http://www.sacbee.com/2010/01/24/2480367/around-the-world-many-times-bee.html

For better or worse here's a longer narrative.

In 1988 at the stunning site of Pagan, Burma (a world class attraction too-seldom seen due to the junta's ham-fisted management of tourism) I discovered another stunning attraction. She was 5'2" and I was hit with an anvil the moment I saw her. She had a most engaging personality and lightning wit. Though I was QUITE taken, I had to leave Pagan the same day we met owing to Burma's idiotic visa policies.

But all was not lost. I was headed to India via Bangladesh while she was going to Nepal. I could catch her in Katmandu if I could keep my wits and change my schedule to skip Varnasi.

Arriving in Calcutta my first order of business was to go to Air India and change my ticket.

Calcutta was crazy. I was struck by the fact that tourist hotels all seemed to have "we have generator" signs. The reason became obvious when, upon trying to change my ticket (at an airline offices in the basement of one such hotel) the power went out. While awaiting those generators switching on the paperwork went on by flashlight. In the midst of this tumult I'd asked the agent for the appropriate change. What a scene. I can't speak Hindi, but two Spanish Hare Krishnas were in line and I COULD talk to them in espanol. By the glow of flashlights my papers got filled out. When the lights came back I got handed a ticket. It had been a slow and dark (obviously) process in a stuffy basement room and took two hours, but back in the daylight I was pleased to clutch an early ticket to Nepal.

Alas, this was India. Back at my hotel room, shared with a British lad who was finishing 6 months with Mother Teresa I discovered the agent had written the wrong day. It was for the same date I ALREADY held to fly out of India. I KNEW an all-day battle was now needed. It had seemed too easy.

When I hit Air India's central office the next day I was stunned to see the line. It was 50 people long. Computers were down and nothing moved. I sat at the end of the line dismayed. THEN a guy yelled from across the room that I was cutting-in. He was, in fact, the real end of the line. I did a quick head count. There were 147 people waiting in this first of many lines. A guy next to me who looked as though he came from the area near Burma turned and said: "You didn't know. Stay where you are." I said "Thanks, I think I will." It was kill or be-killed.

For hours I ping-ponged around the cavernous room. Among the blockades to resolution was the fact that the flight I needed was fully booked. Asking everyone I could get eyeball-to-eyeball with if there was not SOME way this simple issue could be resolved I found myself camped out next to the office of a Mr Ram. A lady with the desk closest to his door sat fanning herself saying he should be here "soon". Soon could be soon, and it might not be on the same day. I wasn't going anywhere and stayed parked next to the big electric fan outside his office. But by-God Mr Ram did show after 90 minutes with a man in tow. I leaped up and gave him my spiel making an audition with what I hoped would prove charm. Both men seemed to chuckle at my forceful (and now well-oiled) presentation. Mr Ram was a man of authority. He sized up my story, smiled and said "Mr Banerjee can help you - and he WILL help you!" He directed me to the 2nd floor with a jolly handshake and instructed me to relay my tale to Banerjee. I might finally be getting somewhere I thought but, it so happened, the Communist Party had chosen the giant stairwell to hold a rally in support of some labor action. They sat on the steps chanting and singing. After picking my way past the participants - a long process as the density of bodies in India is a different thing than in America I got to the reception desk.

I asked for Mr Banerjee and was told no such person worked there. I insisted that no less than Mr Ram had directed me. "I'm sorry Sir there is no one here with that name" he maintained. I elected to blow past him in the best Ugly American style to look for myself. I strolled brazenly past work stations reading name tags. Two minutes in I found a thin man with "Banerjee" on his tag. I grabbed his hand and said I was glad to meet him since he could resolve my problem. I had been assured of it. Banerjee assessed my tale. "We have contingencies for such developments" he verified and sent me back to the lady with the fan. She had not been able to help I opined, but Banerjee told me what magic words to say and assured me she'd know what to do. After pointedly muttering "There is NO Mr Banerjee here." to the clerk at the desk - who did flinch - I made my way BACK down. Past boisterous communists waving placards of hammers & sickles I moved back to the fan lady. When I said what I was told to say she smiled, put down the fan and whipped out pieces of paper. She stamped them. Stamping was always good I figured. My lady, now fanless, took me on another journey through headquarters to another woman in a red sari who apparently monopolized the ability to produce real tickets. Red Sari read my papers, looked at the stamps, observed the fan lady and then exercised HER power to produce a piece of paper good for travel on Air India on the flight needed. I had prevailed and it had only taken 6 hours. A quick TKO by Indian standards.

I felt fairly certain that somebody who THOUGHT they were flying to Katmandu was going to remain in Calcutta when the time came to fly, however. I was equally certain that I was NOT going to be that person by virtue of being the first in line at the airport on flight day. I was second, actually. A Dutch kid named Jacob was first; a veteran, I think, of the Indian wars. We signed-on and winged north as hoped. As it turned out we flew in immediately aftermath of a squall that had left the city powerless. Downed lines were everywhere. A panic at the soccer stadium left 40 dead. It was a grim day for Katmandu, but not for everyone as I found my gal that night despite conducting a search in a blacked out district of guest houses and restaurants lit by candles.

And that begins another story. A more colorful and interesting one than this. But one I'm not telling.

The last update chronicled my visit to NYC. What followed?

Washington DC, then a jaunt to Hawaii, followed by a trip to Siberia.

I know blogs don't need to be bout trips, but to not comment on a visit to the Altai mountains to catch an eclipse must be some kind of blog felony.

So, where was I?

Washington I like. It has a broad open feel to it due in no small part to the space and air of the Capital Mall. I got a tour of the Voice of America's offices and a side trip to Baltimore where I got to go onto an WWII sub. The submarine corps was not for me. I don't know how those boats cruised the high seas. They are not that big. I guess the one plus was in storm you could go down a hundred feet and wait. But man that duty took guts.

Arriving in DC brought one of those moments where you suddenly look out and know precisely where you are. I had been to the station before, in 2004, and upon arrival I was, if not home exactly, back in familiar territory. The Big Apple was, conversely, cold, strange, foreign and not a place I could ever live in. With the nephew working for WNYC though I plan to go back in spring. Stay tuned.

And have you ever been hit with claustrophobia? On board the jet set to wing me home from Baltimore I considered asking the stewardess to allow me to exit the aircraft the moment they closed the doors.

I was in serious pain. The new onset of at least one kidney stone was verfy ill-timed. The pain had begun the night before and was hitting a crescendo I just was not sure I could STAND the flight(s) home.

Luckily, I had adequate analgesia and after chewing down a pill I thought I could actually do it. I did, but I got home through significant misery. I swore never to try that stunt again. Should you ever ponder such an adventure my recommendation is DON'T.

Hawaii is a place I have a soft spot for. It helps that my grandpa was from Kauai and I still have cousins there. I don't know them personally, but I know they are there. That distinctive island accent is one of ones I grew up with. They have to be as fine an archipelago as any on this blue planet. I'd been to Kauai, Oahu, Maui and the Big Island and had always had a hankering to visit Molokai to see the old Hawaii.

And THAT will be be the next installment.

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A buddie from high school came with me. I drove to Marin County and crashed on Michael's couch for a early departure to Maui via Honolulu.

This was visit #6 if you count the two day stay in 1988 which coincided with the stock market crash. Which I do. Crash the stocks and you STILL have a great time just being in the Sandwich Islands. Well, nothing is guaranteed in this world, but if you don't like Hawaii there is something wrong with YOU.

The Lonely Planet, as usual, gave excellent hints about where to go. In the first hour we hit the most beloved store on Maui, which, to my surprise stocked THE best kava kava I have ever had.

Sidebar: the Polynesians learned to grind up a pepper tree root centuries ago. It contains compounds that relax and are mildly intoxicating. And I do mean mildly. The first time I tried it I thought it did zero. It does though. It helps one unwind. It is safe and is the only herbal product I find useful. I've recommended it to patients and gotten good feedback.

A couple I know told a native guy in Vanuatu that they were unimpressed with the kava they were ceremonially served upon arrival. As he was a “king” he instructed minions to serve these guys up “kings kava” from a 100 year old tree.

Shawn swore that his stroll up from the beach after imbibing felt like a rock scramble in Yosemite. As an anesthesiologist he was qualified to judge its effects. He was stunned.

Now the Maui kind was nothing of the sort. It was same mild stuff you can get in the coop in Sacramento, Davis, or Kentfield. It was much more palatable, however thanks to some some Island flavors blended in. I wish I'd bought more.

The West side of the Island was literally unrecognizable. I took the folks there once but could NOT for the life of me locate where we had stayed. The whole lay of the land was altered by a giant new posh development catering to the exclusive sort of clientèle who want to hang out in places that are exclusive.

So, for the sake of these assholes developers have bought up breathtakingly beautiful stretches of beach and shoved high rises up into the sky with fistfuls of stores selling the same crap these jackasses could, and should be buying in Manhatten and Beverly Hills. Not that I hate their guts or anything.

Luckily the water is still nice even if the sea life appears to have taken a huge hit.

For better snorkeling we drove north in day two to encounter a couple of native sons sitting in lounge chairs at roadside holding up greenish material.

“Is that the famous Maui Wowie?” I asked the dudes.

“Dis stuff is a Maiu Owie” replied the larger of the two large men, adding “You smoke dis shit.... you gonna hurt yo'self.”

We had to laugh. And to be friendly my wing man contributed to the local economy. He enjoys the stuff and informed me that it was of decidedly inferior quality to that which he has grown accustomed to in Marin.

I deferred to his expertise.

The snorkeling that followed was good. Very good in fact, though I have seen better. That is not a complaint, however.

A complaint would be as follows. I wanted poi. My portagee grandmother used to have taro root every so often. It was OK, but I really like the pounded stuff. The taro equivalent of mashed potatos. At luaus in previous trips I ate a lot of it.

My inquiries as to where I might be found went nowhere. Costco had it on alternate mornings I was told. But the restaurant called fish and poi seemed a slam dunk. As we were led to our tables I asked; “You DO have poi, right?” I did not expect the “No sir we don't reply” from the seater nor the confirmation from the waiter that they took it off the menu because nobody ordered it.

I was stifling my replies till he added scornfully; “Have you ever tried it?”

“Yes” I replied, “I like it. Its why I came to this restaurant NAMED 'Fish and Poi' which is your name after all” He said he was sorry, but they had not been able to get a sign painter so they could CHANGE the name.

Michael suggested that even if that WAS lame it never pays to give a waiter any sort of hard time.

“I know” I said, “but the numbskull asked me if I'd ever tried it – like I'm the idiot who imagined he could get a foot the restaurant is NAMED after.”

He agreed that was bogus and the food that followed was weak. Pounded taro root would have spruced it up considerable.

On day 3 we struck for the summit of Haleakala an adventure to follow in the next installment...

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As you may or may not know the Hawaiian island chain has formed over 80 million years or so from a long lasting, mysterious “hot spot” under the ocean. This plume of magma has been upwelling since the time of the dinosaurs and created not just the current crop of what we think of as the Hawaiian Islands but the chain of old worn down rocks that stretch thousands of miles to the northeast.

The Pacific Plate has moved northwest relative to the hot spot something deduced as certain only in the past half century.

The Big Island is now over the molten plume but a few million years ago it was Maui that was built up from lava piled upon the sea floor. And the top of the mountain, at 10,000 feet is still a stunner.

I read that the drive to the top is the most abrupt ascent anywhere in the world. I suspect that is not hype. And it is well worth doing.

On a prior trip I arose early enough to catch the sunrise from the top. It was worth doing but I don't think I saw the kind of spectacle that amazed Mark Twain. Even spectacular natural sights have their good days and not-so-good.

Michael split the driving with me. I even let him remain behind the wheel after he puffed away on some local vegetation. In my experience the stoned driver is very unlikely to cause you grief. He or she tends to be hyper-careful in vivid contrast to the drunk. Most of the experience which led me to this generalization is decades old but I could see that it still held up in 2008. He managed fine.

We jogged down for 45 minutes to a lookout point then jogged back up at a much-reduced pace to explore numerous spots to see in the general area. The view of Hawaii to the south was terrific. Mouna Loa and Mouna Kea are a half mile taller still and look magnificent.

If you go to Maui you must do this.

That night there was a festival of canoes from all over the Islands. A couple were even from Tahiti I think. We strolled around in Lahaina and... well you just can't have too bad a time with macadamia nut snacks and fresh fish.

The taro question as in poi was shown to really be, at least in part, due to a shortage on Kauai. It seemed the crop was reduced by drought thus making he formerly ubiquitous taro chips snacks rare. Like poi they were tough to find. Unlike poi we did finally find some – locally made.

And while I'm talking food... I would note that sugar, even that which sweetens soft drinks, should be fricking sugar, not the vile tasting high-fructose corn syrup. Drink a soft drink in Hawaii and you'll remember why you used to like such drinks.

And y'know I have to take a break and go get some Hawaiian barbeque right now – complete with soft drinks.

Be right back.

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Where was I? On Maui?

As good as Maui is, and I am not sure there IS a bad Hawaiian Island (if you don't count former bombing range Kahoolawe, left a mess of unexploded ordinance by the Pentagon) its commercialism left us hankering for the old Hawaii and Molokai was the place that has elected to remain decades “behind” the rest of the place.

The ferry was fun. Michael drank some beer and sat with some serenading locals who pounded out Hawaiian hits. Even from afar you could see that Molokai was virtually devoid of development.

After the Miami Beach nuttiness of the West of Maui this WAS a trip back in time. Our rental car was at the airport and the shuttle man was there to greet us.

Driving west we found the deep darkness unpunctuated by electric lighting to reveal a stunning starry sky. The Southern Cross was plain as day and the heavens just erupted with stars. We pulled over and scanned the heavens for a quarter hour.

Our resort was on the west end and we missed the turnout giving a detour into the development of Mauna Loa which was being shut down. It was eerie seeing hotels that were being put on ice and a theater that was now closed. Turns out it was the only cinema on the island.

Navigating was aided by the stars and looking down from the hill we could guess where the hotel was. We guessed correctly but found the sinage pretty limited and directions too.

A phone call got us right soon enough and we were in for the night.

In the day we could see that MUCH of the hotel complex was being boarded up. Beautiful location, but some squabbling over water and development had led to a golf course that was drying out and restaurants that were closed. The golf I couldn't care less about but Molokai is famous for having few places to eat. That hurt.

We hiked about and swam a good deal.

The high point of the trip was a LONG swim outside some rocks where I felt as though I might swim to Oahu. Of course given the strong current may fear they'll have to. The moist air, balmy water and stunning scenery made for a world class afternoon on our final day. Of course I'm leaving out the trip to the famed leper colony.

On the next-to-last day we hiked down the hillside (having paid for the right to visit) to get a tour of the notorious colony.

Leprosy is considered one of the LEAST infectious of infectious diseases. Most people probably could not get it at all. Some immune deficiency is involved. But after it arrived from Asia some people DID get it and given that it was not controllable until sulfa antibiotics arrived on the scene.