#Vietnam's untouched beauty

[travelernight]

Vietnam’s Best-Kept Secrets Top 10 Hidden Wonders Revealed

[kaustubh-wankhede]

Embark on a journey like never before with our comprehensive 2024 guide to Ba Be National Park. Immerse yourself in the untouched beauty of lush landscapes, pristine lakes, and diverse wildlife. Discover hidden gems, trek through ancient forests, and experience the rich culture of local communities. Packed with invaluable tips and insights, this handbook is the key to an unforgettable adventure. Unearth the secrets of Ba Be National Park and create memories that will last a lifetime.

[dreamgrlarchive]

Nicki Minaj’s The Pinkprint Era (+No Frauds)

#PrettyHeiressDiaries: Eras Edition 🎀

this is my first #PrettyHeiressDiaries post. as i’ve previously stated, this series is going to be me diving into my fav muses and celebs and dissecting what i can take from these lovely ladies. this blog will focus on Nicki Minaj’s branding from 2014-2017 roughly. + a few Queen era looks.

The Pinkprint Era Style Elements:

the pinkprint was alter ego free, and a return to hiphop and r&b for nicki. meaning she was highly stripped of the campy pop rap star we had come to know. it was chic DOWN. think collector barbie vs the harajuku barbie. don’t mistake me though, onika was still very in touch with her cutesy girly side. there was a balance of sexy and chic with a few drops of cute. and this is why the pinkprint era is my absolute favorite, with her looks being a standard i follow for a lot of my looks.

nicki’s cute mirrors 🎀

nicki’s iconic black barbie insta selfies, wearing real hair or natural extensions(often textured ponytails and blowouts), minimal makeup and natural beats 🎀

lots of black and neutrals, statement purses (often times chanel) 🎀

nicki makes a return to the harajuku barbie aesthetic during the pinkprint tour 🎀 +

prissy pink looks i loved from this era 🎀

No Frauds Era Style Elements:

after the pinkprint era was dying down and nicki had become the victim of “the nicki hate train,” her style was still reminiscent of pinkprint. but i would say her branding shifted from the demure somewhat sweetheart to more of an unapologetically bad bitch. this is marked as the “no frauds era” (the time between pinkprint and queen)

glamorous gowns, grandiose blingy bodysuits and adornments, continuing from the pinkprint aesthetic, she’s still wearing natural glams and hairstyles 🎀 +

latex catsuits, lacey looks, pink as seen in the paper magazine cover and the motorsport video 🎀

literally queen couture (tiaras, headpieces, and maximalist furs), the subtle return of the barbie chain, 40 inch “you b*tches can’t even spell prague” naomi/cher hair 🎀

My Fav Queen Era Looks:

ex. tusa videoshoot, harpers bazaar vietnam cover, 2018 vma look, chun li cover art look, 2018 harpers bazaar look 🎀

So What Can We Learn?

Nicki’s style has never been anything short of ultra femme and makes it clear she’s not afraid to take up space and your attention.

As her branding and look shifts through these eras, it’s as if she’s becoming more aggressive with the her fashion to speak to the public.

During The Pinkprint Era, she said “Look, I can put the pink wigs and rainbow paint away and still capture attention while making quality work. Respect me.”

The No Frauds Era saw her evolve into a more flashy Nicki while taking hints of her past looks to say “I AM the greatest, you will NEVER top me, and I can remind you who I am.” Note the Barbie chain while also dressing like modern day royalty.

Nicki Minaj is a highly polarizing figure in pop culture but that should not stop us from acknowledging the cultural resets she’s delivered us in the fashion and beauty industry. When she said “I got all these girls wantin’ to be Barbie Dollz,” it wasn’t just a line, ITS TRUE. So many influential girls on instagram look like either Nicki, Kim K, or Madison Beer, just to name a few. The girls have taken a heavy note from the colored hair, bussdown middle part inches, bulky chains, all while trying to maintain an untouchable level of HYPERFEMININITY. An actual BLACK BARBIE.

-PrettyHeiressDiaries 🎀

credits: nathyyy and blessing mukosha via youtube, @thevirgodoll and @babyphat05’s breakdowns on femmes in the culture on the respective personal blogs.

[blrowanducks-blog]

The Symbolic Value of the Lotus in Asian Culture

Symbols are mental images that by convention play a profound role in shaping cultures and their identities. They contain within themselves a neural nexus that has been stamped by the amygdala as being numinous. A collective, awe, develops around certain symbols that hold significant meaning and the lotus flower stands out as one of the most revered and cherished symbols in Asian culture.

When the divinity contained in the life substance is about to put forth the universe, the cosmic waters grow a thousand-petaled lotus of pure gold, radiant as the sun. This is the door or gate, the opening or mouth, of the womb of the universe. It is the first product of the creative waters, the material unconscious, corruptible in the particular, but now gold as incorruptible nature in totality. It opens to give birth first to the demiurge-creator, Brahmã, or further West, Yaldabaoth. From its pericarp then issue the hosts of the created world. This is the procreative aspect of the Absolute, and the cosmic lotus is its generative organ. The cosmic lotus is the highest form or aspect of Earth. It is personified as the Mother Goddess through whom the Absolute moves into creation.

Found across various countries and religions, the lotus has captivated the hearts and minds of people for centuries and the lotus holds immense spiritual symbolism in Asian cultures, particularly in religions such as Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism. In Hinduism, the lotus is associated with deities like Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth and prosperity, and Saraswati, the goddess of knowledge and arts. It represents purity, enlightenment, and divine beauty. Similarly, in Buddhism, the lotus is a central symbol that embodies purity, spiritual growth, and enlightenment. The lotus flower's ability to emerge gracefully from muddy waters, pristine and untouched, symbolizes the journey from ignorance to enlightenment.

The lotus has inspired countless artistic expressions throughout Asian history. From ancient sculptures to traditional paintings, the lotus is a recurring motif in Asian art. It is often depicted in various forms, such as blooming, bud, or seedpod, each carrying its own symbolic meaning. The delicate petals and vibrant colors of the lotus have been captured in intricate details, conveying a sense of elegance, grace, and purity. The lotus is not only a subject of artistic representation but also serves as a source of inspiration for artists, poets, and writers, evoking emotions of tranquility and serenity.

The lotus also holds deep philosophical significance in Asian cultures, representing the path to spiritual enlightenment and personal growth. In Buddhism, the concept of "lotus sutra" emphasizes the idea that all beings, regardless of their circumstances or origins, have the potential to attain enlightenment. The lotus serves as a metaphor for the human soul's journey towards self-realization, transcending the worldly attachments and reaching a state of enlightenment. Its ability to rise above the murky waters symbolizes the triumph of the human spirit over adversity and challenges.

Beyond its spiritual and philosophical connotations, the lotus has become an integral part of Asian cultural identity. It is a symbol of national pride, representing purity, beauty, and resilience. In countries such as India, China, Japan, and Vietnam, the lotus is closely associated with their cultural heritage. In festivals, rituals, and ceremonies, the lotus is often featured as a decorative element, signifying auspiciousness, prosperity, and good fortune.

The lotus in mind stands as a testament to the enduring power of symbolism in shaping cultural narratives and fostering a profound connection between humanity, the natural world, and search for meaning outside the empirical world.

[give-me-a-movie-camera]

Andy Griffith (1 JUN 1926 – 3 JUL 2012)

MAYBERRY WAS A fantasy land—gay, bright, and beautiful (for black and white, that is). It was the happy-est place on earth, and that’s how Andy wanted it… a means of escape from the outside world fraught with famine, war, disease, and death. Mayberry was the story of an era trapped in time… a time that moved at her own slow, meticulous pace, Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise. As the locales would say, ‘What’s your hurry?’

Sixty-one years to its debut on 3 October 1960, it still resonates with us. We gravitate towards Mayberry, as politics has no place here. Where there is politics, there is division… a game no one wins. Mayberry frees herself from that which concerns us; Mayberry is devoid of all the sadness of the ‘real’ world. With the single, modest emit of a lone whistle three beats per bar, Andy could make us forget our troubles. It is an almost self-contained world where people of all religions, races, colours, and creeds can set aside their differences and co-exist in harmony; a land which conveys an ideal image of small-town America most prevalent during a turbulent time brewing of senseless violence, political turmoil, racially charged tensions, social unrest, cultural changes, and the looming threat of anti-war protests. The fantasy stems from Deep Escapism that television audiences of the 1960s so desperately craved, as it was almost completely untouched by external conflict, caught in simpler times, a return to an age of American innocence, nostalgia, and optimism, skirting the upheavals of the Vietnam War and the Civil Rights Movement. Though the fictional world of Mayberry exists only in our minds, it is but that—the dream of one man, to be carefully planned—a neat little world in which everything is pre-conditioned and pre-arranged; in the world of Andy Griffith, a man who dared to dream dreams as big as the sky, nothing can harm us. In the land of Mayberry, Andy will watch over us like the proverbial hawk, destined to loom tall above us and nurture us the way a protective tree shelters a garden with its branches.

Andy was a man with a will of iron. Of undying loyalty to his friends he held nearest and dearest to his heart, he believed in a dream… a dream he assumed from his own dreams… to give us something to believe in when we could no longer believe. For it is not the dream of one man. It is the dream of many. For the dream Andy allowed us to share, Mayberry became more than a place. It is not so much a place as it is a state of mind.

People of all generations continue to return to Mayberry, ten years after Griffith’s passing. We need it now more than ever. Dear Mr Griffith… you were Made in Americana, a legend among the Hollywood hills, even as you walked on bare feet through the Valley of Silicon (after all, Abe Lincoln went barefoot, and our Lord died shoeless). Your name was known to many… for every fifty-two million television sets in one in ten households across the country, you were deemed by a dedicated viewership the Surrogate Father to Mother America. There was hardly a hermit out on the lone prairie in his quiet corner of the world who did not recognise the name of Sheriff Andy Taylor, so long as the hermit owned a television set on his lone prairie. Loved by all nations, you were a familiar face on our living room screens as you came to wrap us in a warm blanket of wisdom and greet us like a long-lost friend. You were more than a pretty, Lincoln-esque face before the cameras. You were the soul of an Icon. You died young but you lived to be a very old age. Mayberry surpassed your legacy, and she will continue to live long after we’ve left this earth.

So now we say, ‘In Loving Memory,’ and leave you at peace in that Great Big Mayberry in the Sky.

Thanks, Ange. We ’ppreciate it.

-GIVE ME A MOVIE CAMERA, June 2022

[vietnam-motorcycletour]

Vietnam Destinations

Explore the Best Scenes in Vietnam

Dak Lak

 9.0 Superb

Dak Lak is a hidden gem nestled in the heart of Central Highland's Vietnam. It is a land of natural beauty, rich history, and vibrant culture

Cu Chi Tunnels

 8.9 Superb

They are not just a historical site for the Vietnamese but also an essential part of Vietnam's history

Ha Giang Loop

Ha Giang is an incredibly scenic and untouched mountainous region in the northernmost part of Vietnam

Hue

 9.4 Superb

Hue is known for its ancient ruins and serene ambiance. As a UNESCO World Heritage Site, Hue has a rich history and tradition.

Hoi An

 9.3 Superb

Marvel at the town's old, yellow-tiled roofs, flower trellises, and harmonious streets that make you feel like you've stepped back in time

[jimaparks]

Dust of the Earth

Copyright 2009 by James A. Parks

All Rights Reserved

No one in Tucson was especially surprised to read of the death of Raul Castellano. He had been a successful criminal defense lawyer for many years but was also suspected of being connected to the Mexican Mafia. He had defended several prominent Mexican drug lords and rumor had it that he had become a kind of consigliere for them.

What did surprise the citizens of our desert town was the manner of Castellano's death. He had been dismembered in a particularly brutal and bloody fashion. Blood and shreds of flesh covered the walls of his office where he had been working late on the evening of his murder. Though the police had toned down their description of the scene, rumors began to spread that Castellano appeared to have been attacked by a large animal of prey rather than a human. Some thought that the Mexican mobsters had used a pack of dogs.

Passing less noticed was the death of Pedro Luis Martin, the father-in-law of Castellano, who had died the same evening. The elderly Don Pedro had expired from heart failure. Detectives theorized that the mobsters had visited the palatial Castellano residence where Don Pedro also lived and had scared the old man to death in their search for his son-in-law. The old man was untouched, however, which was the source of much speculation among the inhabitants of the old barrios of Tucson. Don Pedro had the reputation of being something of a brujo, or sorcerer. He was reclusive and mysterious, and the rumor was that the mobsters hadn’t dared to touch the old man because of his magical powers.

There was indeed something magical about Don Pedro, but to me it had to do with the breadth of his knowledge and the generosity of his spirit. I had known him for nearly a year prior to his death. During that time he became a kind of mentor to me, though I never felt like I was being formally taught. He was a great storyteller. Some of the stories were about his past, while others were about history and ideas. I would ask to know more about these subjects and Don Pedro would always send me home with a few books from his capacious library.

I was nineteen at the time and nearly thirty years have now passed. Back then I spent most of my time in downtown Tucson, a refugee from the colorless suburban neighborhoods that had sprung up after World War II. My family lived in the foothills of the Santa Catalina Mountains north of town. I was the only child of a doctor and a teacher, a white boy looking for some kind of authenticity on the bad side of town. I wasn't alone. Arty counter-cultural types had discovered the dilapidated downtown area as well. Hippies and homeless Vietnam vets had walked these streets in the early 1970s - and later in that decade, when the Castellano murder had taken place, the punk/new wave scene was getting started in seedy bars that were occupied by blue-collar drunks during the day.

One afternoon I had seen a teenage girl - Don Pedro's granddaughter - coming out of Cele Peterson's on Pennington Street. Cele Peterson's was one of the few clothing shops that hadn't abandoned downtown for the malls. I found out later that she had been doing some modeling for the store. The girl was accompanied by a stern middle-aged Mexican woman. Following behind was a tall strongly-built man wearing a business suit in which he seemed uncomfortable. He had the features of a Mexican with predominantly Aztec blood. I learned later that the woman was the girl's aunt and her permanent chaperon in public, while the man was a kind of chauffeur and bodyguard. He drove the girl to school - Sacred Heart, a private Catholic school - and accompanied her anywhere else she might need to go. At home, he looked after the needs of the wheelchair-bound Don Pedro. He was also mute as a stone.

I followed the odd threesome from a distance, fascinated by the beauty of the girl. She seemed piercingly sad to me – lonely in spite of or more likely because of her constant companions. They turned left on Stone Avenue and then left again on Congress Street. Some of the businesses were still open in those days - a barber shop from which wafted the aroma of cigars, a shoe shine stand run by an old black man named Jackson, and Thrifty Drug, which was their destination. I waited for maybe ten minutes. They came out of the drug store with the 25-cent soft serve ice cream cones that made Thrifty a popular place after the neighborhood schools let out.

Some of the sadness seemed to have left the girl. She worked on her ice cream cone as she strolled down the sidewalk, smiling and greeting many of the people she passed. She was evidently known to many. There was much tipping of hats from the elderly gentlemen who still wore them, and many of the children greeted her with a hug. The aunt’s expression lightened somewhat as she took delicate licks from her cone, but the tall Indian remained serious as he fought a losing battle with his dripping ice cream.

They continued to walk west on Congress, but as the crowds thinned out I began to feel conspicuous. I tried to stop and look in store windows or read fliers on phone poles, but eventually I came to the attention of the vigilant bodyguard. I was maybe thirty feet away when he stopped and turned to look at me. There was something hawk-like about his face as he peered at me. I felt a compulsion to turn around and walk the other way – which I did. He had a powerful gaze.

*******

Pedro Luis Martin was born in 1891 in Guadalajara, a member of a prominent family of merchants and investors with roots in the city going back to the time of the Conquistadors. Don Pedro studied abroad at Cambridge University, where he received a degree in Classics. Returning to Mexico, he pursued postgraduate studies in Meso-American anthropology at the University of Mexico. Due to a falling out with some of the faculty of that department, he never finished his degree program.

An avid philatelist since his youth, Don Pedro used his considerable family inheritance to open a stamp shop near the Zocalo of Mexico City, where he ran a successful business into the 1930s. At that time, Don Pedro began to make regular trips to Tucson, where he knew several fellow stamp collectors. One of these, a prominent doctor, had a daughter whom Don Pedro began to court when she came of age. He was 46 when he married the 22-year-old Rosalie Sanchez, a recent graduate of the University of Arizona.

Don Pedro sold his stamp shop in Mexico City and moved to Tucson to live with his new wife. The newlyweds bought a home north of downtown near the Ash Alley arts and crafts community, where Rosalie opened a curio shop. Don Pedro continued to deal privately in rare stamps and coins, as well as Meso-American antiquities – an occupation that sometimes got him in trouble with Mexican and U.S. authorities. During one of these run-ins, Don Pedro retained the services of Castellano & Castellano, Attorneys at Law, and began a long professional and social relationship with the family. In 1962, Don Pedro’s only child, Maria Luisa, married Raul Castellano, son of one the Castellano sons, and the next year a daughter was born to them. This was Ana Socorro Castellano, who walked away from me that afternoon in 1979, finishing her ice cream cone and delivered by her keepers to the security of her gated home.

I turned around and backtracked west down Congress Street to the 4th Avenue underpass. Built in the early 1900s, this cavern-like passageway left downtown proper, passed under the Southern Pacific railroad, and linked up with 4th Avenue, another partially abandoned district. The storefronts there were a mix of old time businesses like a locksmith and a print shop, and the more recent head shops, jewelry stores and nightclubs - a legacy of the flower-power renaissance of the early 1970s. You would see street people here (as the homeless were called at the time), school kids from Tucson High, indigenous laborers, and a few would-be punk rockers. Skateboarding was just getting its start on Tucson’s streets.

I met up with Dana and Penny – sisters who attended Tucson High - and the legendary Jorge, a drop-out who grew up among the South Side street gangs and now hung out with the punks and new wavers. The sisters' wardrobe came from second-hand stores, home tailored with scissors and safety pins. Anything went back then. There was no hegemony of cool. As for Jorge, I always found him to be intimidating. He was friendly enough, but something about him wasn’t all there. Word was he had been in many violent encounters, knife fights, shootings, and just plain chingazos, or fistfights. He was good to have around when any of the punk kids were getting hassled.

It was cool being in a scene back then. Most of us were the kind of people who had never been in any sort of social group. The punk scene was like a club for misfits. Many of the people I knew back then are now dead, dying or permanently damaged. But it was great fun at the time.

I asked Jorge about the girl I had just seen, describing her escorts and where I had seen her. He knew who she was immediately.

“She’s not for you, man,” he laughed. “She’s not for anyone. She’s a princess who lives in a castle.”

He seemed amused and I wondered if he had just made a pun on her last name. I asked Jorge if he knew where she lived. He said that he would show me sometime. I left it at that.

Over the next few weeks, I kept asking Jorge about Ana Socorro - as much as I could without irritating him into complete silence. I managed to find out most of the basics about who she was, who her family was, and why she was “not for anyone.” Jorge spoke of Raul Castellano as someone he would never want to be on the wrong side of and mentioned his probable connection with the mafia.

After much pleading on my part, Jorge eventually showed me where Ana Socorro resided. The Castellano home was in one of the oldest neighborhoods in Tucson, where the wealthiest families had lived for over a century. Tucson had once been a society of equals, with Mexicans and Anglos freely intermarrying and producing the business and civic leadership of the community. Later, with the railroad bringing commerce from back East, Anglos would usurp most of the power in Tucson, leaving only the wealthiest Mexican families with any social status. Downtown became divided, with the Mexican neighborhood mostly west and south of the city center, and the Anglos north and west. Yet still, everyone remembered the original elite families of Tucson, and the mansions in Ana Socorro’s neighborhood were quaint reminders of a bygone era.

*******

Summer comes early in Tucson - by late May at the latest. But the peak of heat isn't reached until late June or early July, when two holidays mark the occasion. The first is Saint John the Baptist's Day, El Dia De San Juan Bautista, and the second is the Fourth of July. One relentlessly hot Thursday evening between those two summer holidays I went to 4th Avenue by myself, hoping to run into some people I knew. Two blocks north of the underpass, a new punk venue had recently opened, Tumbleweeds, yet another dive that booked shows on the weekends, sometimes big acts from Los Angeles, but mostly local bands. On Thursdays, though, only the newest or the least popular bands played.

I paid the cover and walked into the bar, feeling the rush of relatively cool air pumped out by the swamp box coolers. The place was just about empty. On one side of the establishment was the bar proper and some tables and booths. On the other side, separated from the first by a partial wall, was the stage and a big empty space intended for the crowd. The owner didn't bother keeping tables and chairs there. He knew the kids liked to dance, or whatever it was they called it, and sometimes fixtures ended up being utilized in unusual ways. Mopping up blood was an occupational hazard for a bar owner, but Jim had his limits. On weekend nights, Jim made decent money off "all this punk business". He smiled when saw the bands come in for sound checks, and he sent them away with free six-packs of beer after closing time.

Having shows on Thursdays was an experiment that didn't seem to be going so well. The opening act, the Psy-Gones, took the stage with a dozen people on the bar side and maybe half that on the other. This band had been playing nights like this in Tucson for over a year and never seemed to develop a following. They were made up of a clean-cut singer in a business suit who did a sort of Ska thing, backed by older guys who looked like they had never emerged from the sixties. The bass player had long hair and a flowing beard - completely white - and wore overalls. Rumor had it that his hair had turned white from the shock of a particularly gruesome event in Vietnam, and that for many years he had never said a word and only played the harmonica. Other than these kinds of stories about them, there wasn't anything very entertaining about the Psy-Gones. They deserve credit for doing original material, but their songs were mediocre at best.

So when Jorge, Dana and Penny showed up and offered me a hit of acid, I took advantage of the respite from boredom and washed down the blotter paper with a glass of beer. I bought another pitcher and sat with Jorge and the girls at a booth, where we made fun of the daytime clientele still hanging on at the bar. There was one guy - a short stocky Mexican not much older than I was - who was getting into an argument with the bartender. He started pouring out his bottle of Bud on the bar, daring the bartender to do something about it.

Sometimes after I've had a few beers, I fancy myself a righter of wrongs, and I interfere in situations that really aren't any of my business. I'm not a tough guy. All I have to defend myself with is my moral outrage - and though that has caused some to back down, more often I find myself held up against a wall or sprawled on the floor after having been slugged a few times. The stocky Mexican looked like he was ready to do one or another, but I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Jorge.

"Come back to the table, maestro. You don't want this kind of trouble."

As I walked away with Jorge's arm around my shoulder, he said into my ear, "You need to be careful. You won't always have me to protect you."

Back at the booth the mood quickly lightened, and I became aware that Penny, the blonde sister, had taken my hand, and the dim light of the bar became brighter and warmer. We started giggling uncontrollably about everything that we saw or said. There was an oscillation of light and shadow around us, and I kept looking up, expecting to see a huge ceiling fan rotating slowly. I then had that revelation - the one where you've forgotten you took a hit of acid and it suddenly becomes abundantly clear that you're tripping.

I got a little apprehensive. "This shit is pretty strong," I said to Jorge. He wasn't paying attention. I grabbed his arm and repeated myself.

"You'll be fine," he said, laughing.

I began to regret my decision to do the acid, clamming up while Jorge and the sisters continued to cavort. Penny kept poking me and teasing me. I got up from the booth and walked over to the other side of the club, where a somewhat larger crowd had formed to watch the Psy-Gones' second set. I was worried about how I was going to get through the next eight to ten hours, but I began to pay attention to the music and the spectacle on stage. It seemed to me that the Psy-Gones had never sounded so good before, that they had become something like a lost segment of “Fantasia.” The silhouettes of the crowd in front of me, contrasted against the light on the stage, conducted the performance like dozens of identical Stokowskis.

Preposterously, I started skipping through the crowd that was gathered in front of the stage, waving my arms and conducting with the others, only I kept running into people, or tripping and falling onto the floor. At other shows, this might have been acceptable, even encouraged, behavior, but the crowd that night was in no mood for heroic dance moves. I fell one last time onto the floor among the crowd. I felt myself grabbed by each arm, drug out of the bar, and set down on the sidewalk lying face up. I looked up and saw Jim and his hulking doorman.

"You can come back tomorrow, bud," Jim said, not unkindly. "But tonight you're 86'ed."

I'm not sure how long I lay there - I had lost track of the passage of time. I was fascinated by the view above me. Occasionally a few familiar faces would look down at me, laughing or saying something unintelligible. The sky was whirling around, periodically lit up by bright flashes, punctuated by cannons roaring in the distance. Boom, boom. At one point Jorge and the sisters hovered over me briefly but ran off shrieking.

The fever of summer is usually broken suddenly by the first thunderstorm. The respite from the oppressive heat is welcome, but the storms are violent and sometimes destructive. High winds, lightning and thunder are followed by a heavy downpour - big, thick drops - what the Indians call masculine rain. I slowly got up to my knees and then to my feet. My intention was to get up and walk to my car, but I kept forgetting what it was I intended to do. I thought, okay, I will take it in steps: first start walking. But I had forgotten where my car was. Hearing some laughter and screaming in the distance, I began walking toward it. My clothing was soaked, and my vision was blurred by rain on my glasses. The street around me would light up with a flash and the image would persist for several seconds, day-glo colors melting back into the darkness. The thunder would crash, making my body vibrate. I tried counting the seconds between the lightning and thunder but forgot why I was counting. I started counting everything around me, and then just counting, each number becoming highly significant.

Hearing voices and laughter again, I followed, coming to a dark cave-like opening. I started walking down, down, down - it felt impossibly steep. I leaned on the wall to the side of me. Suddenly, the rain stopped. There was a kind of audible silence and a dim light around me. Then I heard loud horns and saw bright lights flash by me - I felt splashing water. I fell to my hands and knees and cowered from the beasts in this cave. Hearing more laughter and shrieking, I pulled myself up with great effort and stumbled along, still descending. Hell, maybe. Beware, beware, all who enter. The only way up is to go ever down.

I think Jorge and the sisters found me, or I found them. They pulled me along. The girls were like reindeer steering me through a sky full of Christmas lights. Sometimes I fell, and Jorge would pick me up and set me back into the sleigh. We went on like that for a lifetime. And then through a maze of alleyways - beasts growling and barking on either side. The beasts spoke to me - a secret language. THE SECRET. Yes, of course. You always learn the secret, only to forget upon awakening. This time I would remember it. I would write it down. But I had no pen and paper.

We started climbing a tree. I felt myself being pushed and pulled upward, supported by a thousand arms. The tree was alive, and Jorge and the girls were a part of it, their arms like branches. I whimpered and held on. I held on to a body, or a trunk. I kept holding on. I heard speech, and I spoke back. I had intercourse with the tree, with The Tree Of Life.

Then silence.

And then....falling.

For what seemed like minutes. Falling, hitting.

You're supposed to wake up before you hit. So I was dead. That's what happens. That's the rule.

But I was picked up and carried. A giant spirit-angel picked me up like I was nothing. Of course, I was nothing. The wind could have picked me up and carried me. So this was a spirit of the wind who carried me and then set me down. I lay on something soft with a blanket over me, shivering. How can spirits shiver? A figure appeared, looking down at me. I saw a crucifix swinging slowly next to my face. “The Pit and The Pendulum.”

But no, I saw cleavage of all things, warm caramel flesh. My gaze traveled upwards - the chest, the neck, the shoulders, and then a face. How could this be? It was Ana Socorro Castellano. She was in a nightgown and robe, which had parted as she bent over me to hold a cool washcloth to my forehead.

*******

I must have been exhausted because, in spite of the shock of seeing Ana Socorro, I drifted off to sleep, rousing every so often to see her moving in and out of the room. Once I could have sworn I saw the big Indian standing in the doorway. The room seemed to be a sort of study or library, and I was lying on a large sofa to one side of the room. There was a desk cluttered with papers to the other side, and shelves of books reaching to the ceiling everywhere else. The smell of leather and musty old books filled the room.

I drifted off again and awoke in the morning to find a man in a wheelchair sitting next to me. Don Pedro was dressed in slacks, oxford shirt and tie, and a cardigan sweater. I would come to find out that he was always dressed at least this formally, even though he rarely left the house. He was a trim compact man, elegant in spite of his advanced age and infirmity – an impression heightened by his smooth mildly-accented voice. He had a narrow mustache and looked a little like the old-time actor, William Powell.

“You’ve had quite a night, young man.”

I rose up a little but couldn’t find anything to say.

“Interesting what we find when we open the doors of perception,” Don Pedro continued.

I looked at him, mildly surprised. I had read “The Doors of Perception” by Aldous Huxley

I looked around the room. A pair of roof-prism binoculars rested on one shelf, and I noticed “Peterson’s Field Guide To Western Birds” next to it. On another shelf were dozens of hand-labeled binders and some books about stamp collecting. There were framed photographs on the walls of the room showing a more youthful Don Pedro with various distinguished looking companions.

I felt a little dizzy and was having a hard time concentrating. I changed the subject to a matter of greater interest to me. “I saw Ana Socorro…”

“Yes, she lives here,” Don Pedro responded. “Do you know her?”

“Not personally. I know of her, I guess.”

“I am her grandfather, Pedro Martin.”

I introduced myself. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Mr. Martin. As you already seem to have guessed, I wasn’t myself last night.”

Don Pedro smiled. “Who, then, were you?”

I laughed, rubbing my eyes. The back of my neck was stiff and sore.

“Ana Socorro is a caring soul,” he said. “She has always taken in stray dogs and cats, and tried to help injured birds. She rarely spends her considerable allowance on herself. It ends up in the alms box at church, or she gives it away to needy strangers.”

“Am I a stray animal?”

“Perhaps. Something led you here, I think. This is no coincidence.”

I felt a little defensive. “I’m not sure what you mean. But thank you for looking after me. And thank Ana Socorro for me.” I got to my feet, but felt lightheaded and sat back down on the sofa.

“You should thank Ehmet, as well.” Don Pedro gestured to the big Indian, who was now standing in the doorway. Ehmet picked you up after you had fallen from that tree into our yard.”

I looked towards Ehmet, but couldn’t hold his gaze for long. I thanked him and he nodded in response.

“Ehmet is mute,” Don Pedro explained. “He is my servant and looks after Ana Socorro. I dislike the term ‘servant’, but I dislike euphemism even more. You could call him my helper, if you find that more palatable.”

Ehmet held a saucer with a cup of coffee on it. He set it down on the end table next to the couch.

“Are you a coffee drinker?” Don Pedro asked.

“I think I am this morning,” I replied. “Where is Ana Socorro?”

“She went to morning Mass. She's a faithful soul.”

Looking around the room again, I noticed another shelf, this one full of philosophical titles. I had completed a semester at the University of Arizona before dropping out. I recognized some of the authors from the humanities course I had taken. There were also books about anthropology and archaeology. Many of the books on the shelves around me had titles in foreign languages. I would find out that Don Pedro was fluent in Spanish, English, and German; he could converse passably in all the Romance languages; and he read classical Greek, Latin, and Hebrew. I rose again and was able to remain standing.

“Ehmet will show you out," Don Pedro said. "Unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond my control, you must leave through the back door. Not all are welcome here in the Castellano home. I myself am barely tolerated.” He seemed grimly amused.

As Ehmet guided me out, Don Pedro stopped me.

“You know, Ehmet told me that you spoke to him from the tree before you fell.”

“I thought Ehmet couldn’t talk.”

“He doesn’t speak, but he can communicate through signs and also through writing. He is quite literate.”

“Well, I’m sure I said all kinds of things last night. I hope I didn’t offend anyone.”

“Actually, you spoke to him in his native tongue. In Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs.”

I looked at Don Pedro skeptically.

“The doors of perception, my son. There are mysterious worlds open only to poets and madmen – or those who make themselves briefly mad by ingesting certain substances. This is of interest to me. I would be grateful if we could meet again. Perhaps you could thank Anna Socorro in person."

*******

Thus I began to visit Don Pedro. It became clear that my comings and goings needed to be covert, always using the back entrance to the sprawling Castellano manor. I never saw more than the rear rooms of the house, and even that part was spacious. I got the idea that Raul Castellano had sequestered Don Pedro in the back of the home and the two rarely encountered each other. Ana Socorro’s rooms were towards the front of the house, though she spent much of her time with her grandfather, caring for him, acting as his arms and legs for items out of reach, but most often simply sitting with him engaged in conversation. There was obviously a great love between the two, as great as the paucity of affection between Ana Socorro and her father.

Ana Socorro’s mother had died from cancer a few years previously, and her relationship with her father began to grow distant after Maria Luisa’s death. Raul started working long hours, and speculation was that he became more actively involved with his clients in organized crime at this time. But he made sure that Ana Socorro went to the best schools, associated with all the right people, and stayed actively involved in the Church. Her quinceanera was the grandest that Tucson had seen in many years. Unknown to party guests, however, was that on Ana Socorro’s fifteenth birthday she was engaged to a thirty-two- year-old associate of Raul. These sorts of arrangements were common in earlier times. Tucson pioneer Sam Hughes had married a twelve-year-old Mexican girl from a prominent family. They had a successful marriage that lasted till Hughes died. In the late 1970s, though, such an arrangement needed to be kept secret. When Ana Socorro eventually told me of the engagement, she seemed to accept it with resignation.

When I visited Don Pedro, I would be met at the back gate of the home by Ehmet, the big Indian. He would escort me into the house, where I would meet Don Pedro, usually in his study. Don Pedro and I would talk, and I would help him with various tasks – shelving books, getting other books down, helping him organize papers and photographs. Don Pedro would tell me about the contents of each book, and if I seemed interested, he would lend me the book, and we would discuss it on my next visit. In this way, I received a better education than I had ever gotten in high school. It was a “great books” course of learning, I suppose, but filtered through Don Pedro’s personal tastes and my own receptiveness. There is a light that goes on when you pique a person’s interest, and when a teacher recognizes this light, he sees a true student. And when the student follows this light, it will take him down the path of true learning. Forced schooling breeds resentment, and everything learned formally dissipates rapidly. True knowledge – like true love - lasts forever and informs every aspect of a person’s life.

Occasionally, Ana Socorro would show up during my visits, hovering over Don Pedro. We would work together, performing various tasks for her grandfather. Sometimes Don Pedro would go to another part of the house – his bedroom or the kitchen - leaving Ana Socorro and me alone together. In this way, we got to know each other, and I began to learn the history of her family. I started calling her A.C. because I thought her full name took too long to say. She seemed amused by this. It became apparent that her life was filled with too much seriousness. Humor had always been my forte with girls, and it worked to a certain degree with her. But to a deeper extent, A.C. seemed impenetrable – or what went on around her seemed to pass through her entirely, leaving her ultimately unmoved. I wondered whether this was some sort of survival mechanism she had developed to deal with a life she had not chosen, but that she felt duty-bound to live. This gave her a kind of purity that I found irresistible, much like the noble sadness that I had first seen in her. And yes, I understood that the unattainable often becomes the most attractive and desirable.

Don Pedro still read to his granddaughter, though the subject matter had grown from the fairy tales found in Andrew Lang’s collections to classical mythology, Heraclitus, and even Eastern literature like the forlorn Chinese poetry of Tu Fu (translated by Kenneth Rexroth, an acquaintance of Don Pedro from his visits to San Francisco in the Fifties). But lately, the roles had been reversed, and more and more A.C. would read to her grandfather, usually late at night when he had a hard time sleeping. She confided in me that she would take her alarm clock and place it under her pillow, set to go off late at night and again in the wee hours of the morning. She would arise and check on Don Pedro. He needed assistance to get out of bed into his wheelchair - so if he woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep, he could only lie there in the lonely watches of the night.

Don Pedro had been an avid birdwatcher when he was younger, and he enjoyed having read to him the life histories of birds by Arthur Cleveland Bent. One afternoon when Don Pedro had left A.C. and me alone in the study for a while, I asked her to read something to me from one of these volumes. She picked out a passage that her grandfather particularly enjoyed and began to read to me. I closed my eyes and leaned back on the sofa, listening to her voice. Infatuation often elevates the details of a loved one's qualities to an almost holy beauty. In my more cynical moments, I view such a thing as a spell of nature whose ultimate purpose is simple procreation. But in my own dark watches, when I lie awake at night, I often recall A.C.’s voice as she read to me, the subject matter resonating with my desire, the beauty of plumage, and of courtship displays sanctifying the union of creatures who take flight and migrate, returning to the same grounds every year.

The plumage of the mallard drakes is at its highest stage of perfection before the end of winter, and the first warm days stimulate these vigorous birds to migrate to their northern homes. Many of them have already mated when they arrive....Others are busy with their courtships, which are conducted largely on the wing. I have seen as many as three males in ardent pursuit of of one female flying about, high in the air....finally the duck flies up to the drake of her choice, touches him with her bill and the two fly off together, leaving the unlucky suitors to seek other mates.

*******

Summer was drawing to a close, and once again I needed to decide what to do with my life. I opted to take two classes at Pima Community College just to get my parents off my back and maintain my allowance. I was still living at my parents house in the foothills near Campbell Avenue and Skyline Drive, commuting to the downtown area everyday in the VW Super Beetle my parents had bought for me.

One class was Creative Writing and the other the History Of The Southwest. I figured both of these would be easy enough – which they turned out to be. I continued to visit Don Pedro and A.C., while still going to see punk shows and hanging out downtown and on Fourth Avenue with Jorge and the sisters. I got to know most of the guys in the popular bands at that time: the Pedestrians, the Suspects; and later the Serfers, the Giant Sandworms, and the Phantom Limbs. Jorge was my passport into the music scene and the after-parties, and Dana and Penny were our constant companions. I even began to develop a thing with Penny. A.C. was my dream, but Penny was my “love the one your with” girl.

Jorge seemed mystified by my visits to Don Pedro and A.C. He understood my attraction to Ana Socorro but thought Don Pedro was just a crazy old man. Jorge also believed that if Raul Castellano discovered my visits, I would be forbidden to return - with a threat of violence if necessary. My friendship with A.C. would be seen as a sort of back-door threat against the family, and the strained relations between Raul and Don Pedro would get even worse. Jorge said there were rumors that Raul had beaten Don Pedro during an argument not long after A.C.’s mother had died. Raul had thrown Don Pedro down the stairs, resulting in the spinal injury that confined him to a wheelchair. If not for Ana Socorro, Don Pedro would have been banished from the house entirely. As it was, Don Pedro was moved into the back of the house where the servants lived, and he and Raul maintained an icy peace.

One of my projects for the Southwest History class was to record the oral history of a longtime Tucson resident. These histories would be archived at the Arizona State Historical Society, which had just begun this program. There was a list of suggested people who had volunteered to be interviewed, but I knew right away who the subject of my project would be. Don Pedro loved being interviewed on tape, and I soon gathered enough information about his personal history in Tucson. But Don Pedro went off on plenty of autobiographical tangents, covering periods of his college experience in England, his visits to Europe and Asia, his childhood in Guadalajara, and his days as a stamp dealer in Mexico City. I ended up with many hours of recordings which I have transcribed over the years. I turned over the Tucson-related material to the Historical Society, but the other material I keep stored in a filing cabinet with the intention of someday writing a biography. Since I doubt I will ever get around to this task, here are some particularly salient passages from Don Pedro’s oral histories.

TRANSCRIPT FROM AN INTERVIEW WITH DON PEDRO:

DON PEDRO: I attended Cambridge University between 1907 and 1911. I had some friends in my House who were involved in the Hermetic Order Of The Golden Dawn. This was a sort of fraternal organization – like the Freemasons – but much more mystical and secretive. The Golden Dawn had a darker, more occult tradition. Early on, members studied black magic and demonology, as well as the Jewish Kabbalah and Eastern mystical traditions. There were various rites and initiations, and members advanced through ranks.

By the time I became involved, the Golden Dawn had broken off into a few different branches. The early leaders had quarreled, setting up their own orders. By the time I became involved, the Golden Dawn was on the wane, and today the order is practiced by a few scattered adherents. That tarot deck you see on my shelf there – that was designed by A. E. Waite, one of the early members of the group. It’s a beautiful deck - my favorite. Though Waite was probably the most scholarly and careful of the order, he was overshadowed by more flamboyant – and frankly, more egotistical – members like Aleister Crowley. Crowley thought Waite was a bore.

ME: So wait. Did the Golden dawn actually practice Black magic? Like, did they call up demons and that sort of thing?

DON PEDRO: Well, there may have been a few who tried it. But really, the Golden Dawn became more of a theosophical group. They were interested in secret knowledge and wisdom. No one I met – no one in the higher levels of the order – seemed to be supernaturally powerful. I never witnessed any apparitions or manifestations that broke the laws of physics. On the other hand, I thought that there was wisdom and knowledge to be found in the texts. The order based its rites on actual historical documents - ancient traditions, though obscure. Much of what people now practice as witchcraft or pagan religion derives from these traditions.

ME: Yeah, I’ve met a few people like that. Witchy women. Dress in black.

DON PEDRO: (laughs) I think that a big driving force behind all these orders – the Freemasons, the Rosicrucians, the Golden Dawn – is the need for ritual in our lives. Protestants in particular have been attracted to these sorts of mystical orders. They grew up in sanctuaries devoid of sensory appeal. Turning their backs on what they considered the Roman mumbo-jumbo, Protestants starved their imaginations. Perhaps Calvin considered imagination something that leads to sin. Which of course it can. (laughs) But imagination also leads to truth and beauty. I think that participation in these mystical orders is an attempt to recapture the sensual beauty of our higher leanings.

ME: You know, I’ve never been to a Catholic service.

DON PEDRO: Really? Well, it’s a pity you never went when the liturgy was still in Latin. Honestly, the vernacular service is why I rarely go to Mass anymore.

ME: That, and you don’t believe.

DON PEDRO: (laughs) True. But I believe that others believe. And I believe in tradition. Many traditions, really. Mexicans, for the most part, are varying degrees of Spanish and Indian. There are also Mexicans with other European blood—the Germans in northern Mexico come to mind. But the Spanish colonists themselves were not wholly European – nor even wholly Christian. Most of the Spanish colonists came from southern Spain, which has a rich tradition of Muslim and Jewish influences. There was a time in the Middle Ages when southern Spain was governed by Islamic caliphates who were relatively tolerant of their Christian and Jewish subjects. As a result, there was a florescence of sophisticated culture. The Arabs had preserved classical texts that the Western Christians were unfamiliar with. At the time, the Arabs were much more knowledgeable about science and medicine than the Europeans were. The Jews shared in much of this knowledge and gave us some of our greatest medieval philosophy. Compared to Muslim culture in the Middle Ages, the Europeans - even their kings - lived like savages.

ME: I've heard of Aleister Crowley. People thought he was some kind of anti-Christ, that he had big orgies and sacrificed babies and that sort of thing.

DON PEDRO: I was actually acquainted with Crowley. And I will tell you this. He wanted the world to think these things of him. He craved fame. But scandal and notoriety were an acceptable substitute.

I met Crowley not in England, but in Mexico. After Crowley’s falling out with the Golden Dawn, he lived in Mexico for a few years. He maintained connections there and visited from time to time. I met him when I was a graduate student at The University of Mexico, where I was studying Meso-American archaeology. There were a few of us in the department who were keenly interested in the shamanic traditions of the indigenous Mayans and Aztecs. We were actually participating in the rituals ourselves. And strange things happened – unnatural things. Crowley wanted to see some real magic for once. We brought him around to some of the shamans we had contact with, but Crowley became impatient and left before he had a chance to see anything. Frankly, I don’t think the shamans much liked or trusted him. Crowley was a Victorian and a bigot.

But Crowley did make a discovery in Mexico that changed his life: the use of hallucinogenic substances to elicit a state of non-ordinary reality. The Victorians had opium and ether, and some of them partook in hashish. But none of them had substances as profoundly hallucinogenic as peyote and the other plants used by the Meso-American Indians. My fellow graduate students and I become our own guinea pigs in the study of these substances. We discovered that guidance and setting were vital in using substances to achieve a state of higher being. Different being might be the better term. Anyone could ingest these substances and have hallucinations. One might even get the sense that they had arrived at the secret of the universe – that sort if thing is common enough. But our most powerful experiences took place when we were with the shamans – when we had been ritually prepared for the experience, and when we were under the guidance of the shamans while we were intoxicated.

Our interest in these subjects - our closeness to the people we were studying – led to the eventual expulsion of many of us from the graduate program. Meso-American archaeology at that time was largely the domain of Americans and Europeans, and they were more interested in the material remains of the great cultures – the pyramids, the hieroglyphics - that sort of thing. We were studying the cultural remains. A decade or two later, our immersion-style investigation would be much more acceptable, desirable in fact. Look at the work of Margaret Mead and Ruth Benedict. Many decades would pass before participatory anthropology would be accepted – though it would still be controversial and ultimately unreliable. Do you know of Carlos Castaneda?

ME: Yes, but I don’t know whether to believe his books. I want to. They seem believable. It seems like I could sit at a bus station in Nogales and Don Juan the brujo would suddenly appear.

DON PEDRO: I think what seems believable in the books is due to Carlos’ familiarity with the geography and culture of the region. He really did travel and study there for many years. He really did speak with the Indians. He really did get to know some of the shamans and became familiar with their practices. He undoubtedly ingested hallucinogenic plants – perhaps even under the guidance of a shaman. But as for the identity of Don Juan, I would say that he is an amalgamation of several different men that Carlos knew. Some shamans, and some men like me. Men with knowledge of esoteric Meso-American practices and philosophies.

ME: Men like you? Did you know him? DON PEDRO: Yes, indeed. We corresponded for years, and we met several times. You really shouldn’t tell this to anyone. This is off the record, so to speak. I have no wish to harm Carlos. He is a troubled soul. Very unruhe, as the Germans say.

Honestly, I saw much of what I told Carlos put into the mouth of Don Juan the brujo. In some ways I suppose I am Don Juan. I honestly don't hold this against Carlos. There is a great literary tradition of this sort of thing. I think that sometimes the line between history and fiction is blurred. Carlos has a wonderfully creative mind. And whether or not his stories are literally true, they contain truth. They contain beauty. Some men, for various reasons, can't handle the truth of this world, and so they create the truth of a different world.

ME: Ain’t that the truth.

DON PEDRO: (laughs) You responded to something in Carlos’ stories. It called to you. And this is where the magic is – you feel that life is something bigger than our simple activities of the day, and that we can participate in that bigger life.

*******

Pena Blanca Lake is a small man-made reservoir a few miles from the Mexican border. Just before you get to Nogales heading south, you turn west into the rolling highlands in this region of the border. Dipping and winding along a dirt road, you pass through desert scrub and grassland, winding up in a kind of oak woodland – encinal in Spanish. Pena Blanca Lake is situated in this savanna-like woodland, fed by Pena Blanca Creek, and providing a recreational destination for those living in nearby communities: fishing, camping, or just a sleepy Sunday afternoon picnic the Mexicans from Nogales like to go on, their corrida music transmitted from radio stations across the border.

Don Pedro and Ana Socorro had invited me on an outing here, a rare trip outside the house, much less out of town, for Don Pedro. It took some finagling with Raul to permit such a trip. Ana Socorro’s aunt would be along to protect her honor. She wouldn’t like my presence, but being the sister of Ana Socorro’s mother, her loyalty was more to Ana Socorro than Raul. Don Pedro assured me my presence would be a secret. Ehmet, of course, would watch over everyone with his intimidating size and penetrating gaze. I would drive down myself in my VW Super Beetle and meet them there.

Before I left, I had rummaged through some old camping equipment in our garage at home. There was a time when my father had taken us on camping trips to various destinations in the region – cool summer escapes to the White Mountains in the high forests of east-central Arizona were a favorite. We even owned one of those trailers that popped up into a camper. Times like those were simpler and happier. By the time I was getting to know Don Pedro, my Mom was getting quietly stewed in her bedroom every night, and Dad was finding new obsessions on which to spend obscene amounts of money. There were dozens of boxes of stuff in the garage, some new and unopened, representing different stages of his hobby and collecting mania. But that’s a different story. I had actually been on two camping trips to Pena Blanca with the Boy Scouts, so I knew what to expect and was looking forward to the outing.

I pulled up to the Pena Blanca Lodge, built next to a boat dock where you could rent a row boat or paddle boat for the day. I met Don Pedro and the others in the restaurant – they were eating a late breakfast at a table next to a large picture window overlooking the lake. I sat with them and ordered something for myself, watching them work on their food while I waited for mine to arrive. Don Pedro and Ana Socorro spoke to me between bites. Ehmet and the aunt ate silently, eyeing me from time to time.

Don Pedro, dressed in khakis and a pith helmet, looked ready to hunt big game on the Veldt. Ehmet was dressed more casually, and looked more dangerous, than I had ever seen him, wearing a plaid sleeveless shirt and Levis tucked into high moccasins. Ana Socorro and her aunt were dressed nearly identically, in Levis rolled up to mid-calf, Keds sneakers, and sleeveless blouses, pink for A.C. and mauve for the aunt. A.C. radiated her usual serene beauty, syncopated by giggling, eye rolling, and other expressions more suited to her age. When the aunt’s expression lightened, you could see she was actually an attractive woman who had maintained her figure and aged in the graceful manner I had seen in many Mexican ladies. Ehmet seemed to notice this about her as well, which provoked consternation but not entire distaste in the aunt.

“I thought that we would rent boats and paddle about the lake,” Don Pedro said to me. “The waterfowl have begun to arrive in their eclipse plumage, while the migrant passerines of autumn are always a possibility. Ehmet will want to cast about for pan fish, bass, and the newly-stocked trout, while Ana Socorro and Elena might enjoy frolicking in a paddle boat. To what activities do you incline, my son?”

“Well…Pops…” At this, Don Pedro laughed and reached to playfully smack me. “Since I’m not a birdwatcher or a fisherman, maybe I could row the boat.”

“That’s acceptable. But perhaps you will learn a little of both pastimes as the afternoon progresses.”

“While Tia Elena and I decorate the lake with our frivolities?” A.C. asked.

“Yes, mija,” Don Pedro answered. “You and your Tia will be as water lilies, clothed in splendor, neither toiling nor spinning – yet certainly paddling.”

“And we shall take no thought for the morrow?” A.C. inquired, smiling.

“Heavens, no!” Don Pedro answered. “Dum vivimus, vivamus!”

After brunch, we rented two boats; a row boat for Don Pedro, Ehmet and me; and a paddle boat for A.C. and Tia Elena. The ladies were already kicking up a storm, paddling away from us, when Ehmet and I finally got Don Pedro situated in the boat. Ehmet had easily picked up Don Pedro from his wheelchair and stepped into the boat with him, while I steadied it from the dock. Back in Tucson, a handyman friend of Don Pedro had fashioned for him a boat chair with armrests that we clamped onto the plank seat near the stern. I sat on the middle plank, ready to row, while Ehmet sat on the bow plank and stowed his fishing rods and tackle box under his seat.

The weather was clear, the temperature warm but with cool breezes – your typical idyllic autumn day in southeastern Arizona. Don Pedro peered about with his binoculars, occasionally bursting forth with an “Oh my!” or an “Ahh” as he identified one bird after another, jotting each down in a small notepad. He pulled out a spare pair of binoculars from his knapsack and offered them to me, guiding me to the seemingly dull brown or gray avian forms in the foliage, which through the binoculars became distinctly more colorful. Hawks and vultures circled overhead, but the highlight of the day was the observation of a bald eagle, something of a rarity in the region.

At one point, I asked, “What is that black bird with the red on the wing called?”

“Red-winged blackbird,” Don Pedro replied.

Not long after, I asked, “What is the black bird with the yellow head called?”

“Yellow-headed blackbird.”

“Is it always going to be this easy, Don Pedro?”

He chuckled and continued to scan the shoreline.

While Don Pedro and I searched the heavens and earth, Ehmet hunted the waters with an old Zebco spin-cast reel and fiberglass rod – humble tackle, but in the hands of the big Indian, deadly. He sank little red worms and caught bluegill and red-eared sunfish, most thrown back but a few large enough to keep and fry later. He sent weighted night crawlers to the deeps and caught largemouth bass, some large enough to fight for several minutes. Nearby, A.C. and Tia Elena cheered Ehmet as he reeled in the lunkers, applauding as he pulled the fish out of water and displayed it for all to see. Don Pedro took a small German folding camera out of his knapsack and snapped Ehmet as he posed with his catch. It was the closest I ever saw to a smile on his face.

Mid-afternoon the breezes subsided and the sun beat down. The fish stopped biting and the birds receded to cool hidden recesses in the foliage. Ehmet sat and sharpened his fillet knife while Don Pedro nodded off. I began to feel overly warm and took off my shirt. In the paddle boat, Tia Elena reclined in her seat with her sunhat shielding her face. Ana Socorro looked over at me, smiled and removed her shirt, revealing a bikini top. I removed my shoes and stood up, wearing only my jeans. I pointed to the water and cocked an eyebrow. A. C. took her sneakers off, removed her pants and stood up.

Her two-piece suit was modest but couldn’t hide her voluptuousness – this was not a skinny girl. In my memories of that moment, I often confuse a photograph I had seen of Sophia Loren with A.C. standing there in her bikini. Tia Elena looked up and said something sharply in Spanish, but A.C. executed a graceful dive into the water. I leaped in after her.

Forgetting the propriety of this family, I exclaimed, “Fuck, it’s cold!” A. C. laughed and agreed. We swam away from the two boats, with Tia Elena yelling at A.C. and Don Pedro looking on, amused. A.C. and I treaded water close to each other and looked at each other, smiling.

Finally, Don Pedro called out to us, “Mijo, unless you want me to send Ehmet into the water after you, I suggest you return to the boat.” I looked back at Don Pedro and saw that he was smiling, but I thought it best to comply. A looked back at Ana Socorro and saw that she was no longer smiling. She kissed her forefinger and pressed it to my lips then turned away and swam back to her boat.

Having got our fill of the day's activities, we disembarked from our respective vessels. We returned Don Pedro to his wheelchair and made our way along the boat dock to the lodge. Ehmet carried a cooler full of his day's catch, likely exceeding the limit - in fact, I wasn't sure he even had a fishing license. We stopped at the cleaning station near the lodge and waited while Ehmet finished with the fish he hadn't cleaned on the boat - swift and sure movements with his fillet knife.

Don Pedro and I discussed our plans for the night. I pointed to some limestone bluffs west of us, where Thumb Rock towered in the distance. I had once bivouacked at the base of these bluffs with a group of older Scouts in my troop and wanted to try spending the night there again. Don Pedro and Ehmet exchanged seemingly significant glances.

"I don't relish the thought of your camping alone," Don Pedro said. "I doubt not your capability as a woodsman. Yet when I look to those bluffs, I get an unsettling visceral sensation. Humor me on this. Allow me to send Ehmet with you. I think he was planning on sleeping under the stars, anyway. Ana Socorro, Tia Elena, and I will stay at the lodge."

Don Pedro said something to Ehmet - not in Spanish, I knew that much. The language sounded familiar, like something I had heard as a child but no longer understood - which was impossible, of course, but that was how it felt. I guessed the language was Ehmet's native Indian tongue. Ehmet nodded to Don Pedro, his impassive face revealing nothing of his feelings positive or negative on the matter.

The golden light of late afternoon saturated our surroundings. The green foliage on the nearby oaks seemed to glow, and the straw-colored underbrush was suffused with warmth. I looked back to the bluffs in the west and saw a kind of aura shimmering over the horizon - a trick of the light, maybe? I started to feel a little lightheaded and felt a chill go up my spine. This is ridiculous, I thought. The power of suggestion was simply adding to the effects of being in the sun all day. Don Pedro looked at me curiously.

"Are you all right? If you're not feeling well, perhaps you should spend the night at the lodge."

"No, I'm fine." I began to feel irritated with all the mystery and suggestion of danger - and irritated most of all at myself for letting it get to me. "I think I got more sun than I'm used to. I've been pretty nocturnal lately"

Ana Socorro walked over and stood in front of me. She took a religious medal from her neck and put it around mine.

"This will guide you."

I looked down at the medal. "Hmm. Saint John of God. Is he the patron saint of anything?"

"Yes," she replied. "Hospitals and the sick. And book peddlers."

"Book peddlers?"

"But to me, he is the patron saint of impulsive love. Of following your heart, wherever it may take you."

******* Ehmet and I set down our packs at the base of cliff wall next to Thumb Rock. We had hiked up Pena Blanca Creek, which is a dry drainage except after heavy rainfall. To the north of us was a broad woodland expanse, gently rolling hills dense with Mexican evergreen oaks and the dry grasses of autumn. I remembered that when I had been here before, this woodland made me think of Tolkien's land of Lorien - not that the two would look anything alike - but the diminutive gnarled oaks had a gnome-like appearance.

With dusk fast approaching, Ehmet unsheathed his curved Gurkha knife – a small machete, really - and went about our campsite, collecting dead wood and hacking it down to size when necessary. His movements with the Gurkha were as quick and skillful as with the fillet knife earlier. I tried to make myself useful, but the big Indian didn’t seem impressed by the wood I had collected for the fire. I watched as he built up a framework of grass, kindling and small logs, and easily got it burning with one match. I could have done it, I figured, but not nearly as efficiently - and with darkness closing in, I was glad to have a fire already popping and crackling.

Between Ehmet and me, we had pretty decent dinner. Ehmet fried up some panfish fillets over the campfire, and he didn’t seem to mind trading a fillet for one of my peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches. I produced a bag of Fritos from my pack and set it down between us - and when I offered Ehmet one of my two last cans of Coke, he readily took the can, popped it, and took a long drink. Wiping his mouth, he gave me the thumbs-up sign.

Enveloped at last by darkness, we rolled out our sleeping bags and reclined under the stars, always an awe-inspiring experience away from city lights. I wondered if Ehmet’s people had their own names for stars and constellations - tributes to gods, legendary figures or the animals that inhabit their lands. His people descended from the Aztecs, with their pyramidal observatories, altars reaching to the stars, keeping track of the passage of days and years with their mandala-like calendars.

With the cliffs looming behind us, and the vault of the heavens above, I was glad that Don Pedro had sent Ehmet with me. We tend to romanticize nature, portray it as an aesthetic playground, a relaxing getaway from the stress and tedium of civilization. But when you truly find yourself in the wild, even only as wild as an hour’s hike back to a phone and electricity, it can be a tremendously lonely and frightening experience. Partly from the dangers that may exist around you, but just as much from being fully present to the thoughts in your head and the sensations of simply being alive, all greatly magnified by the silence around you. Or maybe I was just a coward.

The campfire burned down to embers glowing in the darkness, and Ehmet showed no signs of adding any more wood to keep it burning – in fact he appeared to be already asleep. I looked at the pile of wood I had brought back to the campsite and wondered if I should revive the fire with some of that – but decided against it, not wanting to disturb the hulking figure lying next to me. I damned to hell my lack of confidence and initiative, and then damned the existence of men like Ehmet, who seem to live spontaneously and take action without excruciating deliberation, who throw themselves down anywhere and fall immediately to sleep. I lay there wide awake, staring at the glowing embers of the fire, waiting for some kind of doom.

I reached and felt the religious medal that Ana Socorro had given me – St. John of God, patron saint of book peddlers and unfettered love. How comical, yet how touching. A.C. had said that the medal would guide me. And indeed, I began to feel my thoughts guided to earlier in the day, Ana Socorro in her two-piece swim suit. I was just beginning to fall asleep when I was startled by a loud noise near our campsite. I had never heard this sound in nature - but anyone who has watched TV commercials for the eponymous motor vehicle would recognize it - it was the roar of a mountain lion. I heard another roar, this time in a different direction from the first one. I poked my head out of my sleeping bag and looked around. The moon had begun to rise and was illuminating our surroundings with a dim silvery light.

Ehmet was already out of his bag, squatting on his haunches, scanning the perimeter. He tilted his head back and appeared to be sniffing the air. I sat up and started to get out of my bag, but Ehmet motioned to me to stay where I was. I didn't require much convincing. The big Indian bolted off in the direction of the bluffs behind us, and the last I could make out of his form, he was skirting the bluffs, heading uphill towards Thumb Rock. He moved like an animal, quick and graceful.

I felt chills up and down my back, and I began to shiver. Wiggling back down into my sleeping bag, I zipped the top flaps over my head. I knew that the bag would provide me no protection, but I had reverted to a child-like mentality, hiding under the covers from scary monsters. I lay still for what seemed a very long time, long enough for the moon to rise higher in the sky and for my surroundings to grow brighter. I wondered where Ehmet had gone so abruptly - and I wondered which I preferred more: absolute darkness with ignorance of everything around me or the light of a full moon (maybe gibbous, I wasn't sure) creating shadows everywhere, any one of which could be something to fear.

But I was startled out of this consideration by a sudden racket nearby. I peeped out of my sleeping bag and saw shadowy forms tumbling through the underbrush maybe twenty yards away and upslope from the campsite - the direction Ehmet had gone. As the fight continued, I saw that there were three forms, all big cats – two smaller and one larger. I prayed to whatever God I had never believed in before that these forms would come no closer, and that in their struggle with each other would ignore the shivering rectangular bundle nearby. At last it appeared that my prayer was answered. The unholy ruckus ceased.

I spent the rest of the night waiting for Ehmet to return. I called out his name several times before remembering he couldn't answer. After hearing no more noises for half an hour or so, I emerged cautiously from my sleeping bag and found enough coals still aglow to get a new campfire going. Back in my bag, I meted out the sticks and branches I had collected earlier and managed to keep a small fire burning till dawn. Exhaustion overcame fear a few times that night, but I always woke up to find the fire burning low and remedied the situation.

Not long before sunrise, when I could make out the lower country spread out to the east of us, I started to think about searching for Ehmet. I felt like a coward for not searching immediately after the cat fight - but realistically, what could I have done? And why had Ehmet left? Did he abandon me? I couldn't believe that he would do that. I dreaded telling the whole story to Don Pedro when I got back.

But all these considerations became pointless when Ehmet limped into camp. His clothes were ripped in several places, and he was bleeding from a wound on his shoulder - the claw marks of a mountain lion. I started to walk to him but he waved me off. He motioned to his camp gear and I packed it up for him - then got my own gear together. He slung his knapsack on his good shoulder, and I followed him as we slowly made our way back to the lodge.

*******

Two nights after we got back to Tucson, I visited Don Pedro - for the last time, it would turn out. Ana Socorro was at the library studying, and Ehmet was still in the hospital. The big Indian had developed an unusual infection that defied diagnosis. The doctors were keeping him on intravenous antibiotics. Don Pedro seemed very worried.

"This may be beyond the power of modern medicine to cure. I have sent for someone from Mexico."

I had set up the tape recorder with the idea of conducting another interview, but what I really wanted to know about was my experience at Pena Blanca, with Ehmet and the mountain lions. And now I had Don Pedro's mysterious comment about Ehmet's infection arousing further curiosity. I was full of questions that night and Don Pedro was more forthcoming than usual. I learned many things about Ehmet - where he was from, who he really was, and how he had met Don Pedro. But the interview was later interrupted by the appearance at the back door of an elderly Indian man wearing jeans, a plaid shirt, and a yellow bandanna holding back his long white hair. Don Pedro shooed me off without introducing me to the visitor.

I left the Castellano residence that night like one in a dream - or one who has just wakened from a dream. The world seemed to open up around me as I let myself out the back gate into the alley. The moon was now full - every tree, fence, wall, telephone pole, garbage can and junk pile was infused with silvery light. It was one of those sublime moments when everything seems to be more than it is. I felt like I had the power to bring anything to life just by apprehending it - taking it into my mind. I picked up a small rock and hefted it in my hand. I knew I could throw it and will it to hit whatever target I wished. Throwing it would be just like reaching out and touching something with my hand. But looking up, I saw two figures approaching me. I dropped the rock, feeling suddenly ridiculous - and a little scared.

One of the figures turned out to be the short stocky Mexican who had been pouring his beer onto the bar at Tumbleweeds. He looked like he must be moving up in the world, wearing a dark guayabera shirt and slacks. His companion was a tall lanky Mexican kid with slicked-back hair and an "SS" tattooed on his neck. A wife beater and chinos completed the impression of cholo muscle brought up from the South Side. The stocky guy held me up against a tree - the same tree, actually, that I had climbed and fallen from the night of my acid trip.

"Let's see how tough you are when your puta boyfriend isn't around to save you."

I had no response. The only thing my new mystical powers were doing for me at that moment was telling me I was about to get an ass kicking.

"I have a message for you from Raul Castellano. He knows who you are and that you have been secretly visiting his home. You aren't welcome there. Stay away from his home and away from his daughter."

The stocky Mexican sounded like he was reciting a small part in a school play. I wondered how many times he had rehearsed it.

"Is that all?" I replied, trying to sound tough.

"No, there's one more thing," he said, approaching his point with relish.

He delivered three blows to my midsection, leaving me crumpled on the ground next to the tree gasping for breath.

"If you are found at the Castellano home again, you won't be walking away from our next encounter." ******* EXCERPTS FROM MY FINAL INTERVIEW WITH PEDRO LUIS MARTIN:

DON PEDRO: I first encountered Ehmet in the 1940s, when I would make frequent trips among the Nahuatls of central Mexico. I often lived for months at a time with the Indians, maintaining friendships from my graduate student days and collecting antiquities in the region. My pretty Rosalie tolerated these absences, having a strong spirit of independence - rare in those days - and I always returned with treasures for her shop. Ehmet was the son of a chieftain and was being groomed to succeed his father. Yet Ehmet had fallen in love with the beautiful daughter of the chieftain of a neighboring clan. This daughter had already been betrothed to an important member of yet another clan. The arranged marriage was vital to the good relations between all the clans in the region. Thus, when the clandestine meetings between Ehmet and the girl were discovered, Ehmet was threatened with violence from the other tribes and banishment from his own father.

Now Ehmet had long been studying with the shaman of his clan. He had much natural talent in this area and preferred the mystical life to the practical. This shaman and others had become disillusioned with the clan leaders, who had been encouraging trade with the urban Mexicans and making concessions to corporate predation of their lands. This increased the wealth of the chieftains, but the native ways of life - which had been slowly eroding ever since the time of Cortez - were on the verge of disappearing entirely. Thus, when Ehmet asked for assistance in continuing to secretly meeting the girl, the shaman agreed to help.

Ehmet had been working for many years on developing his nagual. The Nahuatl people believe that they have animal spirits who guide them. The shamans assist the people in discovering these spirits and connecting with them. The rituals involve weeks of preparation, including the use of hallucinogenic plants. Advanced practitioners believe that they can actually take on the form of these animal spirits.

ME: I remember the term nagual from Castaneda’s books.

DON PEDRO: Yes. In Castaneda’s books, the tonal is ordinary reality and the nagual is non-ordinary. This is broadly true - but for the Nahuatl, the nagual is really a person's animal spirit. A person's nagual is related to their personality and their strength - both bodily and of character. A strong dominant man will have a powerful animal for his nagual. The most powerful predator known to the Nahuatl is the jaguar, and this became Ehmet's animal spirit. In the deep jungles of South America, the jaguar is a large black cat - but in the highlands of Mexico, it is the spotted feline that most people are familiar with. Ehmet's nagual was the black jaguar.

So Ehmet spent several weeks in preparation, which culminated in taking the form of a black jaguar and surreptitiously visiting his lover. He approached the girl as she bathed in a stream with other maidens of her clan. In his jaguar form he silently moved closer, leapt on the girl, and held her down while the other maidens ran away screaming. Ehmet drug the girl off into the wooded hills by the stream and, changing back into his human form, carried her until she recovered from a deep swoon. They then fled several miles away to a hideout that Ehmet had prepared.

At first the girl's clan mourned her loss to a jaguar. Though attacks on humans by jaguars are rare, they happened enough to merit plausibility. But soon some members of the girl's clan - including her father - become suspicious about the attack. There was no blood by the stream where the girl had first been leapt upon, and no blood was found near her drag marks into the foliage. And, as carefully as Ehmet and the girl had avoided leaving tracks as they fled to the hideout, the signs of movement through the brush didn't look like those of a jaguar.

Ehmet went back to his village immediately after the abduction and continued to make his presence known during the day. But at night, he adopted his jaguar form and returned to his hidden love nest with the girl. Now two things foiled these lovers and their secret life. First, the more that Ehmet took his animal form, the harder it became to return to his human one. Ehmet rightly feared a night journey through the tropical woodlands in his human form; the safest, stealthiest, way was to travel as the region's mightiest predator. Yet he found that some nights it took many hours after he arrived at the hideaway before he could change back to his human form. The girl lay with him in his nagual shape and tried to comfort him with caresses while she looked into his frightened feline eyes, waiting for him to transform.

The second threat to Ehmet and his lover was that powerful shamans of the girl's clan - loyal to her father - had begun to patrol the region at night in their nagual forms: jaguars, pumas, and other stealthy nocturnal creatures. Ehmet barely escaped being detected several times as he made his way to and from the hideaway. Finally, one night, Ehmet could not transform back to his human form at all. He wandered through the woodlands as a jaguar all the next day, unable to return to his village.

That evening, still in his nagual form, Ehmet traveled back to the hideout and found that another jaguar was prowling in the area. He recognized it as a powerful shaman from the girl's clan. He silently observed as the shaman's nagual drew closer and closer to the camouflaged hut where his lover hid. Ehmet had no choice but to reveal himself to the shaman and try to lead him on a chase away from the girl. His tactic worked, but being in a weakened state from spending so much time in his animal form, he was soon overtaken. A bloody battle ensued, resulting in the maiming of both, but the shaman was able to drag himself back to his village.

I had been living in Ehmet's village during the unfolding of these events, and the next day, when word reached us of the battle between the naguals, I found Ehmet's shaman and asked him to help me search for him. I had taken a liking to Ehmet, watching him grow from boy to man, and I was moved by the story of his tragic love affair. The shaman and I, along with two of the shaman's proteges, eventually found Ehmet lying unconscious near the site of the battle - returned to his human form. We thought of the poor girl waiting alone in the hideaway, but we had no time to search for her. Carrying Ehmet back to the village, we got him into the shaman's hut.

Ehmet's shaman treated him with Nahuatl medicine, but Ehmet had lost much blood. I convinced the shaman that Ehmet needed modern medicine in addition to native treatments. We also knew that Ehmet's presence would soon be discovered. Early the next morning, we wrapped up Ehmet like a bundle of cargo and I drove him in my Jeep to the nearest medical help - several hours away. One of the shaman's proteges agreed to sit with Ehmet and hold him while I drove. It was a close call. Ehmet was near death when we finally arrived in a small town with a clinic, and there Ehmet received a blood infusion.

ME: So you never saw Ehmet in his jaguar form.

DON PEDRO: That is correct. But I saw in those days many strange occurrences - animals that didn't act like animals but more like men. And I have my own experiences. All I can say of them is that I felt transformed into something wholly different from my human self. An animal perhaps.

ME: But were you taking hallucinogenic drugs at the time?

DON PEDRO: Yes. If you want me to tell you that the story I just told you is absolutely, literally true, I can't. This is the story that Ehmet told me after he recovered, along with my own small part in the events. And I can tell you that Ehmet absolutely and literally believes in the reality of his experiences. And now you have experienced strange things yourself that should be causing you to reconsider the nature of reality.

*******

A few days later the newspapers carried headlines about the grisly murder of Raul Castellano. My guess was that, with Ehmet in the hospital, Raul tried to throw Don Pedro out of his home. Pedro, with the help of the Indian who had just arrived, called up his nagual animal spirit and killed Raul. The stress of performing this magic was too much for the elderly Don Pedro, and his heart gave out. I tried calling Ana Socorro several times, but the phone was answered by other family members who would only take messages. I drove by the Castellano manor, where there were many cars parked on the street and groups of formally dressed people gathered on the enormous front porch. I passed by without stopping.

That night I met up with Dana and Penny at Tumbleweeds. They told me that Jorge was in the hospital. Some thugs from the South Side had beaten him severely - broken ribs, facial fractures and brain trauma. Jorge never fully recovered. His balance was off for the rest of his life, and he spoke with a slur. The worst injury, though, was to his spirit. His bravado, zest for life, and larger-than-life reputation faded from memory, and only those patient enough to listen in later years to Jorge's stories were reminded of who he used to be.

As the months passed, I become disenchanted with the 4th Avenue-Downtown scene and rarely went to shows anymore - and anyway all the best bands had either broken up or moved to big cities. I suppose most people think that a certain period of their youth is the golden age, with all subsequent eras being of lesser metallurgical quality. But every now and then something original grows out of a small provincial setting, a fortuitous crossroads of minds and talents. Legendary Tucson musician Al Perry said it best in his foreword to the Slit Fanzine retrospective.

The whole punk rock thing took about two years to reach Tucson. Back then it was an actual movement, a product of the times, though here it was more of a revolution of style and music than it was one of class and rebellion (as it was in England). That’s not like today, where companies employ people to go around and find out what the cool trends are so that they can be foisted on the sheep immediately. In Tucson, the scene was much more innocent than that, somehow more nave due to its small size and the city's relative isolation.

******* I soon dropped out of school that semester, more or less losing the financial support of my parents. My Mom and Dad still let me live at their house, but I was forced to get some kind of job. I worked as a dishwasher at several different restaurants and actually enjoyed the mindless work and lack of responsibility. I read about this guy who moved from town to town across America, taking dishwasher jobs along the way. If the boss was a jerk, he would wait till the busiest time at the establishment and simply walk out, leaving a huge pile of dishes. I tried something similar while remaining in Tucson, but eventually I developed a bad reputation among the local restaurateurs, and no one would hire me.

During this time I discovered the Book Stop, then located on North Campbell Avenue. The Book Stop was a quaint little shop with labyrinthine shelving and a deep musty smell. The owners didn't seem to mind if I spent hours there going through the stacks and reading deeply from books that caught my eye. I even tried to buy something once in a while. It's funny that I didn't seem to mind walking out on a restaurant full of customers, leaving the management with a huge mess. But the Book Stop was like holy ground for me. I felt a kind of reverence there, and maybe my infrequent purchases were like tithes admitting me to the fellowship I found in the bookshelves.

One afternoon Tina, one of the owners, asked me if I was interested in working there part time - minimum wage and I could borrow all the books I could carry home with me. If I wanted to keep the books, I got a hefty discount. In this way, I amassed a good-sized personal library. I went for months living off bean burritos, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and the sustenance I drew from the written word. I felt like Don Pedro was still guiding me. He was at the trail head from which my paths of reading branched off in many directions.

Some of Don Pedro's wisdom on the subject of books:

1. Never read anything you don't want to.

2. Never be afraid to start a book in the middle or to stop reading it before it ends.

3. It's okay to buy a book and never read it - sometimes books are pleasurable because of the way they look and feel.

4. You may be attracted to certain used books because you feel the psychic imprints of those who have read the book before you.

5. Never feel bad if you don't understand what an author is trying to say. Chances are it's the author's fault - not yours.

6. Never feel bad about being bored by a book. It's the author's job to entertain you and keep you interested in the subject.

7. Follow your nose.

******* It would be several years till I saw Ana Socorro again. I had long before given up on trying to contact her. Poor old Jorge had told me that there were rumors she had entered a convent, and as the sole heir of Raul Castellano and Don Pedro, had donated her considerable fortune to the Church. I was now working full time at the Book Stop and my favorite shift was Sunday night, when I worked by myself, shelving books or chatting with the customers - though this night tended to draw a terse solitary crowd. The store closed at 11pm and I often felt bad about gently ushering the last customers out the door. It seemed like many of them went home to lonely lives. Like me, they enjoyed being alone and yet with others.

Early one Sunday evening, a women and a tall man walked in the store together. I immediately recognized the man as Ehmet the big Indian. I then realized that the women was Ana Socorro and that she was indeed a nun. Nuns rarely wear full habits anymore. Ana was dressed in a modest mid-length skirt and a simple blouse, and she was identifiable as a nun only by her abbreviated head covering.

I rose from behind the counter, and Ana Socorro and I shook hands warmly. Ehmet stood by one of the front shelves and looked around uncomfortably. A.C. and I got caught up on our respective lives, and while she spoke I saw that she was still as beautiful as ever, even though she wore the camouflage of simplicity. She no longer appeared to be letting the world pass through her. In fact, it was like she took everything into her being and radiated it back to the world, warmed and softened by her heart.

A.C. had indeed given all her property to the Church, though she had taken care of her Tia Elena before she left the material world behind. She would have done the same for Ehmet, but the big Indian insisted on following her wherever she might go. So A.C. arranged to have the convent - the Benedictine Sanctuary of Perpetual Adoration - take on Ehmet as a sort of sexton of the grounds and let him live in a small cottage away from the main complex of buildings.

"How did you find me?" I asked.

"I have my ways," she answered, smiling.

We were interrupted by a customer who, if I remember correctly, was looking for a book about Vietnam. Something real and in the shit. While I took care of that situation, A.C. led Ehmet by the hand around the store. They stopped in the Outdoors section and A.C. pulled out a few books to show to him. Another customer needed my attention, and finally I was back sitting behind the counter. A.C. left Ehmet looking through some books and returned to the counter.

"I feel bad about never contacting you or responding to your messages," she began, "but I needed to make a complete break from the world. And it was because I cared for you so much that I needed to cease all contact with you."

"Should I take that as a compliment?"

"Yes. Of the highest order."

She smiled, and I saw for a moment the old Ana Socorro, the youthful playfulness breaking through her serene highness.

"I broke off the engagement with my father's associate, and I knew that if I went to you that your life would be in danger."

"Or maybe I would suffer the fate of Abelard?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

A.C. paused. "Perhaps Abelard's fate purified his love for Eloise."

"Yeah, maybe. But let's not take this purity thing too far."

A.C. laughed , and I noticed that Ehmet looked up and glared at us.

I sighed. "So you joined a convent on account of me."

"Don't get too full of yourself, mister. That was only part of the reason. I had been considering joining a religious order as long as I can remember. The only time I ever felt...right...in the right place...was in the Church...involved in religious activities. The stories of the Saints always resonated with me, and there was always a small voice in my head saying, someday this will be you." She quickly added, "Not that I would be a saint. But that I would follow in their footsteps in my own imperfect ways."

"Fair enough," I replied. "My head has shrunk back down to a nearly normal size."

A.C. laughed. We remained silent for a long moment.

"I felt guided," she continued. "All the events in my life, good and bad, some tragic, were pointing me in the same direction."

Ehmet arose from his chair and walked to the counter. He looked thinner, more physically frail, than I remembered him, but he still exuded a kind of strength and power. He handed a book to A.C. and she handed it to me.

"We'll take this," she said, sighing. "I showed Ehmet “The Compleat Angler” by Izaak Walton. I told him how it propounded the intellectual and aesthetic superiority of fishing over all other sporting endeavors. But apparently, Ehmet wants this instead."

It was the Golden Press “Guide To Fishing.”

"I think I would choose this over “The Compleat Angler” myself. Better illustrations."

I handed the book to Ehmet.

"My gift," I said. "I never had a chance to thank you, Ehmet. So...thank you."

Ehmet seemed to smile - if only from his eyes - and then gave me the thumbs-up sign. I smiled and returned it.

"I also want you to know how much my grandfather cared for you," A.C. continued. "I am glad that you were with him in his last days. I wanted you to have something of his, but the lawyers started selling everything off as soon as I announced I was entering the convent. I took a few of his books that had special significance to me, but as you probably know, convents aren't a place to keep a lot of...stuff. I made sure that his collection of stamps and antiquities was sold to help the Indians he used to visit in Mexico."

"I still have everything your grandfather gave to me," I replied. "In here and in here." I pointed to my head and my heart. "And I keep this around my neck always." I pulled out from under my shirt the medal of Saint John of God that A.C. had given me. "The patron saint of book peddlers. How did you know?"

"Ah, I have secret powers," she said in a mock mysterious voice. "But why do you keep it still? Do you believe in the power of the saints?"

"No, but I believe that you believe. And...I believe in the power of unfettered love."

A.C. held me long in her gaze and then sighed. "Well, this lover must go back to her fetters. I live in the bondage of Christ that others might be free."

She said this almost jokingly, but I knew she believed it sincerely.

******* Many years later I read about a young nun who had died in the Benedictine Sanctuary from some form of cancer. She had refused medical care, saying that her body and soul belonged to Christ and that she submitted both to his will entirely. There were reports of miraculous healing associated with her, both in life and after she died. Indians on the San Xavier reservation reported seeing her apparition on the hill next to the beautiful old mission there. The faithful began to go to this hill to pray and be healed. Soon, emissaries from the Vatican came to investigate these posited miracles, and there was talk of canonization.

I was sad to hear of Ana Socorro's death but skeptical about the miraculous claims. If A.C. is ever sainted, she will still be the earthly patron of my heart - just as Don Pedro is my beloved teacher, not a mysterious brujo. I will admit, though, that I sometimes wonder if A.C. is like the incorruptible Saint Bernadette - if her body smells like flowers and never decomposes. Though Ana Socorro's remains are kept in the Benedictine Sanctuary in the middle of Tucson, and though I pass by there often, I've never gone inside to look.

[bharatinvest64]

Best Value Destinations: Top 10 Cheapest Countries to Travel from India

Are you dreaming of exploring the world without breaking the bank? Fortunately, there are several stunning destinations around the globe that offer great value for Indian travelers. Whether you're a budget-conscious backpacker or a savvy explorer, these top 10 cheapest countries to visit from India promise unforgettable experiences without burning a hole in your pocket.

1. Thailand

Thailand tops the list as one of the most affordable destinations for Indian travelers. From vibrant street markets in Bangkok to tranquil beaches in Phuket and cultural wonders in Chiang Mai, Thailand offers diverse experiences at budget-friendly prices. Explore ornate temples, indulge in delicious street food, and enjoy affordable accommodations throughout the country.

2. Nepal

Nepal, our neighboring country, is not only culturally rich but also incredibly affordable for Indian tourists. Experience the breathtaking Himalayan landscapes, trek to Everest Base Camp, or immerse yourself in the spiritual vibes of Kathmandu and Pokhara without straining your wallet.

3. Sri Lanka

Just a short flight away from India, Sri Lanka beckons with its pristine beaches, ancient ruins, and lush tea plantations. Whether you're exploring the historical sites of Anuradhapura, surfing in Arugam Bay, or spotting wildlife in Yala National Park, Sri Lanka offers fantastic value for money.

4. Vietnam

Vietnam is another gem in Southeast Asia known for its affordability and rich culture. Explore the bustling streets of Hanoi, cruise through the stunning limestone karsts of Halong Bay, and delve into the history of Ho Chi Minh City—all without breaking the bank.

5. Malaysia

Malaysia offers a perfect blend of modernity and natural beauty at reasonable prices. Discover the iconic Petronas Twin Towers in Kuala Lumpur, relax on the pristine beaches of Langkawi, or trek through the lush rainforests of Borneo—all while benefiting from favorable exchange rates.

6. Indonesia

Indonesia is a diverse archipelago that caters to every traveler's budget. From the cultural heart of Bali to the adventurous landscapes of Java and the untouched beauty of Komodo Island, Indonesia offers incredible value for Indian tourists.

7. Cambodia

Cambodia, home to the magnificent Angkor Wat temple complex, is a budget traveler's paradise. Explore ancient temples, vibrant markets, and serene countryside landscapes while enjoying affordable accommodations and delicious Khmer cuisine.

8. Philippines

The Philippines boasts stunning beaches, crystal-clear waters, and warm hospitality—all at affordable prices. Whether you're diving in Palawan, exploring the bustling capital of Manila, or island-hopping in Cebu, the Philippines offers excellent value for Indian travelers.

9. Hungary

Moving into Europe, Hungary stands out as an affordable destination with its beautiful architecture, vibrant cultural scene, and delicious cuisine. Explore the historic streets of Budapest, relax in thermal baths, and savor local delicacies without overspending.

10. Peru

Rounding off our list is Peru, a South American gem known for its ancient Incan ruins, including the iconic Machu Picchu. Experience the Andean landscapes, sample Peruvian cuisine, and visit vibrant markets in cities like Lima—all at a reasonable cost for Indian travelers.

Best Currency Exchange and Tips

When traveling to these affordable destinations, it's crucial to optimize your currency exchange to get the best value for your money. Consider exchanging currency at reputed banks or exchange counters in India before your trip. Additionally, use credit cards with low foreign transaction fees and withdraw local currency from ATMs for convenience.

In conclusion, exploring these top 10 cheapest countries to visit from India allows you to fulfill your wanderlust without straining your finances. Whether you're seeking cultural immersion, natural beauty, or adventure, these destinations offer exceptional value and unforgettable experiences for budget-conscious travelers.

Plan your next adventure wisely and make the most of your travel budget while discovering the diverse wonders our world has to offer!

[rashmi-rattan]

Discovering Vietnam’s Coastal Gems: Cô Tô Island and Lan Châu Island

Vietnam's coastline is dotted with hidden gems that offer breathtaking landscapes and a rich cultural heritage. Among these treasures are Co To Island and Lan Chau Island, each offering unique experiences for travelers seeking an escape from the bustling cities. Whether you’re drawn by pristine beaches, historical sites, or local charm, these islands promise an unforgettable journey.

Cô Tô Island: A Tranquil Paradise

Cô Tô Island, located in the Gulf of Tonkin, is part of Quảng Ninh Province in northern Vietnam. This serene destination is known for its crystal-clear waters, white sandy beaches, and lush green forests. Despite its increasing popularity among tourists, Cô Tô has managed to retain its untouched charm, making it an ideal getaway for those looking to unwind in nature's lap.

Getting to Cô Tô Island

Reaching Cô Tô Island involves a combination of road and sea travel. From Hanoi, travelers typically take a bus or car to the coastal city of Cái Rồng in Quảng Ninh Province. From there, a high-speed ferry ride of about 90 minutes takes you to the island. The journey itself is part of the adventure, offering scenic views of the coastline and the chance to witness the daily life of the local fishing communities.

Attractions and Activities

Cô Tô Beach: The island's most famous beach is known for its clear waters and powdery white sand. It’s perfect for swimming, sunbathing, or simply relaxing while enjoying the stunning ocean views.

Lighthouse: A short hike up a hill leads to the Cô Tô Lighthouse, which offers panoramic views of the island and the surrounding sea. The climb is worth the effort, as the vista from the top is nothing short of spectacular.

Rocky Islands: Near the main island, there are several smaller rocky islands such as Cô Tô Con and Thanh Lân. These islets are ideal for kayaking, exploring marine life, or simply enjoying a secluded picnic.

Fishing Villages: Visiting the local fishing villages gives a glimpse into the traditional way of life of the island’s inhabitants. You can observe the daily routines of the fishermen and even join them for a fishing trip.

Night Markets: Cô Tô’s night markets are a vibrant spot for tasting local seafood delicacies and shopping for souvenirs. The fresh seafood, especially the grilled squid and fish, is a must-try.

Preserving Natural Beauty

Cô Tô Island is part of Vietnam's efforts to promote eco-tourism. Visitors are encouraged to respect the environment by not littering and minimizing their ecological footprint. The local authorities and communities work together to maintain the island's pristine condition, ensuring that future generations can also enjoy its beauty.

Lan Châu Island: The Pearl of Cửa Lò

Moving south to the central part of Vietnam, Lan Châu Island, also known as Rú Cóc, is located near the coast of Nghệ An Province, adjacent to Cửa Lò Beach. Lan Châu, with its unique shape resembling a toad, is a hidden gem often overshadowed by more famous tourist spots. However, its unique landscape and tranquil atmosphere make it a worthwhile destination.

Accessing Lan Châu Island

Lan Châu Island is easily accessible from the mainland, especially from the nearby Cửa Lò Beach. A short boat ride or even a walk during low tide can get you to the island. The proximity to Vinh City makes it a convenient excursion for those visiting central Vietnam.

Points of Interest

The Old French Lighthouse: One of the island’s most iconic landmarks is the old French lighthouse, built during the colonial era. Although no longer operational, the lighthouse offers a glimpse into the island’s historical past and provides a fantastic vantage point for viewing the coastline.

Stone Steps and Pathways: The island features a series of stone steps and pathways carved into its rocky terrain. These paths offer a pleasant walk with stunning views of the ocean and the mainland, making it a perfect spot for photography enthusiasts.

Sea Caves and Grottos: Lan Châu Island is dotted with several sea caves and grottos that can be explored during low tide. These natural formations add to the island's mystique and are a haven for adventure seekers.

Marine Life: The waters around Lan Châu are rich in marine biodiversity. Snorkeling and diving are popular activities here, allowing visitors to explore the vibrant underwater world.

Beachfront Dining: Several seafood restaurants on the island offer fresh catches of the day. Dining on the beach with the sound of waves in the background is a quintessential part of the Lan Châu experience.

Cultural and Environmental Significance

Lan Châu Island holds cultural significance for the local communities, being a place of historical importance and natural beauty. Efforts are made to preserve its ecosystem, including restrictions on large-scale developments and initiatives to protect marine life. The island's integration with the local fishing industry also highlights the harmonious coexistence between human activity and nature.

Conclusion

Cô Tô Island and Lan Châu Island, though distinct in their geographical locations and attractions, share a common thread of natural beauty and cultural richness. They offer a peaceful retreat for travelers looking to escape the crowded tourist hubs and experience Vietnam’s coastal charm. Whether you're wandering through the tranquil forests of Cô Tô or exploring the historical pathways of Lan Châu, these islands promise an enriching and rejuvenating experience, leaving you with memories to cherish for a lifetime.

[reethibeach002]

The Best Beaches to Travel to in Vietnam

Vietnam boasts some of the world's most stunning beaches, perfect for travellers seeking sun, sand, and sea. Nha Trang's bustling coastline offers vibrant nightlife and water sports, while Phu Quoc's Long Beach provides tranquil beauty and crystal-clear waters. Da Nang's My Khe Beach is renowned for its soft white sand and gentle waves, ideal for relaxation. Mui Ne is famous for its striking sand dunes and windsurfing opportunities, making Vietnam a beach lover's paradise.

A Vibrant Coastal Destination and Where to Travel to in Vietnam

Nha Trang is a must-visit for those wondering where to travel to in Vietnam for vibrant beach life. Known for its bustling coastline, Nha Trang offers a perfect blend of relaxation and excitement. The beach features pristine white sand, clear blue waters, and an array of water sports such as snorkelling, scuba diving, and jet skiing. The vibrant nightlife, with numerous beach bars and restaurants, adds to the city's appeal, making it a hotspot for both day and night activities.

Tranquility and Natural Beauty and Where to Travel to in Vietnam

Phu Quoc Island is an ideal destination for travellers seeking tranquillity and natural beauty when considering where to travel to in Vietnam. Long Beach, one of the island's highlights, boasts soft golden sands and crystal-clear waters, perfect for swimming and sunbathing. The island is also home to lush tropical forests, picturesque fishing villages, and vibrant coral reefs, making it a paradise for nature lovers and snorkelers. Phu Quoc's serene ambiance and breathtaking sunsets make it a top choice for a peaceful getaway.

A Blend of Modernity and Tradition and Where to Travel to in Vietnam

Da Nang, with its renowned My Khe Beach, is a prime location when thinking about where to travel to in Vietnam. My Khe Beach is famous for its soft white sand and gentle waves, making it an excellent spot for relaxation and water activities. The city of Da Nang itself offers a blend of modern attractions and traditional charm, with nearby sites such as the Marble Mountains and the ancient town of Hoi An. This combination makes Da Nang a versatile destination for beachgoers and culture enthusiasts alike.

Adventure and Unique Landscapes and Where to Travel to in Vietnam

For adventure seekers deciding where to travel to in Vietnam, Mui Ne is the perfect destination. Known for its striking red and white sand dunes, Mui Ne offers unique landscapes and activities like sandboarding and dune bashing. The beaches here are also famous for their excellent conditions for kitesurfing and windsurfing, thanks to the strong coastal winds. Mui Ne's fishing village adds a cultural touch, providing a glimpse into the local way of life and fresh seafood delicacies.

Untouched Beauty and Historical Significance and Where to Travel to in Vietnam

Con Dao Islands are a hidden gem for those exploring where to travel to in Vietnam. These islands offer pristine, untouched beaches with turquoise waters and powdery white sands. Con Dao's rich marine life makes it a top spot for diving and snorkelling. Additionally, the islands hold historical significance with sites like the Con Dao Prison, providing a unique blend of natural beauty and historical exploration. The serene and uncrowded beaches make Con Dao a perfect retreat for peace and solitude.

Cultural Richness and Coastal Charm and Where to Travel to in Vietnam

Hoi An is another exceptional choice for travellers pondering where to travel to in Vietnam. An Bang Beach, located just a short distance from the ancient town, offers a tranquil beach experience with clear waters and soft sands. The charm of Hoi An extends beyond the beach, with its well-preserved architecture, bustling markets, and vibrant lantern festivals. This combination of cultural richness and coastal charm makes Hoi An a compelling destination for a multifaceted vacation.

Emerging Coastal Paradise and Where to Travel to in Vietnam

Quy Nhon is an emerging destination for those looking into where to travel to in Vietnam. This coastal city offers beautiful, less-crowded beaches like Ky Co and Bai Xep, known for their stunning scenery and clear waters. Quy Nhon is perfect for a more laid-back and authentic beach experience, with local fishing communities and unspoiled natural landscapes. The city's growth in tourism infrastructure is making it increasingly popular while still retaining its peaceful charm.

Conclusion

In conclusion, Vietnam offers a diverse array of beach destinations catering to various preferences and interests. Whether you seek vibrant city beaches, tranquil island retreats, or adventurous coastal landscapes, there are numerous places to consider when deciding where to travel to in Vietnam. From Nha Trang's lively coast to Phu Quoc's serene shores and Mui Ne's unique dunes, Vietnam's beaches promise unforgettable experiences for every traveller.

[thedigirealm]

Guide To Trekking In Vietnam To Unleash The Adventure

Vietnam, with its stunning landscapes, rich cultural heritage, and diverse ecosystems, is a paradise for trekking enthusiasts. This guide to trekking in Vietnam aims to unleash the adventurer in you, providing comprehensive information on the best trekking routes, essential travel tips to Vietnam, and insights into the country’s natural beauty and vibrant culture. Whether you're a seasoned trekker or a beginner looking for your first adventure, Vietnam offers something for everyone.

Why Trekking in Vietnam?

Vietnam's diverse geography includes lush jungles, towering mountains, and beautiful coastlines, making it a trekking hotspot. Trekking in Vietnam allows you to explore remote ethnic villages, witness breathtaking landscapes, and experience the country's unique flora and fauna. It's also an opportunity to immerse yourself in local cultures, away from the usual tourist spots.

Travel Tips to Vietnam

Before diving into the trekking routes, here are some essential travel tips to Vietnam:

Visa Requirements: Ensure you have the appropriate visa for your stay. Many nationalities can apply for an e-visa online.

Best Time to Visit: The best time for trekking in Vietnam is during the dry seasons, typically from October to April.

Health and Safety: Get travel insurance that covers trekking. Stay updated on vaccinations and carry a basic first-aid kit.

Local Currency: The Vietnamese Dong (VND) is the local currency. Credit cards are accepted in cities, but carry cash for remote areas.

Language: Learning a few basic Vietnamese phrases can be very helpful. English is widely spoken in tourist areas.

Respect Local Customs: Dress modestly, especially in rural areas, and always ask for permission before taking photos of people.

Top Trekking Destinations in Vietnam

1. Sapa – The Heart of Northern Highlands

Overview

Sapa, located in the Lao Cai Province, is a picturesque town known for its terraced rice fields, ethnic minority communities, and stunning mountain views. It’s a perfect base for trekking adventures.

Trekking Routes

Sapa to Ta Van: This popular trek takes you through beautiful rice terraces, bamboo forests, and local villages. It’s relatively easy and great for beginners.

Fansipan Mountain: Known as the "Roof of Indochina," Fansipan is the highest peak in Vietnam. The trek is challenging and takes 2-3 days, offering panoramic views and a sense of accomplishment.

Cultural Insights

Trekking in Sapa gives you a chance to interact with the Hmong, Dao, and Tay ethnic groups. You can stay in homestays to experience their hospitality and learn about their traditional way of life.

2. Ha Giang – Untouched Beauty

Overview

Ha Giang is Vietnam's northernmost province, renowned for its rugged landscapes and ethnic diversity. It’s less touristy compared to Sapa, offering a more authentic trekking experience.

Trekking Routes

Dong Van Karst Plateau: This UNESCO Global Geopark features dramatic limestone peaks and deep valleys. The trek includes visits to local villages and markets.

Meo Vac Loop: A trek through stunning landscapes, including Ma Pi Leng Pass, known for its breathtaking views of the Nho Que River.

Cultural Insights

The region is home to various ethnic groups, including the Hmong, Tay, and Lo Lo. Staying in local villages provides insight into their unique customs and traditions.

3. Cat Ba Island – Jungle and Coastal Treks

Overview

Cat Ba Island, part of the Cat Ba Archipelago, is a combination of lush jungles, rocky hills, and stunning coastlines. It’s also adjacent to the famous Ha Long Bay.

Trekking Routes

Cat Ba National Park: Offers several trekking options ranging from easy to challenging. The park is rich in biodiversity, with the possibility of spotting rare species like the Cat Ba Langur.

Hospital Cave to Viet Hai Village: A trek that combines historical interest with natural beauty, passing through dense forests and ending in a remote fishing village.

Cultural Insights

Explore local fishing communities and enjoy the serene lifestyle of the islanders. The seafood here is fresh and delicious, adding a culinary delight to your trekking adventure.

4. Pu Luong Nature Reserve – Hidden Gem

Overview

Located in Thanh Hoa Province, Pu Luong Nature Reserve is an off-the-beaten-path destination known for its pristine beauty and tranquil environment.

Trekking Routes

Pho Doan to Don Village: This trek takes you through terraced fields, lush forests, and charming villages. It’s suitable for all levels of trekkers.

Pu Luong Peak: A more challenging trek offering stunning panoramic views from the top.

Cultural Insights

Pu Luong is home to the Thai and Muong ethnic groups. Homestays here provide an authentic experience of rural Vietnamese life and culture.

5. Bach Ma National Park – Central Highlands

Overview

Bach Ma National Park, located in the central region near Hue, is known for its rich biodiversity, cool climate, and stunning landscapes.

Trekking Routes

Five Lakes Trail: A moderate trek passing by five beautiful lakes and several waterfalls. Perfect for nature lovers.

Bach Ma Summit: A challenging trek to the summit of Bach Ma Mountain, offering breathtaking views of the surrounding area.

Cultural Insights

While trekking in Bach Ma, you can learn about the conservation efforts in place to protect the park’s biodiversity. The nearby city of Hue also offers historical and cultural explorations.

Essential Gear for Trekking in Vietnam

Packing the right gear is crucial for a successful trekking adventure. Here’s a list of essentials:

Backpack: A comfortable, sturdy backpack with a rain cover.

Clothing: Lightweight, breathable clothing; layers for varying temperatures; rain jacket; hat and gloves for higher altitudes.

Footwear: Sturdy, comfortable hiking boots and moisture-wicking socks.

Navigation Tools: Maps, compass, or GPS device.

Hydration: Water bottles or a hydration bladder; water purification tablets.

Food: High-energy snacks and meals for longer treks.

First-Aid Kit: Including bandages, antiseptic wipes, pain relievers, and any personal medications.

Safety Gear: Whistle, multi-tool, flashlight with extra batteries.

Trekking Poles: Helpful for challenging terrain.

Camping Gear: Tent, sleeping bag, and cooking equipment if camping.

Preparing for Your Trek

Physical Fitness

Trekking in Vietnam can be physically demanding, especially on longer or more challenging routes. It’s advisable to start a fitness regimen before your trip, focusing on cardiovascular endurance, strength training, and flexibility. Regular hikes with a loaded backpack can simulate trekking conditions and help build stamina.

Acclimatization

Altitude sickness can be a concern, especially in higher regions like Fansipan. Gradual acclimatization is key. Spend a day or two at intermediate altitudes before attempting high-altitude treks. Stay hydrated, avoid alcohol, and listen to your body.

Guided Tours vs. Independent Trekking

Both guided tours and independent trekking have their pros and cons. Guided tours offer the advantage of local knowledge, logistical support, and safety, especially in remote areas. Independent trekking allows more flexibility and can be more economical. If you’re new to trekking or unfamiliar with the region, a guided tour might be the better option.

Environmental and Ethical Considerations

Leave No Trace

Respecting the environment is crucial when trekking. Follow the Leave No Trace principles:

Plan Ahead and Prepare: Know the regulations and special concerns for the area you’ll visit.

Travel and Camp on Durable Surfaces: Stick to established trails and campsites.

Dispose of Waste Properly: Pack out all trash, leftover food, and litter.

Leave What You Find: Preserve the past, and leave rocks, plants, and other natural objects as you find them.

Minimize Campfire Impact: Use a stove for cooking and enjoy a candle lantern for light.

Respect Wildlife: Observe animals from a distance and never feed them.

Be Considerate of Other Visitors: Respect other visitors and protect the quality of their experience.

Supporting Local Communities

Trekking in Vietnam often brings you into contact with remote ethnic communities. Supporting these communities is essential:

Buy Local: Purchase goods and services from local vendors.

Respect Traditions: Be mindful of local customs and dress codes.

Homestays: Opt for homestays to directly support local families.

Fair Trade: Pay fair prices for goods and services, respecting the local economy.

Conclusion

Vietnam offers a wealth of trekking opportunities, from the rugged northern highlands to the serene central parks and coastal trails. This guide to trekking in Vietnam to unleash the adventure provides a comprehensive overview of the best trekking destinations, essential travel tips, and cultural insights to enhance your journey. Whether you seek the challenge of high-altitude peaks or the tranquility of rural villages, Vietnam’s diverse landscapes promise an unforgettable trekking experience. Embrace the adventure, respect the local environment and cultures, and create memories that will last a lifetime.

[vaidhainshijindal]

Unveiling Vietnam's Hidden Gems: Ninh Binh, Bai Tu Long Bay, and Co To Island

Vietnam is renowned for its stunning natural landscapes and cultural heritage, with destinations like Ninh Binh, Bai Tu Long Bay, and Co To Island offering a glimpse into the country's diverse beauty. In this guide, we'll explore these hidden gems, each offering its own unique charm and unforgettable experiences for travelers seeking to uncover the secrets of Vietnam's coastal and inland treasures.

Ninh Binh in Vietnam

Ninh Binh in Vietnam, often referred to as the "Halong Bay on land," is a picturesque province in northern Vietnam known for its limestone karsts, tranquil rivers, and ancient temples.

Trang An Landscape Complex: Explore the UNESCO-listed Trang An Landscape Complex, a maze of limestone karsts, caves, and emerald-green waterways. Take a boat ride through this stunning natural wonder, passing by ancient pagodas and lush vegetation.

Tam Coc: Discover the scenic beauty of Tam Coc, also known as the "Halong Bay on land." Drift along the Ngo Dong River on a traditional sampan boat, passing through limestone caves and rice paddies framed by towering cliffs.

Bich Dong Pagoda: Visit Bich Dong Pagoda, a complex of three ancient temples nestled within a cliffside cave. Climb the stone steps to reach the upper pagoda, where panoramic views of the surrounding countryside await.

Hoa Lu Ancient Capital: Explore the ruins of Hoa Lu, the ancient capital of Vietnam in the 10th and 11th centuries. Wander through the remnants of royal palaces, temples, and fortifications, and learn about the rich history of the Dinh and Le dynasties.

Bai Tu Long Bay in Vietnam

Bai Tu Long Bay, located northeast of Halong Bay, is a pristine and less-visited alternative known for its crystal-clear waters, rugged islands, and secluded beaches.

Scenic Cruises: Embark on a scenic cruise through Bai Tu Long Bay, marveling at its towering limestone karsts and emerald-green waters. Explore hidden caves, tranquil lagoons, and deserted beaches along the way.

Vung Vieng Fishing Village: Visit Vung Vieng Fishing Village, a traditional floating community where local fishermen have lived for generations. Learn about their daily lives, witness traditional fishing techniques, and interact with friendly villagers.

Thien Canh Son Cave: Explore Thien Canh Son Cave, one of the most beautiful caves in Bai Tu Long Bay. Admire its intricate stalactites and stalagmites, illuminated by soft lighting that enhances the cave's natural beauty.

Beach Escapes: Relax on the pristine beaches of Bai Tu Long Bay, including Tra Gioi Beach and Bai Dai Beach. Swim in the crystal-clear waters, sunbathe on golden sands, and enjoy the tranquility of this untouched paradise.

Co To Island

Co To Island, located in Quang Ninh Province, is a serene and unspoiled paradise known for its turquoise waters, white sandy beaches, and lush green landscapes.

Beachfront Bliss: Spend your days lounging on Co To's idyllic beaches, including Hong Van, Van Chay, and Bac Van. Swim in the clear waters, snorkel among colorful coral reefs, and enjoy spectacular sunsets over the horizon.

Island Exploration: Rent a motorbike or bicycle to explore Co To's scenic coastline and charming villages. Discover hidden coves, fishing hamlets, and scenic viewpoints that offer breathtaking vistas of the surrounding archipelago.

Fresh Seafood: Indulge in the island's culinary delights, particularly its fresh seafood. Feast on grilled squid, steamed crabs, and savory seafood hotpots at local eateries and beachside restaurants.

Conclusion

From the majestic landscapes of Ninh Binh to the pristine waters of Bai Tu Long Bay and the serene beaches of Co To Island, Vietnam offers a wealth of hidden gems waiting to be discovered. Whether you're exploring ancient temples, cruising through limestone karsts, or lounging on sandy shores, each destination promises unforgettable experiences and a deeper connection to the beauty of Vietnam's natural wonders. Embark on an adventure to uncover these hidden treasures and create memories that will last a lifetime.

[laotravellinks]

Indochina Laos Tours – Go For The Best Trip Of Your Life

Top of FormTop of FormStep into the heart of Southeast Asia, where a hidden treasure awaits your discovery. Laos, nestled among its more renowned neighbors, Thailand, and Vietnam, exudes a charm that boasts of serenity and authenticity.

Picture yourself amidst misty mountains and dense forests, where the air is filled with tranquility and the landscape seems to hold its breath in reverence. You can actually book for Indochina laos tours online and go on a memorable trip.

In Laos, nature paints its canvas with serene waterfalls cascading into tranquil rivers, while the historic town of Luang Prabang stands as a testament to the country's timeless beauty, with its UNESCO World Heritage status and the majestic Mekong River as its backdrop.

Creating a connection

But it's not just the landscape that captivates, it's the beating heart of Laos, the people, and their culture, that truly enchant travelers. Here, spirituality is in the air, as temples and monasteries stand as silent sentinels of a heritage deeply rooted in Theravada Buddhism. Imagine the ethereal sight of monks draped in saffron robes, their chants weaving a fabric of peace and inner reflection with a laos travel and Tour focus. And don't miss the soul-stirring alms-giving ceremony in Luang Prabang, a tradition etched in time where locals offer sustenance to monks at dawn, creating a connection to centuries of reverence and community.

And let's talk about the flavors that dance on your palate, a symphony of fresh herbs, spices, and local ingredients. From the fiery kick of spicy papaya salad to the comforting embrace of sticky rice and aromatic curries, Laotian cuisine is a journey of taste that invites you to indulge in its culinary secrets.

Creating experiences

But your journey through Laos isn't just about sightseeing, it's about creating experiences that resonate with your soul. Whether you are drawn to the ancient temples of Vientiane, yearning to trek through the untouched jungles of the Bolaven Plateau, or craving the gentle embrace of the Mekong River on a leisurely cruise, there's a tailored itinerary waiting to fulfill your every desire.

Yet, the true essence of Laos lies in its people, their stories, their traditions, their daily rhythms and laos travel and Tour focus. Through cultural immersion experiences offered by passionate guides, you'll find yourself weaving into the fabric of local life, from village visits to traditional cooking classes and handicraft workshops. Each interaction becomes a brushstroke on the canvas of your journey, painting a vivid portrait of Laotian hospitality and warmth.

Conclusion

So, step off the beaten path and into the embrace of Laos with Indochina laos tours. Let its natural beauty, cultural richness, and warm hospitality give you an experience that transcends mere travel, it's a journey of the heart.

[jaypham123]

A Comprehensive Exploration of Vietnam: Is Vietnam safe to travel?

Chapter 1: Setting the Stage

In the heart of Southeast Asia, where the Mekong Delta meets the South China Sea, lies a land of captivating beauty and cultural richness – Vietnam. This ancient land, with its lush landscapes, bustling cities, and storied past, beckons travelers from around the globe. Yet, beneath its enchanting exterior, lies a question that weighs on the minds of many prospective visitors: Is Vietnam safe to travel?

As we embark on this comprehensive exploration, we'll delve deep into the intricate fabric of Vietnamese life, uncovering the realities of safety for travelers through personal anecdotes, historical context, and practical advice. From the urban jungles of Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City to the tranquil shores of Da Nang and the rugged terrain of the Central Highlands, join us on a journey of discovery as we seek to unravel the safety conundrum of traveling in Vietnam.

Chapter 2: Navigating the Urban Maze: Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City

Hanoi: Where Tradition Meets Modernity

Our journey begins in the bustling capital city of Hanoi, where the ancient charm of the Old Quarter collides with the dynamic energy of a rapidly evolving metropolis. Wandering through the narrow alleyways of the Old Quarter, lined with centuries-old temples and colonial-era architecture, one can't help but be enchanted by the vibrant tapestry of sights, sounds, and smells.

Despite the chaos of motorbikes weaving through crowded streets and the constant symphony of honking horns, Hanoi exudes a sense of safety that is palpable. Crime rates are relatively low, and incidents involving tourists are rare. However, as in any urban environment, petty theft can occur, particularly in crowded markets and tourist hotspots. Vigilance and common sense are key to staying safe in the capital city.

Ho Chi Minh City: A City of Contrasts

In the southern hub of Ho Chi Minh City, formerly known as Saigon, the pace is frenetic, and the contrasts are stark. From the historic landmarks of the War Remnants Museum and the Reunification Palace to the bustling nightlife of Bui Vien Street and the modern skyscrapers of District 1, the city offers a kaleidoscope of experiences.

While petty crime, such as pickpocketing and scams, can occur in tourist areas, Ho Chi Minh City remains relatively safe for travelers. By exercising caution, avoiding secluded areas at night, and safeguarding personal belongings, visitors can navigate the urban maze with confidence.

Chapter 3: Embracing Nature's Bounty: From Sapa to Ha Long Bay

Sapa: Trekking Through Time

Venturing northward to the mist-shrouded mountains of Sapa, travelers are greeted by a landscape that seems plucked from a fairy tale. Here, amidst emerald rice terraces and verdant valleys, indigenous hill tribes have preserved centuries-old traditions and customs.

Trekking through the rugged terrain of Sapa offers a glimpse into a way of life untouched by modernity. While safety concerns are minimal, particularly on organized tours with reputable operators, travelers should be prepared for challenging conditions, including uneven terrain and variable weather.

Ha Long Bay: A UNESCO World Heritage Site

In the Gulf of Tonkin, off the northeastern coast of Vietnam, lies the breathtaking seascape of Ha Long Bay. With its towering limestone karsts, emerald waters, and hidden grottoes, this UNESCO World Heritage Site is a playground for adventurers and nature lovers alike.

While reports of tourist scams and overcharging by boat operators exist, choosing a reputable tour company and exercising caution can ensure a safe and unforgettable experience in Ha Long Bay. By following safety guidelines and respecting the natural environment, visitors can fully immerse themselves in the beauty of this iconic destination.

Chapter 4: Traversing Cultural Crossroads: Navigating Customs and Traditions

The Essence of Vietnamese Hospitality

Central to the safety of any traveler in Vietnam is an understanding and appreciation of the local customs and traditions. Known for their warmth and hospitality, the Vietnamese people welcome visitors with open arms, eager to share their culture and heritage.

From the bustling markets of Hanoi to the tranquil villages of the Mekong Delta, travelers are invited to immerse themselves in the rich tapestry of Vietnamese life. By learning a few basic phrases in Vietnamese, respecting local customs, and embracing cultural differences, visitors can forge meaningful connections and enhance their safety and enjoyment of the country.

Chapter 5: Conclusion: Embracing the Journey

As we conclude our comprehensive exploration of Vietnam's safety for travelers, a multifaceted portrait emerges. While challenges and concerns may exist, particularly in urban areas and tourist hotspots, they are outweighed by the boundless opportunities for discovery and adventure that Vietnam offers.

Through personal anecdotes, historical context, and practical advice, we have unraveled the safety conundrum of traveling in Vietnam. From the vibrant streets of Hanoi to the tranquil shores of Ha Long Bay, each corner of this diverse land beckons with promises of exploration and enlightenment.

So, is Vietnam safe to travel? The answer, we've discovered, lies in the experiences of those who have dared to embark on this journey of a lifetime. For in their stories, we find the true essence of Vietnam – a land of beauty, resilience, and unyielding spirit, waiting to be explored by intrepid travelers from around the globe.

This is a lengthy piece, but I hope it captures the essence of Vietnam's safety for travelers through storytelling and comprehensive exploration. Let me know if you need any adjustments or further details!

Vietnam urgent visa and emergency Vietnam visa

[snapwander]

Unveiling the World: Must-See Destinations for Every Traveler

The travel bug bites everyone eventually!  For some, it's a constant itch, and for others, it's a yearning that creeps in every now and then.  Wherever you fall on the spectrum, there's no denying the allure of exploring new 

places, cultures, and experiences.

But with so many incredible destinations around the globe, where do you even begin?  Fear not, fellow wanderer! This blog is your one-stop shop for inspiration, helping you discover the best places to visit, tailored to your travel desires.

Calling the Nature Enthusiast:

Trek through Patagonia's majestic peaks: Glaciers, mountains, and turquoise lakes - Patagonia in South America offers breathtaking landscapes for the adventurous soul. Hike the famous W Trail, or embark on a kayaking expedition for an unforgettable encounter with nature's grandeur.

Unwind on the pristine beaches of Kerala: Nicknamed "God's Own Country," Kerala in India is a tropical paradise. Cruise the serene backwaters, explore lush tea plantations, or simply relax on the golden shores, soaking in the tranquility.

Explore the otherworldly beauty of Namibia: This African nation boasts dramatic sand dunes, unique wildlife, and captivating geological formations. Witness the awe-inspiring Namib Desert or go stargazing under some of the darkest skies on Earth.

Craving a Cultural Immersion?

Wander the ancient streets of Rome: Steeped in history and culture, Rome is an open-air museum. Marvel at the Colosseum, toss a coin into the Trevi Fountain, or get lost in the labyrinthine alleys of Trastevere.

Immerse yourself in the vibrant energy of Tokyo: Japan's capital city seamlessly blends ancient traditions with neon-lit modernity. Explore magnificent temples, indulge in delicious street food, and experience the unique kawaii (cute) culture.

Uncover the mysteries of Machu Picchu: High in the Peruvian Andes lies the enigmatic Inca citadel of Machu Picchu. Hike the Inca Trail, marvel at the architectural ingenuity, and soak in the mystical atmosphere of this lost city.

Seeking Adventure and Luxury?

Go island hopping in the Philippines: With over 7,000 islands to choose from, the Philippines is a haven for beach lovers and adventurers. Sail through turquoise waters, scuba dive amidst coral reefs, or trek through lush jungles.

Heli-ski in the Canadian Rockies: For the ultimate thrill-seeker, heli-skiing in Canada offers unparalleled backcountry access. Carve fresh tracks through untouched powder snow, surrounded by breathtaking mountain scenery.

Glamp in the deserts of Morocco: Experience the magic of Morocco on a luxurious glamping trip. Stay in plush tents under a canopy of stars, explore the ancient city of Marrakech, and ride camels across the golden dunes of the Sahara.

This is just a taste of the incredible destinations waiting to be explored.  Remember, the best place to visit are the ones that resonate with YOU.  So, do your research, follow your interests, and get ready to embark on an unforgettable adventure!

Beyond the Bucket List: Unveiling Unique Travel Gems

Forget the over-touristed destinations! Today's travel trend is all about seeking hidden gems and off-the-beaten-path adventures. Here, we unveil some unique places to visit that will make your trip truly unforgettable.

For the Foodie with a Sense of Adventure:

Hunt down truffles in Alba, Italy: This charming town in Piedmont transforms into a haven for gourmands during truffle season. Join an expert hunt for these culinary treasures, and savor their rich flavor in exquisite local dishes.

Embark on a culinary tour through the heart of Vietnam: From the vibrant street food scene of Ho Chi Minh City to the unique flavors of Hoi An, Vietnam offers a delicious adventure for your taste buds. Sign up for a cooking class and learn to prepare the quintessential dishes yourself.

Explore the spice markets of Marrakech, Morocco: Immerse yourself in the sights, sounds, and aromas of a bustling Moroccan souk. Sample exotic spices, indulge in traditional tagines, and discover the hidden gems tucked away within the labyrinthine alleys.

The Budget Traveler Seeking Cultural Gems:

Uncover the ancient city of Bagan, Myanmar: This archaeological wonderland is dotted with thousands of pagodas and temples, remnants of a once-powerful kingdom. Explore by bike or electric scooter, and witness breathtaking sunrises over the mystical landscape.

Delve into the heart of Uzbekistan: Uzbekistan's Silk Road cities, like Khiva and Bukhara, offer a glimpse into a bygone era. Wander through ancient bazaars, marvel at the intricate tilework adorning mosques, and experience the warm hospitality of the Uzbek people.

Hike the Milford Track in New Zealand's Fiordland National Park: This Great Walk is known for its breathtaking scenery—towering mountains, cascading waterfalls, and serene fiords. The Milford Track offers an affordable way to experience the beauty of New Zealand's wilderness.

Luxury with a Sustainable Twist:

Go glamping on a private island in Belize: Combine eco-consciousness with luxurious amenities on a private island retreat in Belize. Relax in a beachfront cabana, explore the surrounding coral reefs, and participate in conservation efforts that protect the island's delicate ecosystem.

Sail the crystal-clear waters of Raja Ampat, Indonesia: This remote archipelago boasts incredible biodiversity, making it a paradise for divers and nature enthusiasts. Charter a luxurious yacht and explore pristine coral reefs teeming with marine life, all while supporting responsible tourism practices.

Stay in an eco-lodge in the Amazon Rainforest: Immerse yourself in the heart of the Amazon without sacrificing comfort. Eco-lodges offer luxurious accommodations while adhering to sustainable principles. Explore the rainforest canopy with a knowledgable guide, and contribute to the preservation of this vital ecosystem.

This list is merely a starting point for your exploration.  The beauty of travel lies in the unexpected, so embrace the journey and discover your own unique travel gems! 

Beyond the Tourist Trail:

For the traveler seeking unique experiences, there's a whole world beyond the usual tourist hotspots.  Here are some hidden gems waiting to be discovered:

Alba, Italy: Foodies will delight in a truffle hunt in Alba, Italy, during the prized truffle season. Join an expert guide on the hunt for these culinary treasures, learning about the fascinating process of truffle hunting and uncovering these prized ingredients. Savor.

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Explore the Hidden Gem: Cham Island, Vietnam

Dive into the pristine beauty of Cham Island, an unspoiled paradise off the coast of Vietnam. Discover its turquoise waters, vibrant coral reefs, and lush greenery, perfect for snorkeling, diving, or simply unwinding on serene beaches. Embark on a journey to this secluded haven and experience a slice of untouched Vietnamese charm.