I recently saw “Elvis”; the movie by Baz Luhrmann. I wasn’t sure if I was going to enjoy it because I’ve been such a big Elvis fan my whole life. No one can really be that good. There is nothing worse than watching someone trying to capture the unattainable. Sitting through over two hours of a bad impersonation. I’ve got to say this movie surprised me. As it went along, I settled into the gloss of it all, and began to let go of the idea that Austin Butler doesn’t look like Elvis. No one looks like Elvis. Something incredible happened though. Despite this, by the end of the movie, I couldn’t tell if I was watching the actor or the real Elvis. He had managed to capture his magic, his persona, his electrical energy, his combustable sexuality and his dancing The dancing and singing is incredible. Elvis was the music. Every cell of his body vibrated with each song. I don’t think he thought about how he was moving. He just moved. Somehow Austin Butler nailed it. I highly recommend it for anyone who has loved Elvis.
This brings me to another Elvis. When I was growing up in the 1970’s there was a kid who started impersonating Elvis in the Subway stations in Toronto. He was 16 years old in 1970 and his name is Mike McTaggert. Later he would become “Subway Elvis”. I was too young to see him perform, and didn’t live downtown, but I’d heard about him from baby sitters and older relatives. One day my mum took my sister and I to the Canadian National Exhibition and we rode the Subway. I was 8 years old. The train screeched into the station and the packed cars spewed its passengers onto the platform where a sweaty guy with jet black hair wailed ” You ain’t nothing but a hound dog!” He was twitching and thrashing with his guitar and a massive group of people surrounded him and danced along. I was mesmerized. I had never witnessed anything so wild. My mum was laughing saying ” It’s young Elvis. My sister wanted a candy floss so I was dragged away but I never forgot seeing him
Subway Elvis – 1970
A few years later, in the summer, I went over to my friends apartment, which was exciting because I didn’t know anyone that lived in a big towering building like this, with elevators, a swimming pool and a gym. I was 11 years old. We played in her room for awhile trying to ditch her 6 year old sister but she was sticking to us like glue. Eventually the talk moved onto my encounter on the platform that one day with Subway Elvis. Now everyone knew who he was. There was a pause and then my friend told me that, none other than Michel McTaggert, lived in her building! We went down to the lobby and read the occupants names. We saw his apartment number and proceeded to go up to the 15th floor. We nervously lined up in the hallway in front of his door and eventually got the nerve up to knock. An older woman came and opened the door. It was Subway’s mum. We sheepishly said, “Is Subway home?” She smiled and said that Subway was down at the swimming pool but would be back in a little bit. We hung our heads and said thank you. I was devastated because I wanted to see him up close and personal. We got onto the elevator to head back up to her apartment and as our elevator door was closing the one opposite us opened to reveal a tall man with wet, jet black hair flipping it out of his eyes. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and a white robe with the collar turned up. He didn’t notice us as our door closed immediately. We started squealing and went back to her apartment waiting an agonizing fifteen minutes before we hopped back on the elevator up to the 15th floor. Once again we stood nervously in front of his door and knocked. We heard footsteps and suddenly the door was flung open. We stood there gasping for air. He was dressed in a black shirt with white stars on the lapels. He had on black slacks and black leather boots. He sneered a smile at us.
“Are you Subway?”, we asked. “Well, yes…. yes I am. Do you wanna come in?” We giggled and came into the apartment. It was a normal looking place with family photos on tables and little miniature dog statues amongst a display of fancy tea cups. There were floral paintings on the walls and it smelled like cookies. Subway told us to sit on the couch and we lined up quietly.
“How about a song or two?” We said, yes please, and he went to grab his guitar. He swaggered back in wielding his acoustic.
His mother yelled out from the kitchen, “Subway”… she called him Subway…. “play that song I love so much; when you walk through a storm”.
“Ahhhhh…. I”m not playing that! Mind your own business!” I was hoping he’d play Hound dog because it was my favourite. He started strumming and then wailed, “Since my baby left me! I found a new place to dwell…..” Heartbreak Hotel wasn’t exactly what we wanted but we sat quietly and clapped when he finished. He sounded so much like Elvis. His mum came in the living room and put a plate of cookies on the table for us and we all took one. Subway looked a little peeved but he shoved a cookie down anyway.
“OK girls… one more song. ” He started plucking slowly and started singing “love me tender, love me sweet, never let me go.” His lip was twitching and the 6 year old started to laugh. She couldn’t help it. We all started giggling in hysterics. I tried to hold it in and my eyes started watering. I have to give him credit for continuing on and leaning in to each and everyone of us doing his most sincere and best Elvis. When he finished we clapped again and then stood up.
He escorted us to the door and said, “Thank you …. thank you very much.”
We tore into the hallway screaming. It was the funniest thing we’d ever seen and it was torture sitting there when he was so serious, giving his all to these little goofy girls. What a nice man… or boy I guess.
It doesn’t end there. Subway upgraded to having a full band and playing in clubs around the city, so on my 25th birthday, I declared that I wanted to spend it with a bunch of screaming girls watching our favourite Elvis. We put on our best duds and headed out to sing along with the King of the impersonators. He didn’t disappoint and did his best to pull off some fancy foot work will reaching a hand to the sky, dropping down on one knee, sweat pouring off of him. He was into the jump suit phase. I never did see the real Elvis but thanks to Mike McTaggert I saw someone that looked nothing like him but sounded an awful lot like him. It was enough for me. I don’t know what happened to him and I imagine he doesn’t perform anymore. He must be in his mid 70’s by now, far out living his hero. I was at a show once with my in-laws, and partner, who are all musicians. It was a big show around Christmas. My father in law suddenly said , “Hey we should get Subway Elvis down here to do some songs!” We all thought that was an amazing idea. He called Mike and Mike hummed and hawed and said he didn’t have a car and couldn’t make it… we looked at each and said, if only there was some form of transportation he could take.
I had to leave home because my father wanted me to become a legal secretary after I graduated high school. I had never met anyone with that ambition. My father was of the ‘Mad Men” generation where you had a bar in your office and women in tight sweaters, and tight skirts in heels, sitting at little tiny desks pressing intercom buttons, “There’s a call for you sir”. Occasionally they would sashay into the office with more coffee and phone messages.
Why would he want me to be that?? Why not be the freaking lawyer??? ( not that I’d want that job either.)
In high school I went to parties and drank beer and smoked pot and crushed on boys who didn’t know my name. I had no ambition. I didn’t care about marks or subjects. I only cared about music and movies. That’s all. I snuck out of bed at night in my parents home to watch old Elvis Presley movies. I was in love with him. I was also in love with Paul McCartney; neither of whom would ever cross my path.
My first big concert was The Faces with Rod Stewart. They were fantastically wild with great musicianship; probably drunk, and yes, I fell in love with Rod Stewart that night. He was gritty and glamorous at the same time. Long scarves caressing the tops of his jeans with a little bit of exposed belly as he threw his microphone stand high into the rafters and it twirled like a cheer leaders baton. That love lasted for as long as he was with The Faces. I stopped loving him when he decided to go solo in leopard tights and dyed blonde hair and bad makeup. “Do you think I’m Sexy?” No. I don’t. I never stopped loving Elvis or Paul McCartney though.
I sang in a really bad band called “Image” and we played cover tunes at high school dances. I got my hair permed and somehow it came out in the shape of a triangle; not unlike Rosanne Rosannnadanna. It was hideous and I wore a hat for months until it finally relaxed and grew out. I smoked cigarettes and drank rye and ginger. It was very popular. To this day I cannot tolerate the smell of rye because my throat automatically closes. I must have puked up enough rye to fill the Mississippi River.
I was not a child of the fifties but a product of the sixties and a teenager in the ’70’s. I couldn’t have been farther removed from my parents. They had no idea who I was.
In college I extended my cigarette smoking to the classroom. I had the coolest professor on campus who sported a blonde afro and taught his class in an orange shagged conversation pit. The school was built in the early 1960’s. He smoked endless cigarettes and sipped coffee and so did I. He talked about recorded audio and its techniques in a very conversational way that was not exactly understandable to me; partly because I was an undiagnosed dyslexic, but I understood and embraced his enthusiasm. I was studying film and television and all things related.
I was also going to bars as much as possible to hear live music blasting from huge speakers while sweaty singers twitched all over the stage… sometimes puking, in the case of Frankie Venom. I loved Teenage Head. They played my college and Frankie Venom climbed into the rafters of the cafeteria, hanging above the kids like a bat, while pasty, spotty nerds, in campus security uniforms, scrambled around below yelling into their walkie talkies all at once, “Alert! He’s in the raftors! Alert he’s in the rafters! Copy that!”
I loved The Ramones, The Velvet Underground, The New York Dolls and went downtown to Larry’s Hideaway where the bar smelled like B.O. and puke and beer. The washroom smelled like rancid semen. It was a dump but it booked the best punk bands at the time. Locals and imports. The Viletones, The Diodes, The Cramps, The Cult, Circle Jerks…. They were all fantastic. It was such a scene back then. I did not pogo. I stood on the sidelines watching kids bounce up and down and off of each other while I smoked, trying not to burn someone’s hair or torch a ripped tee-shirt. I gingerly stubbed out my butts on the cement floor with the pointy red toe of my mother’s curling boots that screamed punk to me and pissed off my mother.
I lived in a townhouse with eight other kids. We had a dark room in our closet and beer in our fridge. We stayed up all night listening to music when we weren’t out watching bands. I had an intellectual boyfriend with a large collection of albums that were placed in a specific order. This order only made sense to him since it involved the year produced, by whom, band name, label… etc. He introduced me to Harry Nilson and Kate and Anna McGarrigle, Louden Wainwright 111 and Marshall Crenshaw who penned a song called “Cynical Girl”, which I swear was written about me at the time. I was fortunate enough to get a part time job at “Records On Wheels”, which lead me to labels like Stiff Records and Elvis Costello and The Attractions, Nick Lowe, The Damned. It opened up a whole new scene of music for me.
There were only two times in my life where I was really effected by the death of an artist. The first was Elvis. He died on my sister’s birthday, August 16th, 1977. I was obsessed with him at that age. I even had his name written on my jeans like all good compulsive and obsessive teenagers. All of my friends knew how much I loved him. I was teased constantly but I held strong to my daydreams of being reborn into another lifetime where I was Elvis’s girlfriend. I was devastated when he died. I took my little AM radio to bed and I cried all night long listening to stations playing him over and over again, “Do you miss me tonight, are you sorry we drifted apart?”
The other; was the night John Lennon was shot. I was in my apartment at college and we were supposed to go out. I was still in my pink fuzzy onesie when the news broke. My room mates and I all turned on the television and to our horror found out he was dead. It didn’t seem possible. It does now…. because it’s been so long ago, but then… it was incomprehensible. How could a Beatle be dead? How could John never ever record again? His album “Double Fantasy” was just coming out. Other students started assembling in our apartment and we just sat in silence and cried. We would smoke some pot and chat and then go silent again. I will always remember the shock and horror and feeling that nothing would ever be the same. Music had died somehow that night.
But I was wrong.
As the years have passed I think about all the things that shaped my life and music has always defined the times for me. I wonder if on March 26, 1857 young people were devastated to hear the news that Beethoven had died? Probably took a couple of years for the news to reach them.
I remember when I heard the news that Kurt Cobain died and I think that hit close to a latter day generations John Lennon.
Who will define this generation musically?
Who is their Elvis and John Lennon?
2 responses to “ONE TWO THREE FOUR!”
Anne Beadle
Love this – so many parallels to my own life especially musically. No love for Elvis but Paul McCartney will always be my favourite Beatle.
I have not written anything in quite some time, mostly because there is not a lot happening. My weekly zoom calls on the weekends have dwindled because the last few have been filled with long pauses and too many refills of whatever cocktail I’ve invented that day. Life is different these days; being confined to our farm for months. I feel fortunate that I live where I do because I’ve had the freedom to walk outside, through the woods and the pastures and not see a single person, unlike my friends in the city, who have been holed up in small apartments and houses that border neighbors on each side.
Some of the things I miss the most are concerts with friends, dancing to live music, dinner parties and just hanging out a local pub. It’s funny how we take so much for granted.
Wearing a mask has now become a normal thing for me and I won’t go into a public space without one. Being aware of my personal space is heightened. The equally and precisely spaced lines to enter grocery and liquor stores are straight out of science fiction movies; “Soilent Green is people!!!!”
I also enjoy traveling the world and I am not sure when I will be able to board a plane to the U.K. again, which is a favorite destination.
There are still things I am grateful for. I am grateful for the technology that allows me to see my pal laying on her bed, covered in animals, talking about whether or not to let the grey hair take over…. Or whether she should pluck that pesky moustache. I am also grateful for the assistance we’ve received from the government to survive without fear of losing our home. I am grateful that no one in my family has died from the virus.I am grateful for my amazing pets who are thrilled with the fact that we are home all the time.
As I prepare myself for going back to work, I have some trepidations, and a bit of fear, but also excitement in getting back to a new normal. I’ve missed the interactions with all the creative, smart and kind people that I work with. I’ve missed working my brain. Netflix can no longer satisfy me and I’ve reread most of my favourite books.
I’ve made an appointment with my hair dresser and that is also scaring me. I don’t know what direction to go… in terms of colour and cut. After not having the luxury for so long, I am starting to embrace the obvious grey rootage that has grabbed the top of my head like a skeleton hand with long bony fingers. I’ve googled different types of grey and hombre’s; starting very dark and ending in white wispy ends. My colourist has always done whatever he wants even when I have brought in specific photos for him to duplicate on my head. Luckily for me he is a genius and I have never walked out disappointed. I dread the eye roll when I tell him I’m thinking of embracing the grey only because it seems to be the new “thing”.
I’ve somehow walked a tight rope of long- haired hippy and chopped off punk cuts over the years. When I am feeling really laid back I am into peasant dresses and long hair and when I am feeling more creative and aggressive I lean towards edgy hair that makes a statement.
I’m just not sure where I am right now… hence the fear. I wonder if there is a lazy and bored; “I can’t get my ass off of the couch”, look.
As we slowly come back out of our houses I hope that it is done slowly and with caution. If we simply jump back into the old way of doing things then we will all be back in lock down.
Anyone who refuses to wear a mask and physically distance, because it is an infringement on their rights, should stop wearing seatbelts in cars and helmets on bikes because those are also rules set in place to save your life.
I used to say that I don’t judge people but if you are that stupid then I am going to judge you.
When I think of my life so far I realize that I have not lived through two world wars like my parents and grandparents. I have not lived through a great depression or prohibition but I will be able to say that I lived through the pandemic of 2020.
I could post my most influential albums over the years but everyone is doing that on Facebook. A lot of musicians are offering live concerts to keep us entertained during this freak show but it just isn’t the same as going to a club or festival where you are in a throng of people who are all energized by the music; dancing and jumping with excitement where electricity is in the air; instead it’s the smell of recently fried bacon, grilled cheese and farts while you are reclined on your sinking couch. I watched amateurs offering up karaoke versions of their favourite songs. This has led me to believe that everyone in the world has an ‘effing brilliant voice. A wealth of untapped talent. People who are too afraid to perform in front of a live audience; have jobs; kids, or simply shelved their dreams, are suddenly hosting live stream concerts, within the comforts of their own home, and are knocking it out of the park. Of course, not everyone is brilliant, but I do enjoy seeing a middle-aged man belting out Tom Jones in his basement under a disco ball. Now that is entertainment.
People are also constantly going outside and plugging in guitars to entertain their neighbors with the one riff they know; the intro to “A Whole Lotta Love” by Led Zeppelin. I’m threatening to go sit out on my porch and play the spoons; unaccompanied for a few hours; over a speaker.
Fortunately for me, I live in the country so I am not sandwiched in by idiots who don’t understand the meaning of social distancing. It drives me nuts at the grocery store when someone enters my space ,during normal times , but it is dangerous right now, especially for them, and I’m not talking about the virus. It is because I took self defense 35 years ago. I think you get my meaning. Hands like fire… or was it concrete… anyway, I’m not someone to be crossed during an epidemic.
I think the worst part of all of this is the boredom. I have watched all of Netflix and I’m making my way through Amazon Prime and Crave. My friends and I have done the Zoom meetings where we all drink fancy cocktails and pass out on our computers before the session ends. I’ve also done the family Zoom get togethers, where we haven’t quite figured out the talking one at a time thing, and I am always transfixed on how hideous I look.
Moving on to my hair. I was delusional thinking my natural hair colour was blonde. My natural hair colour is apparently grey. I’ve been sporting red hair for a couple of years now and, it’s a tough one to maintain, especially during a lock down, thus letting my hair grow out is a bit of a luxury. I don’t have that beautiful white or silver root-age, mine is more of the squeezed out Brillo Pad variety. Part of me is gleeful to bring it on because my partner is now sporting a full grey beard. He has the Covid play-offs beard and refuses to shave it. So my revenge is to gradually turn into my mother. I will, however, draw the line at the tight pin-curled perm that she embraced. On the beard/moustache front, I am determined to not pluck my facial hair in an effort to see who can grow a full on Burt Reynolds before this is over.
And lastly, moving onto drinking and eating. When we first went into isolation I was determined to make a different cocktail every night. I was doing so well I gave myself heart burn, waking up each night like a fire breathing dragon. I decided I should switch to wine but when we started demolishing the king-size party bottle every night I knew we needed to take a break. So, we switched to beer, and ,after a week and a half, I could no longer get my pants zipped up.
I’m now comfortable in sleepwear all day long, but sometimes, I change to loungewear, which is fancier, but still stretchy. A few days ago, I succumbed to the realization that “drying out” is probably a good idea and eating like I’m at a baseball game every night should also stop.
I’m moving into my Covid healthy phase which means eating veggies and clean meat and low sugar. If I can just get through one day. I have to quiet the voice in my head that says, “Who gives a shit, nobody is going to see you for months! Pass the bloody chips and that pitcher of Brown Cows!!”
Soon the weather will become warm enough to put in my garden and set up my pool and both of these things are obsessing my thoughts. One gives me a return on my hard work with fresh vegetables, and the other satisfies my need to float.
I hope you are all managing in isolation and I know that mental health plays a large part in getting through this bizarre futuristic science fiction bullshit. Try not to lose your sense of humour and stay connected with people in any way you can. There will come a day when you are hugging someone and thinking, “Deodorant might be a good idea.”
Stay safe everyone. Big virtual hugs. Thanks for reading.
We are in a very bizarre Science Fiction B Movie right now and the entire world has been cast.
Slowly, we realized that this virus was spreading as fast as the news could cover it. Each country handling things in their own bumbling way… never actually having to deal with something like this in the modern world, we are all on a Petrie dish under a microscope. There are a lot of reasons governments handle things differently; some are thinking the truth would cause panic and others are only interested in the economy tanking.
I feel fortunate to be in Canada cause my government is actually giving money to people who are unable to work right now and increasing bonuses for families with children. They are also allowing self -employed individuals, like musicians and entertainers who are normally not allowed assistance, to receive it. Banks are suspending mortgage payments and hopefully credit cards are suspending payments without penalties. I’m not sure about that one yet. Everyone who is not still working is in isolation. The streets are empty and the grocery stores are starting to have specific short hours.
No matter where you are in the world you have probably noticed the insane rush to buy up all the toilet paper that exists on the planet. This one confuses me because the virus does not cause diarrhea. If we are in our houses so long that we run out of T.P. then go out and buy some, like a normal day, or use a towel for god’s sake and wash it. Go out and take a crap in the backyard, drag your ass on the grass like the dog and then baggie it. Seeing people fighting over toilet paper is ridiculous.
Also, embrace the fact that if you are venturing out to buy necessary staples, you will see some of the most inventive home- made Hazmat Suits EVER; which are mostly comprised of garbage bags and gaffer tape, rubber dish washing gloves and balaclavas, surgical masks, or scarves tied around faces. You just can’t buy comedy like that. It is a feast for the eyes.
Try not to lose your sense of humor during all of this. Yes, it is daunting to be locked in your house with your partner and children. I’ve only been in the house for a short time with my partner and I already know that I should hide the axe. It’s starting to feel a bit like The Shining and we are only shy of two weeks in isolation. I’ve been wearing the same clothes for four days now… they are called pajamas.
My mate in England said, “I used to cough to hide a fart and now I fart to hide a cough.” I thought that was a good one.
The one positive thing I’m noticing is the incredible connection to people. The absolute greatness of humanity at times like this. People trying to help others in lock down around the world with jokes and stories and caring about those that are suffering from anxiety.
I have never been a huge fan of social media but honestly I am so grateful to be part of it now.
The out pouring of love is palpable. I’ve been talking to people in England, Ireland, Wales, Scotland, Spain, Sri Lanka, Canada, America and just about everywhere you can think of. I know that we will survive and my hope is that this changes our world. It has already helped the planet in terms of shutting down factories and mass production and taking cars off the road. The pollution levels are down and animals are returning to places that they have not been due to humans over populating their space for years. It is like Mother Nature has finally decided to punish her inhibitors because we have been such bad children and never listened to her pleas to change the way we do things. Now we are being forced to.
It is making people slow down and spend time at home with their loved ones. I feel horrible for people that are separated and especially seniors who are in homes and in lock down and don’t understand why. Its just awful. I am so grateful for those health care workers on the front lines who are fearlessly returning to work every day in an effort to keep us safe and alive. They are heroes. I am grateful for anyone who is still out there working. My job is not happening. My industry has shut down and all of my partners tours and shows have been canceled. It is a bit scary with no income but we will survive this. We know there are so many people out there in the same boat. Anxiety never helped anyone. Listen to good music and dance in your house; play music and watch some good movies and do anything that makes you relax.
Another friend of mine put things into perspective for me when he said, “Imagine our grandparents and parents being called off to war…leaving their families and knowing that they are putting their lives on the line and may never come home. We are being asked to sit on our couches and watch Netflix. We can get through this.”
So, I’m on the couch and working my way through Netflix, sipping on wine and occasionally checking in for updates on the news.
Hanging out with my parrot and cat and goats is not a punishment. Trying to keep my sanity and my sense of humor. There are a ton of musicians streaming live shows on the internet so there is no lack of great entertainment.
Please don’t be an idiot and make things worse by socializing and going to places where crowds of people could be congregating. Take this seriously. The world wouldn’t be shutting down if this were not serious. If you think it is a conspiracy or a hoax then I feel sorry for you because that means you are not helping in containing this virus and will most likely get it and spread it to those that you love, so don’t be an A-Hole; please just stay home if you can. If you follow the guidelines and still get the virus I hope that you have a speedy recovery and do not end up a victim.
We are all in this together. You are not alone wherever you are.
I never know what is going to inspire me fashion wise these days and sometimes I am surprised.
I just finished watching every episode of The Crown and the Queen does not. I think her rule for fashion has always been “never offend”, unlike her sister Margaret who wore the most expensive and fashionable designs of the day. Not having the scrutiny that her older sister had to tolerate, combined with a need to get out of the shadow of her sister, the Queen, she sought out the best and finest designs to make her stand out. Her beehive hairdo’s with gorgeous feathery hats and mod sunglasses captured a nation. I always thought that Princess Diana was the one who brought fashion to the Royals but I was wrong. She was not the first.
Princess MargaretPrincess Margaret in the Bahamas
Hair and makeup final touches on the set of The Crown
Helena Bonham Carter as Princess Margaret on the set of The Crown
Princess Diana brought an entirely new and fresh look to the palace.
Catherine Walker’s “Elvis dress” at the British Fashion Awards
Princess Diana captured the hearts of fashion designers everywhere. Every girl wanted the Lady Di haircut. Her sense of style and glamour was apparent in everything she did. She was tall and thin and each outfit became an instant headline.
Bruce Oldfield silver lame dress at the Premiere of “A View To A Kill” 1985 Victor Edelstein gown for The White House visit 1985
It is sad to read later, that Diana literally starved herself so that she could look amazing in all those gowns. She was young and insecure and was desperate to make a good impression. Well… she did… but she would have anyway because of her determination to live an authentic life amongst an empire steeped in rules and traditions.
A beautiful soul and mum who seemed to be finally making her own way in the spotlight beyond the palace when her life was tragically cut short. Who knows how much more she would have accomplished.
Kate Middleton, her Royal Highness the Duchess of Cambridge, is not shy when it comes to colour and fashion and has developed her own style.
Gucci
I love love love this Gucci dress! It is perfect in my opinion. The flattering capped sleeves with the illusion of being off the shoulder in a soft pink and burgundy .
Elie Saab dress/ Phillip Treacy hat at the 2019 Royal Ascot
Not easy to pull off; the huge hat or royal fascinator, but I think Kate nails it with this whimsical blue polka dot dress and matching blue hat. It is a vintage look that I would not be surprised to see at the Kentucky Derby.
Oscar de la Renta
It takes confidence to wear this vibrant purple coat and Kate definitely has it. She also must have an amazing tailor or the coat was made for her. I don’t think I have ever had a coat fit as perfectly as this one does her.
Alexander McQueen on St. Paddy’s Day
I would say the fitted coat is her signature look. How many times have I lunged for my glass of wine in a fitted jacket or waist coat and exploded the arm pit? Too many. I bet she’s never done that.
If I were a member of the Royal family the paparazzi would have a field day with me running out in some crappy sweats and a ball cap probably in search of ice cream… I guess I’d just have to order someone to “GO GET ME A CONE!!! IMMEDIATELY!”
Finally, her Royal Highness; the Queen. Growing up as part of the Commonwealth I remember singing “God Save The Queen” at the start of every school day. Her portrait was always there in the school hallways and classrooms. I wasn’t sure exactly what she did but I did know that she was important and loved and part of my life as a Canadian. My grandparents were from the U.K. and most of my Aunts and Uncles were born there. My father and mother were both born in Canada. My father talked about the Queens’ address on Christmas day and how he wished we were able to see it. This was before computers and live streaming. I think I’ve learned a lot about the Royals just from watching the TV Series The Crown because I never actually took the time to read about the monarchy. My entire knowledge has come from the BBC. I wonder if the Queen watches the series and what she thinks of it. I have a suspicion that she wouldn’t be able to avoid the temptation. After all it is beautifully shot and the locations and sets are probably historically accurate and it makes a good waste of a night. I don’t think the Queens’ sense of fashion is horrible; she has also worn some spectacular gowns but she has a seriousness about her. Maybe the difference is that she just lets the gown wear her and she doesn’t “wear” the gown. All the others I’ve spoken about knew how to make the outfit work for them. Maybe it’s just that they want or wanted to be noticed and the Queen doesn’t need to do that to be noticed; after all, she is the Queen.
It must take a certain type of person to live off of the people in such opulence, and to do that for centuries, without feeling guilty, when the rest of the country struggles to make ends meet. There have been many opinions regarding this. “No future… no future for you”. The Sex Pistols But whether you are a royalist, and defend the monarchy through all things, or if you despise the archaic class difference and think they no longer serve a purpose; you have to admit the Queen is badass. She is over 90 years of age and still making appearances and doing charity work. That impresses me to no end. She is also still the boss and I love that.
We have our own Royal drama to contend with now that Harry has chosen to leave the Monarchy and become just a normal guy and … for the time being.. has moved to Canada with Megan and their child. I wish him the best. I also wonder if The Crown will continue in future seasons. How far will they go … maybe Megan can end up playing herself. She’s an actress.
I didn’t know what to expect in Sedona Arizona. My in-laws rented a spectacular Air ‘BnB for a family trip, nestled amongst the mountains. It was in celebration of their 50 year marriage. How is that possible without killing each other? I’m only a little over half way there. They are an incredible couple and I could only hope to be as happy as they are after 50 years together.
Bruce and Margaret still hiking after 50 years of marriage
I knew that in Sedona there were amazing red rock formations and that it is considered a hiker’s wet dream. Our Air BNB was surrounded by them. Every angle was a spectacular view.
Good morning!
I’m not a hiker but I like challenging myself and feeling like I’ve pushed myself physically… usually that involves picking up the pace from the couch to the fridge. My husband’s family are avid climbers and hikers. They are athletic and seek out opportunities to walk and climb and were determined to tackle the “Vortex” rocks like Bell Rock and Cathedral rock. A vortex is an area where there is a palpable energy field . There is a circular magnetic pull that has twisted all the trees at the base of these rocks so they look like licorice twizzlers.
On one trip to a Vortex, I sat alone on a plateau and closed my eyes to meditate. I’ve always been incapable of slowing my mind down enough to be successful at this, but for some reason, at the Vortex, I was able to simply sit and “be”. It was surprising to open my eyes and check my watch and see that I had been there for an hour. I was lost in my breath and the feeling of nothing…and everything at the same time and it was overwhelming.
Tackling a Vortex climb is also not for the faint of heart. I started climbing one but realized it was beyond my expertise and I did not have proper shoes so I conceded to the rock. My sister in-law persevered and made it to the top, which impressed me to no end. She said it was terrifying at a couple of spots and she is a seasoned climber. She also said the strange energy made her feel a little unstable. I am fascinated with the reason for this magnetic pull and some New Ager’s believe it is from an alien force and fully expect the top of a Vortex to open up one day and an alien spaceship to fly out.
Sedona is the birth
place of “New Age”. Everywhere you go in
town there are shops selling crystals and meditation techniques and readings by
psychics. I couldn’t resist and had a
rather lame reading ,which could have been applied to any woman of my age, but
it was a fun way to spend an hour.
We took a day trip to the ghost town called Jerome. It hangs off the cliffs in central Arizona and was originally a mining town full of men, gambling and prostitutes. When the mining industry there collapsed it was abandoned. Eventually people wanted to preserve this town and its history and so they began a campaign to reclaim it as a Historical site and tourist location and it worked. Today you can walk the hillside streets that are home to various cafes and local artisans selling their creations.
Ghost town of Jerome
There is a historic hotel called the Jerome Grand Hotel where you can pop in and have a cocktail.
Jerome Grand Hotel
It was built in 1927 and was originally a Hospital. It was sold in 1994 and reopened as a Hotel in 1996. It is famously haunted and has been featured on some “Ghost Hunting” shows. It has been structurally maintained as the Art Deco Hotel it is and even has the original sliding cage elevator… which was also the location of the only known murder that took place. It is suspected that , Claude Harvey, the Hospital maintenance man was murdered in April 1935, and his body slid behind the elevator shaft in order to make it look like an accident.
There are many sightings of Claude in the hotel by guests and staff. There are also sounds of children laughing and running up and down the hallways, the smell of baby powder, zinc oxide, flowers, dust, whiskey and coughing can be heard coming from empty rooms. Especially on the 3rd floor you can hear hospital gurneys and wheels squeaking as this was the location of the operating room.
We sat in the beautiful bar and sipped on Martinis and basked in its history. I explored the main floor hallways but you are not allowed to go up to any of the floors unless you are a booked guest.
Someday I’ll go back and stay there for a couple of nights. It’s just such an amazing location and view and I like a place that is a bit spooky.
We ate some food in
town at one of the bistros and walked around looking at some Mexican art. I bought some Día de los Muertos statues. There
is also a great old-time candy store so
I purchased a bag of assorted candies that I remembered from my childhood. It’s
a good work -out to visit Jerome because the streets are so steep that walking
through the town can bring on a sweat and a racing heart.
old jail preserved as an art instillation
The other trip I would
recommend is a visit to The Grand Canyon.
It’s not that far a drive from Sedona and it can be done in one
day.
Walking from the
parking area along a path, you don’t expect for everything to suddenly open up to this never-ending massive
crater in the earth that has gigantic rock formations on either side. It left me feeling like I was on a man-made
science fiction set for a movie. The red
colour of the rocks and the way the sun bounced off of them was absolutely
stunning. There were spots where you
could walk out onto a ridge and the whole world was beneath you. Of course, I was wondering how many people
had taken one pose too many and accidentally slipped off an edge. It was exhilarating and terrifying and the
entire time I was holding my breath.
The Grand Canyon
Besides the obvious hiking there are other things to do in Sedona. There is some delicious and authentic Mexican food and ,since we don’t really have that at home, I was excited to get eat some great food. We also hit up a few charity shops and I found some cool, cheap, vintage clothing. I bought a new hat and a lovely silver and turquoise horse necklace. There is an abundance of beautiful silver jewellery. Turquoise is also found in most jewellery shops. It is home to the Hopi, Navajo, Yavapai and Apache peoples, who are the original people of Arizona.
I would go back to Sedona any time and definitely stay at the same place. Next time I’ll bring along some good hiking boots. Happy trails readers!
I had a recurring dream as a child. I would be traveling around the country in my Barbie Dream Camper with my best friend, Cathy, and our boyfriends…. At the time mine was Paul McCartney and her boyfriend was Donny Osmond. I did not come from a family that vacationed. We never went on trips except the occasional tag along with my father, who was a traveling salesman. I remember we once went to Blind River… vacation capitol of Ontario.
No offense to Blind River.
I have always been into history and I love vintage and retro things. I bought my 1960 Pink Rambler after I had a car stolen. It was an incredible ride while it lasted. Eventually my beautiful car was mechanically beyond repair so it sits on my property.
Since I bought my farm house outside of the city I have plenty of space to accumulate old cars and trucks and campers to sit rusting on the lawn; the stereotypical right of passage for those that live in the country. The property already had a stationary trailer so I painted it like a Diner and we’ve used it as a rehearsal space for bands and currently a pop up Vintage clothing shop. Even though the Rambler is not road worthy anymore, I call it “Art”. He will deteriorate and rust and I will become that person surrounded by beautiful rusting and twisted metal.
I decided to finally pursue my dream of owning a camper and began scouring all the buy and sell newspapers and online auctions. I did this for five years and found nothing. The trailers that were listed were too expensive, too far away, or in need of a huge overhaul to have them road worthy. I almost gave up but then a friend sent me a listing that was close by. I went and looked at it and it needed a bit of work but had such potential that I bought it on the spot.
I hitched it up to my truck and towed it home where I would renovate and decorate the interior. Thank god for my supportive father in law, Bruce, who, along with a buddy, put in all the necessary finishing touches to make sure it was leak proof and ready for painting. My little trailer went from bland to wow.
This is what it looked like before
This is what it looks like now
I’ve never been a tiny space person… or at least I didn’t think I was …until I began using my , little tennis ball of a trailer, as a living space for four months during the summer.
I was working on a
television series in the city and no longer had an apartment so my trailer
became my living space during the week and I only came home on the weekends.
It is amazing how we humans can acclimatize almost immediately. I hung my nicer clothes on cupboard knobs and filled my sink with toiletries. I had access to the office and studio at night, which had washrooms and a private shower. All of my clothes were neatly folded on a top bunk… for the first week… and then I was a teenager again. I somehow managed. My Quaker parrot, Mr. Pickles, was living with me in the trailer, chatting away and acting like it was his giant bird cage.
Mr. Pickles taking over the trailer
The use of string lights and electric candles on timers made my space magical. I have a good size double bed in my trailer so it is comfortable to sleep.
When the set called a “wrap” at night everyone would be warming up their cars to head home and I simply sauntered across the parking lot to my tiny apartment.
The thought of not being able to go home to the farm depressed me but once I entered my trailer and shut the door I felt like I was no longer at work. It became my tiny apartment where I could sip wine and watch Netflix on my computer. When the season ended and the work was done, I hitched my trailer up to my truck and returned home. Now I could use my trailer for pleasure and not just work.
My partner and I attended a music festival that he was playing
at and we stayed the night, parked beside a little stream. Stepping out into the starry night filled
with music; eventually, stumbling back into our dry and comfortable sanctuary
to sleep was heaven.
The next day, kicking the door open; hung over with curlers in my hair and a smoke clenched in my teeth…..
OK that didn’t happen.
I was definitely hung over and feeling raunchy, but when I flash back to the days where I woke up in an over -heated tent with flies buzzing around my face and a rancid smell, this glamping experience is all the more fantastic.
I am definitely too old to do the tent thing. I love camping and the adventure of traveling to a different part of the country but I want to do it in style. I want all the comforts when I throw open my door and experience nature. I’m tired of staying in crappy little motels.
My little trailer has a gas stove, a sink with a water tank, a fridge and a microwave. I’ve used the microwave and fridge but never the stove.
The whole world beckons me… at least the world within driving distance. Maybe I will plan a trip to the desert or the ocean or the mountains; wherever I go I will be surrounded by vintage florals, snacks and some good wine and the new friends I will make.
You are never too old to realize a dream.
Maybe I ‘ll see you out there in my Barbie camper. Paul McCartney still is not my boyfriend but I’d rather have the trailer… no offense to Paul.
“I’m a gal of means by no means… Queen of the road”!
We decided we couldn’t handle any more of Phnom Penh … or buses …so we bought a ticket for a boat that left for Siem Reap where Angkor Wat; one of the 7 man made wonders of the world, majestically rises out of the jungles.
The boat was long and
covered and moved quickly. I was happy
that I opted to sit below in the air conditioning instead of the top deck in
the hot sun and wind for over five hours.
There wasn’t much of a view out the windows and we were moving fast. When we arrived at Siem Reap we were greeted by the usual throng of people yelling to come with them for lodgings. We knew that there was no point in trying to haggle ,or ask to go somewhere specific, because we would just end up checking into whatever place they took us to, so we followed someone along to another small bus and off we went.
We cared about one
thing; a bed and a private bath.
We were thrilled to
reunite with some friends ,from Paris, that we had met in Vietnam; Jean and
Caroline. While we were in Phnom Penh
they had taken a side trip to Laos. They
met us back in Siem Reap to visit Angkor Wat.
On our first day we
decided, with much pressure from our Parisian friends, to rent our own
motorcycle instead of relying on guides.
You need to ride carefully and defensively in Cambodia but it was the
best decision we could have made. There
was not too much traffic and the roads were bad so we went at a slow pace until
we found stretches of good road. The
freedom to come and go at our own pace to the various temples was
exhilarating.
Day One: We
parked our bikes outside the site and walked along the road leading into Angkor
Wat. Along the way we met some monkeys;
a mother and baby and decided to give them some litchi nuts. We tried to feed the baby but the mother was
too fast and snatched up all of them.
As we moved farther
along we spotted a large baboon sitting low in a tree. He was eye level.
I gingerly offered him a litchi and he immediately twitched in a spasm and kept biting his own hand. Travis commented that the poor thing had some sort of tick and must be ill. I kept whispering to him gently, still offering the nut to him. His ticks increased and suddenly he charged off the tree at us and chased us down the road and managed to reach out with a clawed hand and scratch our friends boot. Our hearts were racing and we were out of breath when he finally gave up and turned back to his spot on the tree.
As we came upon an Angkor Wat guard we described the peculiar ticks that this baboon displayed and how he must be sick and how he had charged us; ending in our narrow escape. The guard looked thoughtfully back at us and said slowly in English, “No he not sick… he tell you… do not come to me or I…(and he bit his own hand)… will BITE you.”
We stared back dumbfounded. This baboon could not have been more astute in his attempt to communicate with us. Clearly he had done everything possible ,including a demonstration, of what he was going to do if we did not cease in bothering him.
Never have I felt so
inadequate and stupid as a human being.
It was unfathomable that I had not recognized the signs; being a long -time player of Charades.
We moved along
pondering the brilliance of this baboon ,and our complete failure as the
superior species, as we entered the site
of Angkor Wat.
We passed some
elephants carrying more stupid tourists and some kiosks with food until we
finally saw a massive head looking down at us from the heavens… surrounded by
more massive heads and chambers and stairways and it is impossible to put on
paper what it is like to see Angkor Wat for the first time.
The magnificence in its size and detail, along
with the fact that it is so preserved ,is hard to fathom.
It was built in the
first half of the 12th century and estimated construction time was
30 years. Its sculptures are so
incredibly well- proportioned that I believe these were not erected and carved
by humans… but aliens. How could men
have accomplished this impressive and monstrous gift to the gods and the
world? The tallest and central sculpture
is a mind blowing 699 feet.
When you stand in the center you see stairways coming down from each Hindu god to meet in the middle and you feel tiny, insignificant and lost in the wonder of it all. There is a mystical and very religious feeling at Angkor Wat. We climbed in and out of chambers and up stairways that would open to platforms where monks would sit burning incense, waiting to bless you. I am not a follower of organized religion but do feel that I am a spiritual person and accepted these blessings with the greatest humility. The dedication of these ancient architects to honor the gods and build this for 30 years struck me as incredible. Where were the workers who ,after ten years of back breaking labor, said…”OK enough is enough… looks good to me.”
There are five towers
in Angkor Wat but you need to be in a specific spot to see all five.
It is ingenious. Without having the perspective of seeing
things from the air I don’t see how they could have achieved this.
We climbed some
temples where the stairs were so steep from the top it looked like a sheer wall
without stairs at all. I had to go down
the stairs backwards at a crawl… clinging to each step until I thankfully
touched the ground again.
Walking around the site
was exhausting and when we left that day we were so thankful to return to an
air-conditioned room and flop on our bed.
Day two: We
returned to Angkor Wat but this time we decided to venture into the jungles to
see some temples that were out of the way of the central area. We were cautious about doing this because
only five years prior Christopher Howes, a British mining expert, had been
kidnapped by the Khmer Rouge at the jungle temple in Angkor Wat and
subsequently murdered along with four others between 1994 and 1996.
Our Parisian cohorts
were fearless travelers and convinced us that we would regret not making the
trek with them so off we rode into the jungles.
When we parked the bikes and started to navigate our way through the thick terrain we came across trees that had grown in and through massive sculpted arches and doorways that led nowhere except farther into the jungle. This area was not as well kept as the main tourist area. Crumbling concrete eyes covered in vines and moss hid their secrets and only the jungle knew the original meaning.
We finally came to a clearing where we saw the
temple. I was nervous about being here
and couldn’t shake the thought of being kidnapped. The Cambodian people still wore the red
checkered neck scarves that symbolized the Khmer Rouge for me. Everyone I saw had the potential to be a
terrorist in my mind.
The temple was not as large as the main temples but it was still intimidating and maybe more so because of its isolated location.
As we entered the first thing I saw were smiling children. They were selling the scarves that I was so afraid of. We spoke with the kids who knew some English and I relaxed. I ended up buying a scarf from a young girl and a tee shirt and I was grateful to our bossy French friends for shaming us into accompanying them. If I had let fear dictate, I would not have met these incredible kids. Like all the kids we met in South East Asia they were confident and funny and … well.. these kids were actually making fun of us and imitating us… so there is that.
A child doing his impression of Jean
Jean
That day in the jungle was exhilarating. I felt like I was on a real adventure that would stick with me for the rest of my life and it has. In the jungle there are noises that you won’t hear anywhere else. There are birds of all sorts singing and calling out to each other and cricket sounds that are familiar and yet you know you’ve never heard them at home. There are long screeches from monkeys and sounds that you’ve only heard in Tarzan movies. You realize how noisy it is when you walk along in silence. The ancient pathways were now overgrown with vines and roots from enormous trees were growing up through cracks.
We found our motorbikes and made our way back to our hotel for the night. We went for dinner and, once again, I had frog’s legs for the 2nd time in my life. This time they had been drizzled in butter and pan fried with a crispy skin. They were delicious and I have not had frog’s legs since.
DAY 3: We hopped on our bikes and headed back to the main site.
Walking through the entrance
Today was the day we would spend all of our time at the center of Angkor Wat. We climbed and explored and we were so lucky that it was not crowded. I hear that these days the crowds can be huge but at that time I think travelers were still wary of going to Cambodia. There were no fancy and expensive hotels that catered to tourists like there are now.
Travis at an entrance high up in the templesSomewhere in the center
Travis gave an ancient warrior his head back
An ancient portrait
The images and giant faces surrounding us from every direction made you feel like you were not alone. It gives you pause to think that people have inhabited the earth for centuries and some of the earliest inhabitants built something so amazing that it has lasted long enough for us to experience it.
Angkor Wat has stayed with me over the years. It is something you cannot forget but you also can’t take it with you. My imagination isn’t even big enough to recreate the real thing. I think about these ancient people and the determination to create something that symbolized their culture for all time. I wonder if they even thought about the future beyond their own life time. I know we do as a millennial society. I just hope that our legacy will be saving the planet that we have been destroying.
I hope some of you will start planning a trip to Siem Reap in Cambodia and visit Angkor Wat. It will be the adventure of a life time. Like all ancient sites it is eroding and deteriorating more and more with time. There is peace in South East Asia right now and that is a wonderful thing.
I want people to explore traveling and seeing different cultures; experience different ways of living because that is the only way we will see that people are the same everywhere. We are all brothers and sisters in this world. I carry with me all of those amazing people I met on our trip.
I hope you enjoyed this post and my attempts to give you an impression of Angkor Wat. Happy travels!
When we left Vietnam
in an over- crowded, small bus, I hadn’t anticipated the hours it would take to
get to Phnom Penh over bombed out roads with huge craters in them.
It was a gruelling 10 hour drive in what was supposed to be 5 hours and 12 minutes.
There were no bathroom
breaks and when we did stop it was at the side of the road. I was horrified at having to squat in front
of a bunch of smiling school children. Something
that did not shock or surprise any of them.
They just smiled and waved and edged up closer and closer as I pee’d.
We finally pulled into the city at night and , as the haze and dust cleared, there were dozens of people waiting for us. They were all yelling and holding signs for various hotels. We were shell shocked and ended up finally just following a beckoning and earnest fellow who led us to a car.
He took us to a relatively expensive hotel ,by Cambodian standards, at a crazy $30.00 US per night. It was nice and modern and was the closest thing to a low budget hotel in America that we had seen so far in South East Asia.
We showered and went
to bed and when the sun came out we headed out to see the city.
Phnom Penh was once
referred to as the “pearl of the Orient” but the beautiful French Colonial architecture
was now partially covered by tin advertising and the parts that were exposed
were flaking, rotting and dirty. There
was garbage in alley ways and sewage on the streets. The motorbikes sped along spewing black smoke
as they weaved in and out and around pedestrians. Sometimes you would glimpse something grand
from the past in an old hotel but for the most part the city was trying to
build new and cheap buildings and forget its glamour from the 1960’s …before
the reign, destruction and ruin of Pol Pot.
I did not feel the same comfort and love that I felt in Vietnam. I was nervous and felt unsafe. I was always making sure I was aware of my
surroundings as we walked along the streets and avoided any out of the way
areas. I heard later that crime is
rampant and the city is indeed not safe.
Nixon’s secret
bombings of Cambodia over a four year period kept the government busy and gave
the Khmer Rouge the opportunity to build in numbers and finally storm the city on
April 17, 1975; taking over the government.
Pol Pot was a political leader whose Khmer Rouge government ruled from 1975 until 1979 and committed the most barbaric and horrendous genocide in recent history. They systematically tortured, starved, shot, butchered and overworked over 2 million Cambodians in an effort to wipe out intellectuals, educated specialists, ethnic Vietnamese and religious leaders. In the end 2 million people were dead and the middle class was wiped out. The notorious S-21 Detention Centre had only 7 survivors out of the 20,000 who were dragged in and tortured.
If it hadn’t been for
some journalists ,like Syndey Schanberg who refused to leave during the fall of
Phnom Penh and took refuge in the French Embassy, along with his Cambodian photographer
Dith Pran, the world would not have eventually known and seen the chaos and
blood shed that was happening. Dith Pran
was left behind when Sydney was allowed to walk across the border into Thailand
and his harrowing story of survival was eventually shown in the film “The Killing
Fields”.
When the Khmer Rouge stormed Phnom Penh and took over the government they cleared the city forcing everyone into the fields to work. No one was allowed to have any personal possessions and rules were made regarding clothing, sexual relations and what one was allowed to say or speak. The children were taken to re-education centers where they would learn that they would no longer answered to their parents but only to the system and then they were forced into the military. An area outside the city, later named the Killing Fields, was the final resting place for hundreds of people who were murdered and tossed into pits. There were thousands of mass graves all over Cambodia.
You cannot visit this
country and not be aware of its history.
Day one we met a couple of guides with motorcycles who wanted to take us to The Killing Fields. We got on the bikes for the hour long trip out of the city. When we pulled into the area it looked calm and peaceful.
There were a couple of boys playing with slingshots and it seemed so tranquil. It was hard to believe what was inside this memorial.
As we walked up to the memorial we saw the hundreds of skulls piled in formation.
Every where you looked there were human bones on the ground and articles of bloody clothing spewing out of the earth.
There were men sitting by on benches whose families had been murdered here.
They talked quietly
about their own survival and how they have never forgotten seeing their parents
being murdered.
Saw his parents murdered at this spot
The killing fields now are home to cows who graze around the pits that once held hundreds of dead bodies.
It was a sobering journey to see this spot and I couldn’t stop thinking about the film “The Killing Fields” and what atrocities had taken place and how many people had died in this one spot. The only uplifting part of this trip was to see some smiling faces of surviving offspring and to sit with them and let them tell you their stories.
It was still early afternoon when we got back on the bikes with our guides and, since we had no plans, we were at their mercy to what we should do next.
Oddly enough, they took us away from the killing fields and onto a giant yard filled with old tires to go shoot weapons and throw hand grenades. I was completely shocked. It seemed like the worst idea after seeing such horrors that resulted from violence. I tried to tell them in English but they were adamant about us participating so… when in Rome. We went to an odd place in the middle of nowhere to find a bar where they handed you AK-47’s to fire. It was uncomfortable being around tourists who had a beer in one hand and a weapon in another.
The happy and friendly guards at the shooting site. Get me outta here!!!
Just when you think things can’t get anymore depressing and horrifying; onto day 3 where we visited Tuol Sleng School which is now called “The Genocide Museum”. This school was occupied by the Khmer Rouge and became the notorious S-21 Detention Centre. It was a harrowing experience to go through this place because it is still intact and left as it was. It is where the Khmer Rouge tortured and killed anyone who was thought to be capable of fighting the new system. When we arrived and saw the building, the hair on my arms and neck stood up. I felt like there were many ghosts and spirits trapped there.
We entered the building and saw the remains of those who were murdered inside its walls. More skulls. Everywhere we went there seemed to be human remains.
Walking through the dilapidated halls it was silent and eerie.
There were small brick enclosures where people had been separated and shackled.
Rooms of torture were on display with pictures of how each room was used.
Torture room and bed
They were meticulous record keepers as well and there were photographs of foreigners who had the misfortune of just being in Cambodia at the wrong time. There was a photo of an Australian yachtsman, David Lloyd Scott and a British teacher, John Dewhirst, who were kidnapped, tortured and killed.
Wall of the deadDavid Lloyd Scott
John Dewhirst
There were glimpses of this once being a school with its checkered floors and pastel walls but you could no longer imagine children running through this place. It was grim, blood stained and horrifying.
We left there feeling like we had seen the worst of mankind.
After three days of horrors in Phnom Penh I was ready to get out of Dodge. I hadn’t had a moment of not feeling sick or incredibly sad… or frightened. I needed a different experience. We managed to hear about a French couple who owned a restaurant off the beaten path. We somehow found it and it was really a bit of paradise. It sat on a large dock on the water and the thatched roof had diaphanous white fabric draped off the sides that fluttered in the night wind. The white candle-lit tables touched on an elegance we hadn’t seen since we arrived in South East Asia. We ate frogs legs that had been sauteed in teriyaki and butter and then grilled.
French food in Cambodia isn’t that hard to find but great french food is always hard to find. We had a salad and and some petite potatoes. I was thrilled. To celebrate I had my first cocktail and then another. The night was filled with laughter and it felt like a load was lifted off of my shoulders and my body finally unclenched itself and relaxed.
Later that night I was barfing, shitting and hallucinating. Yes… I had broken my number one rule of not drinking anything with ice in it just in case the water isn’t purified. Fortunately I had brought along a pill from my Dr., just in case this very thing happened, and 12 hours later I was feeling well enough to venture out. It was a good thing because we had decided to move on to our next stop which would be one of the most amazing man made wonders of the world… ANGKOR WAT.
I always wanted to go to Vietnam. Not to fight… obviously… but to travel. All I saw were movies like “Apocalypse Now”, “The Deer Hunter”, “Platoon” and “Full Metal Jacket” and I knew, since there was finally no war happening, Vietnam had changed and hopefully mended. I was also curious what the Americans had left behind; in terms of culture.
My partner, Travis and I traveled with backpacks because I couldn’t fathom lugging suitcases around during our adventures across potential unexploded bombs in rice paddy’s.
I went to an Asian tour company in China Town in Toronto and they were amazing, not only because they found us a great fare, but they told us important information like, “do not bring damaged American dollars because they only want new and clean looking money.” Our flight departed out of Toronto to England where we had a three hour wait and then we boarded a Korean Airline to Thailand. Korean Air was a wonderful airline where the service was impeccable and the food was great. We landed in Bangkok and had a four hour wait for our flight into Vietnam. We could have hitched a ride there faster. The entire travel took about 19 hours with the time on the ground between flights. The journey was ridiculously long.
I opted for a Thai foot massage at the airport while Travis cringed because he can’t imagine anyone touching someone else’s feet. He’s never had a pedicure. It felt good and it passed the time. When we finally landed in Vietnam it was around 6pm.. the next day for us. We got a taxi in Saigon and headed to the only pre-booked hotel on our entire vacation; somewhere near the airport. We had to sleep and we somehow managed to rest our minds and slept through the rest of the day and night in a simple but clean room with a shower. The next morning, we checked out and headed to Pham Ngu Lao in District One because we knew that was an area where backpackers could find cheap hotels. We managed to find one after talking to some people in a café on the corner of the street. We also had our “bible” at the time; The Lonely Planet, with tips to traveling in Vietnam. This area is where we met our Cyclo drivers that were to become our friends and travel guides for the entire time we were in Vietnam. Hue and Nyg were the sweetest couple of guys you could ever meet. They only wanted us to be happy; all the time. They peddled us around Saigon showing us all the sites like the Reunification Palace, where the tank crashed through the gates in 1975, ending the Vietnam war. The tank still sat there as a symbol.
Hue and Nyg
We went to the War
Remnants Museum which used to be referred to as the American War Crimes Museum. It is a yard filled with American Huey
choppers that were shot down and Platoon tanks that were captured. There are unexploded ordnance to see. There are also some really disturbing photos
of the My Lai Massacre and the effects
of Agent Orange and other atrocities.
There are replicas of the “tiger cages” the North Vietnamese used to
house prisoners as well as a guillotine that was used by the French and South
Vietnamese to execute prisoners up until 1960.
We saw where the American Embassy used to be, where the helicopter evacuation took place during the fall of Saigon. It closed in 1975 and was demolished two years prior to our trip there.
The Vietnam-Soviet Petroleum company occupied the building for years and on the rooftop there were still rusting c-ration cans and sandbags left ,from the evacuation, when the building was demolished in 1998..
The last helicopter getting out of Saigon
The architecture in Vietnam is French and Asian combined. Some of the markets are in the most beautiful buildings but ,once inside, it is vast and cramped, with stalls of people cooking over steaming woks and buckets of boiling broth.
We saw women sitting up in little cubicles with sewing machines making clothes all day in the crowded space.
Our hotel was a small room with a small bed but we had our own bathroom and it cost us around $10 US a night. We were within walking distance of all the restaurants and shops. There were open air stalls with incredible artists who were reproducing famous paintings on canvas. There were perfectly copied Warhol’s and huge art deco paintings. My one regret was not buying one. I couldn’t figure out how to transport it around the country and into Cambodia without it eventually being destroyed.
The traffic in Vietnam is horrendous and the crazy thing is that there are no traffic lights or signs or anything. Everyone moves like fast flowing lava traveling down a roadway; always in sync and always moving; a mechanical winding snake. There are numbers of people on overloaded motorbikes sitting in every position imaginable and then there are Cyclos, which are bicycles with seats on the front, for tourists to ride around the city. There are cars and trucks that are overloaded. There are so many people. Crossing a road takes some courage and know- how. You just need to start walking and have faith that everyone will go around you. The thing is; to not stop once you have decided to make your move because they are anticipating you moving along as they weave in and out and around you. They are very aware, defensive drivers, but they also will stop their car or bike anywhere… walk away ; leaving it in what you would perceive as a traffic lane. It’s the craziest system.
It is very polluted in Saigon because of all the vehicles and unfortunately people are not really conscious of littering. It was hot and smelly in the streets. You would see someone dragging a block of ice down the sidewalk to hack up later and put in beer or soda. As in all countries where the water is not purified you need to be careful about ice and always drink bottled water. I never drank a cocktail and stuck to beer without ice in it my entire time in Vietnam.
When we went, in 2000, it was just starting to become a place for tourists to go. There were Vets who were returning to find some peace of mind in seeing that the country had survived and the people of Saigon, now Ho Chi Min City, had moved on and were trying to build a new life. Everywhere we went the Vietnamese knew and requested, the song “Hotel California” by The Eagles. I’m not sure how or why… but they knew that song. It is most likely from Kareoke which is a big past time and you will find rooms in the most run down looking buildings that are fancy and air conditioned for your singing comfort. The Vietnamese also love to use the “thumbs up” while saying “A-OK” which must be a leftover expression from the Americans.
The Vietnamese are
enthusiastic and happy to meet people from a different culture and really care
about your happiness while you are there visiting. They desperately wanted to show us how things
have survived but also wanted us to know that there was a lot of hardship. Both of our
guides had grown up during the war and when they were old enough around
1978 they had to go and fight in Cambodia against Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge. One of our drivers had shrapnel in his back
and he looked so much older than his years and they had friends and relatives
die in both the Vietnam War and the war against genocide in Cambodia.
Almost everyone in
Vietnam has suffered because of the long years of war. You can see it in their eyes behind the
smiles and in the quiet moments where no one speaks. The children are also suffering because of
the poverty. They only go to school for
three or four years ,if they are lucky, and then they are working on the
streets selling lighters, cigarettes, books, and anything considered touristy
that they can carry.
We met kids who were
only 7 years old and spoke four languages.
They hadn’t been to school but working on the streets they had learned
to speak English, French, German and Russian.
We bought the kids dinners and cokes and they would eat half of what was on their plates and then sneak off with the rest to hand it over to a parent who was watching from a distance. It broke my heart. The children in Vietnam are very special because there is a hope and a joy that they express openly with strangers like ourselves. Travis bought a mandolin and would play songs for the kids. They knew a little bit of Jingle Bells but they did knew all of Frere Jacques the French lullaby. “Frere Jacques Frere Jacques dorme vu dorme vu”. We sang that with them and they were so excited we could all sing a song together.
One day we asked Hue and Nyg to take us to the Mekon Delta. They rented motorcycles and we were off on the horrible bombed out roads to the river. It took a couple of hours and we blew a tire on the way and had to stop to have it replaced. Inside the mechanics shack was a women charging for haircuts so Travis decided to get a trim. She pulled out a straight razor and started dry shaving him around his neck and chin. I saw the terror in his eyes… one slip of that blade. She went to move onto the back of his neck and he squeaked out, “No! It’s OK… no.” She understood and stopped. She moved onto his hair and when she finished he looked like a Vietnamese Ken doll. His molded and folded hair was then sand blasted with hair spray and as we sped away on our motorcycles I looked over and Travis’ hair was not moving an inch in the dusty dry 50 mile an hour wind.
When we arrived on the Mekon we met a guy with a boat and we chugged down the river with our friends. It was eerie and strange after watching so many movies about the war. All I could think about was Apocalypse Now. I can’t imagine how terrifying it must have been for the Americans and South Vietnamese. The river has a winding beauty with its thick jungle banks but you cannot see what is around the bend. You could be lulled into the peaceful tranquility and all of a sudden face an ambush. Thank god the war finally ended and now it is just another river with dark brown water. We stopped for lunch somewhere along the way and ate gigantic steamed shrimp.
By the time we
returned to Saigon we were exhausted and filthy from the dust and dirt of the
roads. I think we were always dirty in
Vietnam. There is a dirt film in the
air.
One of our most bizarre day trips was to the Cu Chi Tunnels in the Cu
Chi district near Saigon.
There are interconnecting underground tunnels that were used by the Viet Kong to hide from detection during the war. Some of them were right underneath American bases. The Viet Cong would come out at night into the jungles and lay traps and place charges and mines. There was an American tank left rusting in the jungle. It had been ambushed and it still sits there as a haunting reminder of the turmoil this country and America had to endure before the end of the war in 1975.
Left rusting in the forest where it crossed a mine U.S. helicopter that was captured
I’m claustrophobic but I thought I would be remorseful if I’d traveled all this way and not experienced this. We saw an original entrance to a tunnel that was a patch of grass lifted from the earth exposing a narrow hole down. You had to raise your arms above your head to get through.
A tiny entrance
They have an entrance for tourists that is much larger and has earth steps down but once inside you have to crawl along. They have added electric lights so at least you can see. Once inside my heart started pounding and the panic set in. I just kept talking to myself and quietly saying that I would be out shortly. I went 10 meters and then took the first exit out. I did see one of the small rooms that the tunnel opened up into before I scrambled out. It was so small. I can’t believe that there were babies born in these tunnels who never saw the light of day. They were like mole people.
The tunnels were widened for tourists but so tiny One of the small rooms
Outside the tunnels in the jungle were traps everywhere. Covered pits that housed bamboo spikes so if you were a soldier walking along you could all of a sudden drop through the earth and become impaled. Really gruesome stuff. So many ingenious ways to killing a man.
If you fell through this you would be pierced and unable to get out
This was a pit of spikes, hidden, and covered by a soft porous wood that would not withstand the weight of a man. It would be covered over with some dirt and leaves and not seen by the human eye.
Prior to entering the site we were shown propaganda movies and footage of the Viet Cong fighting the war and living in the tunnels. The whole thing was really surreal.
When we left the site we noticed a beautiful Temple and stopped there to have a look. it was called the Bến Dược Memorial Temple. We didn’t expect to find something so beautiful near something so horrible.
ON December 19, 1975 the first stages of the Memorial monument was inaugurated by the Communist Party to memorialize the soldiers and people who died in the war. Visitors are welcome to come inside and burn incense and meditate.
We went inside many temples and we couldn’t believe the ornate structures with multiple poles of winding snakes and serpents. Some were so beautiful and had traditional Vietnamese music playing.
As we left Vietnam to make our way into Cambodia we experienced a sadness to leave our friends behind. We traveled in a small cramped bus with other tourists to the border. It took several hours on roads with huge craters left from the bombings. There were no washrooms on the way. Our driver stopped at one point to grab a fish that had jumped out of a gutter at the side of the road. He picked it up and put it in the front of the bus. Something he would take home for supper I imagined.
When we finally arrived at the border it was a scary site. I really felt like I was in a movie.
Crossing into Cambodia
Like a lot of places, there is corruption, and we were told if you put a five dollar bill in your passport you could get through the border faster. I was too afraid to do that. I just stood in line and ,when we got up front, the guards took my fashion magazine and immediately started looking for a centerfold. That was pretty funny. We finally crossed into Cambodia and… well… that’s for another post.
Someday I hope to go back and find my friends who made us feel welcome and safe and happy. I will always remember them in my heart if I don’t make it back there.
I will never like the song “Hotel California” though.
Imagine the year 1957. You are in Havana Cuba and heading out to the swinging Hotel Riviera to do a little gambling and see an act at the Copa Room. Tonight is the opening night at the club and the featured act is Ginger Rogers.
You arrive in your most glamorous outfit draped in furs and diamonds and pearls. Your date looks sharp in his shark skin suit. There, in the lobby, is the owner, Meyer Lansky greeting his guests as they drive up to the front where the spectacular fountain is lit up in the night.
The historical Hotel Riviera sits on the Malecon ocean front drive in Havana Cuba. It was built in 1957 as a posh resort and was owned by the notorious mobster Meyer Lansky. He spared no expense in his efforts to rival the Hotel Riviera in Las Vegas. Lansky hired two of Cuba’s formative artists, muralist Rolando Lopez Dirube and sculptor Florencio Gelabert.
When I first pulled up in front of The Riviera my heart sank because I had expected so much more, but then, there are a lot of things in Havana that only have a shadow of past glory. Florencio Gelabert designed the white marble sculptures of an intertwined mermaid and swordfish that fronts the entrance and a large sculpture in the lobby , “Cuban Rhythm” that has a male and female dancer. The fountain, long dry ,sits baking in the sun, deteriorating and cracked.
Cuban Rhythm
Once inside the main lobby I felt like I stepped onto the set of Mad Men.
Every where I looked there was something else that caught my eye and I appreciate the completely unique creative force that was 1950’s design.
I’ve seen so many reproductions of starburst clocks but this was the real thing.
The original floating staircase was under construction and was off limits so I wasn’t able to see it but I am hopeful that they will be able to restore it to its original coolness.
The 3-D flying cranes art accented a wall leading into the circular bar.
The fancy rounded bar with a view
The days of glamorous couples sipping martinis and smoking cigarettes at the lively bar, with the incredible view, is now reduced to curious tourists, like myself, who love architecture and history. If I had my way I’d throw a party there with all of my friends and it would be cocktail dresses and suits that would harken back to a time where the Rat Pack could have strolled past with beautiful girls on each arm.
The breakfast area is light and airy and leads out to the most fantastic pool I have ever seen.
When I walked outside and saw the magnificent three tiered diving platform I felt like I was in a Doris Day/ Rock Hudson movie. I just couldn’t take my eyes off of it and I desperately wanted to climb up and try a swan dive.
It sounds crazy but I got the same feeling when I was staring at the statue of David in Italy. Maybe that makes me a little weird but I was hypnotized by this structure.
The dining room inside the Hotel is equally breath taking in its over the top style. The murals on the walls were painted by the Cuban artist Rolando Lopez Dirube and they are a tropical explosion.
I promised myself that next time I visit Havana I will stay at The Riviera, at least for a couple of nights. I know the rooms are nothing special; a total let down, actually, but I want the experience of swimming, diving, dining in that crazy tropical restaurant, and going to the Copa. It’s still a cabaret with show girls and, not very impressive these days, but the interior is the same as it was when Ginger Rogers twirled her gams for a crowd of mobsters and gamblers.
entrance to the Copa Room
Even the elevators are cool looking.
If you love history, like I do, you will get a real joy out of seeing all of this original 1950’s cutting edge style. Of all the places I have been, Havana is one of the most interesting. You can’t put your arms around a memory… to quote Johnny Thunders… but you can touch it in Cuba. If you get the opportunity to visit please go. I don’t think you will be disappointed unless your idea of a vacation is 5 star luxury. You won’t find it there but you will find a city steeped in history that has not changed. You will find a people who are open and welcoming. I will always return and I will always love Cuba.
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