The Northwest Files

Rio's Great Adventure

You've heard that "when the cat's away, the mice will play," right? Well, allow me to add a twist to that: When the people are away, the cats also will play.

In this case, it was one cat, in particular. We have two of them, Rio, a goofy old Maine coon, and Vivian, a longhair who is four years younger than Rio's 13, and is his constant companion.

They've both been with us now since 2009. They made the trip from our home in Glendale to our new digs here in Central Oregon with surprising ease. But here's the thing: Because of the danger of predators – yes, coyotes and here, eagles too – and traffic, neither has ever been outside. We assiduously guard against doors accidentally left open and never, ever, allow them to get near us when we're going in and out.

That's been easy because neither of them has ever shown a scintilla of interest in being outside. Oh, they'll sit near an open window and, through the screen, drink in the sounds, smells and sights. But bolt for an open door? Never.

It was against this background that we came home from dinner with friends Saturday night to find Rio gone. We both knew that he absolutely could not have gotten out of the house. So we each, over the next day or so, and in separate expeditions, took the house apart. Yes, and the garage, too. At least three times. Each. He was nowhere to be found.

We have, on a kitchen door adjacent to the cats' eating area, one of those retractable screen doors that rolls up from one side. For part of Saturday, before we departed for our dinner, that door was open and the screen deployed.

What we figured out, finally, was that Rio must have stuck a nose, or a paw, or both, under that screening and weaseled his way under it to freedom. Freedom!

Fine, but now what? He's never been outside. He doesn't know the area at all. There is neither water nor food available. And even if there was, he's 13, comfortably plump, and missing several teeth. He's just not equipped to be out.

The cats sleep, and pretty much live, under our bed. So it wasn’t unusual that we saw neither of them when we arrived home. We didn't become aware of Rio’s absence until early Sunday morning. Horrified, we both jumped out of bed and in our pajamas, looked carefully around the house's immediate exterior. No Rio. We got dressed and walked the whole neighborhood calling for him and knocking doors, asking neighbors if they'd seen him. No Rio. We did this at least three times on Sunday. No Rio.

Listen, these two cats are part of our family. Rio sleeps with Laura, reminding her every morning that it's time for her to get out of bed and feed him. We adore them both. So we both were frantic and more than a little bereft at the thought that we might not see our wonderful old feline pal again.

But we tried hard to keep the faith. I contacted our HOA administrator, who put out an e-mail blast to our neighbors telling of Rio's escape, and listing our phone numbers. I put up a flier at the neighborhood mailboxes.  We got a number of calls alerting us to everything of a rabbit that might have been a cat to a cat who looked like Rio. Almost. But no Rio.

Now it's Monday and still no Rio. We got a call from a pal that really helped us. “Don't worry, she said, he's outside having a f****** good time.” A call from another pal, who operates a cat sanctuary, told us, “Y'know, he's terrified. My bet is that he's still on your property. He hasn't gone far at all. He's afraid to.”

We both felt better, felt some hope. But still no Rio.

Last night, more than 50 hours after Rio’s escape, I'm upstairs reading and being depressed, and Laura is downstairs working at the puzzle table. She's got the back-yard door open and another of those retractable screen doors deployed. It's late, at least for us – maybe 10:30. Vivian is sitting at the door, looking outside. She’s meowing.

Rio meowed back. There he is, standing right at the door. Laura carefully opened it, quietly approached him, and grabbed his furry ass! She said he smelled like pine needles. Outside having a good time? Well, maybe. But probably more like hiding under a tree, wondering what he’d got himself into.

Once inside, he was a bit disoriented at first and didn't want anything to do with either of us. He made a bee-line for his cat box, and then to his catfood dish. And by this morning, he's back to normal. And so are we.

But today he's peering out the windows with increased interest. And we're vowing to never again trust those damned screen doors.

-JFT

Thumb Drive

Lately I've written about an old guitar I have, a 1962 Martin 00-21. This is an iconic model that is, because of its beauty, playability and strong, rich tone, the choice of iconic players, including Baez, Dylan, Josh White, Jimmie Rogers, Dave Guard, Merle Haggard, and others. My guitar is one of just 76 examples of this model built by C.F. Martin factory in '62. There is no way at all that as a college freshman, I should have been able to afford it.

I found that I could afford it because of something that happened at the end of the 1961-'62 school year. I was away at school, living in a dorm. Things were not going well. My girl friend dumped me. My grades were terrible; I was far more interested in music than in studying. Well, until I discovered journalism in a whole different college environment, and began writing, editing and taking photos; but that came later. I had no car and no money. And oddly, I could not find my parents.

They had spent the previous 20 years on a ranch in Southern California. That was home, the place where I grew up. And then it wasn't. I tried to call them. No answer. Phone disconnected. Ah, well - get on with finals. Right.

I was that semester working in the campus workshop during after-school hours. This was a very lucky thing, as I was registered as an employee and drawing a meager pay check. We were building bureaus that would be used in the women's dorm. Midway through an after-class afternoon shift, while making drawer guides, something really cool happened. I made a mistake.

I caught my left thumb and the middle finger of my left hand in an electric planer. I felt a wicked vibration. The wall behind the planer turned pink. And it had small bits of bone and skin plastered to it. My left hand was a mess of warm, red, sticky stuff. I grabbed the pressure point on the thumb to staunch the flow, walked to my supervisor and said "I think I've hurt myself."

Yes. A bit of an understatement.

I bled all over the front seat of his old Chevy on the way to the hospital, where a doc patched me up, leaving me with about three-quarters of a left thumb, and almost all of a left-hand middle finger.

I couldn't notify my parents about this. I had no idea where they were, no idea how to contact them. Turns out my dad had lost his job and was feeling pretty low, so they both went into recovery mode to sort things out. Who can blame them? Finally they surfaced and arranged to haul me home. Home, which instead of the ranch upon which I'd grown up, was, for a short period, a rental house in Palmdale.

It was to that address that came one day a check from Workman's Compensation. I had no idea what this was, and I certainly do not remember applying for any sort of compensation. An accident was an accident, my own damned fault.

But the letter came. In it was a check for $2,500. I was absolutely astonished. This was a whole lot of money in 1962.  Today, it would buy you a solid, mid-range Martin guitar.

But in 1962, it bought much more. When I returned to school, a dumb thing to do, given my poor academic performance and prospects, I paid a year's tuition. I put up the money to start the campus ski club. Yeah, that also was dumb. I was trying to keep up with the cool kids, which I could never do.

But before I did any of that, I borrowed my dad's '58 Volkswagen Beetle and drove down to McCabe's Guitar Shop, in Santa Monica, and bought a Martin guitar, a 00-21 made of spruce and Brazilian rosewood. I paid $200 for it, and another $50 for a case. Replacing it today probably would cost at least $6,500.

I've played the crap out of it for 55 years, for a long time taking it with me everywhere I went. It's been with me through a whole life, a love affair driven by a thumb injury. It is not something I ever would sell because it is almost as much a part of me as, well, my left thumb.

But not as much a part of me as my few very close friends, none of whom, I think, know this story. In fact, I don't think Laura knows this story. Which is why I'm telling the tale now. I thought it would be fun to write, and I thought it might be interesting to read. At least I hope so. But you know, you never know.

My folks recovered from their setback and moved to the San Fernando Valley. My dad returned to the motion picture studios, where he had worked as a young man. He continued in that work, mostly at MGM, as a studio grip and union steward, for the rest of his working life, a much better outcome, I think, than if he had stayed on the ranch. My mom worked as a librarian.

In 1964, I also went to work in the studios. I started over with college, attending Cal State Northridge, and financed my education with money earned as a grip. As soon as I received my degree in journalism, I went to work for a daily paper and spent 42 years and 8 months in journalism before retiring. I haven't looked back much. Until now. And you know, I haven't missed that portion of thumb at all.

-JFT

Shooting Animals

Hey, shooting them with a camera, OK? Making photographs, as we photographers say.

I've got a wildlife photography workshop tomorrow at the High Desert Museum. 

Tonight, a pre-workshop with famed nature fotog George Lepp, who is leading this thing. He gave lots of information, not least this: For birds in flight, 1600 ISO, manual, f16, 1/2000-sec. Make sure you have the blinkies turned on so you can see if you're blowing out the light colors. I never, ever, have shot a digital camera in Manual. We shall see.

He was way helpful with focus settings. Told us which focus points to use - center third - and which case to use - 3. Yes, Canon DSLR-oriented.

Lepps likes the 5D Mk4 way better than the 7D Mk2, which is what I have, damn him. But he also likes the 7D Mk2 just fine. Its problem is its ISO performance at 1600 and beyond. I've set my 7D Mk2 at 1250, just to be safe.

Tomorrow, waaayy too early, we start with otters, wolverine, porcupine. Then we move on to the birds - hawks, owls, eagles and a turkey vulture. And man, are they all gorgeous. Little and as fast as lightning, larger, all the way up to huge and as slow as a WWII long-range bomber - that would be the vulture.

The museum's animal curator was/is wonderful. He told us these animals don't belong to the museum, they belong to us. They are here for us to enjoy and photograph and maybe learn from. Marvelous.

Just got home a bit ago, had to spend some time carefully setting my camera and lens, a Canon 70-300 L-series. Stabilizer setting two for tracking birds in flight with longitudinal movement. Who knew? Well, you probably did. Also just reviewed my lens test to be absolutely, positively, sure where the damned thing is sharp. Sometimes being a cheapskate is stupid. I wish I'd bought the newest, latest, greatest version onaccounta it is sharper. Ah, well. Hey, I saved a couple hundred bucks! That's gotta count for something. Doesn't it?

The upside to all this is that tomorrow will be a gorgeous, warm day. Unlike the blizzard conditions in which we froze our nuts off last February trying to get a few shots of most of these same birds....

If I'm lucky enough to get anything decent, which is very much open to question, I will share a few shots. I promise.

-JFT

Alone Again. Never A Good Idea!

Hm. Laura is going to be on the road for a full week in early June, which means I will be unsupervised during that time, always a situation that risks critical mass.

 

Upon previous occasions, the fore-mentioned critical mass has resulted in the unauthorized purchase of guitars, banjos, motorcycles, and yes, good god, even cars. Impulse control may be a problem. But now, after 35 years of wedded bliss (no kidding, here) with my patient and understanding sweetie, I know better than to think of such nonsense. Onaccounta patience and understanding only spends so far, knowwhutahmean?

 

What I am thinking, however, is the usual: Steven Tyler and Aerosmith on the back grass doing "Walk This Way," kegs of beer, taco trucks, and dancing girls. Yes, the HOA will bitch, but they'll get over it.

 

Also, I think probably, what's called for is a couple of days on the local trap range and a couple of days of guided fly fishing on the abundant blessing of fish-filled rivers flowing around here. With a bit of luck and a lack of wind, I might just break some clays and catch/release a couple of pretty trout.

 

Me and the cats hate it when she's away because we don't get fed or petted very well, but we probably will survive, as long as we stick to the plan. But we'll all be very happy when she returns.

 

-JFT

Sea Cruise, Part III: The Final Lap, and A Promise Kept

Days 18 and 19 – Sea days on our way north-west to Kuala Lumpur, our final stop before we head back south-east to disembark for good in Singapore. It's not long before we're so far out to sea that we no longer can smell land. We are of course in the watery realm of King Neptune, and today, Day 19, is the day we've crossed the equator. Apparently, ancient naval tradition requires, when this line is crossed, a small ceremony involving Neptune himself, complete with his trident. So that was the big entertainment for us at noon today, with the pool deck jammed to watch the fun. Having achieved this milestone, we now are Crusty Shellbacks. Or so we are told. All in all, kind of a fun thing. A look at just a few of the hundreds of ships crowding Singapore's harbor. Clearly, a whole lot of cargo flows through this place.

There's another important line to cross. That happens, on Saturday, several days from now (today is Tuesday, March 7, I think), when we cross the international dateline again on our way home. Shortly after that happens, perhaps I finally will know, for the first time in weeks, exactly what day and time it is.

Interesting. As we pass Singapore, a huge city marked by many skyscrapers, we find hundreds of ships in the harbor, many of them tankers riding high and dry, waiting for loads. Makes me think of an invading navy. A lot of petroleum passing through this port. A lot of other stuff, too. It's a huge and very busy port that processes something like 90,000 containers per day. Think about that. The ships here comprise a navy of commerce. Overall, the effect of this huge harbor - miles long, the number of ships here, the backdrop of the city, and a glorious sunset, is absolutely jaw-dropping.

Day 20 –Kuala Lumpur. I'm up a little before six and out on our veranda to watch as we glide through a harbor channel to tie up alongside this city's new cruise-ship center. There's a strong chemical smell in the air, the framework of many chemical plants on the skyline, and the sort of hazy red sunrise that suggests air pollution. Makes me think that we in the U.S. are very fortunate that we have the environmental protections that we have. Breathing this cannot be healthy.

Seems like this is a very prosperous place, with, in order, petroleum, palm oil, manufacturing, and tourism bring the biggest sources of income. There must be a lot of it, as this place looks the opposite of Bali - modern and relatively clean.

Our trip today took us not to Kuala Lumpur, the country's commercial capital, but to Putrajaya, the country's administrative capital. We were absolutely wowed. Built fresh from the ground up in 1995, the city is a showplace built to accommodate digital communication. The highways between it and the port are wide and modern, with not much traffic. They are lined by mile after mile of palm oil plantation. The highways accommodate much cargo from the port, our guide said, and that's the reason they are quite rough in places. Weight beats hell out of highways. Here's a look at the so-called Pink Mosque, newly built in the newly-built city of Putrajaya, Kuala Lumpur's administrative capital. Very impressive and very beautiful.

The best feature here? For us, it is a large and very beautiful botanical garden filled with trees and plants we've never seen. We had an hour here but could have spent much more time.

And now it's our inalienable afternoon on board. Tonight we will enjoy a group dinner with the Aragons and the Hooffs, then return to our stateroom and pack for tomorrow, which starts early.  The final challenge? To Web surf all I can, burning my last wi-fi minute at – well, at the last minute. We've had 250 minutes to play with and we've had to husband them carefully. Just as I wish to die just after I've spent my last dollar, I hope to leave the ship tomorrow with my zest for information satisfied and with a zero wi-fi balance.

Day 21 and 22 – Singapore, about 250 miles south of Kuala Lumpur. As I said, we're up early. I'm up at 6 am to shower, dress, collect our passports, which have remained in the hands of the ship's security officers. We grab a quick breakfast and then, at 7:30, we disembark, clear immigration and customs, grab a cab, and check into our hotel here in Singapore.

Man, what a place! Older sections comprised of shuttered, sprawling three-story buildings compete for space with modern high-rises. And what buildings! Lots of interesting and creative architecture here, which we viewed from the top level of a bus.
What architectural creativity and freedom! There aren't many straight lines here, not many right angles. It's all curves and waves, very interesting stuff. And clean? No litter anywhere, men operating miniature street sweepers to keep the sidewalks spotless. You litter, you receive a draconian punishment that might well include being caned, with up to seven strokes. Not good!

The place is incredibly prosperous and very busy. Lots of young people. Or am I just old? (The chorus answers with a resounding "Yes!")

We got an overview today courtesy of the hop-on, hop-off bus, and well worth it. Tomorrow, our last day before we catch our ride home? Not sure. Laura wishes to shop. I'll have go find something to do. Should not be too difficult. The subway here makes this whole huge city easy to access. But after a tour on the bus, we stay close. We're checked into the Royal Plaza on Scotts, a very nice hotel here on one of the city's upscale shopping districts. After 19 days aboard ship, it is nothing short of wonderful to have a real bathroom, a real toilet, a real shower. What incredible luxury!

Fun thing today? We stopped into the bar at Raffles, a wonderful old hotel that harkens back to the heritage of the time of the British here. Our merry band took refuge in the bar at Raffles. The assignment? Sample a batch of Singapore Slings. Delicious!

Very high ceilings, busy ceiling fans, dark wood, and of course Singapore Slings for everyone. The drink was invented here in this bar, so it's something that you just have to do. Delicious, if a little sweet for my tastes. 

Morning ritual complete the morning of Day 22, we're going adventuring, Laura and I. This afternoon, she and Ginger plan to shop. Paul and I will go off on our own, see if we can avoid trouble. Highlight of the day? A trip on the Singapore Flyer, the enormous Ferris wheel, with its air-conditioned pods, for an unparalleled view of this beautiful city and its incredible architecture. And to my glee, we see portions of the Formula 1 Grand Prix track winding past just below that. And the final treat, a trip through the Marina Gardens – not exactly botanic gardens, not exactly not, but beautiful and creative in any case. One of the best things in Singapore? A ride on the Singapore Flyer. We liked it!

Later, while Laura and Ginger shopped, Paul and I made a brief shopping foray into the Lucky Plaza, an incredible, multi-level warren of tiny discount shops. Then we collapsed into a sidewalk cafe to snack and watch the world go by. People-watching always is great sport wherever we go, and Singapore is no different.

Food? Our one exotic meal here is at a place called Kam's Roast at the end of our first day. You can have anything you want, as long as its duck. Cooked any way like, as long as it's roasted. So we both ordered roast duck. It was absolutely delicious, washed down with a couple of Tiger beers. Yes, when we travel, we always sample the local beer. This was really good. The specialty here is chili crab and we badly wanted to try it. But we both were so zonked on our last night here that we passed on dinner.

Day 23 – Up at 4, a cab to the airport at 5 am for our 8 am flight to Hong Kong. Then on to LAX for customs and immigration, then on to Portland, and, finally, a short hop to Roberts Field, the neat new airport that serves Bend and Redmond. It promises to be another very long day.

And on this 35th-anniversary trip, that promise was kept. We arose at 4 am Singapore time, caught our flight at 8 am, crossed the international dateline so that Saturday lasted twice as long as it usually does, endured two excruciatingly long layovers in Los Angeles and Portland, and arrived home, exhausted, at about 11 pm. All in all, we were traveling for about 46 hours. But it was worth it.

This has been a wonderful experience. I don't know that we will pass this way again, Europhiles that we are. Which is why we have attempted to extract full value these past few weeks. Favorite city? Easy: Singapore. Favorite experience? Great Barrier Reef, in spite of my experience there. Biggest surprise? Bali and the density and poverty we saw there. Biggest worry? Those damned ugly and terrifying Komodo dragons, their sharp teeth and powerful claws. Biggest relief? Arriving home. Biggest joy? The sharp tang of our local juniper forest, which assaults my olfactory senses the moment we step off the airplane. It's indisputable proof that we are home.

Home, you see, always is our best place. I'm sure it is for you, too. But the thing is, I suspect that it won't be long before we're thinking about our next adventure. It always seems to work that way. And as much as we love home, we also love that.

-JFT

Sea Cruise, Part II: The Reef, Dragons, and More

Day 10 – Airlie Beach, a short day, we have to be back aboard ship by 4:30 pm for the run to Cairns, tomorrow's stop. Airlie Beach is a gorgeous little resort town, but very expensive. In fact, everything we've seen in Australia seems expensive.

We took a ride in a tour plane over the Great Barrier Reef, aka GBR.
It is immense, stretching about 1,450 miles along the northern part of Australia's west coast; and, from the air, absolutely spectacular. It is composed of small organisms similar to anemones who live their lives rooted to the bones of their forebears. In a much more complex way, we humans do much the same thing. Anyway, tomorrow, we get up-close and personal. We're going to do a little snorkeling around the GBR. Here's what part of the reef looks like from the air. We arrived home to the news that because of rapidly warming sea water, large parts of the reef are either dead or dying. 

Day 11 – Cairnes, Australia. Up early. It's a 90-minute boat ride from our ship's anchorage out to the reef. Once there, suited up with fins, snorkel and more, we're ready. Laura jumped right in and swam off. She's a regular water babe. I'm next and - I just could not do it. I've snorkeled in situations where you walk down a beach into clear water, then swim out to view the sea life. No problem. But here? I'm getting a gag reflex from my snorkel's mouthpiece. Jumping off the back of a pitching boat into rough seas with that going on? Just not going to happen. I handed the camera to Laura and remained aboard. I got my look at the reef via a small glass-bottomed tender. Meanwhile, Laura got a bunch of really nice photos of the reef and its denizens. Of course she did!  The photos show how close Laura was able to get to some of the sea life on the reef. The one on the right, shows, how shallow the water here is and how close to the surface the reef is.

It's amounted to a full day; we departed for the GBR at about 9 am and we're back on board by 4:15, under way by about 6 pm. In bed by 8!

Days 12 and 13 – At sea on the way to Darwin, our final Australian port of call. These sea days are great for relaxing, doing art, writing, soaking in the ship's many hot tubs, and for checking out the classes and lectures that are offered. Laura has attended several cooking classes. Today I plan to attend one on digital photography.

A truism about this trip, at least for me, is that we have crossed so many time zones, and also the international dateline, that it's tough to keep track of what time and day it is. For instance, today is Wednesday. I think. This morning we turned our clocks back half an hour. When did anyone ever do that?

Day 14 – Darwin. Were not spending any time at all in town. Instead, we're  on a tour of the Territory Wildlife Park, located about an hour out of town. Interesting place constructed around habitat for the animals in residence. It's 92 degrees with 99.9-percent humidity, so while the park's many gorgeous birds are active, the wallabies definitely are not. Instead, they sprawl in the shade, carefully watching us watch them. A trio of dingoes came out to investigate us - perhaps because a keeper was tossing food items to them. Oh, and tonight, our clocks get set back by another 90 minutes. Crazy. A nice shot of an Australian pelican on the left and of a very lazy wallaby on the right.

One more thing – today we're tied up alongside a quay, rather than being anchored out in the bay. This makes getting to and from our shore excursion so much easier and faster.

Meanwhile, back in Redmond today, it's 51 and sunny, a gorgeous day. It might just be spring by the time we arrive back home in a little more than a week. Can't wait to get back to the glories of central Oregon!

Day 15 – And now this trip enters new waters,  exotic waters. We're in the sea between Australia and Indonesia. It's another sea day, with the latest James Bond movie playing in the on-board theater this afternoon. We sit on our veranda pondering the power of this enormous vessel, plowing inexorably through this distant ocean at about 30 kph, no other vessels in sight, but in the distance, off our starboard side, the southern profile of East Timor. It's just us, the endless ocean, and the endless sky, very far removed from the ridiculous tumult in Washington D. C. and  the affairs of arrogant, traitorous men. (The attorney general recusing himself from an investigation because he's guilty of the same things being investigated? Outrageous!) So far, we've sailed about 4,600 nautical miles. We'll sail about 6,000 miles before we're done.

Day 16 – Komodo Island. Today will be civilized, unless of course one of the dragons eats a cruise passenger. It will be civilized because instead of being ready to rock by 8 am, as has been the case with past shore excursions, we needn't be ready until 10:30. There is time for breakfast. Life is good. Komodo Island looked innocent enough on this gorgeous morning, but it is a very dangerous place.

We're up early to watch the rugged, very exotic islands that comprise Indonesia – 17,000 of them – slide by as the ship heads toward today's anchorage. We watch as electrical storms light up the clouds above the islands. The message in those flashes of light seems to be, "Tread carefully here."

Not far from us are such places as Sumatra and Borneo. When we were kids, my pals, the Duryee brothers, and I were fascinated by stories about Borneo's fabled head hunters. But no Borneo for us now. Today it's Komodo. And dragons. We're not in central Oregon anymore.

Again it is very hot, the mid 80s, with humidity at 99.9 percent. The island, like those surrounding it, is a verdant green, with a necklace of gorgeous beaches. I like the irony that we've come from a place called Darwin to a place that figures so strongly in the study of evolution.

This place is a national park and a World Heritage Site. These creatures, which are found only on Komodo and four other islands here, total about 5,000 individuals, live for up to 50 years, weigh up to 600 pounds, and are up to 10 feet in length. They are protected. I think it's us who need to be protected from them, but that's just me. We're told to wear no red and to have no open wounds. These things see colors, are said to be poisonous, and are bloodthirsty. As long as we all are issued automatic weapons, grenades, rocket launchers for use during our visit, we should be OK. Our guide took us to a pod of about a half dozen Komodo dragons and kept us well back. We needed no urging to stay clear away from these nasty things. The creature in the second photo was hissing loudly at us. All the warning I required!

And we were careful. The last time the dragons ate a tourist was in 1973, some Swiss traveler who got careless. The guide said all that was found was his camera. Probably had teeth marks on it. But since then, the ugly bastards also have eaten seven locals. Not good, not good at all. Seriously, these are very poor people and do not need the grief.

Our visit consisted of a walk of about 2 kilometers, during which we saw a gaggle of six dragons resting in shady spot, waiting for an unsuspecting Timor deer, rabbit, or human to stumble through for lunch. We escaped the honor. So to, for now, did the deer and wild pigs we saw on our walk.

Interesting habitat – deep tropical jungle, exotic bird calls, the whole deal. And at the end of our walk, a large shopping bizarre set up by the locals who are hungry for income of any kind. All in all, a day very well spent.

Day 17 –  Bali. An interesting day. Anchored far out in the harbor, we get a whiff of the place - smoke from cooking fires and from the fires used to burn rubbish. It's not at all unpleasant.

We joined an excursion titled "Bali Terraces and Ulan Danu Temple." And that's what we saw, acres and acres of terraced rice paddies and beautiful Hindu temple far up in the mountains. Doing all this required five hours aboard a bus for a 30-minute temple visit, however, so this is not something I would recommend. Bali's rice paddies are small in size and tended by hand. 

From what I could tell, Bali does indeed possess some gorgeous scenery. But it also possesses grinding poverty and excruciating overpopulation, a main city that is as busy and frenzied as an ant hill, with a lack of critical infrastructure just to make things interesting. The traffic here was the most amazing I've seen anywhere, with few traffic controls, people putting their lives in jeopardy to turn left or right, to cross the road - indeed, to do anything at all except perhaps follow the vehicle directly in front of them.

There are plenty of cars, trucks and buses here, but the vehicle of choice seems to be the motor scooter. They are everywhere, and very often are used as trucks and family transport. We saw a guy riding along carrying four big sacks of stuff - one behind him, one on the handlebars, one on his lap and one down on the floor boards. We also saw many scooters carrying entire families - mom, dad, little kids. Yes, up to four people per scooter. Often the adults were helmeted, but not so the children.

The scooters are slow and the roads exceedingly narrow, with homes and shops built right out to its edge, and with cars parked halfway into the driving lane. Yet faster traffic regularly passes slower traffic. An oncoming vehicle? No worries! Maybe we'll be lucky, maybe it will stop before we collide with it. Kinda operated like a weird, barely contained anarchy. You wonder what the traffic death toll is here? About 20,000 motorcyclists meet their fatal doom every year, according to one of our guides. Shocking.

The rice paddies were in various stages – some newly planted, some ready for harvest, all of them very small, nothing at all like the industrial rice farming we see along Interstate 5 in Northern California. No tractors to do the plowing, either. The farmers here use small, attractive cattle for that. Or so we were told by a farmer whose home we briefly visited. The place was very well kept, but I had to wonder about the proximity of the toilet facilities to the well. Oh, and since this country largely is Hindu, those cattle are for work only. They are not a food source. The home of a local farmer was clean and well-kept, but as you can see from a look at the family kitchen, primitive, relative to the way we live. 

Ulan Danu Temple, our second stop, is a gorgeous place. It is a major Shivaite and water temple. Not many structures, but a lot of nicely maintained parkland  located on the shores of Lake Bratan in the mountains near Bedugul.
It's a large, open campus, very well kept but very crowded with tourists, on the shore of a large lake high up up in Bali's hills. Dating from 1633, it presents an opportunity to meditate, to appreciate the architecture and scenic beauty, or, once outside the temple grounds, to do a brief bit of shopping. The temple at Ulan Danu is an expensive, well-kept place. The photo on the right shows just a small, beautiful part of it. 

 

All in all, we were glad to get back aboard the ship, especially because this was yet another port in which we were not tied up alongside and instead used the ship's tenders to get to and from shore. This can be very uncomfortable, as it was today, for the ride to and from was long, the day was very hot, and the tenders completely unventilated. It was surprising that none of the older people with us – and they are many – suffered heat stroke. Getting back to our cabin and cranking up the AC was a very good thing. Getting my paws wrapped around a cold beer was an even better thing. Next, part three!

-JFT

Sea Cruise: Oceana, Here We Come

"Ooo-wee, baby, ooo-wee; ooo-wee baby, ooo-wee; won't you let me take you on a sea cruise?"

My oldest pals, and I mean that in a literal sense, will recognize those lines as a lyric from a Paleolithic pop tune. They also happen be reflect what Laura and I more or less asked ourselves a few months back as we approached our 35th anniversary. So here we are, as today's sun rises, deep into the South Pacific's Coral Sea, about 2/3s through an 18-day celebratory trip through Oceania. It begins in New Zealand, explores the east and north coasts of Australia, touches parts of Malaysia, and ends in Singapore. Sea cruise, indeed.

Honestly, we really didn't mean to do this. But the idea was floated by our pals Paul and Ginger Aragon, who were doing this trip with their pals, Dave and Judy Hooff. Why not tag along? 

Sounded like a good idea at the time and the rates were too reasonable to ignore. We were enduring the worst winter in central Oregon in decades, so a bit of sun seemed like a good idea. Plus it's a significant anniversary. So, why not?

Still, I wasn't sure that I was up to a trip over water. But we think we'd better travel to see the sights while we can. These are uncertain times and the world is an uncertain place. So here we are.

One bridge to cross? Care for the house and cats while we're away. A friend is up from our old hometown to take care of that while she gleefully shops for a new home in our area. And the cats, those same cats who are so shy and careful that visitors never see them, adopted her like she'd raised them. Traitors, I tell you!

We get a sense of what we're in for at San Francisco International Airport, from which our trans-Pacific flight departs. We get it from the throngs of passengers waiting to board the Boeing 777 that's set to take us all to Hong Kong, where we will transfer to a similar aircraft for the long flight down to Auckland. We get it from the variety of faces - Chinese, of course, but also Indian, as well as those of a few westerners, like us. And we get it from the Babel of language that surrounds us. Mostly, this crate is a flying Chinese village. With a few of we minorities thrown into the stew. It's a good thing.

Now it's time to hunker down and endure this long, boring ride. Did I say long? This first leg is long, nearly 7,000 miles, 14 hours in the air. And our connecting flight is nearly as long. In total, we will fly something like 23,000 miles this trip.

It's been tiring so far, and we've barely started. To the airport in Redmond Tuesday afternoon for a short flight to Portland. Where we'll spend the night, the better to catch our Wednesday 7 am flight to Frisco. We both slept badly. Hoping to catch some shuteye on this flight.

Portland to Frisco to Hong Kong to Auckland. It added up to about 37 hours of travel made longer, at least seemingly, by crossing the international dateline. We both love being in new places, but we both despise the process of getting to those places.

But finally we arrived in Auckland on what now is a Friday, where we overnighted in a hotel. Boarded on Saturday, which I will call Day 1 of this cruise. It was a bit of a mess, with 2,500 people herded into a shed and filtering through too few check-in agents. We were told that the process for obtaining an Aussie visa would be conducted aboard. Fine. Here on the right is Auckland, in a shot taken from the deck of the Norwegian Star. As always, to see the photo fullsize, just click on it.

Then it got worse. Hundreds of us were told that we could not board without that visa. The line for that visa, they said, was that long one over there. There was one computer working on the problem, though several more eventually were added.

Then it got worse. At about 4:30, being in line since about  2:15, my turn finally came. The computer at the Aussie consulate didn't like my brand new passport, and refused a visa. No reason given. The rep tried it again. Same result. Totally confused and frustrated, we began pondering alternatives. Setting ourselves on fire, for instance. Or perhaps just renting a car and touring New Zealand, a beautiful place that actually seemed to like us. Then the rep tried a third time and the visa was granted –$20 was the cost. It was now 6 pm, still 90 degrees and very humid, and sailing time. We finally made it into our stateroom by 6:30, exhausted.

We're told that this visa requirement went into effect on January 19, the day before Herr Trump, who insulted the Aussie president, was inagurated. I kinda understand that. But I'm just a bit miffed - peeved, you might say - at Norwegian Cruise Lines. There is no excuse for the mess of a boarding process that they conducted. And there is less excuse for not making sure that the visa problem was handled beforehand with one universal set of instructions. Perhaps in their direction one should hurl imprecations. I'm not sure.

Day 2 – But we at least we're aboard the Norwegian Star, all 935 feet of it, with 2,500 other passengers, and spent a calm night at sea. Awakened in paradise, the Bay of Islands, at the northern tip of the North Island.
Went ashore, toured Paihia, aka "paella," according to one of our companions, a nice little town clotted with  tourists, and then took a ferry across the bay to Russell, which was indeed paradise. Lunch at the Duke of Marlborough Hotel, seafood chowder and beer. Delicious. Then back on board for the two-day cruise to Sydney.

This is what paradise looks like.

Days 3 and 4 - Aboard ship: interesting weather. It's February and late summer here in the Southern Hemisphere, with temps and humidity both in the 90s. Some sun, some clouds, a breeze, some mild seas. At home, there's snow on the ground with daily high temps of 40 and now in the 20s.

We've spent part of Day 3 planning shore excursions. We've got something for every stop, not least of which is a visit to see the Komodo dragons, on Komodo Island. Perhaps we will be afforded the opportunity to feed a Norwegian exec to one of them.

Plenty to do aboard. BBQ for lunch on deck 12, best food so far. The grub in most of the ship's 12 restaurants is, at best, quite ordinary. We find, however, that three of the six extra-cost restaurants do really well. The others, not so much. Our  stateroom came with the Universal Beverage Package, so refreshments are without cost, a benefit which helps assuage the unfortunate fact of kitchen mediocrity. Please think of these comments not as whining, but as reportage.

The Star is huge, 935 feet in length, but if you don't grab a deck chair early, you don't get one at all.

Our stateroom is tiny but comfortable, the bathroom is smaller than the smallest closet at home. Hey, I'm 6' 4"', 250 pounds. I think the same troll who designs airplane seats designed this thing.

We're now in the middle of the immensity of the Tasman Sea, between NZ and Oz. Moderate seas, whitecaps, maybe 7 feet, the horizon so long and unbroken that you can discern the curvature of the earth. Would not care to be alone out here on, say, a life raft. But this is an experience I don't think we will have the opportunity to repeat, so I'm enjoying it to the most - from the comfort of our stateroom's veranda. A serene way to travel, this.  I'm hoping that this photo will provide a sense of Earth's curvature.

The Star rocks and she rolls as she encounters seas and swells. One had best acquire sea legs, and acquire them quickly. This is not for those with vertigo.

Entertainment everywhere. Right now, Beach Boys recordings rocking the topside bar, the denizens of which are nicely lubricated by mai-tais and such. Stage shows, lounge acts,  and more at venues all over this huge ship.  Sadly, no banjo, no guitar, no Americana. But at least a violin/cello duo playing very nicely.

The weather? It cannot be faulted. A few huge cumulus clouds, nature's own top gallants,  ghost along the horizons like a celestial squadron of square-riggers, with a light breeze and brilliant sunshine.

We have had two lazy days of these conditions. That ends tomorrow, when we set foot on Aussie soil in Sydney. We have not a lot in the way of a plan. Just explore the city via the hop-on, hop-off bus. 

The view from the Star's foredeck as we arrive in Sydney's harbor.

Day 6 – Yay! Abroad for the day in Sydney. We like it, a huge, busy, bustling, gleaming city filled with healthy, polite people, but also a quaint old town. Saw immediately that hop-on, hop-off bus was a bad mistake. I guess we're way too independent for that sort of thing. We left the bus and hoofed it around town, seeing gardens, cathedrals, and the most amazing high-end shopping district.

Had lunch in a tower that jutted skyward from an enormous, 6-story shopping mall. The restaurant was one of those revolving things, one revolution per hour. So high that the seagulls needed oxygen masks. Or so I was told. Food was good, the view, freakin' spectacular.

Caught a tender back to our ship after inspecting the city's most historic quarter, complete with cannon made in 1823. Fired 46-pound iron balls. You'd need 46-pound balls to load and fire the thing. Laura lines up the huge cannon's sights.

Day 7 – Wollongong, a town maybe 50 miles south of Sydney, served by Port Kimla. It's a pleasant place anchored by steel mills and surrounded by mountains and forest.  Laura and Ginger visited a Buddhist temple, the largest in the Southern Hemisphere, and had a grand time. Paul and I visited the Historic Aircraft Restoration Society, with features extensive shops and a museum filled with aircraft of all descriptions, in all states of repair, with interesting parts stacked everywhere, and likewise had a grand time. Here's Laura's shot of the temple she and Ginger visited. 

Days 8 and 9 – We're at sea, on our way to Airlie Beach and Cairnes as a school of dolphins races and jumps alongside. These are good days to chill and read, and also to use the many pools and hot tubs aboard this huge ship. I dread this sort of thing because I'm no fan of water for either sport or relaxation, but also because I can be charitably described as a fat old man. I am not at my best in a bathing suit. My 6-pack long ago gave way to a beer pack. But it doesn't matter at all, I find, because everybody aboard - everybody - is at least as old and fat as I. So there is no need at all to feel self-conscious, something I'm good at.

And speaking of all those people: what an amazing polyglot. A few Americans, sure, but lots of others from everywhere else, too; east, west, north and south. All manner of skin colors and languages. So if we were to arrive at our next port to find that some madman had destroyed the world, we would have all the ingredients required to to start it right back up again, with all the same old tensions, resentments and hatreds. I don't know if that's good or bad.

After dinner tonight, we stood out on our veranda and marveled at the celestial display, aided by the profound darkness of the night skies over the open ocean. This featured the constellation we most wanted to view - the Southern Cross. Truly special. Hey, celestial photography with no tripod from above a ship on the high seas is not for sissies. The Crux is either there in the upper right corner or in the lower left. I think, because of the orange color of one of the stars, it's the set tars in the lower left, but I'm not sure. Sorry, it's the best I could do. But one way or another, we've seen it.

The Cross, or Crux, as it sometimes is called,  is to the Southern Hemisphere as the Big Dipper is to the northern hemisphere and is composed of four of the brightest stars in that part of the sky – Epsilon Crucis, Gamma Crucis, Delta Crucis and Kappa Crucis.  I found it subtle, but in its way, spectacular, to see; not least because it is embedded in a broad swath of stars as bright as spilled cream. Kind if a southern version of the Milky Way, or perhaps a continuation of it.

To Be Continued....

-JFT

Finding Food

We've been here in central Oregon for six months now, and while the best eats, by far, continue to flow copiously from Laura's kitchen, we also enjoy, on occasion, as befits the thrifty retirees we are, dining out. So I thought I'd present the following arbitrary, opinionated, incomplete, and entirely capricious guide to restaurants in the area around Bend, which comprises Bend itself, Sisters, Tumulo, and Redmond. Please note that there are restaurants not mentioned that we have not tried. There are others not mentioned that we have tried and did not much care for. Ya pays yer money and ya takes yer chance.

Let us start with Redmond, upon the outskirts of which we live. Really good Mexican food is at the top of our must-have list, so we'll also start with that. A primary objective after moving here was to find Mexican food at least equal to that served by Mijares, our favorite hangout in Pasadena, near our previous home. Best in the area, by far (or at least our favorite, coming quite close to Mijares' fare), is Diego's Spirited Kitchen. But they don't take reservations and often are very busy, so going early is good. Diego's sister restaurant, with a broader menu that includes American items, is Madeline's, which is pretty good and much easier to get into.

Another very good restaurant here, offering smallish plates of continental cuisine, is the Red Martini, a couple of doors down from Diego's. Right close to those two in downtown Redmond is Oishi, a really good Japanese restaurant.

Two great places for breakfast in Redmond include One Street Down, a tiny but very popular place for breakfast and lunch, and also Christie's Kitchen, which also serves just breakfast and lunch. Both are homey and terrific, both are housed in vintage, decidedly un-restaurant buildings, and both are filled with locals. Of the two, Christie's is easier to get into. 

As for Sisters, a wonderful little town up the road from us a bit, we don't have a lot to report. We've explored it a little and have not yet found really good dining. That doesn't mean there isn't any. It just means we've not yet discovered it. We will continue the search because, hey, somebody's got to do this important work. That said, we do really like a little place there called the Cottonwood Cafe for breakfast and lunch. Like almost every other town here, Sisters does have several brew pubs, if that's your preference.

In Bend, the best restaurant we have found is, by far, the Jackalope Grill. Zydeco, in oldtown Bend, also is a very good dinner spot but thanks to lots of hard surfaces, I think, can be very noisy.

The Pine Tavern, also in oldtown, is really good, owned by a co-founder of McCormick & Schmick, so they know what they're doing. Happy hour here is the hot tip, with inexpensive drinks and a good bar menu. During summer, eating in the shaded back garden with the Deschutes flowing past you is close to paradisiacal. For Indian food, Taj Palace in oldtown is really good. Simple decor, but great food and a lot of it. For Thai, there are several around. We've been to Noi Thai, in oldtown, and liked it a lot. Quite polished and upscale.

For breakfast and lunch, it's tough to beat La Magie, on Bond Street in oldtown. Is very popular and often has a long waiting list. Greg's Grill, at the Old Mill district, is great for lunch with good food and a wonderful view of the Deschutes River. It's fun to just sit, quaffing one of Bend's many local beers, enjoying the river-and-mountain view from the building's capacious windows. Also good for lunch is the Deschutes Brewery brewpub in oldtown. Good food, good beer. What's not to like? Well, no view, that's what's not to like; but the food and beer are fine.

A quick note, here – this is serious beer country, with more than 30 craft breweries in Bend, alone. So there are many brewpubs, some really good, some not so hot. I mean, the beers tend to be excellent, but the food tends to be all over the map. There is no way at all I will be able to experience all of them. But I shall attempt this massive challenge!

Finally, for something entirely differently – a unique lunch experience, for instance – I recommend the food-truck pop-up in Tumulo called The Bite. It always, in all weathers, is busy. I mean, it can be pelting down the kind of snow that calls for sled dogs and cries of "Mush," and this place is still jumping. It comprises four food trucks and a small enclosed space in which to eat during crappy weather and buy drinks, including local beers. The Bite also features a bonfire, which is quite nice.

We have not yet discovered really good Chinese food anywhere. If you do, please advise.

-JFT

Shooting in the RAW

If you mess about with digital cameras in any depth at all, you know that when it comes to image resolution, you have a number of choices.

Lots of hobbyists choose to shoot JPEG (Joint Photographic Experts Group) images because that serves their purposes just fine. The camera provides some processing – just what and how much often can be adjusted within the camera – and the result is just fine for snapshots, e-mail or Web posts.

These JPEG images are not large files because in the camera, they are greatly compressed from their natural size, so they do not require scads of storage space. That's a big point in their favor, and one reason I've mostly shot JPEGS. I mean, I shoot a lot and I certainly don't want to overwhelm my computer's poor old hard drive.

But most serious cameras also will produce what's called a RAW image, so-called because that's what the files are – raw and unprocessed. Because they are uncompressed, they can comprise enormous files. How big is your camera's sensor? Is it, say, 20 megapixels? That's how big a single raw file is. Compare that with, say, a 2-mp JPEG file.

Thing is, as I understand this – and god knows, I'm no expert – the fact of compressing an image into JPEG format eliminates a great deal of the information originally captured by your camera's very sophisticated, very high-tech sensor.

So if you shoot JPEG images, you are, essentially, tossing out much of the information your camera is capable of providing. If you shoot for the Web or make snapshots, you might think that's not a big deal. But it kind of is.

It's really a big deal if you make large-format prints, as I do. If you process your images in something like Photoshop, as I do, and you want all the help you can get when you're trying to make your photographs presentable right down to the smallest and most precise color detail, especially in areas where exposure isn't perfect, you want all the photographic data, or information, your photo software can get its paws upon. So you shoot RAW.

When you do that, you can open these files in Photoshop's RAW processor, which provides much more latitude when dealing with areas that are too bright, too dark, have too much or too little mid-range contrast, and much, much more. It's all about the details. That's why RAW is good.

And so, reluctantly, after much patient badgering by my old pal Eric Herbranson, who is kind of the Clapton of cameras, I am, finally, as of this week, committed to shooting RAW. But also, at the same time, a small JPEG. The JPEG is great for looking at my shots on Windows viewer, which doesn't read RAW. And it's also great for e-mail and posting photos on the Interwebs.

Naturally, this is all a very slippery slope. If you're going to make serious prints, you just might have to upgrade your printer. Pure photo printers use lots of different ink colors. Mine uses eight colors. And you're constantly searching for the best photo paper. And better lenses. And on and on. A slippery slope.

But never mind. From now on, I will be shooting in the RAW. But while clothed in my usual jeans and T-shirt, so no worries. I'm just hoping that my images display a marked improvement.

-JFT

Eyes and Ears

Generally, getting old sucks. That said, I seem to be doing OK. My two aftermarket knees work really well - almost as well as the original equipment. And as I approach the age of 74, I'm in pretty good shape. At least for now.

But here's the deal: I've been contending with changes in my hearing and vision.

I've had hearing aids for three years. They worked well at first, but as my brain became used to them, they worked less well. I finally got to the point where, without them, I couldn't hear much at all, and with them, I was back where I was (or at least seemed to be) just before I got them. As an erstwhile musician, this is important. And as a happily married person who needs and wants to hear his spousal unit, it is of critical necessity.

So OK, a tune-up was in order. The chief audiologist at our local Costco, where these aids came from, best deal in town, did just that. Man, is that cat good at his stuff. I now hear really well again. Not as good as new, mind you, but pretty damned good.

Now, eyes: I've work spectacles since I was 11 years of age. Hey, when I got my first ones, I finally could see the classroom blackboard! But one's vision continues to change, and so every year, as my myopia progressed, I needed a stronger correction.

Until just a few years ago, when the myopia seemed to reverse itself. In order to continue seeing at least 20-10, which is really good and what I require, my eye doc progressively backed my correction down.

That was until this year. I realized that my vision had greatly deteriorated since my last exam. I couldn't read street signs, for instance, or the score on the TV screen during a football game - or, more important, the number of laps remaining in an F1 race. So I submitted myself to another exam. What the doc discovered was that I've become much more myopic. He wrote me a new eye-glass prescription.

And now I've got new glasses, both regular and shades. Once again, I see like an eagle. And with my newly adjusted hearing aids, I hear like a bat. Life is good. That doesn't mean that getting old is easy, mind you. But it is doable.

-JFT