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IN THIS ISSUE

• Louise Kruithof continues her story of their Mongolian adventure
• Kate Brookfield arrives in Shanghai
• Richard Ross wraps up his Indian stories for now
• Carol Hansen sends a story about a census taker
• Gerrit de Leuuw forwards a tale about an alien encounter
• Carol and Gerrit and Nevil Horsfall recommend interesting websites

Louise Kruithof and her husband left Hamilton on October 15. She takes up her story on October 18, after their long

JOURNEY TO THE END OF THE ROAD

It was now Saturday and we had finally made it to Huolinguole. Now there was water in the hotel but no hot water: the boiler needed to be repaired. There would be hot water by the 26th, we were told. It began to feel like a long camping trip. Camp training comes in handy at times!

The translator who had offered his help for that day showed up as scheduled at 10:00 in the morning with another young man, who was introduced as another translator. They asked what we would like to do. Our priority was to change rooms, so they went to the front desk and were given the card to open the door to another room. This one was a small suite with a king-size bed at one end and a sitting area at the other. The television was between the two areas on a pivoting base, and the computer desk with access to the internet was beside the TV set-up. Not bad at all, given that I had expected some very primitive accommodation.

With the two young men we went looking for some groceries, like coffee for the man and cookies to munch on, but also for a printer to be used with the computer. We went to a grocery store, and then had lunch with the two translators. We stopped at the phone company to get SIM cards for the phones with the help of the translators. They were told that we had to leave a 3000 yuan deposit for each card. Away too much! So we left the place. We also looked at a few places for a printer, which were also too expensive, and then came back to the room.

Willem fell asleep almost instantly and I started emptying the suitcases. Colleagues from the office in Burlington and someone from Shanghai were joining us later in the day, going through the same journey we had gone through the previous day. They were expected around 6:30 in the evening and eight of the people from the plant were downstairs waiting to welcome them. Willem and I went to join them and we all waited and waited for the arrival of those people. The road was not any better for them than it had been for us, but coming into the town, the driver got lost and could not find his way back to the street where the hotel was located. They finally arrived and we all went to a banquet together. By the time they arrived, it was already past 7:00 in the evening.

Great food, nice presentation, and very welcoming people. After the dinner we retired for the night.

On Sunday Willem and his colleagues were picked up at 10:00 a.m. to visit the plant. I declined joining them and as soon as they were off, it was my turn to catch a few winks. By noon they were back and we had lunch (hot pot or Chinese fondue for the uninitiated), followed by a walk into the shopping area. We were the guides since we had already been there once! I bought a packaged canvas for petit point with all the thread included. It had Chinese characters with a bit of a boat in the bottom left corner. Good price: 50 yuan, or about $9.00. Back to the hotel, dinner, and an early bedtime.

Again on Monday, Willem and his colleagues left for the plant for the kick-off meeting of the contract. They returned early so we had lunch and went again toward the shopping area. We again went to the phone office, this time with one of Willem´s colleagues who had a Chinese background and made all the arrangements. We did get the SIM cards without a large deposit and were able to send and receive phone calls to and from overseas along with text messages but no photos.

On Tuesday Willem went to work and I spent some time checking e- mails. Those e-mails become so important when one is far from home and friends and family. One always looks forward to news from home, even if they are only one-liners. I even appreciated those forwarded e-mails!

In the afternoon, I went for a walk, towards the shopping area, of course. The grocery store sold the tea cups that are great to make tea in because they do give some insulation and keep the contents warm. Besides that, my sister took one of mine away. For some strange reason, the glass tea cup I gave her shattered, so I had to get her another one. It will have been used when she gets it as I am using it now.

When Willem got back to the hotel we went to the hotel dining room, but were told that it closed at 7:00 and it was past that so we could not get food there. So off we went for a walk, looking for a restaurant. I saw a sign which had the character for restaurant, so I asked a woman who was walking by if it was a good place to eat. She said yes, so we went there, hoping that the menu would have pictures of the dishes. Unfortunately, it did not. In such cases, what does one do?

Well, we looked around to see what other people were eating, asked the server. used the dictionary, and made a lot of drawings. The people at the table beside us were eating and seemed to be enjoying what they had so we asked for the same thing. One dish looked like pork hocks and the other was noodles with celery. We also asked for a small bowl of rice. The pork hocks were boiled so there was very little fat left on them and they were delicious. The noodles and celery was different but quite good. The rice was rice! The beer is always good.

Of course, everyone in the restaurant was looking at us and checking how we used the chopsticks and if we appreciated the food. The cook sat behind us during the whole meal with the servers. We were the entertainment of the day and probably would be the subject of conversations for the next few days.

We were still walking around with light coats, my leather jacket and Willem his combination raincoat and light vest, wondering where the cold had gone.

On Wednesday I checked e-mails, then went for a walk. In the afternoon, I received a call from Willem to tell me that someone was to pick me up and take me to a school which was interested in hiring me to teach English. The negotiations went on for one and a half hours, and Saturday I was to go in and listen to what was being done at the moment and take over some of the classes for a few minutes.

This was a private school where students came in after regular school to learn English. Interestingly enough, the woman who owned the school and taught most of the classes used the interpreter for most of the negotiations. She offered me the use of her facilities at no cost and I was to keep whatever the students would pay to come. I would have to wait to see how this would work out.

We had dinner at the hotel dining room. The menu has pictures so we just pointed to two dishes, which turned out to be quite good. After dinner we went for a walk and stopped at a convenience store to buy some Coke for Willem and laundry soap. Because there was still no hot water in the hotel, they did not accept laundry. Besides that, they did not do underwear or socks, so guess who ended up doing it! Camping again. But along this walk, we saw what looked like a laundry place and I took notice. We were still wondering why we brought all our heavy clothing for cold winters.

To be continued.

Kate Brookfield and her friend have arrived in

SHANGHAI

The first evening in Shanghai, we were well looked after by Shirley and Sheila, the English names of the two women whose apartment we were sharing. They took us for a nice meal and after that we went for a foot massage. Apparently, when one goes to Shanghai, having a foot massage is one of the top "must do" attractions. I agree. The establishment we went to had many rooms and we were taken to a room with four beds where we all relaxed and drank a glass of jasmine tea. Alice decided to have the full treatment with pedicure, so she had a male masseur who clipped her toe nails before the massage. The rest of us had female attendants.

First we were given a dish of hot water for soaking our feet, and then our feet in turn were oiled and massaged. There was also a bit of reflexology, telling us about our health by reading the soles of our feet. My masseur told me that I didn´t sleep well, but this is not true. I might go to bed late, but when I finally go to bed, I sleep well for about seven to eight hours. After the foot massage, we were also given a quick neck, back and, shoulder massage. I think this is a great idea for anyone following the stress of air travel. I wonder if I will find a place in Calgary after our 20-hour flight back to Canada!

The next morning, we walked in the rain to the MRT station and purchased travel cards to allow us to travel anywhere on the MRT and buses in Shanghai. The MRT network is fairly extensive, with nine lines covering most of city. Alice had made arrangements to meet friends for lunch at midday. I thought we were going to take the MRT to a central tourist area to kill some time sightseeing and then she was going to meet her friends while I did my own thing for a couple of hours. I soon discovered that she was not at all familiar with Shanghai and was hopeless at reading either the MRT map or the tourist map, both of which, at this point, were completely in Chinese. But the main problem which became worse as the holiday progressed was Alice´s need to lead and organize and her inability to discuss with me in English about her plans. Because I did not speak the language, Alice tended to treat me like a child who had to be hustled and bustled from one place to another. As a seasoned traveller, I found it hard to accept the passive role she had planned for me, but she had given me the opportunity for this holiday, so I tried to accept the situation with a grin.

At the MRT station, hundreds of people were waiting and when the empty train came in, as this was the terminal station, the people rushed and pushed to get in and all the seats were taken in seconds. I have witnessed the same crowd panic in India, as if the end of the world is coming and you are going to get swallowed by a dragon if you don´t move quickly from A to B. Lining up and entering a train with respect and consideration for other travellers is just not part of the behaviour patterns of Shanghai riders.

We were squashed in the carriage and had to stand. Many hands were on one hand-hold and on the bars near the doors. What a difference from the organized and polite use of the MRT in Taipei, where there are hand-holds at regular intervals the full length of the carriages and people follow the guide lines for entering and leaving: coming in, use the centre doorway and going out, the sides.

It was impossible to see the name of the station through the massive crowd of people and the announcements could not be heard for the noise of the passengers. I remember using the tube in England in the 1960s and was amused at the way nobody spoke, passengers travelled in silence reading their papers, or just looking into space. The MRT in Shanghai is the exact opposite, and with the addition of cell phones, almost everybody is talking even if not to fellow passengers! But by the end of our stay in Shanghai, we got expert at sidling onto the trains quickly and getting a seat and I had some quite interesting conversations with people who shared the same hand-hold and wanted to practice their use of English!

Alice had counted the number of stops to our destination, so well before the train stopped she was hustling me through the crowd to stand facing the door ready for a speedy exit. Getting off the train was as bad as, or worse, than getting on. The incoming tide of people pushed you back into the carriage and nobody gave way. I think the people of Shanghai need lessons in "body awareness", something we were taught in physical education classes at school. We had to run around the gym and not touch other people or pass in two lines from one side to the other.

I was very interested to see a column on this issue in the China Daily, an English language newspaper distributed throughout China. The writer said that Shanghai need to learn from Beijing. One good thing to come from the Olympics is the improvement in the way people use the MRT in Beijing. They can also learn from Taipei, but they surely need to learn from somewhere! But I met a traveller from Australia who told me Shanghai is fantastic compared with travel in other cities in China.

After we got off the MRT we spent a good half hour going backwards and forwards as Alice tried to find the right exit. She kept stopping every few steps to ask passers by for directions and often she was given completely opposite directions. After getting the new directions, she would run ahead of me, beckoning me with her hand near the ground to hurry and follow her. I could not see why we had run; we were on holiday and we had two hours before we had to meet her friends for lunch.

I was excited at the thought of getting out of this rushing crowd into a nice quiet tourist park. I had read all about the beautiful parks in Shanghai. But when we finally emerged into the open, it was a residential area with huge apartment buildings and chaotic traffic. No fancy buildings and certainly no parks. I had thought the idea was to go to a central tourist area and then she could leave me to look around while she went off to see her friends for lunch.

But Alice had changed plans without telling me. I had said earlier that I wanted to go to an international hotel and find out about city tours with English-speaking tour guides. Instead, she had brought us to the place where the local tours are offered. The bus station was inside a large complex for an indoor athletic stadium. It was a good 15-minute walk from the MRT when you knew the direction. So after another meandering and long walk in the rain, stopping to ask people directions every five minutes, we finally came to the bus station for the local tours. It was very confusing for me as all the literature was in Chinese only and the people at the desks did not speak English. Alice informed me that these tours were a lot cheaper than the ones offered by the big hotels. She did not seem to realize that I was prepared to pay more for a decent luxury coach with English- speaking tour guides. Anyway, we picked up the literature to look at our leisure later.

By this time it was nearly lunchtime and we finally hailed a taxi to go and meet her friends. The restaurant was in what was once the Old Shanghai Opera House. Her friends spoke English and the husband told me all about the Opera House in its heyday and we had a very pleasant meal with them.

After saying our goodbyes, we took another taxi to the main shopping area of Shanghai in West Nanjing Road. This is a large pedestrian street with large elegant department stores on either side selling all the big name products. I was happy to see lots of signs advertising a newly opened Marks and Spencer´s. The one in Taipei closed when I was away in Canada this summer and I was sorry to lose it as they have lovely clothes for kids, and I like their tea and English biscuits. Needless to say, Alice was not interested in M & S and she wanted to go to the Chinese medical store at the opposite end of the road. We made arrangements to meet back at the People´s Square in an hour.

The People´s Square is at the intersection of West Nanjing Road and another main road and is a good place for meeting people as it has an MRT station with interchanges for several of the lines covering the city. There is a large park area with seats. A tourist train travels up and down West Nanjing Road so when we met up again, we took this little train, like a golf cart with many carriages, and travelled the full length watching the people and seeing all the lavish stores along the route. We called in at the Hyatt and picked up literature in English on tours and places of interest to visit. I also bought a good little guide to Shanghai with good clear maps, also in English.

By this time, it was getting dark and the street was lit with all the signs and huge advertising TV screens. More and more people were filling the street and it was a hive of activity. West Nanjing Street becomes East Nanjing, which is the older part of the city. The buildings on East Nanjing Road had obviously enjoyed better days and were more historic, but were completely overshadowed by the modern high rises of West Nanjing Road. Many of the buildings were boarded up, including the famous Peace Hotel. Those that were open were discount stores overloaded with piles of goods where prices were more reasonable. I was reminded of downtown Hamilton in the 1990s.

East Nanjing Road ends in a dirty mass of crumbling buildings, but surprisingly opens out on the famous Bund. The Bund is a wide pedestrian walk along the west side of the Huangpu River and is the main attraction of Shanghai for tourists. The original area of the Bund was the old city of Shanghai and extended south to the Suzhou Creek. In 1885 the Bund became the English Concession in Shanghai and the place where foreign businesses set up large and imposing buildings. As a result the street is lined with various buildings in Baroque and Gothic as well as Chinese styles. At night these buildings are floodlit and it is the custom for visitors and locals to walk the Bund at night enjoying the floodlit landscape on both sides of the river, as well as all the gaily-lit boats cruising up and down the river.

The area across the river is known as Pudong and Lujiazui is the MRT station across the river. This triangular area of land in a bend of the river is now the location for several new landmark buildings and towers with more buildings under construction. The Oriental Pearl TV tower dominates the scene and not so long ago, it was the highest building in Asia. The Jinmao Tower near it is the highest building in mainland China and according to my guidebook, the third highest tower in the world. The competition for having the highest tower is worse than the desire for gold medals at the Olympics! Also near the two towers is an imposing International Convention Centre. The Shanghai aquarium is also located in this area. More construction was going on and big signs everywhere announced the International Exposition "Shanghai 2010".

We left going over to Lujiazui this first night. We were soaked as the rain had not ceased since we set off in the morning, so we took the MRT back to Xinghuang and the comfort of our apartment.

See photos in my Picasa album for Day One: http://arunaurl.com/2kla

To be continued.

Richard Ross forges on with his

INDIAN CHRONICLES

I want to tell you about my loyal friend, Aaron Susman, who, following through with his plans to join the Peace Corps, has safely arrived in Burkina Faso, a north-western nation of Africa, that is a top contender for the poorest country in the world. It promises to provide an exceptionally demanding assignment. Over the course of his first month and a half, we´ve spoken frequently via my Skype account to his cell phone. Shockingly, Wi-Fi has yet to reach his mud hut. Currently he´s in his three months of intensive language and cultural training, but after Christmas, he will leave for his post to begin his two years of service.

He will live in a northern Burkina village, a stone´s throw from the Mali border. Far removed from any city, he´ll subsist as the only Peace Corps representative within 70 kilometers, in one of the most arid, futile and sulphurous deserts in all of Africa.

Once he arrives in the village, Aaron´s to head a project that encourages sustainable independence through a fuel alternative known as "jatropha." Despite having been bedridden by malaria, sharing his bedroom with lizards and cockroaches of comparable size, and accepting the fact he´ll only eat three variations of millet for the next 25 months, he does not regret his decision to join.

And to think that it was my sparkling idea that one day he and I should join the Peace Corps together that ultimately led him, literally, to venture into the African bush! So in all fairness, let me announce here, once everything is all said and done in South-East Asia, I´ve decided to uphold my end of the deal. If all goes as planned, next fall will witness the launch of a two-year Chronicle Series. Set where? To be announced, but chances are I´ll be like Aaron, who, after receiving initial word of his host-country and capital, frantically sprinted to the nearest computer and asked Google where in the world is Ouagadougou? Three weeks later, he now calls it home.

If we could rewind a few weeks, I´ll tell you the bittersweet story of my visit to the Taj Mahal.

The train from Delhi to Agra, the homeland of the Taj Mahal, was booked full for the next 22 years, so I opted for the bus. The buses in India always prove to be the more inexpensive mode of transport, but even here, where rationality has little role, there is a clear reason why the buses are the cheapest. A train is attached to the track, a plane is eventually bound by gravity, but when you sit in an Indian tour-bus, you´re the foolish coachman who forgot his whip. In the hours to come, the fickle horse had free rein.

I was to board the bus at 6:30 a.m. at the travel office where I had booked the ticket in Connaught Place, Delhi´s largest commercial district. When I arrived at 6:20, the long line of eager tourists I had expected was nowhere to be found, but still, the office was eerily open. Inside, homeless and half-clad Indian men slept on the very same desks I had purchases my ticket on the day before. I was literally stepping over bodies as I looked for clues to where my bus was. I walked back outside to the empty sidewalks and metal-caged markets, astonished that however lively the streets are during the day, New Delhi was currently sound asleep. Except for the monkeys trapezing from the rooftops, I was surrounded by more snoring menoutside: most of them, reassuringly, were security guards. Eventually, around 7:30, still alone, I was almost resigned, but then a man approached me, and in broken English, claimed to know of this mythological bus.

"Come to me," he said, pointing towards his car. I followed him and so did a newcomer, an Indian fellow who knew to arrive one hour and ten minutes late rather than like me, who arrived ten minutes early. After 15 minutes or so, we approached a block congested with long rectangular buses. Again, ungrammatically, he spoke and pointed to a particular bus. I hopped aboard, experiencing the shameful limelight that a person who is late and lonesome receives when walking down the aisle of a bus. As the only non-Indian to be seated, I was a walking figure of curiosity for most. Discovering an empty seat, I gestured for permission from a pot-bellied man, but like so many Indians, especially the thousands of rickshaw drivers I transact with, he gave the same inconclusive half-nod, half head-shake. So I sat. If he wanted me elsewhere, I assumed he would have snubbed me more convincingly.

The bus sat idle for about another hour. Once we began moving, we of course had to stop for fuel - why would anyone ever think to fill the gas tank before embarking on a four-hour drive? Continuing on at almost half past ten, we drove beyond the ostensible city limits of Delhi and merged onto the thoroughfare. As soon as the self-appointed tour leader delivered a verbose commentary in Hindi without the customary follow-up in English, I knew I was on a tour catering exclusively to the preferences and peculiarities of the Indian-born.

What followed was a day of what I call "bustration": optimal frustration evoked by a bus. After a luncheon on-the-fly and intermittent road-side urination, we arrived in Agra just a few hours before sunset. Without delay I was thrown into a frenzy of peddling predators. My distrust succumbed to my restlessness and I paid some swindler to advance me past the queue.

When you visit the Taj Mahal, you do not lay eyes on it until you walk beyond the barricades and take your first left. The moment it comes into view, you feel you have just arrived in Candy Land. The Taj Mahal´s magnificence, call it ethereal, call it surreal, but in my opinion, it´s in its ability to appear entirely fake. Photos always project it more as an optical illusion, but even with your naked eye, it gives the same impression as a two-dimensional backdrop on a Broadway stage.

I made earnest efforts to avoid the possibility of being left behind, but as I should have predicted, such hurry would pan out as another superfluous act of punctuality. At long last, the passengers returned to their seats, including the customary hitchhikers. As a tourist in India, you learn quickly that one person´s tour bus serves as another person´s public transit. What you may consider a site visit, the fellow dangling out the back door considers his stop.

That evening, I promise you, we stopped and started more than a San Francisco trolley. It was the birthday of Gandhi, and I suppose in a special salute to a preacher of all faiths, we stopped at every place of worship between Agra and Delhi. Somehow 8 p.m. gave way to 10 p.m., and 10 p.m. faded into midnight, and we hadn´t travelled more than 25 miles from the Taj Mahal. At 2:00 in the morning, our recent progress convinced me we were finally homeward bound, but once again, implausibility prevailed: we stopped for dinner. Nearing sunrise, we entered a lifeless New Delhi. Almost 24 hours had elapsed on my trip to the Taj and my state of mind, had it not been so sluggish, would had been murderous.

I was wakened by one of the driver´s helpers. Jostling my shoulder, he asked me where I lived. I responded listlessly, "Golf Links." "Number?" "91," I told him, too tired to wonder why he asked. Shutting my eyes again, I faded back into hazy sleep, but before long was wakened by the sudden stillness of the bus. I straightened my slack neck enough to look out the window, and not yet differentiating reality from a dream, I felt the presence of something very familiar. I will never know why or for what reason, but in the morning mist of that early autumn morning, a tour-bus literally keeling over with Indian men, women, and children, pulled up directly in front of my residence.

I was both shocked and flattered, having never felt so special nor so embarrassed in all my life. How should I approach this, I wondered. As a walk of shame: droopy, on my tiptoes? Or was I to strut, boasting a big chest as if I were on a red carpet? I gathered my things, which of course proved disruptive, as my camera, iPod, photos, and trash were scattered helter-skelter beneath and between seat cushions. Rising to my feet, I treated the moment - as I treat most of my moments here - as a once-in-a-life-time event. Out I went, marching at first, but as my sleeping security guard came into view, I made sure to lighten my step.

If a tour leaves three hours after its scheduled time; if tour-buses pick up hitchhikers; if 250 rupees can advance you past an entire line; and if I can be dropped off at my personal address in a bus with over 50 passengers, wouldn´t it sound silly to you to wake my security guard while he´s sleeping on the job?

From that October morning and every passing minute since, I´ve discovered the obvious answer in India is not often the preferred one.

To be continued, at some unspecified and unpredictable time.

Carol Hansen sends this story about

THE CENSUS

A census taker in a rural area went up to a farmhouse and knocked. When a woman came to the door, he asked her how many children she had and their ages.

She said, "Les´ see now. There´s the twins Sally and Billy, they´re thirty-two. And the twins Seth and Beth, they´re twenty-six. And the twins, Penny and Jenny, they´re twenty-four."

"Hold on!" said the census taker. "Did you get twins EVERY time?"

The woman answered, "Heck no, there were hundreds of times we didn´t get nothin´."

Gerrit de Leeuw tells of the curious adventure of the

ALIENS IN ARIZONA

Two aliens landed in the Arizona desert near a gas station that was closed for the night. They approached one of the gas pumps and the younger alien addressed it saying, "Greetings, Earthling. We come in peace. Take us to your leader."

The gas pump, of course, didn´t respond.

The younger alien became angry at the lack of response. The older alien said, "I´d calm down if I were you." The younger alien ignored the warning and repeated his greeting. Again, there was no response.

Annoyed by what he perceived to be the pump´s haughty attitude, he drew his ray gun and said impatiently, "Greetings, Earthling. We come in peace. Do not ignore us this way! Take us to your leader or I will fire!"

The older alien again warned his comrade saying, "You probably don´t want to do that! I really don´t think you should make him mad."

"Rubbish!" replied the cocky young alien. He aimed his weapon at the pump and opened fire. There was a huge explosion. A massive fireball roared towards them and blew the younger alien off his feet and deposited him a burnt, smoking mess about 200 yards away in a cactus patch.

Half an hour passed. When he finally regained consciousness, he refocused his three eyes, straightened his bent antenna, and looked dazedly at the older, wiser alien who was standing over him shaking his big green head.

"What a ferocious creature!" exclaimed the young fried alien. "He damn near killed me! How did you know he was so dangerous?"

The older alien leaned over, placed a friendly feeler on his crispy friend and replied, "If there´s one thing I´ve learned during my intergalactic travels, you don´t want to mess with a guy who can loop his penis over his shoulder twice and then stick it in his ear."

SUGGESTED WEBSITES

Carol Hansen sends this URL for a look at a spectacular edifice built entirely of toothpicks, which took 35 years to build: http://tiny.cc/zK4Mo

Gerrit de Leuuw recommends this YouTube video from Korea of a five- year-old blind piano player:

http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=2vIGFU80P7s

Nevil Horsfall sends this warning about Do Not Call cell phone lists:

http://arunaurl.com/2lcf

Sixty years ago - after the horrors of World War II - the world came together at the United Nations to unanimously pass the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Much progress has been made during those years, but millions are still denied basic human rights. For a rousing video from Amnesty International called The Price of Silence, see http://arunaurl.com/2lbf.

For an article and amusing video on the subject of BC´s controversial fish farms, go to

http://arunaurl.com/2lca