4/26/10 Road King

Got the Road King out of the shop today, fully serviced with new rubber. Ducked the 5:00 traffic and took the Trace north. Once all the traffic passed I dropped back to 30-35 mph and tooled along drinking in the verdant MS spring; all shades of lush green in Technicolor. At that speed I could soak up the smell of the open road; clean fresh air tinged with honeysuckle, fresh cut grass and occasionally the fading stench of a skunk. But the best part of traveling at that speed is the sound of the Harley; a deep throaty rumble, like the soughing guttural growl of a prowling tiger. A thumping heartbeat that exudes raw power. I couldn't help but think how the Harley Davidson motorcycle symbolized the American spirit; iconic, bold and brash, unashamedly reveling in its power. Nothing is more American than the Harley Davidson motorcycle. Aficionados are fiercely proud of the Harley's 'made in America' heritage to the extent of calling other motorcycles not by brand name but 'Japanese' or 'German' bikes. That pride Harley lovers share is also one of independence and self reliance. The HD Company has been around over 100 years and lately has been enjoying some good years. But through those many years HD has had its struggles as well, reaching its lowest point in the 1970s when American Machine and Foundry Company, known for making bowling equipment, bought the company. The machines HD produced during the few years AMF owned the company were less than lovingly referred to as the Bowling Ball bikes. And the bikes made in that era deserved the disdain. Poorly made with leaky engines, poor performance, shaky handling and worst of all, ugly as sin. But, like good Americans, Harley lovers bought and rode the Bowling Ball bikes, not in huge numbers but they stuck with the brand praying for deliverance. And deliverance came in 1981 when the company bought itself back and gradually restored its motorcycles to their rightful place of idolation. Big, bold, flashy and proud; 100% American.

04/24/09 Santorini Island/Athens

View of the Santorini Caldera from the Mystique Hotel

View of the Santorini Caldera from the Archeopolis Restaurant

Leaving Santorini is very difficult. Captain 'Ted' called this a.m. to let us know that our island cruise would be cold and rainy and all other guests (one other couple) had canceled. So we canceled also. Turned out to be the most beautiful day there; warm and bright sunshine. Believe Captain 'Ted' was not worried about the weather; he just did not want to suffer the full expense of the trip with only two paying customers. Since the boat cruise was cancelled we stayed in bed longer and needed it. Had been burning the candle from both ends and we were exhausted. Had breakfast on caldera patio overlooking the volcano crater; soft winds brushing the water in spots, looked like some giant (maybe Zeus or Poseidon) blowing, gently across the water. Decided to sit out in the bright sun for awhile. But not too long; no sun in years! Lily white and no need for a sunburn. Early afternoon we showered and packed. Decided to leave Oia and the Mystique early and stop off in Fira. Ladies at the hotel, Dmitria and Antonia arranged a taxi to Fira and the hotel driver to pick us up there later and ferry us on to the airport. In Fira we walked a short distance to the Archeopolis Restaurant which sits on the edge of the caldera cliff overlooking the entire crater with a great view of the center island. Extraordinary view, open patio dining area. Food was good with a glass of local wine.

Hotel driver picked us up and on to the small Santorini airport. Luggage overweight by 40 kilos. We were not so lucky this time and had to pay for all of it. A small turbo-prop aircraft dropped off one passenger and carried about 20 of us on to Athens.

We had gotten to know the Athens airport very well and had no trouble getting in/out and into a taxi. Took about thirty minutes to the King George Hotel downtown. Cabbie overcharged us about 5 Euro but we expected it and were glad to finally 'land' somewhere. KG is a grand old hotel restored after a fire in time for the 2004 Olympics. Late dinner in the Tudor Room on the 7th floor with a grand view of the brightly lighted Acropolis. Friendly waitress served us but we had a hard time understanding her. Food was good-greek salad was huge but very tasty with a few scattered scallops and shrimp, Bill Mathias style. Young Greek lady with red orange hair and a wide toothy smile closed out our meal serving us with a chocolate 'crocan' (I believe she meant 'Cretan') dessert and capacucino. The Tudor Room has an early 1900's Opera house decor and an adjoining sunroom with a glass wall with an excellent view of the Acropolis.

Finished Ian Fleming's 'Live and let Die'. James Bond deserves all the exoctic women, fast cars and man toys for the beatings he takes for King/Queen and country.

05/11/09 Mumbai

Traveling home from work this afternoon in heavy traffic (we were actually stopped) something hit our car just above my window with such force that the sound startled me, Carla and Kartik. It was unnerving. Suddenly I realized how vulnerable we really were in an alien environment. What would have happened if it had been an attack-we would have been dead. An eerie scary thought. There must have been a hundred autos, rickshaws, buses, bicycles, heavy trucks and taxis crowded around us; a mass of metal and machinery crowded so close we would have had difficulty just leaving the car, much less leaving in the car. It doesn't take a terrorist bomb or gun assault to present danger in a crowd in India. A slight fender-bender can stop traffic and inspire a full blown riot with setting cars on fire and mob attacks.

05/07/09 Mumbai Hot
Its hot here. But its very hot midday. Remember Noel Coward; "only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun". He was obviously referring to the midday sun in India. And he was damn right. For some unknown reason I am drawn back to the days of the cottonfield; barefoot and bareback in the glaring sun and feet burning in the dusty silt between the cotton rows. The overbearing omnipresent sunshine baking me and the dirt without a cloud in between for any relief. Wishing all the time for the good luck of being born in some place that had never heard of a cottonfield.

I take my midday stroll to stretch my legs outside the compound. The Indian workers lounge under any available shade-small trees, walls, vehicles...some stretched out napping, others sitting and others laying on their side resting their head on the palm of one hand. Jabbering or snoring. Just like the field hands during the midday break in the cottonfields. The days here are long too. There is nothing for it but to cuss, bear the heat, drink water and sweat and pray for the rains.