from 800 AD to 1400 AD. The Arwaturo ruins, of which I’ve climbed, are up some 11,318 feet.

Dedicated to Cesar, Joseito Arrieta, and Diego Veliz (No: 1422; 8-13-2006; written after visiting the site.

In The Blue Valley of the Sierras (of Peru) and The Mighty Sore Foot (In English and Spanish))poems

2006-08-13T15:59:00.001-07:00

In The Blue Valley of the Sierras
(Of Peru)

(Forenoon)) An old man’s spring day))

Sounds of the San Jeronimo creek
In the Mantaro Valley of Peru
Rushing down the Mountainside—
And sorry I could not climb her,
And looking up, as far as I could
To where an old brick oven stood—,
Now abandoned,
Resting amongst the underbrush,
Then I looked to its side
Just as far, and
Surely not the better view
It was of rock and dirt,
And of need of no wear,
But for passing or climbing
They were both worn about the same.

(Here the Rio can talk to one,
If their soul is at peace.)

(Afternoon)) An old man’s Spring Day.))

And this afternoon, equally lay
In the Blue Valley
Along the Quichuay Rio
In the grass, all trodden down:
Two women washing cloths.
Oh, I kept no thinking for another day—
And said to Mini and Rosa:
“I shall be telling this story
One day with a sigh,
And others, in ages hence
That war, with all its destruction!!
Has not been heard of here,
Nor changed the face of the land.”

Perhaps it will remain that way,
It would make all the difference,
For another day.

Written in the Mantaro Valle of Peru, 8-11-06 (No: 1420)

Poetic Note: The Blue Valley, a peaceful place in the Sierras. Here I asked a young boy to wash my car, and guard it while eating trout, along the Rio, he never heard of the internet. The hogs, chickens, donkeys, dogs and a fat old pig just grazing around the restaurant, along the riverside. Here I think the only worry man has is when he will eat, sleep and make love. There are no phones, TVs, but I’m sure things will change, and perhaps that is the theme of the poem.

Spanish Versión
Translated by Nancy Peñaloza
Edited by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk

En el Valle Azul de la Sierra
(De Perú)

(Medio día) (Un día de primavera del anciano))

Sonidos del riachuelo de San Jerónimo
En el Valle del Mantaro del Perú
Bajando de prisa la Ladera—
Y lo siento no pude treparla,
Y mirando hacia arriba, tan lejos como pude
Hacia donde un viejo horno de ladrillos estaba,
Ahora abandonado,
Descansando entre la maleza,
Entonces miré hacia su costado
Justo tan lejos, y
Seguramente no la mejor vista
Este era de roca y tierra,
Y de necesidad de no usarlo
Pero para pasarlo o treparlo
Ambos estaban gastados casi lo mismo

(Aquí el río puede hablarle a uno,
si su alma está en paz)

(En la tarde)(Un día de primavera del anciano)

Y esta tarde, igualmente yace
En el valle azul
A lo largo del río Quichuay
En el pasto, todo pisoteado
Dos mujeres lavando ropas
Oh, no guarde pensamiento para otro día—
Y dije a Mini y Rosa;
“Contaré esta historia
Un día con un suspiro,
Y otros, de aquí en años
¡¡Esa guerra, con toda su destrucción!!
No ha sido oída por aquí,
Ni cambió la faz de la tierra”.

Talvez este permanecerá de esa forma,
Esto haría toda la diferencia,
Para otro día.

Escrito en el Valle del Mantaro del Perú 11-Agosto-2006 (Nº: 1420)

Nota Poética: el Valle Azul, un lugar lleno de paz en la Sierra. Aquí, le pedí a un muchacho que lavara mi carro, y cuidarlo mientras comíamos trucha, junto al río, el jamás escuchó acerca de la Internet. Los cerdos, gallinas, burros, perros y viejos puercos gordos rasguñando alrededor del restaurante, a lo largo de la rivera del río. Aquí pienso que la única preocupación que el hombre tiene es cuando comerá, dormirá y hará el amor. No hay teléfonos, televisores, pero estoy seguro que las cosas cambiarán, y talvez ese es el tema del poema.

∞

The Mighty Sore Foot

The foot, the foot, the foot
Can be a mighty thing,

The foot, the foot, the foot
Supports everything.

But when it’s sore,
One seems helpless.

The foot, the foot, the foot:
And that’s another thing!

8-12-06, written in the Mantaro Valley, in Huancayo, Peru.

Dedicated to Mary Sophie (nine-years old), for giving me a sore foot rub, and soak in the water;

Spanish Versión
Translated by Nancy Peñaloza
Edited by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk

El Enorme Dolor de Pie

El pie, el pie, el pie
Puede ser una enorme cosa,

El pie, el pie, el pie
Soporta todo.

Pero cuando está adolorido
Uno parece impotente.

El pie, el pie, el pie.
¡Y eso es otra cosa!

12-Agosto-2006, escrito en el Valle del Mantaro, en Huancayo, Perú.

Dedicado a Maria Sofía (de nueve años de edad), por darme una frotación para mi dolor de pie, y remojarlo en agua.

In The Blue Valley of the Sierras (of Peru) and The Mighty Sore Foot (In English and Spanish))poems

2006-08-13T15:59:00.000-07:00

Visit Huancayo Peru and see the Legends

2006-08-03T10:45:00.000-07:00

The Legends of Laguna De Nahuinpuquio
[For a Lost City in Peru] Part I

And let her Golden Bell ring, at midnight, nightly
The lost city by Chupaca now sunk with her soul,
To her grave, in La Laguna de Nahuinpuquio…

Write this, above her dead and withered bones:
“No more she lives to give us comfort for worship,
Who asked for only bread, amongst her stones!”

#1408 8/3/2006 There were two cities near Huancayo, that sunk deep into its lakes, long before my time, and legend says, the one that was near Chupaea, now resides in the lake of Nahuinpuquio. The other one, I already wrote about before, known as Laguna de Paca, which also has its legends.
The Wanka culture [Huanca culture] lived in this area, an old culture perhaps dating back to near the time of Christ. And Now I shall introduce you to the second part of the new Legend that blends into Laguna De Nahuinpuquio:

The Legend of: El Amaru and Huaytapallana
[For the New Love] Part II

El Amaru of the plateaus of the Mantaro Valley beyond the Andes, in Peru, perhaps of the Wanka race or culture, during his youth found out he could shape change, and thus, became a huge snake, and ate everything eatable in the valley, and fell in love with a young maiden that lived on the edge of the lake of Nahuinpuquio, they had a daughter named Pucuhs Uclo, she loved the area, and drank from the lake its pure waters; her Grandfather took a liking to her, and gave her all the animals of the valley she desired to play with, it would seem they were a very happy family indeed for a long spell; and everyone in the valley loved her very much. But her father was not happy, and shape changed again, into an eagle, and left home, as often fathers do it seems, when they become restless; and he soared above the Andes, looking here and there, but not knowing what for just looking. Whereupon, he found a beautify young girl, near the city that now is called Huancayo, she was up in the mountains, in a valley of sorts (where I have been), this girl was washing her hair in the little lake, more like a pond. The girl was called Huaytapallana [or White Mountain]; and he turned back into his natural form, a man of now middle age, and married this young girl and had five kids. As a result, this mountain now is called: Huaytapallana, or white Mountain, and is most breathless, when looking upon her from a hillside that parallels her elbows. There are three lakes in this area, and a small lodge near the hillside I just mentioned.

The Green Sea of the Amazon

2006-07-29T17:34:00.000-07:00

The Green Sea of the Amazon [Chapter One: The Canopy]

Advance: Most of my stories or books have been mixed with characters and sunken into the imaginary (non-fiction that is into historical fiction). This one hasn’t. This writer has attempted to write absolutely a true story to see if it can match, or present, or compete with the work of the imagination. 1

The Canopy

We were standing 119-feet high up on a canopy that scientist had built of rope and boards, tied to towering jungle trees, and then I heard my guide below, talking to two visitors. It was too far away, I could not tell what was being said. Then the talking stopped, and I told my wife Rosa, ‘I hope he doesn’t’ leave without us, it gets dark here early…’ The canopy moved, swayed a bit to the right and left as we scaled its thin walkway here and there, up and down, it was at this time the longest one built in the world. I then motioned down to our guide, who had lived in this part of the jungle all his life, so he told us, and so it seemed. He was perhaps in his early forties, I, perhaps was ten years older than he. He was build broad, robust, and a likeable kind of fella; assured, or self-confident in himself, and his knowledge of the jungle.

“Anytime!” he said, Avelino yelled up to us, he meant that it was up to me when we went back to our lodge in the thick of the Amazon jungle. It was to be an hour and a half walk back, the same it took to get there. And I knew a good portion of that walk would most likely end up being at dusk, or in the twilight of the evening. And much more, should we not get moving. I liked Avelino; he had spent forty-years and then some, in this part of the Amazon, about 125-miles from Iquitos, Peru. I got only an hour or so to spend in Iquitos, not much time, i hoped to get more on the way ack; stopped in an old bar, from the days of the booming rubber plantations, when money was plentiful, and had a coke, talked to the barkeeper. Then we visited the Iron House, architecture by Mr. Eiffel himself, who created on paper the famous Eiffel Tower, in Paris, for he Worlds Fair, back in the 1880s.

“Wait a minute,” I told Rosa, I wanted to make sure I walked the whole canopy (she smiled, as usual, and followed me); every inch of it, ever corner and by every tree that it was tied to, I walked to it, by it, around it, not sure why, perhaps to say I did it, like a mountain climber: I wanted to say, I climbed to the top; and now we had to go down—and so I rushed that process up (but without a doubt, I had climbed to the top of the Jungle, looked over its roof, and say its sea of green, which was more like a dream).

It was now conceivably, an hour or so, before that last of light would be put out, when it would shrink into twilight, and then dusk: our light would be gone. Frankly I made a last look over the top of the jungle: Avelino, simply waited down in the opening of the area below, and Rosa and I now were headed toward the rope ladder that lead down to the first platform, there were three platforms we had to descend to.

On the first platform, we stopped a bit to get our balance, and breath, or I did anyways, Rosa really didn’t need to, she seems to adjust in the jungle as well as she does in the high mountains of the Andes, quite well, in comparison to me. We had gone up once, or I suppose you could say several times, to heights in them mountains to exceed 16,000-feet, and she never groaned a bit, as thin as the air gets, she was like she was at sea level, while I’m gasping for air, and trying to rid myself of the headache coming.

“Lets go,” Is aid to Rosa, meaning to the second level, yet I wanted to make sure she knew I was about to descend, and that was the best way to inform her, so neither of us, got in the others way as we climbed down.

“Yes,” she agreed, in her broken English, a native to the Spanish language, and about three years into speaking English as a second language. “It’s going to get dark soon,” she added.

“Yaw, I hope he knows the way back in the dark, but he does have that flashlight.” I said.

“I’m glad you pushed the fact we should take the flashlight along, he really didn’t want to, said he didn’t need it, but it makes me feel safer, even if he doesn’t need it. But I think he’ll need it.” Rosa said, and I just glanced up, as I put my foot down into the next loop of the rope, as if to say: ‘let’s see if he does or don’t, I bet he will.’ (But of course I didn’t say that, I thought that, lest he hear me, and I disrespect his knowledge he so aspires to have of the jungle.) The last several steps were wooded ones, and then the end platform, and out into the open area.

As I caught my breath (for the second time) I waited for Rosa to adjust herself, Avelino, approached us, the flashlight in his back pants pocket. I took a last look at the trees holding the canopy up, the ropes tightly wrapped around them: the ladder that went up, as well as down—and saw the path ahead of us, the same one we had come through, that would lead us back out into the deep of the jungle—it was dark in there, already; the rays of the sun were not piercing the openings of the foliage as it was doing a few hours ago.

There had been rain a few days ago, but not enough to make the ground soggy, or difficult to walk on or through, yet it was not completely dry either, and it would make for a slower walk than what harder gravel would allow. I kind of was thinking of trying to walk at a faster pace back, and Avelino was thinking the same, and it would turn out we were thinking alike, and Rosa with her little legs, and me with my warn out lungs, ended up far behind him, with that flash light still in the back of his pants pocks. As we walked through the jungle, there was no way to keep up with him, he was like a wild cat, and perhaps, perchance showing off a ting. But he slowed down then, allowed us to catch up, and I gave him a smile attached to a smirk.

There were opening in the jungle where you could get a good look at the sky, but it was a quick look if you were walking at a pace Avelino was leading. A wild cat, black had run by, in the distance, I called to Avelino, and point it out, “Just a cat, in its natural habitat, no more, dhats all…” he said as if it was an ant trying to get back to his ant hole. Matter of fact, it was a while back when I saw those ant hills, and they were two feet high, and four feet around, and a stream of ants were going to and fro, and I was going to kick it for the hell of it, to wake them up, and I got the smirk I gave him today, back then. Not sure what would have happened, but I suppose, if they were hungry I’d not be alive to write this story.

The cat was gone, now, perhaps it was 300-feet from us, too far to get a perfect picture of it with my old and aging eyes, but I suppose I needed had gotten a better glance, it was good enough, so I told myself.

There were a lot of dry leaves, and roots extending out of the ground, not as bad as when I was in the Gran Sabana, a year earlier: ‘Thank God for little favors,’ I told myself… those roots killed me, kind of. Broke some toenails, and a friend of mine, a little older than I, fell and broke his nose, and a few others got cuts, and so forth and so on, it was a three hour hike in the jungle, always going upward, upward, until you were 200-feet on a ledge looking over at Angel Falls, 1500-feet high, and 1500-feet below you, and the water of the falls, slapping you in the face, It was the place Rosa wanted to go to for our Honeymoon.

The roots, the wild cat, the ants, the canopy was not much compared to some of the things we had to put up with else where. I shouldn’t say, put up with, it was all an adventure, one we begged for I suppose, and got. As I then looked up into the sky, I though I figured it would be dusk soon, and I was already getting tired, and we were perhaps one forth of the ways into the jungle. Avelino had one speed it seemed, high gear, the only way for him to slow down was to stop. To be quite honest, I think he wanted to make it back to the lodge before he’d have to show us he needed the flashlight.

Many things seemed to move in the threes, in the plant life, undergrowth in the distance, nearby; sounds everywhere, movements, a few eyes I saw, they didn’t look dangerous, up in the tree-branches so I just kept moving.

2

The Jungle Path

So now going along the green path in the rainforest, I started to notice large toads, and a frog, small one, with a glowing yellowish shade on its back, I was told to leave them be, they were poisonous. You get, or I got anyways, the profoundest urge to grab that cute little frog and give him a life; but I dared not, and Rosa informed me of its deadliness, and of course we both knew of this already: my little angel. Again we say what Rosa called the big lazy birds on branches, a few more eyes here and there, and we all were getting hungry, and we knew the cook at the lodge was cooking Rosa’s and my piranhas we caught yesterday. I was determined to eat them, not sure why, I suppose because they like eating human flesh, but then they like really eating anything that is meat. I had used a pound of steak meat to catch three little big mouth piranhas. We caught them in the dark-waters, in a tributary that connected into the Amazon River (the trees give off this chemical that makes the water darken, and the piranhas seem to like this sort of water, akin to vampire fish). Around our lodge there were many tributaries and streams, and ponds, enmeshed into this basin area that was a little distance from the main Amazon River.

Rosa had brought some water along, she had insisted somewhat, I was thinking I would not need it, but a fresh drink of water was just what was needed, and I drank my share in on setting I do believe. The coolness was invigorating, and I needed to rest, and our guide was getting farther in the distance and we called out to him, and the night was creeping in, smelling the good smells for the Amazon. I was very happy, I had thought about going into the Amazon for ten-years, ten long years; and here I was. People had told me: how can you afford it. I told them, stop drinking or smoking, and put our money together, and don’t buy that new car for another year or so. It was easy to save when you rally want to save. It was like going on a diet.

We had now come to a village…

To be continued

The Green Sea of the Amazon [Chapter One, Part Two: the Village]

We had not stopped for a half hour straight walking, and we seemed to have taken a little side trip, yet still in somewhat of the same direction of the campsite, or lodge; Avelino wanted to introduce us to the chief of a village, who seemed also to be a seer, unless I got it wrong, nonetheless, he greeted us and Rosa talked to him in Spanish. He gave us a tour of the village, then I asked Rosa, “Tell him I want to take his picture,” and she asked the chief.

“But make sure, “he said, “to take my whole body, the spirits, the evil spirits are out for me, and want the chance to invade me, that would open a window for them,” and I assured him the picture would be whole, I had a pilloried camera and so he could see it immediately, and he was happy about that.

“Do you think he will let me blow that six-foot blow gun?” I asked Avelino.

“Sure,” he said, and walked over a foot or two, to where the chief was, and said something to him, and brought the blowgun back to me. I steadied it with my two hands, and blew the dart out with all my might and breath, it went about three feet, that was it. Then the chief looked at me, trying to hold his laugh in, blew it and it went I bet twenty-feet. I smiled at the older man; I was too embarrassed to try it again. I had stopped smoking fifteen-years prior to this event, but it didn’t do much good for air capacity in my lungs, so I found out.

Then we sat in a big open enclosure, and he talked to us, saying something in Spanish to my wife: it was an invitation to stay in the village the night if we so wished, but I declined the offer, then Rosa asked him something about my illness, Multiple Sclerosis, and he asked questions about it, the symptoms: “In the morning,” he said, “you come back here in the morning, I have some sap from a tree I will drain tonight, it will heal your illness.”

Rosa translated this to me (what she had said): she had told the chief it was a neurological problem, that I was dropping things and got tired quickly, and my eyesight was half-hazard half the time, and I got tired often, and I needed to sleep for long periods, so forth and so on, etc., and it was making me unstable: all true I suppose. And he added it would cost ten-soles, or about 3.5 dollars. I assured him I would try it and return in the morning for the bottle, and Rosa smiled at him, and we said our goodbyes, but drank some coconut juice before we started our journey in the dark, and now our guide, pulling out the flashlight he said he did need was saying, “I guess I am glad we brought it along,” he didn’t look at me when he said it, just pulled it out of his back pocket, like John Wayne would in the cowboy movies pull out a gun, around his hip it went and flashed it straight ahead.

We would return in the morning for the—whatever it was—substance the chief had for us, and I did use it for several months, and it did seem to stop the progression of the MS, not cure it, but slow it down, and stabilize me for the moment, I will perhaps have to go back there for more, I thought, after my return home. And after it was gone, it did get worse.

The Green Sea of the Amazon [Chapter Two: Tarantulas]

We were out and under the light of the moon, a good distance from our lodge, in the thick of this jungle, the Amazon. This time there was no path to guide us somewhat, but Avelino assured me he didn’t need one, it was his backyard he said, matter-of-fact, he said that too many times, it made me suspicious. Now we were in the dense jungle, a flashlight in his hands, and mine likewise, the moon over our heads we could hardly see, looking for—none other than the big spider, the Tarantulas. We were lucky in that we got our own guide, and the other group three or four couples, had one guide for them all. It was as I wanted it, if possible.

As we walked in the deep, we past many large trees, larger and thicker than the thickest pillars of any cathedral I had been in, and I’ve been in them from Istanbul to Rome, and throughout South America, and North America—; and all along our sides was entangled shrubbery, a wealth of green. Rosa and I walked shoulder to shoulder, and as far as I knew Avelino was walking was walking everywhichway. But some how we got him to slow down for me, and thus, I got to rest when needed. We had stopped earlier in the day at his home village, perhaps 200- natives, several houses on sticks, or I should say, wooded beams; and a large school house, a square box type building, with a tin roof, and thin wooded sides for walls, not much but it served it purpose. It now comes to mind as we walked through this thick foliage of a jungle at night the story he told us: his village was along side the river, “We got to keep a good eye out on the children, they run off, and get into the thick of the high grass, and the big cats come and pull them by the necks, or the snakes come and swallow them, but mothers can’t be everywhere all the time, can they…” he said, rhetorically. And then he introduced us to his sister-in-law.

All of a sudden we stopped by a big tree, its trunk was perhaps thirty feet round, and its roots extended a half foot out of the ground, and a big hole was under one root, the largest root it seemed, of the tree, or what I could see of the tree.

“It’ll all work out,” he said looking at Rosa, and putting his stick into the hole, thinking perchance, Rosa might freak out or something. Rosa was behind me, I was about four feet from the hole, and of course our guide was almost on top of it, possibly two feet, with his stick inside of it.

Then I saw, and I’m sure Rosa saw legs coming out of the hole: extending out of the hole, not rat legs, but legs…”That’ll be ok,” he said, not sure if he was talking to us or the creature inside the hole; the legs turned out to be hairy, reddish-brown, huge spider legs, called a Tarantula: larger than my whole hand, legs longer than my fingers, as thick as my fingers. Rosa moved just a ting, “Where’d he come from,” she said.

“It’s his home,” said Avelino “I woke him up.”

Now Rosa was stone still and I was amazed, the eyes of the creature were staring at me, or so it seemed, and Avelino waved his long magic wand (or stick) around its legs, as if it tranquilized it; or had him trained to stand down. Then another long legged tarantula came out, as if to either protect its mate, or join in on the festivities. But the second one never came out all the way, like the first one, it kept its guard, and remained halfway in the whole.

“Be calm Rosa,” I said, I could hear her heart beating, and her breathing heavy, but she is a good sidekick when it comes to traveling, she wants to be part of everything, I can only recall once when she panicked and I had to retreat from my forward advance: it was in Glastonbury, England, on the Tor, the Great Mound, known in ancient times as Avalon, when a heard of cows, huge cows came up, and she is a small woman, and they came blocking the walkway to the top, from the bottom upwards as we were coming down, and I grabbed her as not to panic and started walking through the herd, and she pulled away and ran to the side of the mound, and I joined her, and we had to climb down the mound sideways. Oh well, one out of a hundred is not bad.

So here we were with two monstrous huge spiders, with beady eyes, staring at us, and I guess it was to me the funniest thing to see this stick tranquilize them to the point of shortening out the danger, to where there seemed not to be any.

It had been a full day, and therefore after this escapade, we went back to the lodge....

The Green Sea of the Amazon [Chapter Three: The Big Snake]

So when we got back to the lodge that night, we ate our fish our piranha, and it was delicious; we also played the guitar, I did, that is--play the guitar, in the main hall, and painted a picture on a plaque, which was really a piece of plain wood, that they hung up on the wall to let others know who you were, and when you had come to the lodge, they had plaques all around the lodge. There was only gas lights throughout the lodge, inside and outside on the walk way. We had well water, and a tank, and we had big giant toad’s guarding our outhouse as you’d go into it to take a dump. So to summarize the evening, we ate, played the guitar in the dark of the evening, with crickets and wings flapping here and there, and noises you’d never hear any other place except the Amazon, painted a picture and said goodnight to the toads, and went to sleep.

The following night we started ahead of everyone else, to go find snakes, the great anaconda nonetheless. And at night is the best time I was told: it needs sun to regenerate, it is a cold blooded creature, and thus, at night rests, and is at its weakest; we humans need rest, day or night, because our body needs protean, and sleep and food regenerates heat, which our body needs.

And so here we are, all regenerated from a previously nights sleep, and a nice dinner, having our protean, and looking for Mr. or Mrs. Anaconda; or even baby one would do. We took a large boat, so they said it was large, it looked normal to me, the right size for three people, and we rowed with ores down one of the tributaries of the Amazon looking for this snake of snakes half the night. For one, small or big, and every time we got near the banks of the river, the snakes would hightail it out of the vicinity. Our guide had told us then, that more people were coming down onto the Amazon recently, to where they know [the snakes know] when a boat is near, especially these bigger boats, and leave quickly. That there were not many around here anymore that we’d have to go to another location, but it would take a couple of days, not an evening. Plan B, was to get a smaller boat, and sneak in on the snakes, should we find one, and he assured me, we would, providing we went along with his Plan B.

It was a hot evening, it was only 11:00 PM, but very dark, as we got close to the bank again, for the umpteenth time. And again we heard the sounds of the high grass with movements: it was a big snake for sure, our guide assured us, but as he said before, he repeated again, “We go back and get the dugout.” It was a canoe of sorts, a tree I do believe just chipped out by hand and chisel—I saw one a few days ago it looked rough to me; and should you rock the boat, Rosa felt we’d end up swallowed, especially her being 4’11”, she was a half meal for the big snake, me perhaps a meal and a half.

By the time we got back to the lodge, ready to take the dugout boat, I looked at Rosa, the boat, Rosa, the Boat, and said, “I can’t do it, it is just too thin and small, and it was made for the natives not for me.” I am not a big person, but the dugout couldn’t shelter me even for a coffin I do believe.

“Hell with it,” I said, “let's go in, call it a night,” disappointed I was, but there is always reasons for things, and so I do not tempt fate, I just thank God, for the moment.

The Green Sea of the Amazon (Chapter #4, The Wine of the Amazon)

In the following days I saw dozens of small animals, such as monkeys (small they where), birds, butterflies—, butterflies with eyes on their wings, most peculiar I thought, and interesting; ant hills, and macho ants, marching to and fro, carrying twigs like Hercules would carry a pillar from a Greek acropolis. Lazy-birds high up in the branches of trees sleeping away, big bodied birds they were. Then somewhere along the Amazon we stopped at a winery, built in the 1830s.

I walked around this old plant, made of thick old wood: the owner showed us where they crushed the grapes, and the old timbers they interlocked for the apparatus to run the winery. Again, it was most interesting. And I purchased two bottles of wine, gave it to my guide. I think it was more interesting to me on its historical basis than its wine making capacity. I don’t drink anymore, so it was ridiculous to buy wine, other than to show appreciation for the tour.

When we arrived back to the lodge, there were two Amazonian women sitting in one of those dug out canoes, docked at the wooden pier that extended out into the somewhat, Laguna that trailed off of the arm from the Amazon? I asked her (and my wife translated, although I think she understood my Spanish a ting, it is rough), I asked her if she had been here all day (several hours had passed since I've seen her last sitting here), it was no about 5:00 PM.

“Yes,” she said with a big smile.

“But why?” I replied; since we were the only ones at the lodge until after 7:00 PM, when a new group would come. I really didn’t expect an answer, but she said nonetheless, politely, “Wait for you!” This somehow seemed to obligate me to buy something from her (as she had several items displayed on a board of some sort tucked between her legs so the items would not fall off, to steady the showing, and it was a coconut, small in size, with its top cut off I purchased, to use it for –god knows what, I suppose to put change in, or my wife could put pins in it (in the long run it would be tucked away for five years until we moved it to our home in Lima, thus it went from the Amazon, to Lima, to Minnesota, and back to Lima, it is a world traveler I do believe). In any case, she was happy as the lazy bird sleeping in those lofty branches, we saw a while earlier: she gave me a big smile, and her and her female companion drifted out of the Laguna, to the tributary and on home—I expect.

It was a most charming day to say the least.

“Another day,” I said to my wife, “another day and we’ll be going home,” and we walked up the wooden walkway to the lodge, and into the kitchen area for some coffee.

The Green Sea of the Amazon (Chapter Five: Leaving the Amazon)

I sat in the cafeteria area having coffee, it was 10:00 AM, the day we were to leave the lodge and go back to Iquitos, spend a few hours there, and then catch a flight back to Lima, where we had our second home, our other home was in Minnesota, we were on a thirty-day vacation, sort of. We used our home often in Lima as a stepping-stone to travel throughout South and Central America.

So here I sat, had breakfast, and now my coffee and I was bored, bored to death. Next I asked the manager of the place if we could catch an early boat back to Iquitos, it would be a four hour ride in the boat. My boat was coming at 2:00 PM, and I’d miss roaming around Iquitos, and I wanted to see the Iron House again, last time it was a quick, too quick of a visit, and Garcia was running for president of Peru, and was campaigning in Iquitos, staying at the main hotel, I wanted to go and see if I could catch a glimpse of him.

“It cost $200, to take boat early,” said the manager.

“What?” I said in disbelief, “let me talk to the owner in Iquitos?” and he did, via, by way of an old two-way radio; I’ve used them in the Army twenty-five years ago. Anyhow, they agreed to let us take a boat at 1:00 PM, thus, we’d get there an hour earlier than the 2:00 PM ride, and I’d still have a few extra hours to roam the city, just not as much as I wanted, plus it would not cost me an arm and leg for a ride a few hours earlier. Although I understood, I was asking for something that was obviously not on the schedule, and perhaps they had cargo to bring back and forth, and that had to be taken into account.

Anyhow, on our ride back to Iquitos, in a roofed boat, sides open, kind of square like, a big motor on the back, and it chopped though all the waves in front of us, waves other boats were making, so we made good time, and got to Iquitos about 30-minutes earlier than we had expected. The Amazon can get wide, up to 40-miles wide, but the widest I saw during our ride, was perhaps four-miles wide, which is extremely wide I thought, a lot of water to say the least.

When we got into the city, we went to the Iron House, and to an old colonial bar around the corner, and had a coke, then to the new hotel, and I made it just in time, to see the ex president, and now running for office again: Garcia was coming down the stairs with two bodyguards by his sides, we got into the hotel lobby [we: being my wife and I], as the natives were outside waiting for him, I think the hotel people thought we were guests from the hotel, and I grabbed a quick picture of him as he almost stepped on my toes.

And so the trip was mild, but grand. We caught our flight back to Lima on time and went back home to a nice soft bed, and I must had slept twelve-hours.

8.

The Green Sea of the Amazon [Part one of two Parts]

Afterward:

Enthrallment of the Amazon

Every well-traveled person knows such trips (such as the Amazon) are a fix, a mixture of many things, besides a high, it is fatigue and novelty mixed with apprehension. There is such also a thing called enthrallment involved, and the Amazon has this in buckets.

Not all adventures have a full dose of charm, or enthrallment, in degrees I suppose, but not in buckets; and some of the reasoning is because of the timetable does not allow one to inhale this. An example might be, is when I went to Guatemala, to Tikal, the folks in the tour company, the guides in particular, rushed me and my wife to be through the trip so fast, it became dull, fast; overheated. They wanted to get the job done, not caring about enthrallment for its customers, and so like a herd of cows they pushed us through from one point to another with little regard for our capturing anything, we’d have to deal with looking at pictures in the future, and say: “Look at this,” and try to remember the moment if we could.

This trip to the Amazon was not like that, not so: in the unlikely event something like this could happen again, I simply told myself: I’d leave the tour and go on my own. And In Cuba, Santiago, and Easter Island, I did just that, and salvaged the trip before they could spoil it, and they can spoil it. Believe me, there is a skill, art, or craft, if not philosophy in traveling, and you must have a plan B, at all times and hope you can have the edge, and live up to your philosophy, which is what you want out of the trip, lest you end up in a melodrama you will regret.

The Amazon

The Amazon I suppose you could say I was smitten by, utter happiness; I know my nostrils loved it, fresh oxygen all the time. One recognizes himself, or can when taking in the full elements of the Amazon, the: smells, sounds, fresh air, the hidden animals, the sights. A little bit of everything for the senses all pushed together into a ball you might say.

I had my doubts of how I’d like, or respond to the Amazon, that why its been five years in the waiting for me to write about it. I did not think I should write about something of this nature unless it was extraordinary, then I thought: no, that isn’t a good enough reason for me not to write about it, so here it is. Nothing extraordinary, except it is the Amazon, and that in itself is unique.

At any rate, it captured me, and the source of my first attraction was simply resided in its mystic appeal, its legends and lore, its impressiveness to have the capacity to hold more water than the largest seven rivers in the world; to be forty miles wide at one angle; to have one forth the worlds medicines. To be the home of so many species, animals, birds, cats, etc. Whatever ichthyic it was, it was a good one, and it broke he ice for me, and got to me to step into her wild wilderness. While Iceland is a unique place to be, and it has it many wonders likewise, it did not absorb me, as did the Amazon.

You might say, the Amazon took liberties with me, a violation if you will. It seeped into my being, off-balanced my oxygen intake, by me smelling harder, more. In essence, it demands more from you, and takes it, and you have little choice but to give it. It sharpened my sense you could say. I seen total freedom in many cases, perhaps one of the few places left in the world, where the inhabitants don’t know there are wars going on here and there around the world.

It all felt—arriving in the Amazon—unknown, alien time, a world away form the normal world, I was at its mercy, I did not for once in my life, did not have the edge, or for that matter, an edge to create. Perhaps it [it being: the Amazon] knew this, but I for once didn’t care.

As I first arrived going down the Amazon, perhaps the second day, going from one lodge to the other, the sky was full of beautiful clouds, liken to neon lights, except with shades: blurred into to sun beams shooting across the sky, and into and around a seemingly bouquet of puffy white clouds. One gets the feeling I do believe, he or she could get lost at any given moment, and that eyes are looking at you from all directions, ones you cannot see, sometimes ice-glazed eyes.

The Green Sea of the Amazon (Part Two of Two: Afterward: Enthrallment of the Amazon#8)

So yes, the Amazon was oblivious to my being charmed by it, as perhaps I was living in those passing moments, and didn’t know it myself, but it was fabulous. But fabulous is of course just a word, it does not describe its meaning. When we had first went down the Amazon, we stopped at what I’d call a luxury lodge, with TV and all the amenities one may wish to have in the Amazon; we simply used the facilities for prepping for our adventure into the thicker part of the Amazon, perhaps we stayed three hours; the we came to our lodge, which had none of the refinements the previous one had. And had we gone to the third one, which was deeper into the Amazon, we’d have been sleeping on a dirt floor, and ours might have looked like the Hilton, in comparison.

There were familiar flashes of darkness while going down the Amazon, which were simply shifts in the weather, from sunny, to sunny-pale with rain. I tried to enjoy the moment, grab the sky, and I suppose impolite a times in doing so, but I was busy writing down thoughts also. That is perhaps why it took five years to write a simple story as this one. The subconscious has its own knee-deep pitch-black waters, where it hides its treasures until its time to pull them up, and write them out. The good thing I’m trying to say here, is the Amazon is made for everybody to visit, and has degrees one can subject themselves to. As I previous mentioned, for those wanting to visit, and not rough it at all you got the first lodge, just got to endure the boat ride. And the third one is for those madmen who what to live like apes, you can go to that hole in the ground and live; for myself, I prefer the in-between, and got it. It is so true; you get what you pay for.

The overall feeling was mythological; the Amazon gives you no time to think of anything else, besides God and her. The passengers around me, on my way down the Amazon to the lodges were immobile, subdued by her.

Fastidiousness, is not necessary a quality in the Amazon, and if you’ve read about my yellow-bird in one of the previous chapters he was the point of fact to this, but it fit well in creating this story, and even he had a charm that belonged to the Amazon, I hold him no grudges, he was as he was: he wanted attention, like my wife, like our God wants, and like I like. So it is all in the gamut of things, is it not?

Chachapoya Countryside [Peru]

2006-07-29T11:09:00.000-07:00

As one rides by in a car, visits a house or two on foot, a few shops in the villages and towns of the Amazonas, whole families walk by with mules and cows, along the roads to these locations: farmers on battered dusty carts, wagons with wooden wheels; no clocks in the city squares, some houses have no glass windows, nor screens: everything’s bare; some horses with no saddles, just a blanket; ploughs-gear old as the houses, a century or two. You can tell by their faces: their ancestors lived here for a thousand years, perhaps still walk the ground far and near. At the end of the road, or the road leading in (at the other end) of each town it seems to have chickens and dogs running around, laying down in the dust for coolness; mules stray.

Here in the Amazonas you wear long rubber boots for mud is unavoidable; women wear derby hats; landslides are like muck pies, thick and troublesome: everywhere, gangs of workmen cut through them: shovel-by-shovel: it’s another world.

Note: #1328 [4/23/06], Lima, Peru, Written at the Author’s home in the evening.

The Recuay Culture of Peru: [400 BC-800 AD—Ancash, Region]

2006-07-27T23:42:00.000-07:00

The Recuay Culture of Peru: [400 BC-800 AD—Ancash, Region]

The Recuay Culture is one of several fairly advanced pre-Inca societies of the first millennium AD in Peru, such as the Moche and Nazca. Best known for advanced ceramic art and stone cutting, the Recuay people were farmers and herders, whom lived in the Callejón de Huaylas Valley of the northern highlands of Peru, they were contemporaneous with the Moche culture, of the neighboring northern coast. They are known for their pottery, and the basic three colors they used.
The first civilizations in Peru, date back some 13,000-years, about 1250 BC, several advanced cultures, such as the Chavín (North part of Peru), Chimú (South part of Peru), Nazca, and Tiwanaku [Bolivia], developed in several sections, or regions of Peru, and what now is Bolivia. The Inca empire united what is now known as the better part of South America, within perhaps a 50-year period, with its base in Cuzco; a totalitarian state for the most part. The Recuay civilization was an Andean society of the Classic Period.
The art of the Moche and Nazca, are quite well known throughout the world, the Recuay cultural art [pottery in particular] are perhaps equal, but less known simply because of their location, and the instability in the highlands. I have been in the highlands, and it is rough, many flood areas, much of it has to be traveled bay horse. The Wari expansion came about 750 AD, and it seems the Recuay culture dyed out some.
So little is written about this Culture of Peru, it is a shame. Some of their figurines, like the llama, and the devils are quite impressive, among their other ceramics. Very little is known of the social organization and settlements of this culture.
Ancash, a region, and part of the highlands of Northern Peru, are many sites available for the armature archeologist to enjoy himself (and mountain climbing, which I care not for). Agriculture and herding are among its better-known exchange. You will see fruits, potatoes in this high altitude society for sale also.

Recuay Heartland: communities were based around hilltop fortifications: settlements, here one had a defensive edge, and could have their ceremonial activates in some small way, in peace.
They have a distinctive artisan art style compared to their neighbors, I’ve have seen the work from almost every culture in Peru, and they have what I call a dark side to some of their work, as well as light side. Some monolith stone work, mummy and devil style; and for their period, very sophisticated. Some of the potteries are of thin oxidized past. Whitish clay is often used, I’ve seen this and handled the objects, and they are fine sculptures indeed, the white clay is known as kaolinite; they made animals, supernatural figures, again I’ve handled them, and they are unique, and one would be a prize to own.
From what I’ve seen, and I have not seen all of their stonework, or ceramics, or textiles, but much of it is I do believe, of mortuary ritual, ancestor worship, the public leaders.
The period I find most interesting in their artwork is 200 BC to 800 AD that could be considered almost their whole life existence as a culture of antiquity. But they as, many cultures have, had a transformation. There was kind of a cultural exchange shift, or pattern in northern Peru, in the North Highlands, following the Chavin’s collapse in 100 BC, and the interactions between them and Recuay. Perhaps a second one between 200-700 AD, with the Moche and in 750 AD, the Wari; thus, we can see a complexity in their societal ancient character, if we follow them from one stage to another.

—Ancash is a region located in Northern Peru, its capitol city is Huaraz, and its largest city is Chimbote. The name of the region originates from Quechua “anqash,’ meaning ‘blue.”

The Sleepy Galapagos

2006-07-21T22:41:00.000-07:00

By Dennis L. Siluk
May 14, 2004

The Sleepy Galapagos: I recently went to the Galapagos, not far from my 2nd home base in Lima, Peru, yet 1/3 away around the world from my first home in St. Paul, Minnesota. My son Cody, had inspired me, harped on me, convinced me to go, saying: "...go, go dad to see the great Galapagos." He likes animals, as you might conclude with all them "goes" I provided above for you to read. Me, I don't love them, nor hate them, for I find it more pleasing for me to be at an ancient archeological site vs. nature; that is to say, I'd rather go to Chan Chan than to the Boundary Waters, or some other archeological site than hunting; the zoo can wait. Anyways, when I arrived on the first island in the Galapagos, on my recent vacation [4/24/04]: no cars, no smog, no busy people or traffic, just animals sleepily, lazily being unoccupied, un-sweating, laying around: that's the Galapagos in a nutshell; now for the bowel of soup.

If you've ever visited the Galapagos Islands, there is much to say on the subject: such as, they are peaceful, they are mystic, if not down right haunting; they are also an outside zoo, filled with strange sea lions roasting in the sun, looking at you eye to eye, a foot from your scalp. And we must not forget the Blue-footed Booby' yes indeed, the flying creature had [has] blue feet; the giant 500-pound tortoise, of which was some 150-years old. Where else on God's earth can you find Iguanas that swim? Every single one of these creatures I've mentioned seem to be in a daze, a trance: as if they were made of stone, tranquilized, unmoving [except for a few occasions when they wanted to move to get out of the sun].

Yes, oh yes, there is magic entwined with spells within the fabric of these islands, where everyone seems to be in a half sleep mode, in first gear if you will. And I thought about this a lot when I was there. And the more I thought about it, the more I missed the smog, the horns of the cars, the bickering of the neighbors, yes, O yes, I'm a city boy. As perfect as this Garden of Eden was or is: it was too much for me. I think heaven has more activity than the Galapagos, no disrespect intended.

Now you may be asking: "Would he [He being: me] go there again" The answer would be "no" but, I'm glad I went and experienced it: and to add ice cream to the top of that, I'm sure I'll be writing about it in my future books.

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Journey To Peru And Honduras

2006-07-21T22:02:00.000-07:00

By Dennis L. Siluk
May 12, 2005

It was a wondrous trip as always. We caught our plane as usual, and landed in Lima, Peru…no change in time, thus, no jet leg. There we mulled about a few days, and I got bus tickets to head on to Huancayo, beyond the 15,000-foot Andes and the Mantaro Valley, all quite breathe taking. The people in Huancayo are a warm blooded, smiling people, with a touch of grace and magic. We arrived on Sunday, and so a kind of market fair was in place. I ate until my heart was over content. The next day I went to and visited the milk factory, my brother-in-law’s a big shot I think up there, got me in and I got to taste the cheese, and all the dairy products.

In the following days, in this city by the Andes, of some 260,000-inhabidents, and its lovely plaza area, with its grand church, I did a lot of shopping and found a great place for coffee; everything very cheep. In addition, I went out into the countryside and found a few archeological sites, dating to about 700 AD, not hard to find in Peru. One evening my wife and I, along with some family members went out to the Laguna de Paca, a lake with a legend, which I wrote a poem about in a poem later. And the next day I went to an old adobe church, dating back to 1534 AD, with a sage involving Catalina Wanka, and again did a poem on her thereafter, now published in the newspaper.

In the mean time, I met Marissa Cardenas, a lovely columnist for the Huancayo, Correo paper. Who did an article on my presence, publishing one of my poems, “The Treasure of Catalina Wanka.” For those interested, it was in the April 23, Issue of the Correo, and can be found on the internet. It was published in English and Spanish in the paper. In addition, I was on TV, as being a visiting writer, and gave a quick lecture at the nearby College for language, called “Los Andes University.” The students and staff were great, but I was thinking I’d talk on poetry, but they were more interested in my travels, and Vietnam. So be it, I was their guest, and so we had a wonderful question and answer session.

Back in Lima, I was getting ready to go to Copan, Honduras, and so I did; which I had to shift my mind from the Inca culture to the Maya. There in Honduras, I found the people not to smiley. Talking to the folks in a coffee shop, one man said, “It is because we are afraid to make mistakes, with visiting guests, so we look serious all the time.” Oh well, that was in San Pedro de Sula. Copan was a bit friendlier and the archeological site was beyond my expectations.

Upon my arrival back, we went to, that is my wife Rosa, and her sister Nancy, went to Ricarado Palma’s house [liken to our Mark Twain] he is a well know writer from Peru, who wrote on the Peruvian Traditions. There I met the director, who gave us a tour, and asked if I’d except an inventation to have a presentation of my next book there, and of course I agreed with unexpectantly joy, which will be, “The Treasure of Catalina Wanka,” and other selected poems. So as you can see, it was a busy 33-day; yet I am not through.

Thereafter, my wife and her sister, and my father-in-law, a man of much wisdom, and an old prize fighter from the 40’s, went to the horse races; there someone recognized me, and asked me to sit with the owners of the horses, and so we all did. And believe it or not, won a triple horse race, guessing the first three horses to come in on the 5th race, which was 6, 7, and horse number 8; then I got to meet the jockey, and have a picture taken with him, which will be in a forth coming magazine. What more can a person ask for, action everyday.

I even met a psychologist named Poggi, a person I went out of the way to meet. He had killed his patient some twenty years ago, whom was the Butcher of Lima, a man who had killed a number of people, and was captured, and Mr. Poggi wanting to do society a favor; thus, he did him in with his belt around his neck. Oh well, we talked, and I did a poem on that subject, again it will be in the forth coming book.

So all is well, and I’m back in St. Paul, what a dull life I have now.

My Top 10-List of Archeological Places [NOW! Spanish and English]

2006-07-20T23:45:00.000-07:00

My Top 10-List of Archeological Places [sites] I’ve been to around the World [*indicates dates I was there] By Dennis L. Siluk

1—The Taj Mahal [in Agra, India]. The beauty of the Taj Mahal is beyond description, especially on a sunny morning with a little dew from the nearby river. A mausoleum, on the banks of the Yamuna River; it took 22-years to build, and 20,000 laborers. The riverfront is most inspiring. And the Town of Agra is worth a visit. There of course is a love story behind this monument, and you will have to seek it out if it interests you. If all I had seen was the Taj Mahal, on my trip to India, it would have been worth the long voyage. [*l997]

2—Giza, or more important, the pyramids of Egypt. We often only see three, but there are four worth ones noticing; the pyramid of Djoser, the oldest of the four pyramids, a stepped pyramid; in the sense of, one layer built over the other. This is northwest, and in the Saqqara site; I personally liked the tomb or pyramid of Cheops, north of Memphis on the plateau of Giza; among the seven wonders of the ancient world. The Sphinx gives the pyramids their mysticism, and even magic I do believe. One could not claim its famous status without the other. [*l998]

3—Borobudur (Largest Buddhist temple in the world ((built 760 AD): of Central Java; made of dark volcanic stone, on a natural mound.This site has square and circular terraces, and a top Stupa. It is almost magical. It stands almost 150-feet high, and its square base is 373 feet each side. Designed by Gunadharma; it does have a calming atmosphere, even more so than the Tor of Glastonbury [or Avalon]. Very few places in the world have this calm effect I do believe; Mary’s house on the hill of Ephesus has, along with a few other locations throughout the world. [*1999]

4—Easter Island [land of the Moai]; the whole island is an outdoor museum. Many things happened when I arrived on this little island in the Pacific. A spirit filled Island if I had ever seen one. Much more than Maui, or even Malta; it is considered the most isolated island in the world. Some of the statues on the island go from 9-tons to 90-tons. And you have a few craters on the island to venture to; but Rapa Nui, the original name for Easter Island, has some 600-statues to look over so rent a jeep. Some of the statues are up to 33-feet tall. They are all about the island. The dogs run free and the horses run free and so do the spirits; and so did I, on this island, annexed by Chile. [*2002]

5—The Great Wall of China. The wall is some 4000-miles long over mountains, deserts and plains. I walked up and along its great walls outside of Beijing, feeling its ancient touch of empire. It was built to keep the barbarians out, some sections date back to 221 BC. Even Genghis Khan crossed over these walls, in 1211 AD. The Ming emperors rebuilt the wall on a larger scale in the 1400s. I loved seeing the Great Walls of Troy, but these took my breath away, they go and go and seem never to stop. Matter-of-fact, it can be seen from outer space. [1996]

6—The Acropolis of Athens; in particular the Parthenon; if I go back to Greece, I would like to see Crete, and Knossos, I’ve left so many places out, I’ll never get to them; but I’ve seen the best of the best; and the Acropolis is the best. After reading Mary Renault’s entire book on Greece—for she was my inspiration to go, I went. And each morning I’d walk down by the Acropolis, eat in a local café, and gaze at the beauty of the Acropolis on the hill. This site dates back 5000-years as far as being inhabited; with its many temples, and a fine museum right on location. [*1995]

7—Macchu Picchu [the Lost City] there is so much to say about this site, one does not know where to start. This is perhaps the last ancient remains of the Inca civilization of the Andes. There are many dates put on this site, and if one looks it over, you have stones from three different periods I believe, dating back to 2500 BC, to 1250 BC, to the 1400s [AD]; the town of Cuzco remains above it, and a beautiful city it is. Macchu Picchu is 70-miles north of Cuzco, at a height of 9,000 feet; most people do not know, Cuzco, the town is higher, 12,000-feet, so bring something to help you adjusting to its height. I suggest oxygen; or see if a hotel has it there. [*l999]

8—The gladiator’s famous home: The Colosseum of Rome. Where gladiatorial played the death game with wild animal hunts; this is the biggest of the Roman amphitheaters. Quite the complex system, with underground passages; you got to go across the street up to a small park, look through the fence to get a good, full picture of it. Or I suppose you could just walk down the street and get all the traffic and other buildings in the picture to. I got to go back and see Pompeii now, a site I’ve longed to see, but I had to see this first. And you can’t help just gazing at it as you walk here and there, it is Rome to me. [*l997]

9—Stonehenge—a few miles from Salisbury, megalith stone giants you could call these earthworks here, or heel stones. This stone circle dates to about 2500—3000 BC. It reminds me of Mystery Hill, in New Hampshire, also called, the Stonehenge of America; but of course, has a more powerful appearance. I get the same haunting feelings from here, as I got from Gaza. As if they were fraternal twins. They are said to come from the same time period. Something tells me both the pyramids of Egypt and Stonehenge, and even and Mystery Hill, all belong to a later time. If only you could touch it [the stones at Stonehenge], it was fenced off when I was there, but I've heard lately, they were taking the fence down; about time; it takes 90% of its magic away. Everyone suffers because of the destructive habits of a few. I went nonetheless, and have to live with 10% of its magic, good enough. [*l998]

10—Angkor Vat [Palaces of the Gods]. Another giant complex: you have within this area, Phnom Bakheng, Angkor Thom [the great city of the Jayavaman VII, inspired by a great Hindu myth], Bayon, Ta Prohm [where trees grow around the ruins, as if they are hugging them]; Ta Som, etcetera. It is a masterpiece of Khmer art and brilliance in building. Surrounded by a huge trench; Angkor Vat, is also spelled Angkor Wat. The food in Cambodia is great, and the people kind. Stick with a guide though. While in Cambodia, I got to go on/in the Mekong River, which was a delight to see, and its fishermen with their nets, and so forth. [2000]

In Spanish Translated by Nancy Penaloza

Top 10-List of Archeological Places [sites]

Mi lista TOP de los 10 lugares (sitios) Arqueológicos. En el mundo entero en los que he estado [*Indica las fechas que yo estuve allí]

By Dennis Siluk

1-El TAJ Mahal [en Agra, India]. La belleza del TAJ Mahal está fuera de cualquier descripción, especialmente durante una mañana soleada con un pequeño rocío del río cercano. Un mausoleo, sobre los bancos del Río Yamuna; que tomó 22 años y 20,000 trabajadores para construirlo. La orilla es la más inspiradora. Y la Ciudad de Agra vale una visita. Allí desde luego hay una historia de amor detrás de este monumento, y usted tendrá que buscarlo si esto le interesa. Si todo lo que yo hubiera visto fuera el TAJ Mahal, en mi viaje a la India, habría sido valioso el viaje largo. [*l997]

2-Giza, o más importante, las pirámides de Egipto. Nosotros a menudo sólo vemos tres, pero hay cuatro de valor que notamos; la pirámide de Djoser, la más vieja de las cuatro pirámides, una pirámide pasada; en el sentido de, una capa construida sobre la otra. Esto es de noroeste, y en el sitio de Saqqara; personalmente me gustó la tumba o pirámide de Cheops, al norte de Memphis sobre la meseta de Giza; entre las siete maravillas del mundo. La Esfinge da su misticismo a las pirámides, y aún la magia, creo. Uno no podía aclamar su estado famoso sin el otro. [*l998]

3-Borobudur (el templo budista Más grande en el mundo) (construido 760 años antes de Cristo)]: de Java Central. Este sitio tiene terrazas cuadradas y circulares, y una cima estepa. Es casi mágico. Esto permanece a casi 150 pies de alto, y su base cuadrada es 373 pies cada lado. Diseñado por Gunadharma; realmente tiene una atmósfera calmada, entonces, aún más que el Peñasco de Glastonbury [o Avalon]. Muy pocos sitios en el mundo tienen este efecto tranquilo que realmente creo; la casa de María sobre la colina de Efeso lo tiene, (junto a otras pocas localidades en todo el mundo); hecho de piedra oscura volcánica, sobre un montón natural. [*1999]

4-Isla de Pascua [tierra del Moai]; La isla entera es un museo exterior. Muchas cosas pasaron cuando llegué a esta pequeña isla en el Océano Pacífico. Un espíritu llenó la Isla como si yo alguna vez lo hubiera visto. Mucho más que Maui, o aún Malta; es considerado la isla más aislada en el mundo. Algunas estatuas en las islas van de 9 toneladas a 90 toneladas. Y usted tiene unos cráteres en la isla para aventurarse; pero Rapa Nui, el nombre original para Isla de Pascua, tiene algunas 600 estatuas para revisar, alquilando entonces un jeep. Algunas estatuas están sobre 33 pies de altura. Y ensucian la ciudad los perros y los caballos que corren libres y lo mismo hacen los espíritus; y yo también . La isla esta anexada a Chile. [*2002]

5- La Gran Muralla China. La pared es de aproximadamente 4000 millas de largo sobre las montañas, desierto y llano. Me acerqué y a lo largo de sus grandes paredes fuera de Beijing, sintiendo su antiguo toque de Imperio. Fue construido para mantener a los Bárbaros fuera, algunas secciones remontan a 221 AC. Incluso Genghis khan atravesó sobre estas paredes, en 1211 antes de cristo. Los emperadores de Ming reconstruyeron la pared en una escala más grande en los años 1400. Me gustó ver las Grandes Paredes de Troya, pero estos se llevaron mi aliento, ellos van y van y parecen nunca no pararse. Normal, puede ser visto del espacio exterior. [1996]

6 - la Acrópolis de Atenas; en particular el Partenón; si vuelvo a Grecia, tendré el gusto de ver Creta, y Knossos, he dejado fuera tantos sitios, nunca los conseguiré; pero he visto lo mejor de lo mejor; y la Acrópolis es lo mejor. Después de leer a Mary Renault todo el libro sobre Grecia - Ya que ella fue mi inspiración para ir, yo fui. Y cada mañana yo tuve que caminar abajo por la Acrópolis, comer en un café local, y dar una mirada fija a la belleza de la Acrópolis sobre la colina. Este sitio remonta de 5000 años tan lejos como siendo habitado; con sus muchos templos, y un excelente museo directamente sobre ubicación. [*1995]

7-Macchu Picchu [la Ciudad Perdida] Hay tanto para decir sobre este sitio, uno no sabe donde comenzar. Estos son los restos de quizás el último poder, de la civilización inca de los Andes. Hay muchas fechas puestas en este sitio, y si uno lo mira, usted tiene piedras de tres períodos diferentes, creo, remontando a 2500 AC, a 1250 AC, a los años 1400 [antes de cristo]; la ciudad de Cuzco permanece encima de ello, y es una ciudad hermosa. Macchu Picchu esta a 70 millas al norte de Cuzco, en una altura de 9,000 pies; la mayoría de la gente no conoce, Cuzco, la ciudad es más alta, 12,000 pies, por los tanto traiga algo para ayudarse a adaptarse a su altura. Sugiero el oxígeno; o ver si un hotel lo tiene. [*l999]

8 - La Casa Famosa Del Gladiador: El Coliseo de Roma. Donde los gladiadores jugaban el juego de muerte con animales salvajes cazados; este es el más grande de los anfiteatros romanos. Casi el sistema complejo, con pasajes subterráneos; usted tiene que ir a través de la calle hasta un pequeño parque, mirar por las rejas para conseguir una imagen buena de ello. O lo supongo solo podría caminar abajo la calle y conseguir todo el tráfico y otros edificios para la imagen. Conseguí volver y ver Pompeya ahora, un sitio que he tenido muchas ganas de ver, pero tuve que ver esto primero. Y usted no puede ayudar solamente mirando fijamente en ello mientras usted anda aquí y allí, esto es Roma para mí. [*l997]

9-Stonehenge-a pocas millas de Salisbury, megalito piedras gigantes que usted podría llamar estos trabajos de tierra aquí, o piedras de talón. Este círculo de piedra remonta aproximadamente 2500-3000 AC. Esto me recuerda de Colina de Misterio, en New Hampshire, también llamado, el Stonehenge de América; pero desde luego, tiene un aspecto más poderoso. Conseguí los mismos sentimientos atormentados desde aquí, que los que conseguí en la Gaza. Como si ellos fueran gemelos fraternales. Ellos, como se dice, vienen del mismo período de tiempo. Algo me dice que ambas pirámides de Egipto y Stonehenge, y aún la Colina de Misterio, todos pertenecen a un tiempo posterior. Si sólo usted pudiera tocarlo [las piedras en Stonehenge], fueron separados con una cerca, cuando yo estaba allí, pero me enteré últimamente, ellos bajaban la valla; algunas veces; esto llevaba al 90 % de su magia. Cada uno sufre debido a los hábitos destructivos de unos cuantos. Fui sin embargo, y tengo que vivir con el 10 % de su magia, bastante bien. [*l998]

10-Angkor Vat [Palacios de los Dioses]. Otro complejo gigantesco: usted tiene dentro de este área, Phnom Bakheng, Angkor Thom [la gran ciudad de Jayavaman VII, inspirado por un gran mito hindú], Bayon, Ta Prohm [donde los árboles crecen alrededor de las ruinas, como si ellos los abrazaran]; Ta Som, etcétera. Esto es una obra maestra de arte Khmer y esplendor en el edificio rodeado por enormes zanjas; Angkor Vat, también es deletreado Angkor Wat. La comida en Camboya es buena, y la amabilidad de la gente. Pegado como una guía pienso. Mientras en Camboya, conseguí continuar / en el Río Mekong, el cual era un placer ver, y sus pescadores con sus redes, etcétera, etcétera. [*2000]

Huancayo, Peru [a Nice Place to See, or Even Retire] NOW in English and Spanish

2006-07-20T23:37:00.000-07:00

Everyone is going to say: “Now where is this place?” It is the best hidden secret in Peru. But first let me state, of all the places I’ve been to in the world, there are about six or seven places I could live: Paris being one [just overlook the French people, wish they were English]; Lisbon, being two; Kyoto being three [my wife is jealous of the Japanese women though]; Seville, Spain [home to Hercules] being four; St. Paul, Minnesota [home to the poet Longfellow, and the novelist F. Scott Fitzgerald] being five; and Peru [home to Ricardo Palma, the Mark Twain of Peru].

In Peru there are three places I can live: Lima, Cuzco, and Huancayo. But the best place of them all is Huancayo, which has a beautiful twilight; the sunsets, like a canopy over the Mantaro Valley and like a shooting flame, it lights up everything; and the Laguna de Paca, the beautiful lake nearby, with its full moon, is enchanting; and its Sunday market, and all the vendors with their assortment of foods. If a retired American cannot live here on his little Social Security, he can’t live anywhere else in the world cheaper, with such culture, climate and scenery; not to mention, but I will, its great food variety, and hospital people; and a nearby hospital for those whom are elderly. They are not like most of the world: take the American dollar, and spit at them as they walk out their door. Yes, I’m afraid that is what you will see if you travel the world; Europe being top dog in this department. Go where you like, but live where you’re respected. And Peru is one place, and surely Huancayo. In Peru, police protect Americans, and for some odd reason trust them. My advice to them is not to be so trusting of us, we are not all as you would have us be. There is an old breed still like that, but few of us left. They got this idea, that what we say is written in stone, and it used to be; but nowadays it seems the stones are made out of mud, not granite like they used to be. I repeat myself, there still is a string of this cultural fiber left, but it is thin. But in Huancayo the people are gracious people, and the Andes are spectacular. And Huancayo has its nose right in it.

If you’re looking for McDonalds, stay in Lima, I like Lima, it is the New York of South America, and every time I go to have lunch at El Parquetito in Miraflores, I have to take a taxi, it only cost two dollars or so, but it is too difficult to drive there—unless you’re the Road Runner. In St. Paul, everyone drives like old ladies, they should go to Lima, but don’t drive, forget driving; you’ll kill yourself, get a taxi or take a bus. Cuzco is beautiful, and Machu Picchu is number seven on my top ten list, and it has the Sacred Valley, but it cannot compare in beauty and serenity to the surroundings of Huancayo, and San Jeronimo with its Mantaro Valley, and little adobe church, San Sebastian, where legend has it, Catalina Wanka hid her treasure of gold, she was bringing down through the Andes for the release of the Inca King, Atahualpa, whom the Spaniard killed, and lost the gold—indeed they did, they liked blood better I guess.

Spanish Version Translated by Rosa Peñaloza

Huancayo, Perú (un Lugar Bonito para Visitar, o incluso para Radicar)

Todos estarán diciendo: ¿”Ahora dónde está este lugar?” Este es el mejor lugar ocultado en Perú. Pero primero déjame decir, que de todos los sitios en los que he estado en el mundo, hay aproximadamente seis o siete sitios donde yo podría vivir: París, siendo uno [solamente pasa por alto a los franceses—desearía que ellos fueran ingleses]; Lisboa, siendo el segundo; Kyoto, siendo el tercero [aunque mi esposa es celosa de las mujeres japonesas]; Sevilla, España [la casa de Hércules] siendo el cuarto; San Pablo, Minnesota [la casa del poeta Longfellow y el novelista F. Scott Fitzgerald] siendo el quinto; y, Perú [la casa de Ricardo Palma, el Mark Twain de Perú].

En Perú hay tres sitios donde puedo vivir: Lima, Cuzco y Huancayo. Pero el mejor lugar de todos ellos es Huancayo, que tiene un crepúsculo hermoso, las puestas del sol, como un pabellón sobre el Valle del Mantaro, y como una llama punzante este ilumina todo; y la Laguna de Paca, un cercano lago hermoso, con su luna llena, es encantador; y su Feria Dominical, y todos los vendedores con sus surtidos de productos de alimentación. Si un americano jubilado no puede vivir aquí con su pequeña pensión, él no puede vivir en ninguna parte en el mundo más barato, con tal cultura, clima y paisaje; sin mencionar, pero lo voy a hacer, su gran variedad de alimentos, y la gente muy hospitalaria; y un hospital cercano para los que son ancianos. Ellos no son como la mayoría del mundo: que toman el dólar americano, y los escupen mientras ellos salen de sus puertas. Sí, me temo pero esto es lo que verás si viajas alrededor del mundo; Europa siendo el peor de todos en esta área. Anda a donde te guste, pero vive donde eres respetado. Y Perú es uno de los lugares, e indudablemente Huancayo.

En Perú, la policía protege a los americanos y por alguna rara razón confían en ellos. Mi consejo a ellos es de no ser tan confiados de nosotros, todos no somos lo que ustedes creen que somos. Hay una vieja clase todavía de esa forma; pero somos pocos los que quedamos. Ellos tienen la idea, de que todo lo que decimos está escrito en piedra, y esto solía ser; pero hoy día parece que las piedras son hechas de fango, no de granito como frecuentaban ser. Me repito, hay todavía una cuerda de esta fibra cultural, pero muy delgada. Pero en Huancayo la gente es generosa, y Los Andes son espectaculares. Y Huancayo tiene su nariz directamente en este.

Si estás buscando Mc Donalds, quédate en Lima, me gusta Lima, ésta es la Nueva York de Sudamérica, y siempre que voy a almorzar en El Parquetito en Miraflores, tengo que tomar un taxi, que sólo cuesta dos dólares o algo así, pero es muy difícil conducir allí—a no ser que seas el Corredor del Caminos. En San Pablo, todos conducen como viejas damas, ellos deberían ir a Lima, pero no conducir, olvídense de conducir; se matarán si lo hacen, consigan un taxi o tomen el autobús.

Cuzco es hermoso, y Machu Picchu es el número siete en mi lista de los diez primeros lugares, y éste tiene el Valle Sagrado, pero esto no puede compararse con la belleza y la serenidad del entorno de Huancayo, y San Jerónimo con su Valle Mantaro, y su pequeña iglesia de adobe, San Sebastián, donde la leyenda dice que Catalina Wanka ocultó su tesoro de oro, tesoro que ella traía a través de los Andes para la liberación del Rey Inca, Atahualpa, a quien los españoles mataron, y perdieron el oro—en efecto ellos lo hicieron, les gustó la sangre más que el oro, creo.

Last Night in Tokyo

2006-07-20T20:03:00.000-07:00

Last Night in Tokyo
[A Harsh Romance—July 1999]

By Dennis L. Siluk

During an interview I was once asked: “If you were to die tomorrow, would you have any regrets Mr. Siluk?” And I answered, “Only one sir.” And he asked “…yes, and what would that be?” And I answered, “If only the world could have be bigger.“ [A remembrance.] D.L. Siluk

Advance: Under the best of circumstances, you always think things will turn out right, somewhere further down the road that is. I suppose it is just a natural thing; I mean we can’t live on negativism, now can we. But change the environment a little, especially cultural environments, in my case go to where your mates surroundings are [Japan] and see what changes what, things are not always the same way then; the answer my rest in: can you adjust or can she, and there is always a they involved someplace. In my case Kikue could adjust in the United States, and with my friends and family, but I’m getting ahead of myself, let me start from the beginning, somewhat.
My lady friend met me in Istanbul, Turkey, and we wrote letters for two years, then we met in person when she visited me in the United States for another two years—off and on (for a week first, then two weeks, then three weeks), and then I went to Japan, her turf, and things changed. Thus, the relationship went on this way for, four years. In-between I learned how to write Japanese in all its three styles, quite well: an achievement in itself.
Kikue: she is Japanese, a small woman, with short black hair, fair looking, sincere, and she became a Christian Buddhist, from a Buddha Buddhist, during our dating period. So we both achieved something out of this relationship, if not wisdom and some good times, along with a wobbly friendship.
I suppose if we all could see down the road of life, we’d not venture down it perhaps: maybe it is a bigger gift from God than we give Him credit for. This story I’m about to tell you has a few life lessons in it for me. On one hand, it was nice relationship between us, on the other, thank God I had enough insight to step away from it when I saw, felt instinctively I had to; consequently, I acted on my instincts; a harsh decision but it was turning into a harsh relationship. I firmly believe we are given certain natural traits, mental, neurological, and instinctive, whatever they are, they tell you which way to move; I also believe you should trust them.
In this story you are about to read, you are going to get the end in the beginning because to me, it is only the six days in Japan that count in this ongoing, four year relationship, and the last day in Tokyo, that made the difference; I mean that really matters in the long run. Had I not made the decision I did make, I did on the last day, I’d not be writing this story, as it is here; it might have had to be named different, and I’d have had to add a lot more adjectives to the story. Nobody is to blame for this, not me, not the other person involved. I’m sure she’s better off, for the ending that occurred.
The story starts off in July 1999, I’m about to leave Minnesota, flying into San Francisco, and over to Japan. This is really a story that is extended beyond Japan, for after I leave Japan, I will go to Guam, Bali, and Java, then back again through Japan to go home to St. Paul, Minnesota (halfway around the world). But again I say it is Japan I am speaking of for the most part.

Chapter one: Tokyo, Day One and Two

Tokyo: home to eight million people, of its 130-million residents [1999]; there is a lot of energy in Tokyo, and the very young seem to have control of it. I wanted to get a massage the first day I walked about the city’s sidewalk, ten-minutes for ten dollars, but I couldn’t, it was so busy, with people jumping off the trains, eating lunch, standing in lines to get a massage, and back to work, just watching the activity tired me out. Matter-of-fact, they even have punching bags in the gyms, usually in the lower levels of the buildings, in some employment places to get your anger out, instead of getting it out on your boss: a different world indeed.
Kikue had taken me from the airport to have dinner at a nice restaurant someplace in Tokyo, then we met her sister, whom was fighting with her about having me over in Japan, and staying with me overnight, and wanting to marry me; the fight went on in the hallway by three café’s, and the train station not far from sight; for two hours they fought, and left me pace in circles, and told me to just wait and be patient, and get away from them. I think she wanted her to marry a Japanese man, as I’d find out later her whole family was against me marrying a Japanese, none of them made me feel welcome.
Then we headed to our hotel, a kind of apartment, where you had to provide your own linens, pots and pans. There we’d stay for two days. And as we left the building the following morning day-two, all I really wanted to do was walk the streets a bit, see what Tokyo was like. I was hungry, and we looked in a few stores on the way to the bus, and got some candy, coke and a sandwich out of vending machines along the way; they are everywhere. And so that is what we did as soon as we went from the airport, on to several trains to get to our apartment, had a good sleep and found ourselves in day two.
As the day progressed on day two, people were very kind to me, matter-of-fact, I didn’t seem to think they even saw me; they were too busy going here and there. I would find out by the end of this first day the system of the trains, which you had to hang on for dear life to the loops hanging down overhead, if indeed you were lucky, you’d get a seat. I can’t figure it out, but half the folks on the train were sleeping, and when their stop came, they woke up from the dead: they were on automatic recall.
We’d have to take a bus later on, and then a taxi to her girlfriends house, where she gave me a session of acupuncture, free of charge, and when I got back on the train thereafter, I collapsed on the floor. My whole body was limp like a noodle. Thus, that would end my acupuncture days.
It was a nice month to be in Japan though, it was July, and it was summer, and it was hot. Tami was where we’d go the second day, where most of her family lived, in the afternoon that is. And so after a stroll downtown, we caught another train to Tami.

Day Two

In the afternoon of Day two, I met the whole family at a nice restaurant, and got the third degree: “Why do you want to marry my daughter?” Her mother asked. Her sister next to me asked, “Do you really love her or is she just a thing for you?” This interrogation went on for two hours one voice after the other, there were about ten folks present representing the core of her family, and then I broke down and put my hands on the table and pounded lightly saying, “You people are very rude to me, and I’m through answering questions.”
I pardoned myself, and went to the bathroom. And that was that. Now we were equally in frustration. Kikue didn’t say all that much. But from the phone calls I made to her from Minnesota to Japan [in the last part of the year], the father slamming the phone down, as well as the mother, I came back and let them know they were double rude for the insults over the phone as well. They did apologize for that, and was a bit embarrassed that I brought it up. But it was over as far as I figured, over now that is. I had dreaded this moment, knew it was coming, but couldn’t avoid it; I’m not sure how Kikue took it, she was quite passive during the ordeal.

That evening she took me to her place of work, the hospital, and I found out the cab was a dollar a block. Tami city was a new looking city to me, very clean, too clean, almost as if it was not even lived in. But we had time that evening to go to an art show, where her sister had her art exhibited. It was mostly of flower-patterned items well done but not my cup of tea. She was kind enough to give me one.
In the morning we had things to do, and buses to take, and trains to catch, but she wanted me to meet her friends [women] at a small gift shop one owned by her friend, and so I did, we all four then sat at a cozy table by a garden and a glass window separating the garden from us, and had coffee and crackers. Again the Japanese can be good hosts, just make sure the family is ok with mixed blood. I purchased some postcards, and then we had to get back to our apartment, and on our way to Kyoto.

Chapter Two: Day Three and Four
[Kyoto: Nanzen-ji; Ginkaku-ji; Gion]

Of all the cities I was in while in Japan, which were perhaps several, Kyoto was my favorite. Before we left Tokyo, we stopped in at Chofu, at the Jindaiji Temple— actually we visited several temples, and a Japanese castle Japanese Castle in Nogoya, where we went to the international sumo tournament; but here at this temple the pigeons seem to like me, and flew around me like mosquitoes. From here we went on to Nogoya.
Sumo wresting, or this international tournament we attended cost $500 a seat, and we sat in the third tier, 9th row. Nothing is cheap in Japan, and everything is different; perhaps that is what you are paying for. Sumo wrestling is like soccer is in Peru, or baseball in America, number one sport.
I really enjoyed it, and we stayed to the very end, and I got to meet a few of the wrestlers. From there we went to the Castle, got a little lost, and found our way to the bus, no trains from here on in, to Kyoto.

Kyoto: Nanzen-ji; Ginkaku-ji; Gion

Of all the temples in Japan, this one was the most impressive by far, Sanmon (Mountain Gate) of Nanzen-ji. Here, on the site where the temple was rebuilt, taken from an old site was an ancient Nanzen-ji Viaduct, again most impressive, with its many arches underneath it.
In Gion, there is a red temple known as Yasaka-jinja (Gion):
not as impressive as Nanzen-ji, but inspiring nonetheless. And once walking down Gion, you see its many Yasaka-jinja Lanterns, again extraordinary; this whole area, city and all was unusual, as was the Yasakano Pagoda, I saw from a distance. I wanted to see it closer and so the taxi drove by it, but we didn’t have time to get out and explore the Japanese Tower.

It was late afternoon when we arrived in Kyoto, and we went right to a temple, and on to our sleeping arrangements, a Ryokan Inn. I wanted to see the Geon district and a Geisha badly, but I’d have to wait until tomorrow.
The Ryokan; a cobblestone alleyway led to this small [guesthouse, house, or inn of sorts], in Japan, it is called a Ryokan, with sliding doors; the room is clean, uncomplicated, a table with cushions; a hanging scroll as a centerpiece. No swimming pool or weight room, not anything like the five start hotels in New York City; we had reservations, not sure if we needed them. I would call their room minimalism, but its simplicity was beautiful and different, even the sound of the sliding doors made me feel like I was in Asia. They had even a place for my shoes, while I put on wooden sandals. Strange I thought, but cool. Kikue made all the arrangements. Some of these simple rooms cost up to $800 a night. The Ryokan date back to 1603 AD [the Edo period]; by tradition these are called Inn’s, and come in all sizes, mine was small, original wooden inn authentic I would say.

We stayed two days in the Ryokan, and used that as a steppingstone to other activities throughout the area. Meeting with Kikue’s girlfriend in Kyoto, and going to the temple, Lunch for $100, and to the Geon District. Lunch was an assortment of foods, all Japanese cuisine that never got me full.
The aqueduct at the temple site was most impressive. But again I wanted to see Geon, and after lunch we all went there, and the girlfriend parted with us, having to go back to work. Kikue and I walked up and down the streets. We then went into one of the Geisha guesthouses, and an older Geisha gave us a tour of the place: most kind she was. And as we left I met a Geisha, a lovely young women, I seen her again in six months, in a book someone would write about Geisha’s, a small world isn’t it. Kikue was a little disturbed I wanted to have this experience, but then she overlooked it. After dinner we went to the Tower of Kyoto, it was closed but I snuck all the way up, via, the stairway to the top. Then back down again.
That night we had a fight on the streets of Kyoto, after dinner at a Chinese Restaurant and I had some resistance to g back into the Ryokan but I did after walking up and down the cobblestone street trying to get my composure back, there was, it seemed, a lot of little things bothering both of us.
In the cozy little Inn, someone left the door open to their room, and it was hard not to look in as I passed by glanced in, and here they were, humping away like two camels; making love (Girl and boy) like there was no tomorrow, on a black rolled out whatever on the hard wooden floor; I stopped looked for a minute, and they were as white on rice, doggie style, and they looked at me looking at them, and they smiled. I caught my breath, and put myself in second gear to get moving, as they motioned me to join them, and I found my room quickly which was next to theirs: and had to listen to some moans and groans and I celebrated with them, via, through the walls.

The following morning, day five we had to go back to Tokyo, but had to make a stop on the way. At the train stop, I had an episode, I have MS, and so my spine acted up, it was very painful, and so I laid down on one of the benches, while Kikue rubbed my back. It looked a bit weird, but it did the trick.

Chapter Five and Six

We had stopped at a tour place, and Kikue gave them two tickets she had purchased a few weeks earlier, then we got onto a bus that morning and drove out towards Mt. Fuji [9000-feet]; later on that day, I would be above the clouds, almost on top of Mt. Fuji, but first we went to a lake and flower area, an outside conservatory of sorts, larger than a garden I should say, and many rows of flowers. Then it was afternoon and we went to eat by a lake, there was but forty of us on the bus, but again Kikue seemed to have gotten mad at me, I was upset also for the way her family and sister treated me, and how she had shunned me, and it was all getting bottle up for both of us. I grabbed a necklace I bought for her and threw it in the lake. Then feeling bad, I bought her a new one. Then when we went to eat, we seemed to be the lone ducks, and the servers had to find more food for us. Thereafter, we went up the mountain to a certain level of Mt. Fuji, and I climbed the rest of the way. It was quite inspiring.
On our way back to Tokyo, Mt. Fuji turned into a pale daunting shadow, from my train window, a most beautiful one.

Chapter Six: Night Five, Day Six

Kikue got angry that night as we sat crossed leg in our little apartment in Tokyo. She had forgotten all the fighting we had done, all the disrespect their family threw upon me; her disrespect with her sister by the subway and cafés, also she forgot the disruption I created by the lake: but it was all coming out now, sideways: her mood was aggressive. Out of me and out of her came unkind words. She was kind of threatening, in the sense I did not know my way around Tokyo, and I sensed she wanted to leave me stranded. I told myself I could find my way to the blasted airport if she left, so I told her if that was the way she felt, angry and didn’t want to cool down she could leave, I’d manage, and she slowed her anger to a more somber, or sad mood than a demanding and angry mood.
I understood she was upset I was leaving to Guam in the morning, but it wasn’t new information, it was what I had told her all along. We had plans up to this point to marry some time in the future [no certain date, just verbal plans, and based on if we could keep a cool relationship in place, or so that is how I based it on], we had talked about it briefly, and I felt I needed more time to look at the whole situation, and she had gone along with it, but I knew this evening it was over. Perhaps I knew it long before but I needed Japan to explain to my subconscious the amalgamation, why so many haunting thoughts were coming to surface in this situation. I was perhaps anticipating marriage on the grounds she was a good woman, and fair. This was really not enough I suppose. And now her parents were not tossing insults over the phone, they were doing it in front of me (or had been). And she was doing exactly what her parents had done, and she was against. They controlled her, and she wanted to control me. Control is a big word, and perhaps over used here, I don’t mind closeness between mates, but domination is not good for anyone—nor is codependency. I wanted a healthy relationship as a whole, not in part. Meaning, socially, with our faiths, psychologically, physically or sexually, and so for and on. Not really too much to ask. I was not looking for perfection, rather, a sidekick, I had been married before, I didn’t really need a wife: I needed a sidekick that was a wife.
And so I left Tokyo, and she looked out the big by window as I left.
On my way back from Java, my ultimate destination, from my visit at Borobudur, the Great Buddha temple, which was magnificent, on my top ten places in the world to go, it was number three, the Taj Mahal being number one, which I had seen in 1998, and the Great Pyramids of Giza, in 1998, number two, and in 1996, I had went to China, and seen the Great Wall, number four on my list. I had plans now to return to Minnesota, via, Japan, and head on to Peru, to see Machu Picchu, that would prove to be number seven on my list. In the future I’d go to many more places, in 2001, the Amazon, and in 2003, the Galapagos, and in 2006, the Panama Canal, the Canal being number #11, but I never made a list beyond ten. Anyhow, on my return to Minnesota I stopped over in Japan, only at the airport to change planes, I had a hour, and as I walled alongside the windows to the corridors to lead me to the right gate, I saw a woman staring from the window at me, her pale silhouette, I think it was Kikue, I’m not sure, when I looked back up after a moment she was gone. She did write me a few times after, and her parents did apologize for their misbehavior, but I had discovered a women I fell in love with in Peru and married her two months later, it felt right, and was right.

Note: although the story is true in fact, the name of Kikue and the suburb of Tokyo she and her family lived have been distorted. The time period is correct.

Pachacamac [Peru] An Archeological Site

2006-07-16T11:11:00.000-07:00

Pachacamac [Peru] An Archeological Site

By Dennis L. Siluk

Sept. 22, 2005

Pachacamac or spelled: Pachakamaq, an archeological site, Inca culture site, built continuously between: 900-1522 A.D; Pachakamaq was an Inca idol, representing a cosmic vision of the Andean world of the 10th century. It is a sort of axis mundi. Let me back track a bit. The site, which is a most stunning site, is right outside of the city, Lima Peru. And it seems most visitors to Peru miss this site, but it is huge and most impressive. I’ve first seen it in 2002; it looks like a sacred adobe city, filled with temples, plazas; located in the Lurin Valley.

According to legend, or myths, Pachakamaq took Urpiwachak as wife and she was a goddess of birds and fish. And on the site a pyramid is built in her name, a ting smaller than the Temple. Pachakamaq was said to have control of the earthquakes was an oracle to cure diseases and protector of the food.

I took my son Cody with me on this trip, and my wife Rosa, and we walked around the compound, its rectangular shape, and some 32,000 m2. The square is located in the lower part in front of The Sun Temple, and they have a museum, and a place to eat there. Matter-of-fact, I purchased my handmade guitar there.

All in all, it is an underrated site, and worth a visit if you have a half day to spare. Good luck.

Morning in the Village [Easter Island 2/2003]

2006-07-14T18:45:00.000-07:00

Advance: I am not asking anyone to believe in ghosts, goblins or spirits, but I will tell you, I believe in them—the spirits that is, and in the ghosts, or ghouls; not so much the goblins though. When I first arrived on Easter Island, it was bad weather, it was night, and nothing went right. They knew I was coming (the spirits; and I knew they knew). And they were restless. In my small motel room, a banshee was knocking on my door, screaming and hollering to get in (it scared my wife, as the lamp busted, and the phone went dead). Shortly after that, the water was shut off, and the electricity went off. I talked to the owner, and she had to put my wife and me in another room, but it continued. Again the owner said, it was never quite like this before—but I knew what it was, call it second sight, or whatever, the old spirits indwelling in the stone status do not like folks that may cause them a disturbance; or think they may, this was not the first nor the last experience I had in this forbidden area. For some reason, they like things left at a laze fare statues; especially if they are the category. A dreary night it was, and thus, I made my peace with them, and the spirits, scrupulously, and carefully made their peace with me, and life went on, in both worlds; and from my notes, here is the morning after…:

Morning in the Village
[Easter Island]

The gray light of dawn crept in,

Over and upon the village—!
Somewhere in the village, I heard

The cock crow!...
From the east, the coming of day

Was emerging, slowly—
Night had passed….

My face felt a red bolt of dawn

From the sea—had leaped upon it.
In my dreams, I had absorbed:

All that had been—,
And all that was to be.

#774 7/26/05 [Notes from 2/2003]

Poet Dennis Siluk, has received in the past, National, and International attention for his poetry. And has been it has been reviewed a number of times for awards; his book, "Spell of the Andes," is presently under review for such. His books can be seen on http://www.bn.com [see: http://www.correo.com] (July 9, Marissa Cardenas review)

In the Mountans of Haiti [A Poem: in English and Spanish]

2006-07-14T18:41:00.000-07:00

In the Mountains of Haiti

(In the City)

—July is a hot month—sweating
Poverty out on every street
(In Port de Prince); mixing

Memory with desire causes stirring.
Not much rain in Haiti (in 1986);
Summer kept us busy, building
A medical clinic, in the mountains….

(In the Mountains)

—A new life, for the dried-up village.
With only a shower of sun-beams
(Resting) coming over my shoulders

I stopped work to rest—;
The others (young) kept working in the sun,
They all got sick—bed-ridden.
And my teammates became frightened.

(Night comes)

—A heap of fragmented images
Where the sun-beams used to beat
(And the dried up foliage gave no shelter)

Gave-way, to the sounds of crickets
And night’s voodoo drums.
Shadows from rocks—extended out
Seemed to shout, shout—talk!...

(Night Noises)

—I never knew what they were thinking
Somehow, they seem to speak to me now.
Footsteps; fires crackling; voices chanting:

By bushes, tress, and huts—all about;
All nightly noises that never stopped—
No wind under the door—nothing;
You see, know nothing—only hear

(…you are alive).

Note [#777; 7/27/05]: The author spent some time in Port de Prince, Haiti, at an Orphanage doing some work with the children; helped put on a puppet show; as well as the author spending some time in the mountains of Haiti, doing some work on building a medical clinic with a team from his church for a village that had no medical means; 19-students; he was the elder you could say, or one of the two; back in 1986.

In Spanish

En las montañas de Haití

(En la ciudad)

Julio es un mes caluroso-húmedo
La pobreza afuera en cada calle
(En el puerto de Príncipe); mezclando
La memoria con el deseo causando emoción.
No llovía mucho en Haití (en 1986)
El verano nos mantuvo ocupados, construyendo
Una clínica medica, en las montañas….

(En las montañas)

-una nueva vida, por la desértica villa.
Con solamente una ducha rayos de sol
(Descansar) que viene sobre mis hombros
Paré el trabajo para descansar un rato-;
Los demás (jóvenes) se mantenían trabajando en el sol,
Todos ellos consiguieron enfermarse postrados en cama.
Y mis compañeros de equipo llegaron a estar asustados.

(La noche viene)

Un montón de imágenes fragmentadas
Donde los rayos del sol-solían golpear
(Todo el follaje seco no consiguió dar refugio)
Dando paso, al sonido de los grillos
Y los tambores voodoo nocturnos
¡Las sombras de las rocas, extendidas.
Parecían gritar gritar, conversando con gritos!…

(Ruidos nocturnos)

Yo nunca supe lo que ellos estaban pensando
De algún modo, ellos parecían hablarme ahora.
Pasos; crujido de fuegos, voces cantando:
Por arbustos, y chozas, - todo cerca:
Todos los sonidos nocturnos que jamás pararon-
Sin viento debajo de la puerta- nada;
Tú ves, no sabes nada- solo oyes
(Tu estas vivo).

Nota (#777; 7/27/05):El autor pasó algún tiempo en Puerto Príncipe, Haití, en un orfanato haciendo algún trabajo con los niños; ayudándoles a poner un teatro de títeres; Así como el autor paso algún tiempo en las montañas de Haití, haciendo algún trabajo en el edificio de una clínica medica con un grupo de su iglesia para la villa que no tenía ningún medio medico; 19 estudiantes; el era el mayor Ud. podría decir, o uno de los dos; atrás en 1986.

The Cave of Darkness (Ghar il-Kbir: Malta-11/2001((NOW! In English and Spanish))

2006-07-14T18:39:00.000-07:00

The Cave of Darkness
(Ghar il-Kbir ((Malta—11/2001))

Advance: of most places I’ve traveled in the world [683,000-miles throughout], Malta has been for the most part, always on my top-ten list, of all-round places to go. It has a ting of everything. Ghar Dalam, otherwise known as the ‘Cave of Darkness,’ was used for habitation by prehistoric man, 5000 BC, and animals, and thereafter. There have been found human bones and teeth in the cave, as well as a gathering of animal bones from time immemorial. There also is a legend of a sea creature that surfaced and seemed to live within this area (in the 17th century). I had written a trilogy of the ‘Tiamat.’ In one of the books I used this cave [not in name] as a backdrop for the story. It is huge, and quite the picture for a living environment. In l729, there was an engraving done of the cave life in Ghar il-Kbir, published in Vol. 62. No 72, in “La Galerie…” of which 66-volums are combined. The point being, the engraving is attributed to Pieter Van der Aa, 1712, and I’ve seen this engraving, it had to be done on site, thus the artist saw the small group of people perhaps that remained in the cave. The etching is fanciful, thus I’d think he perked it up, for whatever reasons. It seems to me he made the cave larger in the picture. Although the cave is large with sections; larger and smaller caverns attached to it. The faces on the folks within the engraving are flat, no smiles etc. As I had checked this out further, I had found conceivably there was a group of folks living in the cave between 1665 and 1680 AD. But the record is not vivid by any mean; and having said all this, here is my little poem to go along with this over zealous Advance:

The Poem:

I could get no fit idea—of the
Proportion of the cave, merely
By the patch of light from my
Flashlight

I was surrounded by limestone
And I felt a disadvantage—a few
More feet within the cave the roof
Began to rise—

A gentle slope—then suddenly….

My eyes had become adjusted
To the caves darkness—the oily
Glaring walls around me; cautiously
I descended…

—The floor of the cave became
Nearly level, but the tide of dark
Shadows came afresh, unnoticed by
Others—

But penetrating…to me.

Something, long ago had lived here,
Lived in this grand grotto—;
My treasures were in: whom! They were.
And then came the bones!...

Bones, massive bones; all about—
Dazzling hues, in the petrified bones;
200,000-years old: dwarf elephants,
And hypodermis’…

Wolfs and bears, giant swans,
Deer—all appeared to be here; and
From European stock; sacrifices or
Diner, they were all here: my
Treasure.

#778 7/28/2005

La Cueva de Oscuridad
(Ghar il-Kbir ((Malta-11/2001))

Translated by: Nancy Penaloza

Avance: de la mayor parte de sitios que he viajado en el mundo [683,000 millas a través de todas partes], Malta ha estado principalmente, siempre en la lista de las diez primeras, de sitios caprichosos para ir. Esto tiene un descubrimiento de todo. Ghar Dalam, conocida de otra manera como “La Cueva de Oscuridad”, fue usada para vivienda por el hombre prehistórico, 5000 años antes de Cristo, y a partir de entonces usada por animales. Allí en la cueva han sido encontrados huesos humanos y dientes, así como un monton de huesos de animales de tiempos inmemoriales Allí también hay una leyenda de una criatura del mar que salió a la superficie y parecía vivir dentro de esta área (en el siglo XVII).

Yo había escrito una trilogía del “Tiamat”. En uno de estos libros usé esta cueva [no en el nombre] como un fondo para la historia. Esto es grandioso y casi un cuadro de vida del medio ambiente. En l729, había un grabado hecho, de la vida de cueva en Ghar il-Kbir, publicado en Vol. 62. El No 72, en " La Galería…” del cual 66-volums son combinados. El punto es, que el grabado es atribuido a Pieter der Aa, 1712, y he visto este grabado, tuvo que haber sido hecho sobre el sitio, aunque el artista vio al pequeño grupo de gente que quizás permanecieron en la cueva. La estampa es imaginaria, aunque yo pensaría que él se animó, por cualquier motivo. Me parece él hizo la cueva más grande en el cuadro. Aunque la cueva sea grande con secciones; cavernas más grandes y más pequeñas unidas a ello. Las caras de la gente dentro del grabado son planas, sin sonrisas etc. Como yo había chequeado esto mas minuciosamente, había encontrado que evidentemente había un grupo de gente que vivió en la cueva entre 1665 y 1680 antes de Cristo. Pero esto no esta registrado por algún motivo; y habiendo dicho todo esto, aquí está mi pequeño poema para acompañar esto sobre este Avance entusiasta:

El Poema:

Yo podría, no tener idea suficiente - de la
Proporción de la cueva, simplemente
Por el pedazo de luz de mi

Linterna

Fui rodeado por la piedra caliza
Y sentí una desventaja- un poco
Más pies dentro de la cueva el techo

Comenzó a elevarse –
Una subida apacible - entonces de repente-.

Mis ojos se habían acostumbrado

A la oscuridad de las cuevas – el aceitoso
Evidente de las paredes rodeándome; cautelosamente

Descendí…

-El piso de la cueva se hizo
Casi el nivel, -Pero la marea de Sombras
Oscuras vino de nuevo, Inadvertido por Otros –

Pero penetrando…hacia mí.

Algo, hace mucho había vivido aquí,
Vivido en esta magnífica gruta-;
Mis tesoros estaban en: ¡quienes eran ellos!.
¡Y luego vino los huesos!...

Huesos, huesos masivos; por todas partes –

Matices Deslumbrantes, en los huesos petrificados;

200,000 años: “elefantes enanos, y hypodermis”

Los lobos y osos, cisnes gigantescos,
Ciervos - Todos parecieron estar aquí; y
De reserva europea; sacrificios o
Comidas, ellos estaban todos aquí: mi

Tesoro.

My Top Ten-List of Archeological Places [In Spanish and English]

2006-07-09T12:20:00.000-07:00

My Top 10-List of Archeological Places [NOW! Spanish and English]

My Top 10-List of Archeological Places [sites] I’ve been to around the World [*indicates dates I was there] By Dennis L. Siluk

1—The Taj Mahal [in Agra, India]. The beauty of the Taj Mahal is beyond description, especially on a sunny morning with a little dew from the nearby river. A mausoleum, on the banks of the Yamuna River; it took 22-years to build, and 20,000 laborers. The riverfront is most inspiring. And the Town of Agra is worth a visit. There of course is a love story behind this monument, and you will have to seek it out if it interests you. If all I had seen was the Taj Mahal, on my trip to India, it would have been worth the long voyage. [*l997]

2—Giza, or more important, the pyramids of Egypt. We often only see three, but there are four worth ones noticing; the pyramid of Djoser, the oldest of the four pyramids, a stepped pyramid; in the sense of, one layer built over the other. This is northwest, and in the Saqqara site; I personally liked the tomb or pyramid of Cheops, north of Memphis on the plateau of Giza; among the seven wonders of the ancient world. The Sphinx gives the pyramids their mysticism, and even magic I do believe. One could not claim its famous status without the other. [*l998]

3—Borobudur (Largest Buddhist temple in the world ((built 760 AD): of Central Java; made of dark volcanic stone, on a natural mound.This site has square and circular terraces, and a top Stupa. It is almost magical. It stands almost 150-feet high, and its square base is 373 feet each side. Designed by Gunadharma; it does have a calming atmosphere, even more so than the Tor of Glastonbury [or Avalon]. Very few places in the world have this calm effect I do believe; Mary’s house on the hill of Ephesus has, along with a few other locations throughout the world. [*1999]

4—Easter Island [land of the Moai]; the whole island is an outdoor museum. Many things happened when I arrived on this little island in the Pacific. A spirit filled Island if I had ever seen one. Much more than Maui, or even Malta; it is considered the most isolated island in the world. Some of the statues on the island go from 9-tons to 90-tons. And you have a few craters on the island to venture to; but Rapa Nui, the original name for Easter Island, has some 600-statues to look over so rent a jeep. Some of the statues are up to 33-feet tall. They are all about the island. The dogs run free and the horses run free and so do the spirits; and so did I, on this island, annexed by Chile. [*2002]

5—The Great Wall of China. The wall is some 4000-miles long over mountains, deserts and plains. I walked up and along its great walls outside of Beijing, feeling its ancient touch of empire. It was built to keep the barbarians out, some sections date back to 221 BC. Even Genghis Khan crossed over these walls, in 1211 AD. The Ming emperors rebuilt the wall on a larger scale in the 1400s. I loved seeing the Great Walls of Troy, but these took my breath away, they go and go and seem never to stop. Matter-of-fact, it can be seen from outer space. [1996]

6—The Acropolis of Athens; in particular the Parthenon; if I go back to Greece, I would like to see Crete, and Knossos, I’ve left so many places out, I’ll never get to them; but I’ve seen the best of the best; and the Acropolis is the best. After reading Mary Renault’s entire book on Greece—for she was my inspiration to go, I went. And each morning I’d walk down by the Acropolis, eat in a local café, and gaze at the beauty of the Acropolis on the hill. This site dates back 5000-years as far as being inhabited; with its many temples, and a fine museum right on location. [*1995]

7—Macchu Picchu [the Lost City] there is so much to say about this site, one does not know where to start. This is perhaps the last ancient remains of the Inca civilization of the Andes. There are many dates put on this site, and if one looks it over, you have stones from three different periods I believe, dating back to 2500 BC, to 1250 BC, to the 1400s [AD]; the town of Cuzco remains above it, and a beautiful city it is. Macchu Picchu is 70-miles north of Cuzco, at a height of 9,000 feet; most people do not know, Cuzco, the town is higher, 12,000-feet, so bring something to help you adjusting to its height. I suggest oxygen; or see if a hotel has it there. [*l999]

8—The gladiator’s famous home: The Colosseum of Rome. Where gladiatorial played the death game with wild animal hunts; this is the biggest of the Roman amphitheaters. Quite the complex system, with underground passages; you got to go across the street up to a small park, look through the fence to get a good, full picture of it. Or I suppose you could just walk down the street and get all the traffic and other buildings in the picture to. I got to go back and see Pompeii now, a site I’ve longed to see, but I had to see this first. And you can’t help just gazing at it as you walk here and there, it is Rome to me. [*l997]

9—Stonehenge—a few miles from Salisbury, megalith stone giants you could call these earthworks here, or heel stones. This stone circle dates to about 2500—3000 BC. It reminds me of Mystery Hill, in New Hampshire, also called, the Stonehenge of America; but of course, has a more powerful appearance. I get the same haunting feelings from here, as I got from Gaza. As if they were fraternal twins. They are said to come from the same time period. Something tells me both the pyramids of Egypt and Stonehenge, and even and Mystery Hill, all belong to a later time. If only you could touch it [the stones at Stonehenge], it was fenced off when I was there, but I've heard lately, they were taking the fence down; about time; it takes 90% of its magic away. Everyone suffers because of the destructive habits of a few. I went nonetheless, and have to live with 10% of its magic, good enough. [*l998]

10—Angkor Vat [Palaces of the Gods]. Another giant complex: you have within this area, Phnom Bakheng, Angkor Thom [the great city of the Jayavaman VII, inspired by a great Hindu myth], Bayon, Ta Prohm [where trees grow around the ruins, as if they are hugging them]; Ta Som, etcetera. It is a masterpiece of Khmer art and brilliance in building. Surrounded by a huge trench; Angkor Vat, is also spelled Angkor Wat. The food in Cambodia is great, and the people kind. Stick with a guide though. While in Cambodia, I got to go on/in the Mekong River, which was a delight to see, and its fishermen with their nets, and so forth. [2000]

In Spanish Translated by Nancy Penaloza

Top 10-List of Archeological Places [sites]

Mi lista TOP de los 10 lugares (sitios) Arqueológicos. En el mundo entero en los que he estado [*Indica las fechas que yo estuve allí]

By Dennis Siluk

1-El TAJ Mahal [en Agra, India]. La belleza del TAJ Mahal está fuera de cualquier descripción, especialmente durante una mañana soleada con un pequeño rocío del río cercano. Un mausoleo, sobre los bancos del Río Yamuna; que tomó 22 años y 20,000 trabajadores para construirlo. La orilla es la más inspiradora. Y la Ciudad de Agra vale una visita. Allí desde luego hay una historia de amor detrás de este monumento, y usted tendrá que buscarlo si esto le interesa. Si todo lo que yo hubiera visto fuera el TAJ Mahal, en mi viaje a la India, habría sido valioso el viaje largo. [*l997]

2-Giza, o más importante, las pirámides de Egipto. Nosotros a menudo sólo vemos tres, pero hay cuatro de valor que notamos; la pirámide de Djoser, la más vieja de las cuatro pirámides, una pirámide pasada; en el sentido de, una capa construida sobre la otra. Esto es de noroeste, y en el sitio de Saqqara; personalmente me gustó la tumba o pirámide de Cheops, al norte de Memphis sobre la meseta de Giza; entre las siete maravillas del mundo. La Esfinge da su misticismo a las pirámides, y aún la magia, creo. Uno no podía aclamar su estado famoso sin el otro. [*l998]

3-Borobudur (el templo budista Más grande en el mundo) (construido 760 años antes de Cristo)]: de Java Central. Este sitio tiene terrazas cuadradas y circulares, y una cima estepa. Es casi mágico. Esto permanece a casi 150 pies de alto, y su base cuadrada es 373 pies cada lado. Diseñado por Gunadharma; realmente tiene una atmósfera calmada, entonces, aún más que el Peñasco de Glastonbury [o Avalon]. Muy pocos sitios en el mundo tienen este efecto tranquilo que realmente creo; la casa de María sobre la colina de Efeso lo tiene, (junto a otras pocas localidades en todo el mundo); hecho de piedra oscura volcánica, sobre un montón natural. [*1999]

4-Isla de Pascua [tierra del Moai]; La isla entera es un museo exterior. Muchas cosas pasaron cuando llegué a esta pequeña isla en el Océano Pacífico. Un espíritu llenó la Isla como si yo alguna vez lo hubiera visto. Mucho más que Maui, o aún Malta; es considerado la isla más aislada en el mundo. Algunas estatuas en las islas van de 9 toneladas a 90 toneladas. Y usted tiene unos cráteres en la isla para aventurarse; pero Rapa Nui, el nombre original para Isla de Pascua, tiene algunas 600 estatuas para revisar, alquilando entonces un jeep. Algunas estatuas están sobre 33 pies de altura. Y ensucian la ciudad los perros y los caballos que corren libres y lo mismo hacen los espíritus; y yo también . La isla esta anexada a Chile. [*2002]

5- La Gran Muralla China. La pared es de aproximadamente 4000 millas de largo sobre las montañas, desierto y llano. Me acerqué y a lo largo de sus grandes paredes fuera de Beijing, sintiendo su antiguo toque de Imperio. Fue construido para mantener a los Bárbaros fuera, algunas secciones remontan a 221 AC. Incluso Genghis khan atravesó sobre estas paredes, en 1211 antes de cristo. Los emperadores de Ming reconstruyeron la pared en una escala más grande en los años 1400. Me gustó ver las Grandes Paredes de Troya, pero estos se llevaron mi aliento, ellos van y van y parecen nunca no pararse. Normal, puede ser visto del espacio exterior. [1996]

6 - la Acrópolis de Atenas; en particular el Partenón; si vuelvo a Grecia, tendré el gusto de ver Creta, y Knossos, he dejado fuera tantos sitios, nunca los conseguiré; pero he visto lo mejor de lo mejor; y la Acrópolis es lo mejor. Después de leer a Mary Renault todo el libro sobre Grecia - Ya que ella fue mi inspiración para ir, yo fui. Y cada mañana yo tuve que caminar abajo por la Acrópolis, comer en un café local, y dar una mirada fija a la belleza de la Acrópolis sobre la colina. Este sitio remonta de 5000 años tan lejos como siendo habitado; con sus muchos templos, y un excelente museo directamente sobre ubicación. [*1995]

7-Macchu Picchu [la Ciudad Perdida] Hay tanto para decir sobre este sitio, uno no sabe donde comenzar. Estos son los restos de quizás el último poder, de la civilización inca de los Andes. Hay muchas fechas puestas en este sitio, y si uno lo mira, usted tiene piedras de tres períodos diferentes, creo, remontando a 2500 AC, a 1250 AC, a los años 1400 [antes de cristo]; la ciudad de Cuzco permanece encima de ello, y es una ciudad hermosa. Macchu Picchu esta a 70 millas al norte de Cuzco, en una altura de 9,000 pies; la mayoría de la gente no conoce, Cuzco, la ciudad es más alta, 12,000 pies, por los tanto traiga algo para ayudarse a adaptarse a su altura. Sugiero el oxígeno; o ver si un hotel lo tiene. [*l999]

8 - La Casa Famosa Del Gladiador: El Coliseo de Roma. Donde los gladiadores jugaban el juego de muerte con animales salvajes cazados; este es el más grande de los anfiteatros romanos. Casi el sistema complejo, con pasajes subterráneos; usted tiene que ir a través de la calle hasta un pequeño parque, mirar por las rejas para conseguir una imagen buena de ello. O lo supongo solo podría caminar abajo la calle y conseguir todo el tráfico y otros edificios para la imagen. Conseguí volver y ver Pompeya ahora, un sitio que he tenido muchas ganas de ver, pero tuve que ver esto primero. Y usted no puede ayudar solamente mirando fijamente en ello mientras usted anda aquí y allí, esto es Roma para mí. [*l997]

9-Stonehenge-a pocas millas de Salisbury, megalito piedras gigantes que usted podría llamar estos trabajos de tierra aquí, o piedras de talón. Este círculo de piedra remonta aproximadamente 2500-3000 AC. Esto me recuerda de Colina de Misterio, en New Hampshire, también llamado, el Stonehenge de América; pero desde luego, tiene un aspecto más poderoso. Conseguí los mismos sentimientos atormentados desde aquí, que los que conseguí en la Gaza. Como si ellos fueran gemelos fraternales. Ellos, como se dice, vienen del mismo período de tiempo. Algo me dice que ambas pirámides de Egipto y Stonehenge, y aún la Colina de Misterio, todos pertenecen a un tiempo posterior. Si sólo usted pudiera tocarlo [las piedras en Stonehenge], fueron separados con una cerca, cuando yo estaba allí, pero me enteré últimamente, ellos bajaban la valla; algunas veces; esto llevaba al 90 % de su magia. Cada uno sufre debido a los hábitos destructivos de unos cuantos. Fui sin embargo, y tengo que vivir con el 10 % de su magia, bastante bien. [*l998]

10-Angkor Vat [Palacios de los Dioses]. Otro complejo gigantesco: usted tiene dentro de este área, Phnom Bakheng, Angkor Thom [la gran ciudad de Jayavaman VII, inspirado por un gran mito hindú], Bayon, Ta Prohm [donde los árboles crecen alrededor de las ruinas, como si ellos los abrazaran]; Ta Som, etcétera. Esto es una obra maestra de arte Khmer y esplendor en el edificio rodeado por enormes zanjas; Angkor Vat, también es deletreado Angkor Wat. La comida en Camboya es buena, y la amabilidad de la gente. Pegado como una guía pienso. Mientras en Camboya, conseguí continuar / en el Río Mekong, el cual era un placer ver, y sus pescadores con sus redes, etcétera, etcétera. [*2000]

You can see these places on his web site: http://dennissiluk.triod.com

Peru, and its Mantaro Valley: Traveling with D.L. Siluk

2006-07-03T21:05:00.000-07:00

By Dennis L. Siluk
Oct. 21, 2005

It is a great place to visit or retire. It is one of the better places in Peru to retire; and of most places I´ve been to, this would be the most economic, peaceful, and warm places in the world; yes, I said world. And I´ve traveled around it 26-times. There are no movie stars here, or big bands, or McDonalds, or KFC, or Pizza Huts, and I hope they never come; why spoil a good thing. And keep all the American goofballs out of here likewise.

Food is cheap, rent is cheap, and they got a great hospital in this 325,000 inhabited city. It is as busy on any week day as Times Square. Cars and gas are expensive, but then it is everywhere nowadays. The Peruvian people are too trusting, too warm and too generous up in this region. But they are learning, hope they do not pick up all the bad habits of Lima, and the United States. It has its Sunday market, and all the vendors with their assortment of foods.

Traveling out of Huancayo to other destinations is not hard; such as, going to Cuzco (Machu Picchu) or down the road to Laguna de Paca (an hour from Huancayo), a beautiful lake nearby with its full moon, and enchainting scenery. Thus, if a retired American cannot live here with their little Social Security, they can’t live anywhere else in the world cheaper, plus get the benefits of the Peruvian culture, climate and scenery; not to mention again, the great food variety.

Bogota, Colombia: The Flower City

2006-07-03T21:00:00.000-07:00

By Dennis L. Siluk

The Pan-American Highway runs through this Green City, and it is called ‘The Green City,’ for a reason. For each person who has a death in the family can sponsor a tree, and have it planted on the islands separating the highway throughout the city, and beyond. They got this idea from Israel. In addition, people have called this city ‘The Flower City,’ the reason being, it is the second largest exporting country in the world of flowers; Holland being number one.

Bogotá is cuddled in a valley, surrounded by beautiful mountains (Cordillera Occidental), in the mist of the Andes. Its unemployment is about 13%, and its dollar value is about 50% or doubles that of the United States.

The elevation of the city is about 8600-feet.

The people of Bogotá are some of the most friendliest and warm folks in all of South America, and most accommodating to visitors, and the city has much to offer, from the National Museum, where there is Botero’s collection of art; to, the Catedral del Sal, a wonder to the Conventional World, built hundreds of feet underground, and can hold up to 8000-visitors at any given time.

The Donkey Men of Bogotá, pace through the city, collecting leftovers from restaurants and cafes, hotels, etcetera, to bring back to their farms to feed the pigs.

All in all, the city was a must visit city, if you are going to spend sometime throughout South America.

Iceland, Reykjavik: Travels with D.L. Siluk

2006-07-03T20:57:00.000-07:00

Getting Some Rest In Reykjavik

By Dennis L. Siluk

I was in Reykjavik, 9/9/1999, in the air at 9:00 AM. I’m not kidding, a lot of nines, I noticed that when I was in the air flying to Iceland, all the nines. Not sure if that was a sign, but it wasn’t planned that way. I remember collecting the rents from my properties, I had at that time seven buildings [rental properties], and flew to Reykjavik to get some rest; only a four day rest, I had to be back and do some lectures, and counseling for my regular job, with the Bureau of Prisons, at the time. And every time I get tired of business, I kind of took off, once to Paris, once to Nigeria Falls, and so forth; but this time it was Reykjavik. Not sure why, perhaps it is in-between everything; that is, Europe, per se; although it is part of Europe.

It was a most pleasant trip, and most expensive. Not getting there, just once I got there. I figured there are three places in the world I’ve been, that could break a man in a month: Reykjavik is one, Alaska is the other, and number one is: Tokyo. But I had fun in all those places, and I suppose you pay for it. But in Iceland’s capital, Reykjavik, you can’t help but have fun I do believe. I’ve even heard it’s the place to be in the summer for the young crowd nowadays.

Let me see what I can remember: a museum, a piazza place I liked; went to their Hofdi House, like our White House I suppose you could say. It is where they had the superpower summit in 1986. I liked the lake area by Independence Hall; I really liked the natural hot water swimming area called the Blue Lagoon, it has thermal water. And still on a hillside in the city they have a peculiar church, I went to its bell tower, what a grand view; Leifur Eiriksson, gazes out to the sea right in front of the church. I’ve never seen a church quite like that in all my travels. The church overlooks the city, and that in itself is a sight to behold.

I did go out into its interior, and to a lighthouse, and out whale watching, along with other things. But the city in itself was a good treat. I think I had my first cup of ‘Starbucks’ coffee there.

Boroubudur: Indonesia's Treasure: Travels with D.L. Siluk

2006-07-03T20:55:00.000-07:00

Borobudur [Java; Indonesia]

I went to see Borobudur, in the western part of Java in 1999 (or according to how you see the map, it might be considered south); but first I flew to Japan, where I stayed a while after Vietnam in 1971. Here I knew a woman, whom I met in Turkey, in l996, and therefore, I she me too many places, sumo wrestling being one of the many, a match by Kyoto. And we spent time in Tokyo, of course, going to the top of the 1957 tower, taller than France’s, and similar to France’s Eiffel Tower, built in the l880s for the Worlds Fair; I was on that tower also. Then I flew to Guam, where I spent a few days, hired a helicopter and flew over the island, got a good view of the old WWII tanks still rusted out in the foliage, and the water buffalo. Then I flew to Bali where I stayed a few days also; and then on to Java, kind of going in the back door, instead of going to Jakarta, its capitol, where they were having some problems. Thus, I stayed in Yogyakarta.

Now being in Yogyakarta and it is as busy as a bee there, I got ready to go see what would be a magnificent site. I would, after seeing it, claim it to be number three on my top ten list, list of greatest sites in the world; and I have seen many, from Egypt to India, to South America, North America, all the way around the world, and then some—its taken me a life time but it has been worth it. Anyhow, Borobudur is not any normal site. It really took me thirteen years to get here. My mother said, “When are you going to see this site, what is it called again? ‘Borobudur?’”

The site first showed up in a dream of mine, in l983, I never knew it existed until then; then I did some research on it, then I went. Some call this a temple, others a shine, whatever, it is the biggest Buddhist edifice in the world. The total building structure, volume wise, consumes 55,000 cubic meters; weights 3,500,000 tones, but only has around 5000-visitors a year, not many for a site like this. It has some 2-million blocks of andesine, or volcanic rock. I saw some folks carving some when I was there. It dates to about 800 AD.

On top of this temple, or layered shrine, is a giant stupa which I sat on. On the north-west side of it I laid down in the grass to just rest in the sun, and the ground with its towering over shading temple, and the tree to its left, somehow just put my bones at peace.

Borobudur’s stairs are guarded by a lion statue. There has been much restoration done here. There are 160- relief’s panels/walls that cover this site, and give out countless scenes of people in motion, activities, etc.

As I had expressed prior, there are levels, and on each level many reliefs are shown, with their ornaments that function as water spouts for the alley behind them. Many smaller stupas’ and many Buddha’s are inside these stupas. I heard the count being over 400-Buddhas.

The eastward view is spectacular, standing on the top of the structure, where the Aksobhya statues are, and have collapsed for the most part.

This whole maze of levels and panels, and layers, and stupa’s and Buddha’s all lead to the main stupa, depicting the spiritual world. Just before you get to the grand stupa, there is an entrance gate, and it, like everything else on this structure (and I do believe it to be wider than any of the pyramids in Egypt) is breathless.

I sat next to the peaceful, serene Buddha that over looks the tranquil atmosphere pervading the Arupadhatu stage. This statue is the one often seen in the pictures, if you can find one showing a close view of the upper level of the shrine.

Again as one looked from or to Borobudur, s/he will see a chain of rich-growing paddy-fields. Everything is green and peaceful here.

Malta, the Mediterranean's Treasure: Travels with D.L. Siluk

2006-07-03T20:51:00.000-07:00

By Dennis L. Siluk

Malta is not on my top ten list, but I’m starting to wonder way not? Perhaps there are so many breathtaking places in the world to see. Malta is though number #11. I went here in 2000, I had to choose between Rhodes, Crete, and Cyprus, and Malta, and I looked at these for about two-months, and chose Malta. My friend, whom I met on Easter Island, renowned Geologist and Archeologist, Charles Love, had mentioned during a walk back to our hotel, with my wife Rosa, he’d known about Malta, and would liked to have gone, but just never got to it. At that time it was his 26th year on the island. I do have to say, Easter Island is on the top ten-list.

Nonetheless, Malta is a paradise of archaeological wonders. I really don’t know where to start with this short travelogue of sorts. Perhaps by saying, Malta has three islands; I went to two, Gozo and Malta itself. Its history dates back to 5000 BC, if not farther. It has a little gyro place next to our hotel and we ate the Greek food up the tuba.

But anyhow, one of the sites we saw was Mgarr, 3800 BC, everything exposed to the sun, out doors. And Ggantija, the one I liked most, and got a replica of the site. This site if I recall right is on Gozo, and dates back to 3600-BC. On Gozo, people leave their keys in their garage, outdoors, or in the front doors to their homes, as if they might forget them; try that in St. Paul, Minnesota, you will not have a home to come home to. Ggantija, has two temple units inside its thick walls, one with five apses, in one of them are three trilithic niches [more like open temple doors, sort of, or temple sacrificing overhead alters of sorts]. Somehow I can’t quite describe it. If you are interested, get a book, a picture will save me two paragraphs. We went to a few caves also, Ulysses, from Troy being one, and Gliar il-Kbir being another.

What I think my wife liked the most was the Hypogeum, said to have been built by giants. It dates back to 3300 BC, or further. It belonged to the so called cult of the dead, that is the ancestors of the living I suppose, it is built in the bowels of the earth, very religious rites were done here and a most holy temple of temples: that is to say, it would equal the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem [Holy of Holies’], if we were to make a comparison; at least to its people. Here is where the famous ‘Sleeping Lady,’ was discovered, the mama of mamas, representing a woman in large form laying on her right side on a couch. It may suggest the time of incubation, I’m not sure, nor do I think anybody else is.

I could go on and on about the many outdoor sites, Hagar Qim, Mnajdra Temples, Tarxien Temples, they are all over the place, but Malta itself is a kind of Citadel, or has one within its main city, like in Athens. I liked Athens, but besides its Acropolis, it can’t compare to the archeological wonders on Malta. If I had I a choice to go back to Athens or Malta, it would be Malta in a heartbeat, no offence, it is just the truth. Athens has a known history which is glorious, Malta has a mysterious one, if you were to go back farther than 700 BC, which is a draw for me. I went to Athens, and three of their Islands in l995, because of Mary Renault’s great novels of the Greeks, and never regretted it. But back to Malta, there are so more artifacts there the mind could not digest them all.

Ohio's Serpent Mound & Arizona's Crater: Travels with D.L. Siluk

2006-07-03T18:48:00.000-07:00

By Dennis L. Siluk

It is quite a site, what they call ‘Ohio’s Enigmatic Effigy Mound.’ I went to visit it with my son in the summer of 2000, he lives in Columbus, Ohio, and I asked him if he had ever seen ‘Serpent Mound?’ and he said no. I couldn’t believe it, but then, he is not as intrigued at such things as I. I once I few him down to see the large ‘Meteor Crater,’ in Arizona; he said, “Dad, to me it’s just a big hole in the ground.’

He’s a good man, Cody, but the crater didn’t do much for him. I was of course fascinated with it. I mean here is the best preserved crater in the world, 50,000-years old, 570 feet deep and 4,100 feet across, and all he wanted to do was get back to Los Vegas and play roulette; this was his first trip to Los Vegas. I can’t believe it, an Army Ranger for six-years, never in Los Vegas, so this was kind of a special trip, since he had just gotten out of the Army.

Anyhow, its circumference is over three miles, and it is a Natural Landmark of the U.S. Department of the Interior; and I purchased one of the last three large pieces for sale.

As I was about to say earlier, Serpent Mound, is an effigy mound per se. And again my boy could not give much credence to this historical site; not to say he didn’t like it, he just didn’t think it was worth the time to ride from Columbus, Ohio, to the site, but a few hours from home (maybe thinking about Los Vegas again). But felt since I came all the way from Minnesota to see him and my granddaughter, he’d be kind and go with me, this was a year later in the summer of 2001.

I do believe, this sight was here long before the Indians were here, since they have no idea who built it. Claim it they may, prove it to be theirs is another story. Anyhow, it is mysterious, it is claimed to date back to perhaps 3000 BC. Maybe this is the Garden of Eden’s serpent. Or one of the Ancient Watchers, of the so called, 200-bad angels that descended onto the earth, as legend indicates, and cohabitated with female flesh, and one had the head of a serpent: could be.

It is a fact the serpent was a cultural symbolism for the Aztecs and Kukulcan of the Mayans. And some of the Algonquian tribes in the Lake Superior region believe their ancestors had special interest in serpents. The magical legendary horned serpent, trying to swallow the sun, or a depiction of the solar eclipses; whatever it was intended for we may never know, but it is a great piece of mound building. At the site they have an observation tower, and you can walk along side of the big snake.

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About the author: Mr. Siluk is a world traveler, a lover of the mysteries around the world, and has visit many World Heritage Sites, his most recent being Easter Island, the Galapagos and Mesa Verde. His books can be seen on/at Barns and Noble.com, Amazon.com, Wal-Mart, Abe.com Alibis, Boarders and several other sites and book stores. Many of his books can be purchased through the English Bookdealers. He spends his time between Lima, Peru and St. Paul, Minnesota, and has just finished working on two new books: "The Macabre Poems,” and “Perhaps it’s Love,” and continues to work on "Curse of the Abyss Worm,” a suspenseful mystery, and “Cold Kindness,” a tragic love affair.

Visit http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

Mystery Hill [In New Hampshire, USA]: Travels with D.L. Siluk

2006-07-03T18:45:00.000-07:00

Mystery Hill

By Dennis L. Siluk

[5/2001] This is not an easy place to find by far. It is nestled in the deep woods of New Hampshire. I’ve been to Stonehenge in England, and to other archeological sites that have astronomical alignments, and this is one. They seem to be all around the world from Bolivia, to Peru, to New Hampshire [or parts of North America], Egypt, Zimbabwe, to mention a few. This site here is an intriguing puzzle to most archaeologists, and astronomers alike.

At this site there is a Winter Solstice Stone; the winter sunset alignment passes across the southern most end of a wall within this site. There is a large curved wall, with what they call the “November 1st Stone,” there; aligned with the 1st sunset, from what I understand, very important to the ancient calendar. But enough for alignments, lets get off the astronomical trail, to the site itself.

They have three areas in the site with rock art. One of a bull, one of a fish, and one I couldn’t quite make out, but it looked like a double-headed ax symbol.

The area is fenced in, and the structures or chambers with fallen roof slabs are huge. One chamber is about nine feet long, and eight feet wide and about five and a half feet tall. I wish I could draw a picture of this site, or even describe its gigantic stones. It dates back—so they say—to, 2000 BC, I would guess it is much older than that, that is, if one was to compare the stones with other stone structures around the world. I’d say, how about 9,000 to 18,000 BC; or at least 3000 BC, to keep up with Stonehenge in England; actually it is aligned with Stonehenge as Stonehenge is aligned with the pyramids of Egypt. People make dates, and leave them sit forever like that is gospel, simply because they have it recorded already, too lazy to shift gears.

This site has a vast network of drains on it, quite impressive. The south facing chamber, or what they call the Watch House, looks like it came right out of the caveman days. This megalithic site is beyond belief, these granite slabs are somewhere around 6 to 8 tons apiece; one on top of the other. Archways made of them. Granite weights about 160-pounds per cubic foot, and some of these slaps are monstrous. There are many chambers, large walls, drains, and a wooden modern viewing platform to view it all by.

I liked the Sacrificial Table, it was a carved out piece of granite, a stone with grooves, weight about 4.5 tons. In l970, some charcoal found on the site dated to 173 BC, Radio-Carbon Date, so there was activity up to that point I would guess. Then perhaps a migration started.

There could be much said about this site, but I do believe it is equal to Colorado’s Mesa Verde, which I visited just last year, 2004, and will have to write about—soon.

The Alamo [Texas, USA]: Travel with D.L. Siluk

2006-07-03T18:39:00.000-07:00

The Alamo, Texas, And The Misplaced Americans From New Orleans

By Dennis L. Siluk

For some reason it is to me the most gratifying monument in America, the Alamo! Perhaps the legend of Davey Crocket, Jim Bowie, and the 181 other freedom fighters stick on me like glue. I mean, I could pick out a dozen more places like: the Statue of Liberty, or Independence Hall, but it is the Alamo, and it always has been for me, ever since I can remember.

I went to see it in l993, and at the time I was married to a teacher (not for long), anyhow, I went to see it five times in five days, and she got mad and protested. I told her to take the car, and just drop me off and pick me up at twilight. She wouldn’t, she stayed with me, and then we went to see other sights. But I came back the following morning.

For a teacher, she should have enjoyed it more than me; anyhow, the siege which lasted 13-days can never be forgotten once it is pictured. And the slogan, “Remember the Alamo!” it echoed throughout the United States, back in the l830s, and still does for me.

It is a little bit like the New England Colonist when they rebelled against England over taxes, etc: in a like manner, the Texas colonist’s rebelled and captured San Antonio; thus, only 200-rebels remained in the Alamo, and hoping for reinforcements, of course died, but it is what America is made out of—hope guts and inspiration: and freedom is always down the line someplace. Now these two-hundred belong to an everlasting legend. In a man’s life time, you can’t do much better than that. Plus they kicked a lot of ass back then; Santa Anna’s forces got it full force at the Battle of San Jacinto: a little at the Alamo. I see Texas is doing a good job again for the Misplaced Americans from New Orleans, well done.

Traveling throu the Jungles:Traveling with D.L. Siluk

2006-07-03T18:36:00.000-07:00

Traveling throu the Jungles

By Dennis L. Siluk
Sept. 12, 2005

I’ve been to many of them—jungles—so I’ll just mention a few, and then pick out the best of the best, the one I think is best that is. First of all, the Amazon: during the day it is another world, a land of a thousand shades of green; botany up the tuba: evolution in botany: where’s Darwin? And that was a great trip, and the jungle was just that, a rainforest in essence, but it was not the best of the best. As was not the one in Guatemala, with all its Tarzan rope like vines hanging every which way, I even swung on one, climbed it a ting; and the one I was in, in Central Java. On the other hand, I wouldn’t call the Galapagos Islands a rainforest per se, but it’s got enough wildernesses to call it something: diversity I suppose you would call it. Anyhow we are getting close to my number one jungle—the best of the best: hang on.

Venezuela’s Gran Sabana, a huge land area that contains tepuis. Here is where you will find Angel Falls, a most beautiful, 3,000-foot falls, the most stunning I’ve ever seen: straight up the waterfall to its top, again like the flat Tepuis. I climbed 1500-of those feet. Like the Galapagos, it evolved on its own conditions. You can see all over the place, as you travel in the area of Angel Falls, the flat tops of the mountainous tepuis: sandstone mazes so intricate you could get lost in them. In the morning it has falling haze all about: the jungle, the river, the many water falls thereabouts, nine I think in all [in that vicinity], around the mountains, you’d think you were in Conan Doyle’s, “Lost World.” Another point, the clouds seem to be spun around the tops of the Tepuis, and waterfalls, like cotton candy, wrapped nice and neat around everything around them also. I’d had believed dinosaurs, apelike creatures, the missing links lived here, evolution’s leftovers, or rejects, had someone said so. I’m not much on wildlife, but you can’t help but see the uniqueness in the flora and fauna of the species. This is top of the line, for wild places, for what can be called: first person journeys.

World Cathedrals and Mosques: Travels with D.L. Siluk

2006-07-03T18:32:00.000-07:00

Visiting Cathedrals, Churches, Chapels, And A Mosque

By Dennis L. Siluk

There are many beautiful cathedrals throughout the world, and I have seen, been in many. Wherever I travel, if there is a church, chapel, or cathedral, I will always stop and bend my knees and give thanks to the Lord for this time. I do want to work my way to one certain Cathedral in particular, in a moment please; from Istanbul, Turkey, to Germany, Paris, London, Lima, Seville, and around the world, and St. Paul’s beautiful cathedral in Minnesota, all have masterpieces, but there is one strange Cathedral I will never forget, and there is good reasons for it.

It was in l997, I visited the Mosque of Cordoba (and I could add to the above statement: I’ve been in many renowned Mosques throughout the world, from Egypt, to again, Istanbul, and beyond). But what I was about to say is, in Cordoba, Spain they have a most unusual and beautiful mosque, with hundreds of columns, the Moors strung double arches to raise the prayer hall’s roof I believe.

This Great Mosque was built in 785 AD, this was the largest mosque outside of Mecca, and it covers six acres. But perhaps democracy came to Islam right here, for a new faith was planted within its center. Let me explain. Cordoba fell to the Christians in 1236 AD, and at this juncture a cathedral amid the Great Mosque’s jungle of columns, came about. Bizarre as it may seem.

[Let me shift a bit] In Malta, especially in the city of Valetta, there are hundreds of churches, it was told to me when I was there, that they had over 300-churches on these three tiny islands. When you drive around, it is not hard to believe.

I was in Vatican City in l997, also, but should I select churches in Rome, it would not be St. Peters; it would be St. John’s.

I suppose I seem to sway towards France when it comes to great churches, they have enough of them, not sure if they use them, or just keep them to clean for tourists, but they got them. Notre Dame of course is my favored one; St. Dennis’ is a find church also. Westminister Abbey, in London, and Mont-St. Michaels, in France, again an Abbey, has chapels in them, are fine examples of Sacred Christian places to visit. Mont-St. Michael, is part of a bay, and legend says, in 708 AD Archangel Michael commanded a bishop to raise a chapel on the summit. Oh well true or not, it is there. Kind of like, Archangel Gabriel telling Mohammed to write the Koran. These archangels have many duties I do believe.

In Lima, Peru, they have a most beautiful Cathedral [had], but for some odd reason, they forgot to paint it yellow again, and it takes away its beauty, as it has been ever since I first saw it, some six-years ago. And in Quito’s Equator, they have a Church that has golden, pure golden leaf embedded into its walls and ceiling, from top to bottom. It is almost blinding.

Well, this is an area I could go on and on with, but for times sake, let me stop here, and bid you good day.

Athens Grand Acropolis: Travels with D.L. Siluk

2006-07-03T18:29:00.000-07:00

Athens Grand Acropolis

By Dennis L. Siluk

I think I read most of—if not all of—Mary Renault’s books on Greece, and in 1995, went there, to Athens, and a few islands thereabouts. But I spent most of my time around the Acropolis; I think I fell in love with its image. I’d sit down at a café at night, in the surrounding area, the lights would go on around the Acropolis, at twilight, and I’d gaze at it. It was a warm jewel to my eyes. It was the Parthenon that seemed to grab my attention the most, although the full image of the Acropolis at night is magnificent, and it is on my top ten lists. To my understanding, it was inhabited, the citadel area [the hill it is on], 5000-years ago.

It was considered a walled citadel at one time, then the gods took over, and it became a temple of sorts; or temples, I should say. Pericles ordered a temple erected in honor of his patron goddess, Athena, and thus, a marble temple came about. I do like the Athena coins also, of 449 BC, they are beautiful, and were made to support the war effort in Athens. But as we all know the Christians and Muslims conquered, Greece and used the buildings on the Acropolis for their own liking. And the Turks used it for target practice; and the British stolid a lot of the sculptures, now in the British Museum, which I’ve seen. But as I understand the quest goes on to bring them back, and to restore its beauty.

It was a great trip, a few of the Greek men in the hotel [service folks] got a bit controlling with their voices—loud, which is not uncommon for them, and I informed them, I could adjust my vocal cords accordingly, also. I think a few of them have control issues. And we came to an understanding. In Rome do as the Romans do; in Greece, do the same (they don’t like it, but that the way it is).

There was one other incident, where a Greek fella tried to buy me some drinks, and I don’t drink, and after he ordered the drinks, I paid for mine with a my visa, and because it was dark, I didn’t count the zeros on the Visa slip, and when I got back to the hotel, I had paid $1300-for a few cokes and…not much else. I called Visa up in England and had it stopped. They had tried to process the transaction and were hoping to get me drunk to make it easier, and he evidently was a friend of the owner of where I was. So watch who befriends you. I ended up getting a free night out.

Incidentally, the food is great also, I just can’t remember what I ate, but whatever it was I never complained, so it must had been good. Would I go back, yup: to see the Acropolis again, and Crete.

Spain's Great Alhambra: Travels with D.L. Siluk

2006-07-03T18:26:00.000-07:00

Spain's Great Alhambra

By Dennis L. Siluk

In l997, I took a trip around Spain: to Toledo, Cordoba, Madrid, and Granada, going down towards the Sierra Nevada which overlooks Granada; and I traveled beyond down to the Coast de Sole. Farther down I went to the Rock of Gibraltar, where I stayed for a day, ate at one of the pubs there, and climbed to the top of the big rock, and played with the monkeys on the way; and took a boat across the Strait of Gibraltar to Morocco, Tanger: in Tanger, what an experience, I’ll save that for another day. Broadly speaking, this was perhaps the way the Moors went when they conquered Spain and ruled it for nearly 800-years, but backwards: that is, across the strait and onward to Granada and Cordoba, and every other city in its pathway. But where I want to bring you is to the Alhambra in Granada, which replaced the Capital in Cordoba, by the Moors: 1236 AD. In this fairyland, or Disney Land type ancient atmosphere, you see some of the finest Islamic art in Europe. It symbolizes Islam’s five requirements: prayer, fasting, pilgrimage, almsgivings and belief in the oneness of God. Everywhere, I mean everywhere within this huge fortress type palace, (which covers 35-acres) there are plaster stalactites resembling enormous kaleidoscopic images, exploding outward. There are many towers also. At first you don’t, or I could not picture its hugeness, but once inside you can. Or if you are looking up at it from a distance, you can see its towers and walls. When you walk about one can help but think of water, it is symbolized everywhere, with fountains and rivulets, a large pool as I said before, columns standing like palm trees.

In one area 4,400 tiny plaster cells honeycomb the celestial ceiling of the Hall of two sisters; I looked at it for the longest time, until my neck got sore. To be quite frank, I would not have went to Spain just to see the Alhambra, but it was a pleasant surprise being able to walk its halls, and see its architect, its pool, and all its grandeur.

America's Landmarks: Travel with D.L. Siluk

2006-07-03T18:23:00.000-07:00

Landmarks Of America

By Dennis L. Siluk
Sept. 7, 2005

I have traveled to about 46, of the States, and they, most all of them have some kind of landmark, but here I will just mention the ones I saw myself, and thought to be at the top of my list: not in order though, for if it was, I’d pick out the Alamo (as you will know), the Empire State Building, The Arch of St. Lewis, the Space Needle of Seattle, the Grand Canyon, and perhaps, Mount Rushmore, and of course the Golden Gate Bridge; something like that; the Liberty Bell comes into this category also, as does Independence Hall.

Mouth Rushmore, I went to see in l996, surrounded by the Black Hills, of South Dakota. When I got to it, there was a fence and you could gaze up the mountain, it stands on a dynamite granite cap of a 6,000–Foot Mountain. An estimated 450, tons of rock was subtracted in the process of carving out this monument. It cost $900,000 total, at the time, and its work started in 1927.

In l986, I went to Las Vegas with my mother, we traveled a lot back then together, and I took a day to go see the Grand Canyon, I flew through its North rim, down into its gully, it is perhaps the most famous of the natural wonders of America, although I liked Niagara Falls just as much. The guy next to me in the 19-seater airplane got sick. But sightseeing from a small aircraft is the way to go, so I feel. I have used helicopters and small aircraft on a dozen geological trips.

The Gateway Arch in St. Louis is grand, nothing less, I saw it in l992, it is like a Cathedral dome, 650-feet high, without a house under it, huge, you can see it as your plane comes into St. Louis, and you descend to the airport.

Graceland is a short distance from the airport, we landed in Memphis, my wife and I, from a trip, coming back from Hawaii, or someplace like that in 2001 ((last part of November, we were on one of the planes on 9/11 that was taking off to Los Angeles, was stopped at 8:36 AM, just after the first atrocity, of the first WTC tower being hit)) we had to reschedule for Hawaii); I always wanted to see it: the Graceland and my wife and I did—had a great tour; the four hours layover allowed this, so we caught a taxi down to Graceland, Elvis Presley’s home, and it was well worth the trip. A Woman in the gift shop even gave me a free pin for my lapel. It has 23-rooms, and of course is a museum for the most part.

I was at the Vietnam Memorial, which contains 58,312 Americans names who were killed in the conflict, the war, in 2000. It is 555-feet long. The only problem in Washington D.C., and even at this sight, you got police up the tuba telling you: don’t go on the grass to take the picture, don’t touch this, don’t do that. I couldn’t wait to get out of DC, and will never go back. Georgetown was much better as far as a tourist place goes, more calm, more people orientated.

In l970, I went to Independence Hall, in Philadelphia, which is a national historical park now, in Philadelphia, where our founding fathers created the Declaration of Independence. Saw he Liberty Bell, entombed in glass. It was great to see it.

In Manhattan I walked across the famous Brooklyn Bridge with my wife, all four times I was in New York I visited the Bridge: the first time I saw it though, was in l996.

The Statue of Liberty; I saw it in l996, but when I got married, my wife wanted to go up it, and see it also, in 2000, and we did, it was her most cherished wish when coming to America, and today, September 6, 2005, she became an American Citizen (from Peru): and is most proud. She said if she had to take arms, she was ready. I told her I thought she might be too old, just turned 46, but the gesture was one of a true American.

Another nice site to see is Robert Frost's House, in New Hamsphire, and F. Scott Fitzgerald's home in St. Paul, Minnesota.

Rio De Janerio [A City of Many Colors] Travels with D.L. Siluk

2006-07-03T18:18:00.000-07:00

Rio De Janeiro, A City of Many Colors

By Dennis L. Siluk

I was there in Rio De Janeiro, in 2001, this is a city by the sea, which pats the mountain nearby, and has black and white stones all about; a city of many colors and races. It has over 11-million people, or it did when I was there, perhaps more now. There steak isn’t wroth it, but their beaches are. There is a shanty town [s] known as favelas, but who wants to hear about that. The Atlantic Ocean is on top of you there. I know some Spanish, and they speak Portuguese, so that didn’t help, but they speak English, or many of them do.

My wife and I went to the top of Sugarloaf Mountain, the ride was great, and so was the view. Again I must say Copacabana Beach is perhaps the best beach I’ve yet to discover, discover worldwide that is. The sea waves are great, slap you and pull you and scared the daylights out of my little wife.

In addition to the main city, and its many sites, we took a trip into an outside area, where there were 365-islands, and we went to an island called Bernardo, where I found a giant footprint in stone along the beach, took a picture of it, along with some bird like creature, also its foot being embedded into stone for posterity. Again this was interesting, and just part of several things we did. As in most South American cities, the folks are warm for the most part. Not crazy, unbearable (like in Paris) and can be unforgettable; a nice place to visit.

City Of The Seven Hills [Istanbul] Travels with D.L. Siluk

2006-07-03T18:11:00.000-07:00

I went to Istanbul in l996, when I’ve first seen the city it had a magical Byzantine charm to it, just its name, and its old name, Constantinople, It seems to help bridge the two continents it spans, Asia on one side and Europe on the other. I asked a friend of mine, what was the best place she had ever been to, for visiting: she said Istanbul. I wouldn’t go that far to say that, but I would say it is a grand place to visit, and with incomparable beauty, especially going down the strait that divides this city from Europe and Asia, the only city in the world that does. And it resides on seven hills. I was in the former Byzantine cathedral called Hagia Sofia, on the first hill; I have always told my friends there are two cathedrals in the world I love, and I always go back and forth putting them back into first and second place: Notre Dame, and Hagia Sofia. So on any given day, I may say number one is either one.

Street vendors walk the streets, and there is a busy market place [bazaar]; for the shoppers. The Blue Mosque is also a beautiful site to see, I was in there and it has some monstrous pillars; said to have 20,000-tiles, and it seems to have its presence wherever you go in Istanbul. I asked myself the question: would I go back there again, which I normally do not do, since I cannot afford to see places twice, and feel lucky I can see them the first time. Yes, I’d go back, after seeing everything else. But I doubt it would be as good as the first time. The people are pleasant, and food is good. For some reason Istanbul has stood out all these centuries as a city that has endured, yet maintained it composure, and the spirit of such is alive and well in the city today [or was in 1996].