 
# Short Story-Collection

# By Jon Van Loon

# Copyright 2015 Jon Van Loon

# Smashwords Edition

# Forward

This is a collection of my favourite short stories. They have been chosen to amuse and/or provide an insight into the future of mankind on this planet. The majority have been published scattered here and there among my various existing eBooks. It seemed useful to collect these and present them in one volume for those readers who enjoy the short story format in a book.

I feel justified in so doing because over a span of approximately 25 years I was privileged to live and work in jurisdictions on 6 Continents of the world. This opportunity arose from the nature of my research and teaching as a Professor at the University of Toronto. The work of particular interest was in the field of environmental sciences which at the time had significance to environmental problems in both developed and developing countries; hence my opportunity to travel widely on consulting and speaking engagements.

Fear not because the collection of short stories presented here has little to do with the particulars of research and teaching. They represent mostly amusing incidents that happened both in North America and abroad in the course of my many odysseys.

Most similarly engaged individuals who like me travel and live in a variety of countries worldwide, choose when possible to reside in North American style hotels. This approach prevents experiencing a close association with the local populace.

In my case such intermingling was near the head of my wish list. This meant finding locales in each jurisdiction that were as representative as possible of life in the region and taking up lodgings therein. As the reader might expect living like this, especially in non-English speaking precincts, could provide unexpected challenges but then again these often made for amusing experiences worth reciting.

Although I resided and had consultancies in many foreign jurisdictions worldwide I chose to emphasize stories from Australia, China, Brazil and South Africa to group into separate chapters.

Note: I should inform the reader that I am both learning disabled and bipolar since reference to these problems appears in a few stories.

# 

# Chapter 1

# Adventures near the Home Front

## The Corpse that Went Boating

This true story must be read from the perspective of a 15 year old at which age I abided when this incident occurred.

Working in a general store at a cottage resort was filled with nonstandard activities. A small 'heirloom' cedar strip boat with 5 horsepower motor and a 1942 Chevy with trailer hitch and by the way a hole in the driver's side floor were part of my arsenal. The boat was so old and in such bad repair that it was essential to drop it into the water several days before I arrived for my summers work. This was predicated by the fact that upon hitting the water the boat immediately filled with water and sank to its gunnels. If left this way for 2 or 3 days the cracks between the cedar stripping disappeared as the water swelled each wooden strip. Then upon upending the craft it floated quite happily without any seepage for the duration of the summer. Try that with a modern aluminum boat with a few loose rivets and the water seepage problem would be the continuous no matter the length of soaking. Viva the good old days!

Beyond the in-store toil mostly consisting of serving customers many other diverse daily duties prevailed. Most of these were welcome diversions and provided me opportunities to dilly dally with tasks related to the hauling of blocks of ice for refrigeration, unloading supplies and other welcome out of doors chores.

One fateful morning I arrived at 8 o'clock as usual having walked the 3 miles from cottage to store in my usual carefree manner. However, about 30 m away my daydreaming was rent by an unusual commotion on the stores front porch. I noted that a confusing, tear filled conversation was in progress. What particularly acquired my concerned attention was a black hearse parked nearby. As I made a move to enter the store I felt a quivering hand land on my shoulder. This was followed by the words; "we would greatly appreciate your help". I turned to face a familiar elderly woman and her sister, among the best store customers and longtime residents of Blueberry Island some 2 miles distant. Completing this tableau was an undertaker and his youthful entourage. An empty gurney waited in anticipation behind the hearse.

It devolved that the 80 year old husband of one of the sisters had passed away during the night and a quandary existed involving recovery of the body from the cottage and transport from thence to the expectant gurney. Being early in the season few cottagers were about so it came as a shock to learn that I was the only hope to retrieve the body in a timely fashion. This meant maneuvering McMurphies leaky skiff in an air temperature of about 17 degrees centigrade, under grey threatening skies with the wind blowing briskly enough that white caps severed the tops of waves up to 2 feet in height to the island, retrieving the body and then making the even more vexatious return. The elderly wife and her sister were in an unfit state to even accompany me in their boat. The undertaker and his entourage wanted nothing to do with this recovery and stood arms folded refusing to budge. All this was in essence inconsequential since McMurphies boat was too small to safely carry passengers especially after the body was ensconced aboard.

I thought of mimicking the undertaker and his group standing there with my arms crossed refusing to budge but that was not an option. With understandable trepidation I retrieved the McMurphy craft, fired up the motor whence the damn thing started on the first pull as though anxiously anticipating an exciting adventure. Meanwhile the weather was deteriorating, the wind had risen slightly and drops of rain were beginning to spot the front deck. Other than an overriding fear of facing a dead body and all alone, the trip to the island was relatively uneventful. Upon reaching my destination and fastening the conveyance to the resident's dock I approached the 'empty' cottage with reverential terror.

Once inside the ambience took a colossal nosedive. Instead of finding the body in tidy repose upon the couch as promised, I found instead the feet were resting on the floor and the body was precariously balanced between couch and floor. Also rather than confronting the deceased wrapped head to toe in an appropriate fashion the sheet in question had fallen away from the head and I found myself staring into amaurotic wide open eyes. At this point I lost my breakfast with a giant retch that sprayed all and sundry over a 5 foot arc. I slumped into a nearby uncontaminated chair to try to regain some semblance of my sanity.

Viewing the quarry I rigorously posited which angle of approach would be preferable in attempting retrieval. Once in position I abandon my first hypothesis, that of using the sheet as a conveyance in which to pull him along the floor, out the door, down 3 steps, over a narrow flag stone patio, across the lawn, along the dock over the gunnel, then finally depositing the consignment into the bottom of the boat. A quick test showed that the deceased slid too easily free of the sheet. Instead I gingerly trial hefted the bundle and as expected found that due to age and illness there was little but a relatively light content of skin and bones beneath the sheet. Thus after rewrapping the remains completely and attaching the opposing sheet edges together with a few safety pins retrieved from a nearby knitting basket I wrapped my arms around the burden and giving a great heave slung the load over my shoulder. Unfortunately even skin and bones have more than anticipated bulk when balanced precariously on a shoulder. But without further adjustment I made for the door. Kicking the spring loaded screen door open and before it could close made a dash for the pathway. We then had an unfortunate fall. One of the toes of my shoes caught the protruding edge of a patio flagstone. I tore the skin in my hands on the rock and somehow acquired a bleeding nose. Good news, the deceased came through this mishap unscathed.

With the rain now blowing in sheets I was in a rush to finish the job. So disregarding my superficial injuries up went the sheet and contents onto the other shoulder. This seemed a better balance and we made it without further incident all the way to the boat. Here I stood wringing wet viewing the inside of a boat thrashing violently on its moorings. How to achieve the cargos dismount decorously into the craft? That's really not true. By now I was not thinking in a very respectful mode. I bet you thought that during the dismount the sheet and its contents would end up in the water? Although the dismount was perfect a water destination would probably have been preferable since I was now starring at a sopping wet bloodied (from my bleeding nose and other wounds) bundle residing in the perfect position in the bottom of the boat. I thought about explaining how a body already half stiff with rigor mortis appeared to have been bleeding so profusely in the sheets.

I probably should leave the tale at this juncture. You probably don't really want to hear the escape of the body, a tangle of weeds and a swim to preserve my own life. So the next section from island dock to shore is added just for completeness.

For the first 100 m the island sheltered us from the worst of the wind and its consequences but I detected an ominous whistling gaining shrillness from the wind in the retreating island's tall standing pines. When we broke free from the island's protection the rain and the wind was indeed increasing in velocity and had switched direction to come directly out of the north. This meant that to reach shore the little boat would have to wallow sideways over the peaks and down into the troughs of the mounding waves. The now beleaguered, unsecured bundle was rolling about a meter side to side in the bottom of the craft, the destabilizing effect threatening to cause spates of water to flow over the gunnels. Attempting to halt this danger, still seated I tried to lift both feet simultaneously onto the body and promptly lost my balance. A few seconds later a large wave rolled me over the side and into the water. As I sputtered around without a life jacket (this was the 1940's) I could see the little boat bouncing up and down, but running guided by wave action in a direct course for the shore, which in due time it arrived with only the dead occupant aboard. Meanwhile I had become caught up in the weeds that bordered this area and although a good swimmer I was fighting to release myself from this hazard hampered by churning waves and lungs half full of water. After what seemed to be a very prolonged struggle a fisherman in his boat casually on the way towards the shore sighted me. While pulling me onboard his large boat he berated me for being out here swimming alone on such a hazardous day! I didn't even attempt an explanation.

When we debarked on shore the gurney having received its cargo was presumably safely stowed in the hearse and this vehicle was probably half way to town. The grieving wife and sister had apparently gone in the family car to follow their loved one to the funeral home. Mrs. McMurphy had already assumed her usual position within the store and was patiently awaiting my return.

Rural Ontario in the 1940's was admittedly a little backward but did it not occur to anyone that the boat having arrived with only the deceased aboard meant that something was awry? At least no one questioned me about the bloodied condition of the cargo nor was I ever thanked for my tribulations.

## Uncle Samuel

The Late cosmologist/mathematician and Fellow of Trinity College Cambridge, Sir James Hopwood Jeans, lived 'here'. Well at least his spirit dominated these environs. 'Here', was Jocks bedroom, a 6 m long 3 m wide half-moon cross sectional building rising to 2 m at the apogee standing next to the family cottage. Officially called a Quonset hut, the inside ceilings were papered in a semi-circular, floor to ceiling pattern with enlarged photos from Sir James famous 1931 monograph "Stars in Their Courses".

Jock was unusually intellectually proficient for a mid-teen. He was besot with solving mathematical and cosmological puzzles instead of chasing girls and doing other mischief common amongst his raging hormone plagued counterparts.

Lying on our backs on Jock's bed in his quarters, sequestered indoors on a rainy summer's afternoon, Jock verbalized in nauseating detail about the now erroneous 'Steady State cosmology' concept, since preempted by the 'Big Bang' theory, that formed the basis of Sir James' cosmological research. In illustration of this diatribe Jock's 1.5 m long pointer was in constant motion tracing complex patterns on the star crossed ceiling. Now and again sensing that I might have let my mind wander from his discourse, the pointers butt would painfully find the side of my head. Worse, when reaching a particularly auspicious point he would ask me a related question the response to which I normally trashed. The result was that with disgust and a vituperative reprimand I was bawled from the premises out into the downpour.

With the exception of Jock, his father, a cousin and an aunt whose names slip my mind, Jocks entire family was composed of heavy drinkers. Then there was his Uncle Samuel the full blown binge drinking alcoholic pest. During the week days he was Dr. Samuel a respected Guelph Ontario dentist. However come weekends and holidays at his nearby cottage the bottle seldom left his precincts with predictable results. Jock was his favourite nephew and if he caught Jock and me unawares kept us busy catching baby frogs for his frequent fishing jaunts. Also as might be expected Uncle Samuel drunkenly mismanaged his boat, motor, fishing and related equipment. Jock being a young man of mechanical talents paralleling his prodigious scientific capabilities was often high-jacked to affect any necessary repairs. All that being said Jock and I kept on constant alert to avoid Uncle Samuel aided by a complex system of mirrors Jock had ingeniously hidden in the cedars by the roadway. Thereby we could view the road from almost any spot on Jock's property making it possible to attempt an escape before his uncle's fateful arrival.

Related to Uncle Samuel's states of constant navigational incapacity, Jock was frequently sent to execute his retrieval form some area on the lake where Uncle Samuel and his boat load of usually distantly related, all female companions, had meandered onto distant rocks.

On one such occasion I had been coerced into providing Jock with accompaniment and without his intellectual prowess might never have set foot on dry land again. The report we received from a passing boater who had coincidentally rescued all the ladies, was that Uncle Samuel had not only become entangled on some rocks but because of the speed of impact he was perched high up on the shoal and had badly damaged his motor.

For an operation like this we took Jock's 18 ft. double stratified sturdy plywood craft with his Martin 3.8 and my Johnston 5 horse power motors clamped firmly side by side on the broad transom. The weather had a hint of je ne sais quoi, a state when conditions could change suddenly and without warning. With the directions we received the rescue would be in an area beyond the normal confines of the immediate inshore bay. In other words we were headed out westerly to an area of open Lake Huron waters 2 to 3 km from our anchorage and then would jog a bit to the north. The wind was light from the NE creating only minor rippled waves and the atmosphere was heavy with moisture. As the shore slipped away our attention was focused forward toward the channel between shoals through which we needed to navigate to reach the open water before attempting to intersect the disaster site. Both motors were running at full cry with an agonizing beating resonance noise typical of the fact that these units were mismatched in horse power sending the underpowered Martin periodically into cavitation as result of being dragged forward at excessive speed by the larger motor. Yet this under powered device always dug back in with reassurance that gave a sense of the power we knew we would require to drag Uncle Samuel's massive cedar strip boat from its rocky throne.

It was sudden and the effect was not unlike a descending impervious grey sheet falling over our craft and the surrounding area. Without warning we were entombed in one of those fogs that sometimes roll in suddenly over large bodies of open water.

Well no problem, just drop the anchor and wait this episode out; which in fact I was quick to accomplish from my seat at the bow. Trouble was that the anchor took the plunge and after a few seconds the rope zinged like a violin string. We were in such deep water our usually faithful grapnel remained suspended in space who knows how far above the lake bottom. We killed the motors to prevent misdirected navigation. As is often the case under these weather conditions the wind had died and the breath that remained was from offshore. What was more disconcerting were the out flowing, seiche generated, currents. This combined effect had the consequence of transporting us slowly but relentlessly further into the open lake. It was about 1pm in the afternoon when this disaster struck and by 8:30pm when dusk began to devolve and we still remained fog bound, I began to despair. Jock on the other hand remained remarkably calm.

Fogs generally lift when the sun sets and cool air currents rising from the waters provide a dispersing effect. Such was the case about 30 minutes later. At this point we must have been miles from the now distant invisible shore with at least in my mind no idea in which direction to travel. We had plenty of gas in a spare tank and in any case these small motors were very fuel efficient. As I began to launch into an extravagantly pessimistic diatribe about our fate Jock's face broke into a grin which developed into a disquieting laugh. The guy had obviously deteriorated into a state lunacy. As if to put an exclamation point on this point he stated; "Thank God it is nighttime because in daylight disaster could be inevitable". What for me really nailed down the full depth of his chronic mental discombobulation was when he asked if on the way back we should just pop along and recover Uncle Samuel! My negative response was unprintable.

It is important to stress that this being the 1940's no cell phones or other means of wireless communications available to pull from one's pocket. Additionally GPS was decades in the future and shortwave radios were not part of a small crafts gear. Of course we could have carried a compass and a flashlight but who ever thought to bother with such a devices for normal daytime recreational near shore boating.

"Sir James Jeans to the rescue", Jock vociferously proclaimed. With that proclamation my eyes drifted up to the now cloudless half-moon and star filled heavens and immediately a perfect replica of a small section of the ceiling in Jock's Quonset hut emerged. With provoking certainty Jock reoriented our craft and began our return. Of course I was treated to the usual expansive diatribe that embalmed me on those many rainy days lying on our backs on Jock's bed staring at the cosmic panorama on his ceiling. Yet this time his words were less nauseating and my mind did not wander. We motored for what seemed like hours when suddenly a familiar headland loomed out of the darkness. "There she be, Chirt's Point just as estimated"; Jock unnecessarily affirmed. After another navigational adjustment and about 20 minutes later there silhouetted in the moonlight on the rocks waving and shouting in a vehement fashion was Uncle Samuel.

It wasn't a pretty sight. No one had attempted his rescue because of the fog and the subsequent onset of darkness. Uncle Samuel had obviously some time ago run out of booze and hence it was our only encounter with the good Doctor in a state of full blown sobriety. Nor was the rescue procedure to be a happy experience. While we struggled to effect the crafts retrieval without Uncle Samuel's assistance this good gentleman felt it propitious to launch into an obstreperous cannonade of frustrated invective both at us and the other local deadheads who he posited had "left him there to.... rot".

That night as I slumbered I dreamed of a world free of Uncle Samuel and his self-inflicted fiascos. But mostly I gave thanks for Sir James Hopwood Jeans and his most devoted disciple, Jock.

## Mr. Raun

Note: At age 40 I was tested and found to have a relatively severe learning disability. My visual memory was found to reside in the 40th percentile of the population. At the time of this story this factor was unknown but accounts for the problems recounted in the following 2 stories.

'How well I remember her caustic comments as time and time again I made errors in the simplest tasks. It became so frustrating that I was often unable to concentrate and found myself idly gazing at sparrows flying to and from their hiding places in the ivy vines outside her window'.

My parents, in their wisdom and generosity, had arranged tutoring sessions in French. Twice a week for one hour each time, I went to intensive French lessons in the musty home of a matronly, retired, French teacher. To have tutoring in the 1940s and 1950s was to admit to the world how stupid you really were. Only a imbecile needed tutoring in those days. Fortunately, although this is still somewhat the case today, we are now much more enlightened and tutoring is not nearly the black mark it used to be. How could they squeeze four classes down to two? This serious dilemma, faced by the high school administration, became evident during my tenure in Grade 12. There were four academic Grade 12 classes but only two for Grade 13. There was natural attrition, but this would eliminate at most a few percent. So a problem still existed. The brain trust of the administration at that time devised what appeared to be a simple and logical scheme. They would subject all Grade 12 students, who had low marks or were failing in some subjects, to IQ tests. Those who did poorly would be strongly advised not to attempt Grade 13. I was required to take this test.

Theodore Simon devised what was then a test said to measure the mental age as opposed to the chronological age of the student. Called the Binet Simon Test it evolved into the IQ test. At the time IQ Tests were mainly memory oriented and memory was certainly not my strong modality. The committee who administered the test at my high school would have the standard Table which grouped scores into Educability rankings. I achieved a score of 98. Eighty-nine to 100 IQ is for students capable of Grade 8 to 1-2 years of college achievement. (Today's-2008- IQ tests on the internet rate me 120 or less, still not high enough to explain my PhD).

Thus I was low average. Following this, a meeting was convened between me, Mr. Raun (my home form teacher), a guidance specialist, and a vice-principal. During the meeting the vice--principal advised me not to attempt Grade 13. I would, in his words, " ... simply clutter up the class and the subject matter would be only a source of frustration." Without waiting for dismissal I immediately walked out shouting that I would, indeed, be going on to Grade 13 and they could count on that.

A moment later, Mr. Raun rushed out to catch me. Expecting a dressing down, I felt badly. Instead he put his arm around my shoulders and said, "I would have done just exactly that."

I just knew I had to pass Grade 12 French. Despite the seemingly insular nature of my brain, by the end of Grade 12 I had obtained a passing mark in Grade 11 French, which, as mentioned earlier, I had to take for a second time. Mr. Raun, my kindly and concerned home form teacher, was also a Grade 12 French teacher. He arranged an end of term meeting with me, at which time he stated the obvious. "You are now lacking Grade 12 French. That means you will be unable to get through your Grade 13 in one year," (something that was necessary to have a good chance at being accepted by a university at that time). Then came the surprise. He went on, "I would like to do something for you. I will teach you Grade 12 French between now and the supplemental exam in July. As well you must double up on your tutoring."

I was skeptical about my chances, but then he asked me what I had to lose and of course, there was nothing to lose. After six weeks of total drudgery (for both of us), I took the supplemental exam. Coming out, I was sure I had failed. Imagine my surprise a few weeks later, when a card came in the mail saying \- "Van Loon - Grade 12 French - Passed 50%." I was ecstatic.

Unfortunately, late that summer Mr. Raun died. What a pity, because he was obviously the kind of teacher students usually only dream about having.

Unexpectedly, in October of that year, the vice-principal came to see me. The administration had been going through Raun's books tying up loose ends, when they found the following entry:

"Jon Van Loon, Gr. 12 French 29%" crossed out and changed to 50%. Luckily, I was already two months into Grade 13 French so nothing could be done.

# Troubles Getting Into University

The vice-principal and his committee had been almost prophetic. There were many "down times" when even I felt sure my performance would be a disaster. Grade 13 was a harrowing experience. I had to give up all sports and most other favoured activities that were not related to passing my year. But when the final marks were all in, I had passed every subject. Unfortunately, my overall average was only about 61%, insufficient to get me into Engineering at Queen's University. Although Queen's was my first choice, I also applied to Engineering at Toronto, second, and Science at Western, third. I was refused entry at both these institutions as well. In a moment of despair, I sent my records to McMaster and was unexpectedly accepted in Mathematics, physics and Chemistry, the first year science stream. Apparently my father had spoken to the Dean of Science, a personal friend who agreed to my acceptance. In a half joking manner Dad told me, "I got you in, you will have to get yourself through".

Looking back now, I realize how lucky these events were. Engineering required a relatively high level of math, but many sciences didn't. At McMaster in first year I failed one of the less rigorous math courses, so you can imagine what my fate would have been in Engineering. Amazingly, by the end of fourth year university, I had obtained four A's and one B in my core geological and chemical courses.

## The Volunteer Debacle

After my stroke I spent about 5 years just lying around the house, feeling sorry for myself and doing nothing useful. Maureen, my wife, was still working full time and so I was not under foot, or the whole episode wouldn't have lasted even 5 weeks. But in any case, she finally became fed up of returning home to find me in the identical position, sitting on the sofa, as when she had left. There was no evidence that I had even moved since the lawn was uncut, the garden full of weeds and no supper was on the BBQ. I lacked the motivation to even clean the BBQ, so on this point, she was probably glad that I had not ruined some meat by attempting its use. My usual manic behavior was still manifest, but only in that I was unable to sleep more than 2 to 3 hours per night and was reading through the complete stories of Dickens for the second time. Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky had also been completed and I was beginning on Gogol and other Russian authors, whose names have drifted from my poor memory over the passage of time. All this reading activity was actually a bit of a feat considering my learning disability reading handicap.

One morning out of the blue, after getting ready for work Maureen commanded me to get into the car. She drove without any explanation to the Donner Lodge parking lot and commanded me to get out and go in and ask for a volunteer's job. Then she reversed quickly back onto the street and drove away. Donner Lodge, a rather pedestrian quality retirement home, did not rank on my list of good career choices. As I stood there feeling like a typical homeless waif in a Dickens novel, I was comforted by the thought that I would most certainly be refused. In fact it came to mind just to turn on my heels and walk back home without even entering, and lying that I had been turned down. This latter thought took flight however, when I remembered that Maureen always seemed capable of seeing through me and extracting the truth. Thus I was horrified, bewildered and in many other ways in discomfiture, when the friendly woman in charge said she was thrilled to have acquired another volunteer.

My work was scheduled for two days per week, including free lunch and as time moved along my old enthusiasm returned and I began to even look forward to my work. Such could not be said though for the free lunches, which lived up to the reputation of institutional food in every insipid regard. When I happened to comment on this to my boss, the Physiotherapist, she kindly began driving us to the local restaurant, where I enjoyed excellent fare. She also enjoyed the lunches, although she was on a diet, the type in which food portions had to be pre-purchased as part of the plan. These dietary allotments were not only diminutive, but unappetizing and amusingly after consuming one of these offerings, she regularly could not resist the temptation to purchase a desert, or a plate of fries and yet was continuously complaining that her diet plan was not providing the desired result.

The patient base at Donner Lodge consisted of 70% Dementia patients, mostly Alzheimer in nature. As a large city run organization with full medical facilities, all stages of severity of these problems were represented, providing a wide range of challenges. Typically, family interest in the affected family member, varied from daily visits to total disregard. As Dementia proceeds the patient becomes less and less aware of every facet of daily life, while even losing control of bodily functions. Towards the end, the family members suffer much more severely than the afflicted person. Sad cases of the patient declining to the point of not even recognizing a close family member, often produced very emotional responses from their family. Worse still, patient cognitive abilities varied daily. Family members might arrive and suddenly become very excited, thinking a vastly improved recognition of family and surroundings was a sign of permanent improvement. In fact these temporary high points were just a blip on a decline curve. Part of a volunteer's purpose was to attempt to explain, but in a kindly way, this typical behavioral pattern, without totally dousing the flames of enthusiasm. In my case, while finding this initially severely challenging, I became more polished with time.

As the assistant to the Physiotherapist, my main job was to aid patients that were requiring therapeutic exercise. I had a fairly hard and fast routine that I was supposed to enact and this involved the following. First I was to chase down wheelchair patients and bring them to the physiotherapy room. This "chase down" phrase was a slight exaggeration in the majority of cases, as the requisite patient could usually be found asleep in the TV lounge. As many of them were nearly deaf they usually had the electronics at ear splitting volume. Waking them was always a potentially dangerous act, depending on their current demeanor. I then wheeled them into the Physio room and strapped their feet into a stationary bike. This unit when activated revolved their feet and legs at a prescribed rate and for a fixed time interval and was strangely termed exercise, despite no effort on the patient's part. After this "strenuous" activity, I unstrapped their feet and wheeled them back to repose again in the TV lounge. And so it went, one after the other, until the entire group had been exercised. If I was lucky a patient or so would require the application of heat for strains and pains and I might be required to perform this treatment, with a careful choice and application from the abundant heating pads available.

Now it may have entered the reader's mind that my pursuits so far described, might be a bit mundane and lacking in challenge and perhaps even utterly boring and if so this has been very perceptive. I never could handle boring work willingly and as a result, I looked for alternative tasks. These tasks, which I could easily perform, were supposedly the purview of the regular staff, but in my view were going begging. Strangely such initiative was not appreciated and as a result my position at Donner Lodge was becoming more and more tenuous.

Increasingly horrified by the needlessly slow pace of many of the Nurses and particularly the Ward Aids, I continually overstepped my volunteering boundaries. Even the Doctor seemed to me to be incompetent, although there were some Nurses and Aids who were excellent. The majority of incompetent staff were mistreating patients more by errors of omission, than by any physical abuse. Unfortunately, all regular workers on the wards belonged to a strong union, which protected their lazy behavior.

I did a number of things which incensed the unions. One involved my favorite patient, James, who I came early to visit for a half hour or so each day before my work began. James suffered severely from angina attacks and as a result had been prescribed the habit forming painkiller Percocet and became quite contrary if its administration should be delayed. When this occurred he would beg me to hunt down the medication cart and the Nurse in charge and procure his medication. Although I usually persuaded them to give it to me, such an act was of course highly irregular.

Other acts which put me at odds with the union were things like finding a male patient who was left in a dirty diaper for hours on end and either raising hell about this situation or in a few cases performing the job myself. These latter actually involved two volunteer infractions against the union members; 1. Purloining a clean diaper from carefully tended supplies while the attendant was on coffee. 2. Actually then performing the task. Well you can probably get the drift of how I was now mounting up union infractions on a regular basis, some of which were coming to the attention of senior management.

Perhaps the coup de gras was when I was discovered closing the eyes of a deceased patient who had been left unattended for several hours in his bed. Or it might have been when the physio had taken sick and retired home for the afternoon and I decided to finish the session on my own. The union did the usual posturing which ended with the threat of strike action if I did not desist. When this in my case proved ineffective, I received the fateful summons to the Director's office. Apparently my actions were threatening a precipitation of a serious problem and unfortunately were grounds for dismissal, after 5 years as a volunteer at Donner lodge. It wasn't much consolation when she added that I was the best volunteer amongst the bunch.

## Walking on Water and Related Debacles

Several decades ago, an environmental pollution problem was brought to the attention of the wildlife division of the Canadian Government. The apparent culprit was a notoriously polluting lead and zinc mining and smelting operation in a low arctic location in Canada. A bio-scientist colleague working in this division and myself, were chosen to travel to the area and mount an investigation. As an analytical chemist, I had worked with this colleague before on similar issues, so we had a well-grounded plan for such research studies.

Our investigation was concentrated on the many small lakes that dotted this area, with a view to do water chemistry and fish health studies. For this project we were provided with a modified large utility vehicle. This truck had been equipped with all the requirements for off and back road maneuverability and safety. Large heavily lugged tires provided high clearance above the ground and traction for muddy rock strewn terrain. Most importantly the vehicle possessed a winch often required if we skidded into ditches and found ourselves in positions impossible from which to drive back onto the road. Of equal importance was the cage like device of welded steel piping that surrounded the front of the truck, to prevent front end impacts from perforating vitals such as the radiator.

Our rented cabin for this mid May investigation was located about 50 km along a rough rural road in from the main highway that had brought us from Winnipeg. We drove with particular care on the recently thawed soft muddy local roads. After the trip we arrived as two very tired scientists, ready for bed. Unfortunately the temperature that night was below freezing, so we took the precaution of unloading any items that might be harmed by the severe cold. It was fortunate that we did, as morning broke to reveal that a 10 cm snowfall now blanketed the region. This not unusual for May, but still a debilitating occurrence, meaning a work delay for a couple of days until the hot spring sunshine could melt the snow.

At this pause in proceedings we made our first serious error in judgment by deciding, as a simple act of courtesy, we would walk over to the mine office to inform them of our mission. To our gratified surprise we were made welcome and were treated to hot coffee and stuffed with tasty sweet rolls. During our discussions we divulged our delay in investigations due to the snow. This revelation occasioned an even greater surprise, when the mine manager invited us to make use of the company Twin Otter float plane complete with pilot. The only constraint was that only one of us could be taken so that weight restrictions related to takeoff from small lakes could be met. We accepted with much enthusiasm knowing that 1 day of plane operations would equal 4 or 5 in the truck and best of all there would now be no delay. Having had plenty of prior light plane experience, I was chosen for the job and packed myself and our sampling gear onboard. Upon the pilot's arrival he was motioned over for a pre-flight conversation with our new friend the mine manager.

As we taxied away from the dock I thought I detected a bit of a smirk on the face of the pilot but thought little of this. I placed the regional map on my knee and in conversation after takeoff mentioned the name of the first lake on the list. Everything seemed normal as we proceeded in the direction on the plane's compass that I had predicted from the map. Strangely however, minutes later I was alarmed to discover that we were beginning to overfly the first lake. I quickly let the pilot know and in one fluid motion he thrust the stick forwards which caused us to rocket downward in a steep dive. We were both thrust forward towards the ground as far as tight seat belts would allow. Then at what seemed to be a few meters above the lakes surface and under a horrendous downward feeling thrust, the plane was maneuvered into a horizontal direction. A moment later we touched safely down on the lakes surface.

I was in a complete state of disarray, having regurgitated my sweet rolls and coffee, this gooey mixture now flowing freely into my lap and onto the floor. The fear of God was clearly stenciled in my features. Calmly sweeping his gaze over to me the pilot without as much as a by-your-leave said; "okay, you can now open your door and step out onto the float to scoop up your water sample".

We sat in the plane, the propeller rotating slowly. The pilot glanced absentmindedly over both his gloved hands, blew his nose and politely waited. After about 5 minutes had transpired and I still remained comatose, he matter-of-factly stated; "perhaps you would rather go back to the dock and we can do this again when you are feeling better". Thus ended our experiment with courtesy visits to companies we were about to investigate.

Despite my initial aviation disaster, we finished our first stint of sampling after the snow had melted using the truck for the job as originally envisaged. Samplings were scheduled for 3 times a year over a 2 year period. The next incident of interest in this research study occurred the following June.

The previous years' experience suggested that May weather was too unpredictable and thus our next year's first season sampling session was scheduled for mid-June. Typical weather then was hot days and cool nights. These were accompanied in the day time by a persistent attack of Black flies, followed by Mosquito filled evenings. To stay well clear of the mine and smelter property, we rented a cabin belonging to a Moose and Deer Hunt Club 30 km away, but still well within the area of investigation. Our cabin, replete with an interior covered in mouse poop, was on a beautiful lake that included a dock. Last season's work already having determined that the fish population had deteriorated disastrously due to acid and metal emissions from the smelter, the presence of a fishing dock was a bit of a conundrum.

After a long day's sampling in temperatures reaching the high 30's, we would return to the cabin hot and sweaty and covered with bug bites. We would then immediately crash near the icebox and slake our thirst with a few cold ones. Once we'd had a chance to recuperate, we'd flip beer bottle caps to ordain the fall guy to clean up the perpetually renewed mouse poop in the kitchen. One particularly oppressive evening when my erstwhile colleague fell to this task, I took the occasion to walk out on the dock.

The lake water was crystal clear and the water at the end of the dock was deep and unimpeded by dangerous rocks. Checking the temperature with my hand, I encountered refreshing water in the low 20's. The Mosquito onslaught was beginning to take hold, so without further cogitation I walked quickly to the shore end of the dock. Then with a run at top speed, I traversed to the end of the dock and still fully clothed, dove as far out from the dock as was possible heading straight towards the lake bottom.

Suddenly a shocking reality struck. The lake was thermally layered with the top 20cm having the 20 degrees C temperature. Within a fraction of a second I found myself knifing down through the layer below that was still at the winter temperature of 4 degrees C. My perception of this catastrophe set in somewhat gradually due to the waters slow permeation of my relatively heavy bush clothing. When full exposure to this thermal disaster occurred I managed to surface almost instantaneously. This was followed by what appeared to my colleague, now standing on the dock, the best imitation of walking on water that had been rendered since biblical times.

Having survived this potential disaster I assumed the remainder of our sampling project could be finished without any serious hitches and indeed this turned out to be the case. On the evening of the final day we packed our gear, gassed up the truck from the barrel on board, banged the door shut on our residential mouse warren and hit the road, seat belts firmly fastened. The roads being hard packed and dry, we were making speedy progress in the twilight, west toward the main north-south highway. We appeared the picture of success, men who had finished a tough job and could not travel quickly enough back to civilization and our families. I was at the wheel and we were joking and laughing, attentions diverted by this delightful palaver when the truck suddenly stuck what resembled an impact with a brick wall. An eerie silence ensued. Our vehicle was at a dead stop the wind screen had shattered, the engine ground to stillness and we were both stunned into speechlessness. Strange and unusual smells began assaulting our slowly recovering sensibilities. We were in the center of a clear road and we stepped from the truck onto the road stumbling to the front of the vehicle where a sorry sight began to emerge. The heavy protective pipe caging was missing; the trucks front end was in tatters with smelly antifreeze lying in puddles beneath. Worst of all blood and skin fragments were hanging here and there amongst the wreckage, but the object that had been hit was conspicuously absent. Suddenly I heard the ominous sound of retching as my colleague reached the victim first. Rounding to the passenger side of the truck I encountered a horrid sight. In the ditch illuminated by the light of a flashlight, were the mangled and torn body parts of an immense black bear.

We decided it would be suicide to remain in the truck until first light in case another negligent driver might crash into our wreck. This was before cell phones, so we opted to walk what we estimated to be about 8 km to the main road to obtain help. It seemed like the longest 8 km that we had ever traversed.

The short version of this experience was that I avoided being charged with a driving offense, but not without an embarrassing dressing down from the local constabulary. A kindly local prospector drove us to a town with a bus station and the truck was towed to the city with our samples that had been stored in the rear of the vehicle, fully recoverable and undamaged.

Revenge, although not a scientific emotion, was sweet. Based on our work, this mining and smelting company was charged with a variety of environmental offences. The main antecedent of the charges was their blatant nose thumbing at well established environmental edicts. Thus especially given the torturous fiascos implicit in achieving this goal, I was never happier with a scientifically presaged outcome!

## Et Tu Brutus

A few years ago, I was asked to baby-sit my daughter Lisa's kids overnight. As I had retired but my wife was still working fulltime, the task was left solely to me. This assignment included Brutus, their very large Labradoodle, who stands higher than my waist. He is so big, he can put his head fully on the dining room table and loves to grab, not food, but paper serviettes, which he consumes instantly. If I've blown my nose on it, all the better!

All was going smoothly until, in the middle of the night, Brutus jumped up on my bed and tried to push me out. I finally got him off and I think to pay me back he threw up on the carpet a few minutes later. The mess was mainly watery, so I went to the bathroom and grabbed the nearest towel to clean it up. As is the custom in all good hotels, I threw the dirty towel on the bathroom floor so Lisa would put it into the wash.

Lisa and her husband Garth came home and when Lisa saw the towel carelessly thrown on the floor, she cursed her indolent father and hung it back on the towel rack. Obviously she was not acquainted with the finer points of hotel etiquette. The following weekend I happened to casually mention that I was sorry she'd had to wash the towel that I threw on the floor after the dog barf clean up. Both she and Garth went green in the face, as they realized they had been using this dirty towel head to toe all week!

Fast forward a couple of weeks and I was soon to be paid back for this error in judgement. During my next babysitting assignment (yes in sheer desperation they actually called me back), Brutus barked to go out to pee in the about 4 in the morning. Having been assured that the grandchildren would waken and get up, I waited for some time before finally rising to the task myself. As they had no fence I had to leash him. Unfortunately he was so desperate by this time that upon opening the door, he pulled me running flat out across the back deck and I flew off the edge, landed on a protruding sprinkler head, broke my ankle and dropped the leash. Suffice it to say the neighbours learned a whole new vulgar ear splitting vocabulary that night as I tried to retrieve Brutus on my broken ankle.

Fortunately at this juncture my three grandchildren had also been awakened by the obscene explosions emanating from the yard and they appeared in due course to achieve Brutus's capture. Apparently it was a well-known fact, but unfortunately not to me, that whenever he escaped from custody, he could always be found several doors down attempting to visit his girlfriend, a dog of similar ilk. When such a meeting proved unsuccessful, as was the case at this early morning hour, Brutus always left his calling card in the form of anal emanations, which he was in the process of discharging making him easy prey for the catch.

Summertime in Markham was characterized by early sunrise and hence with dawn now already breaking it was safe to leave the family alone to begin their daily ablutions.

Meanwhile I caught a cab to the nearest Hospital Emergency. Although my ankle was the size of a rugby ball, tears were rolling down my cheeks from the pain and I had to hop on my good appendage unaided to the desk, they gave me a number and just plopped me down in a wheelchair in the waiting area. My hearing being somewhat suspect due to aging and it being before the advent of signs for visual indication during this process, I missed hearing my number being "whispered". After about another dozen people had been called it hit me that I must have missed my turn and hence wheeled myself up to the desk to complain. They simply gave me another number. The waiting was agony, but nothing compared to the intense pain when they manipulated the ankle for the examination - twice! My only comfort was that at least being seated; the floor was not too far away if I fainted. With hospital processes and patient care received to date, I was positive that any resultant concussion would require a separate number for examination.

In total I spent the better part of eight hours at the Hospital. Brutus on the other hand, had been fed twice, watered, walked through the woods, chased squirrels and had consumed several table napkins. Not surprisingly, this was my final solo babysitting assignment.

## Shadows of Youth

My father never tired of childhood reminisces. Somehow the early 1900s stood out in my father's mind as special and worthy of perpetuation in his children's lives. I could never understand his fascination with this time. The eldest of three children, I grew up in austere living conditions, which I have never pined to relive. Although, I grew up in Canada, later in life I encountered similar abodes in developing countries, where I worked as a UN and World Bank consultant.

Awaking on my youthful back each 1940s morning, I would look up and see razor sharp galvanized nails, penetrating menacingly half their length through roofing lumber. Completing the decor was a small primitive dresser thickly coated in cheap tacky white paint and replete with three sticking drawers, plus a cloth covered box for bed linen. Hidden under the bed resided an often malodorous, fancy porcelain "night soil jug", which needless to say, was difficult to ignore.

Living quarters in those days were often very discordant, compared to the relatively lavish domiciles most of the youth of developed countries have become used to in the 21st century. In my family's case, our home was totally lacking insulation, the walls and roof being simply 2x4s clad on the outside with 3/4in lumber This was protected from the rain by moss infused cedar shakes.

Heat on chilly days was provided by a large cast iron, wood burning stove in the kitchen and a modest living room stone fireplace. The upstairs living areas relied on the warmth that escaped upward through the generous cracks between the flooring lumber and that which wafted up the stairs. If you were fortunate and occupied the bedroom through which the thin blue metal stove pipe arose, this became your own private heat source. Modern day fire regulators and our insurance companies would surely be mortified to contemplate such an arrangement.

Plumbing consisted of a community shared long handled mechanical pump residing 80 meters along a pathway cleared through the woods. Usually it fell to the family children to retrieve buckets of ice cold water for use with an outdoors washstand. Bars of gelatinous surfaced soap, in an old china soap dish and a chipped enamel washing bowl, completed these amenities. The crown jewel of the bathroom plumbing was a two holler outhouse which was hidden in the woods, 20 meters away from our house. This facility was a special joy to have to attend in cold and damp weather.

Although electricity arrived in our area in the late 40s, my father refused a connection. Foul smelling kerosene (paraffin) burning lamps, together with Aladdin pressurized mentholated spirit lighting fixtures, illuminated the premises. These latter, when operated properly, produced an intense white radiation. It was however easy to blunder the ignition process and burn a hole in the delicately thin mesh mantle, thus requiring a cumbersome and costly refit. Such mismanagement, which I admit to deliberately provoking on occasion, seemed to me a just payback for some of my father's harsh punishments.

Due to the enormity of the old fashioned, wood burning stove, it was difficult to move about in our relatively tiny kitchen and often resulted in nasty burns to protruding body parts. This cooking device contained a chamber in which several liters of water could be heated. In the winter, its purpose was to evaporate moisture into the typically dry indoor air. Another misdemeanor perpetrated by myself and my wayward siblings, was to fill this cavity with water on a hot summer's day when a roaring fire had been set for baking. The result was such oppressive humidity within the dwelling that we were all driven outside. Lacking electricity meant my overworked mother also used this stove to heat pressing irons. These were used to laboriously remove wrinkles in all our devotional-go-to-meeting costumes.

My favourite appliance was an icebox that engulfed a musty corner on the back porch. Every several days the upper compartment was recharged with a large block of ice. This provided a welcome source of large ice chunks, hived off with a lethally pointed ice pick. When I had the opportunity, I would then place these inside the upper clothing of my fractious younger siblings. The pleasure of its effects could be extended for more prolonged periods by applying a tight grip around their waists, until the drippings could thoroughly glaciate the recipient's nether parts.

My frugal fathers' childhood replay came to a sudden end one day when he suddenly realized, that despite its absence in our dwelling, he was encountering a large sum in taxes for the privilege of paying for poles and electric cabling that provided electricity to our delighted neighbours. Needless to say, within weeks of this discovery the modernization of our residence was underway.

## Memories of Soggy Macaroni and Warm Beer

It was hot that October day but fall lurked in the shadows waiting to pounce out and consume the weakening rays of the sun. Summer had lingered longer than usual. All the creatures of the earth, with the possible exception of skiing fanatics, were happy. Even the birds could not submit to the usual gorging that precedes their trip to the south. They wove aimless lazy patterns in the sky. Life was peaceful.

Who could have guessed the trouble that awaited me in Maureen's simple request that I mind four children while she and Jane did some shopping? Of course I agreed. I like children, all children. My quiet enjoyment of the day increased as I watched the mess of soft flowing curls, the colour of brown flax, that tumbled about in a flailing pile of eight arms and legs as they played with reckless abandon on the lawn.

Lisa, our eldest, age four, was quiet and usually quite timid. Missy even at two, was completely the opposite. Christy, two and Mark, three, of the Barbers clan always had a twinkle in their eyes. Being not my own, and unfamiliar with my child care weaknesses these two were usually good under my supervision.

We started with a trip to the park. The old Valiant was alive with noise. It was like being trapped in a small phone booth with a large rock group. We drove slowly down Paultiel Dr. I was well aware of the possible consequences of having four unseat belted live wires standing on seats, climbing and jumping. At the corner, Bob Goode was frolicking with his son Peter and waved us down. He was something less than enthusiastic on surveying my cargo when I suggested he and Peter come along. Nevertheless he agreed and we were off again towards our destination.

Lisa wanted to play "the Beating Game" so immediately upon arrival at the park the doors of the car burst open and off we ran toward the swings with Bob and me far in the rear. Lisa always suggested "the Beating Game" after she was enough ahead to win. A row occurred as she naturally arrived first. Cries of foul among screams of anguish, not unlike a staff meeting I had recently attended at the university, jolted us back to the task at hand. My loud bellow ended this spat.

There were only three baby swings where we stood but five kids waited anxiously. It seemed to me only proper to suggest the first ride go to the guests Christy, Mark and Peter. Besides there was a slide and a tangle of monkey bars close at hand for my two. The bickering and crying resumed on hearing this suggestion. I persisted and finally Mark, Christy and Peter were swinging happily in the breeze. Lisa pouted and argued while. Missy looked miserable. Suddenly Missy decided to stop the swingers. She toddled underneath and made a grab for a leg. A blow to the ear from Mark's foot was her reward. The dams burst and my temper got short. In my usual 'gentle and controlled voice' I threatened to take everyone home unless the quarrelling ceased. Bob felt this was a good suggestion in any case. We could give them a drink of pop and pacify the unruly mob with a Popsicle. Everyone knows that is the perfect prescription to bring peace to the party. By the time I had reached the car, "the Beating Game" had been played again and was being argued over my strong useless objections.

The mood of the crowd in the back seat was ugly. Even Bob and I were ready to quarrel. I drove quickly without due regard for the consequences. We lurched up the bump into my drive. Bob hit his head on the windshield and responded with a mild curse. "The kids," I said, trying to place the blame on the bunch in the back, but the noise drowned out any of our talking.

Out fell the mob like the dozen or so circus clowns that you always see climbing out of a Minnie Minor. Around the side of our house they ran spying our indigent boat sitting next to the house on the lawn. What a toy, what a change from a swing or a slide. In and out they jumped, running on the deck and falling into the cockpit. Play stopped only long enough for each to slurp down a pint of lemonade and half a Popsicle. The heat melted most of the Popsicle and the juice ran thick over the deck of the boat. Suddenly Bob and l realized that little hands, feet, arms, legs and mouths had a distinctive chalky blue ting. Over the years the heat of the sun had powdered the paint as the boat had moldered unused. We were faced with disaster. The wives would be furious. We decided to collect our thoughts over a beer, even though this libation had somehow escaped refrigeration. The kids were herded into the back yard and the gates securely fastened. We sat down on the lawn and sipped at our tepid drinks. As our courage returned, we decided a bath was essential. Oh, but what a mess this presaged. Then I saw it, the perfect solution. Our plastic pool, forgotten in my usual post summer sweep, was still sitting upturned against the wall of the house. They could all have a splash party in the pool and in the bargain wash off the paint dust. We were proud of our ingenuity. We were definitely fathers of which kids and wives alike could be proud.

Pool filling would be tricky. The water from the outside tap was too cold in October. Bob had the brilliance of mind to suggest connecting the hose alternately to the hot and cold faucet in the nearby laundry room. Unfortunately, the threads of the hose were slightly too large resulting in a loose connection. But never mind, I jammed the inside washer of the loose hose fitting tightly up against the tap and the water began flowing in large part through the hose. Lisa and Mark held the other end of the hose in the pool under Bob's close supervision. I adjusted the flow but "ouch"! the damn coupling and residual dribbling water got hot and loosened my grip. Water sprayed out from the tap all over the room. I mopped up the mess. After making the proper adjustments, all was going well for several minutes. Then without warning the hose tensed under pressure and a torrent of water shot from the loose coupling. Mark appeared and noting my disheveled appearance was at a loss to understand why the water had not turned off when he shut off the nozzle on his end of the hose. This was the signal for another round of warm beer.

None of my guests had swimming suits. Anyway the kids had to be washed so we merely removed all their clothes placing them in a pile on a nearby stump. Bob and I slurped at our drinks and the fun began. They played well in the pool while we discussed the trivia of the adult world. I was about to clarify a point concerning the dangers of environmental pollution in North America when Bob remarked that Christy was gone. I leapt to my feet and ran to the pool. Imagine my relief not to find her

lying at the bottom. During pool filling the gate had been carelessly left open. She was nowhere in sight. I ran to the front of the house stubbing my toe on the fence. But my stomach rather than my toe ached with apprehension as the branches of our massive locus tree seemed to be pointing in a direction down the street. Suddenly Bob appeared from the other side of the house and cautioning me to be quiet led me back to the boat. There sat Christy asleep at the helm. She was dirty again but who cares? She was safe.

We returned to the back but not a body could be found. The happy screaming had moved and was now coming from the front lawn. Here the rest of the brood was romping stark naked in full view of the neighbours. The gild was definitely off the lily. Even I was beginning to doubt my competence as a baby sitter.

Lunch time arrived but where were the wives? The troops were winging and getting restless. We dressed them all with great trouble from the jumbled pile on the stump. Bob and Peter graciously departed for a home cooked meal leaving me to deal as best I could with the rest. I decided to attempt a seven minute Kraft Dinner. Lisa and Mark were left in the back yard while the little ones climbed into their chairs for a pre-lunch cookie. Loud shouts of displeasure came from the back but I didn't care. I groped on a dark shelf for the dinner, grabbed a box, boiled the water and added the macaroni. Missy and Christy chomped on their cookies and starred. The buzzer on the stove rang and I searched for the envelope of powered cheese. In my rush I had mistakenly cooked a package of plain macaroni. No cheese could be found. Meanwhile the macaroni boiled on the stove, the kids shouted from the back and Missy and Christy just chewed their cookies like contented cows in a pasture.

My only other specialty was French toast. Grabbing an appropriate bowl I mixed the eggs with the milk and the sugar and placed in the bread. After several more choruses of "when will the lunch be ready?" from the back yard, Mark and Lisa climbed up in their chairs. Each kid ate two pieces of French toast covered with syrup, followed by an ice cream cone chaser. I was weary from running and cooking and from filling empty milk glasses and decided another beer was in order.

There was a knock on the front door. "Damn it, the paper boy." Upon returning to the kitchen I found Christy carefully wiping ice cream off her tummy with a couple of unpaid bills I had stupidly left against the napkin rack. I had just slumped into a chair in total desperation when in came Maureen and Jane giggling and laughing. They expressed amazement even displeasure at the disorder spreading out before them. Meanwhile Christy just sat there in her inside out sun suit quietly wiping her tummy with our phone bill.

This was the autumn of my discontent!

## The Great Pig Fiasco

Farming in Ontario in the early 1950's was still very technology poor by today's standards. As a young boy of 14, I periodically worked at a local farm which had a full complement of equipment, all of which I helped operate. The equipment consisted of 2 thirty-five horse power Allis Chalmers tractors that powered a 10 foot plough and disc, a 12 foot harrow and a 14 foot drill (seeding mechanism). A community owned self-propelled combine was also available to be shared .

Driving a 1930's vintage badly battered Chevy pickup truck and attached wagon fully loaded with hay bales, was one of my main duties. A sloppy 100 degrees of play in the steering mechanism gave the task an added dose of zest, as I navigated fields, roads and ditches. However what was truly scary was that at this tender age of 14, I learnt to drive in this vehicle. Equally nerve wracking, were the vintage tractors that I also drove on the farm, as they were of a type that were very prone to rolling over and often seriously maiming or even killing the driver. Had my parents been aware of the nature of my duties, I most certainly would have been forbidden to accept this employment.

A prize herd of 55 Guernsey cattle was a cornerstone of this little farm. The cows were milked early morning and again in the evening, laboriously using the relatively inefficient milking machines of this era. The residual milk from each cow's udder then had to be removed by the old fashioned hands-on technique. Sadly hand milking turned out to be one of my weaker points. This was a source of extreme annoyance to the other workers, because I unwittingly continuously hindered their attempts to establish an efficient process . Slightly offsetting this annoyance was the amusement I afforded them whilst I attempted to hand milk the cows. Often I would inadvertently position the milking stool too close, giving many opportunities for a crotchety cow to send me leaping and yelping in pain with a well placed kick to the shins, or once in an excruciating fashion to a more delicate personal location.

During this era of time, there were often disastrous accounts of farmers freezing to death, having blundered about in early morning darkness, in a blinding snowstorm, attempting to reach the barn. Luckily this was not a hazard of concern for me during my summer farming hiatus. However I certainly empathised with such lost farmers, for as a city boy arriving for duty at 4:30 am every morning, I was often not at my sharpest mentally.

Early in my tenure, as I was approaching the barn one foggy dawn, I came as always to two side by side gates. The one on the right allowed entrance to the barn and the other to a small neighbouring field. My eyes blurry from lack of sleep and mind in oblivion, I stumbled along and entered the wrong gate. Suddenly I found myself confronted by the shadowy figure of a prize massive bull pawing the ground menacingly. Fully awake and aware of my quandary in a heartbeat, the thought struck my mind that death by freezing would be a Godsend compared to that which now threatened me. Immediately snapping out of my somnolent state, I managed to race to and lurch over the fence a very few seconds before this capricious brute was able to thunder down upon me.

I had originally obtained the farm work as I was friends with the farmer's younger brother. Unfortunately, the farmer, his brother and the hired hand, were all famous practical jokers; a fact that became more apparent the longer I worked with them. A memorable encounter transpired in the piggery. I'm sure the majority of people have not had the sense of gratification that encompasses organising hogs to be sent to market. This is definitely a serious omission from any worthwhile bucket list.

A complex series of pens in a roofless antechamber connected to the barn, contained 200 pigs at various stages of development. One miserably drizzly day it was determined that about one third of these beasts had reached the proper marketing proportions. Those animals appearing of correct size had to be caught, the girth measured and if they qualified a dark blue mark then applied across their backs. I was informed that as the junior member of the team I was responsible for this mission, with some trivial assistance from the others. A market size swine can accelerate at discouragingly high rates of speed and weighs about 100kg (220 lb). For about 15 minutes, I attempted to grab these large hogs. With each attempt, I was rewarded by being dragged through the mire face first, without succeeding even once. The rest of the group laughed uproariously, before taking over and completing the task in a disturbingly easy and expeditious manner.

At the end of this exercise we had 75 blue labeled pigs milling randomly amongst the 200. From here on the game plan seemed clear cut and relatively straightforward. I was simply to hold a small, temporary gate across the opening to the main pen and the other workers would run the blue branded pigs up a ramp into the truck. When this was completed, I was to set aside the gate and let the unmarked pigs back into the main pen. Frighteningly, instead of running up the ramp, the first blue pig lowered its head and rocketed straight towards me. It crashed directly into the gate I was holding, I hit the dirt and the entire holding of pigs cascaded over the top of me. Luckily, although trapped underneath, I had fortunately landed on one side and hence did not take the full brunt of the lumbering horde. When they finally hauled the gate off me, I was badly winded and began rolling on the ground, gasping for breath, trying to get some air into my lungs. You might have thought my co-workers would be panicked by this, but no, they laughed so hard they had difficulty regaining their composure.

My survival at the end of that summer was attended by an enduring desire to never attempt farming again.

## Strange Forms of Medication

Medication has dominated my life. Bipolarity, also known as Manic Depression, similarly to my learning disability, went undiagnosed until my 40's. When unchecked, this problem is typified by emotional oscillations from deep depression to manic excesses. The oscillation frequency in my case varied from minutes to weeks.

Perhaps it is incorrect to label cigarettes, or more correctly the addictive chemical nicotine, as a medication. But for 15 or so years following my teens, I used smoking to medicate and in some degree mollify my undiagnosed bipolarity.

Enter Psychiatrists beginning in my 20s, as a dominant monthly feature for the rest of my life. But even for 20 years under their tutelage my bipolarity continued undiagnosed, as the early practitioners filled me with valium. This medication coupled with alcohol became the perfect camouflage, by repressing my emotional extremes. I encountered an unusual variety of Psychiatrists that could be grouped according to their treatment preferences. A few worked without emphasis on medications. My favorite amongst these used biofeedback as his weapon of choice. He taught relaxation procedures and their effectiveness was judged by evaluating squiggly signals on a monitor, with the device being attached to the patient. When the baseline of the signal travelled lower on the screen, it meant the patient was becoming more relaxed. The effectiveness of this approach became abundantly clear in one session, where my baseline signal indicated severe agitation, but when I looked over at the doctor I discovered that he had fallen asleep.

Of course the most effective practitioner was the one that finally diagnosed my bipolarity. Surprisingly this gentleman had also previously employed the heaviest doses of valium, which had most effectively hidden my bipolar mood swings. To say he diagnosed this problem would perhaps be an error in semantics. After a hurried consultation with a colleague he returned with the question, "Do you think you might be manic depressive"? I stated "perhaps". This really marked the onslaught of medications. Valium disappeared only to be replaced by an arsenal of up to twelve different drugs, all being consumed simultaneously on a daily basis.

The first major new drug introduction was the substance lithium carbonate. This is the most common staple used in the treatment of bipolar disease. In another form lithium will be recognized by most readers as the major constituent of rechargeable batteries, in electronic gadgets and electric cars. Although the previous comment on lithium batteries would appear to bear no relevance to my problem, lithium carbonate, while effectively performing its magic on the emotional swings, it had the not uncommon side effect of causing me to shuffle and shake as though I was a malfunctioning battery powered toy. The problem was so severe that I could not move from point A to point B while holding an object, without shaking so badly the item in question crashed to the floor. The only alternative consisted of a medley of three drugs. The main one, an anti seizure compound with the unpredicted side effect of being useful for treating bipolar problems, had to be administered in massive 1.5 gm doses.

To understand the treatment of bipolar disease one can imagine playing the violin. The musician practices until the melody contains the correct combination of notes and cords. These must then be played with satisfying emphasis and tonal quality. Likewise effective drug treatment for my emotional problem is a matter of practicing. The combinations of medications and the amount of each are varied by the practitioner at each appointment, until the types and amounts of those that control the manic highs and the species and level of those that prevent depression, have resulted in as close to a stable emotional state as possible. Imagine then the wear and tear that this chemical assault must levy on bodily organs.

Although having been subjected to a chemical smorgasbord of drugs my entire adult life, I have also been fortunate enough to witness an entirely different and extremely effective type of medication. Animals have long been known to be useful for improving the emotional well being of those in health care institutions and homes for the aged. As mentioned in another chapter, I spent five years volunteering at a local nursing home and subsequently came to befriend one of the patients named Ben. On many weekends over this five year period I would take Smudge, our black Labrador, in to visit with me and here-in developed an unusual story.

Ben was a remarkable person in several ways, including being a much decorated WW 2 veteran. Hence this man was no stranger to bravery. As Smudge and I entered the picture, Ben had severe heart and emotional difficulties. As the relationship developed I became aware of the intensity of pain that was involved daily in Ben's life, particularly related to periods of angina. Concurrent with this, I also realized just how important a dog can be in deflecting a patient's outward awareness of pain. Ben and Smudge shared an intense relationship, where-by Smudge's presence seemed to become as effective as pain killers. At 45 kg I was always hesitant as Ben would motion Smudge to jump onto the bed and lie beside him with her head in his face. Thus I always very cautiously guided the dog up and made certain that the rest of her body was not resting against any of Ben's chest area.

One Sunday morning Smudge and I arrived in the hallway to hear loud moaning sounds of painful angina emanating from Ben's room. For a second this anguish precipitated a loss in my concentration. At this point Smudge also became aware of her friend's predicament and bolted from my tenuous grasp. In horror I watched her tail disappear around the corner into his room, followed closely by the sound of a large object crashing onto the bed. Then total silence resulted. As I dashed to the bedside with fearful visions of what might have occurred, I half expected to find Ben dead from a heart attack. When I rounded the corner, I was dumbfounded. As I feared the dog had indeed impacted on the center on Ben's chest. But instead of a dead body, I found Ben breathing peacefully, a mammoth smile enveloping his face and a big pink tongue licking his smiling lips. About to utter a litany of apologies, my throat choked up and no sound came out, which turned out fortunately to be much more appropriate.

## The Pecunious Damsel in the Woods

There was a poorly defined tortuous, root and poison ivy strewn path between 2 sleeping cabins in a dense cedar woods. The roots and the poison ivy are of little consequence in the ebb and flow of this epistle so why their intrusion here? As will become apparent this secret byway was used only after total darkness, in a very surreptitiously manner and at odd hours. During one of my walkway meanderings I tripped on a root and fell landing in a particularly dense patch of the poison weed. The consequence was a prolonged bout of violent whole body itching which suspended the about to revealed adventure for a miserable 2 week period.

Rutherford's Point and only God still knows why someone named Rutherford was lumbered with the honour of this unremarkable landmark extends about 2km like a crooked finger out into Lake Huron on the Bruce Peninsula in southern Ontario. The walkway of interest, located about midway out on this prominence, was less than 500m in length.

My father's summer cottage on the south side of this peninsula was accompanied by an unattached sleeping cabin/workshop separated by about 3 m to the west and protruding slightly into the woods. A second cabin, the quarry structure at the north end of the trail, was like a queen's domicile surrounded by woods somewhat more distant in location but belonging to the owner of a nearby cottage on the north side of the point. All this may seem somewhat bromidic but hang in there because an alluring yarn awaits.

It was a case of two opposite lifestyles between my parsimonious father and his opulent, au courant neighbour in the cottage to the north. Despite their proximity I know of no communication that ever passed between these two. This was probably to be expected considering my father's zealous respect for the Christian religion and the behaviour this prescribed. Individuals such as those to the north were well out of bounds in this respect in my father's estimation. The fact that our neighbour and his family attended the nearby campers church on a Sundays made no-never-mind considering that families many supposed 'amoral' transgressions during the week. Thus it makes all the sense in the world that I should avidly court our neighbour's daughter, the damsel in the woods. No, you might logically expect? Then please let me try to explain.

Let's call the damsel in the woods, Zelda since this moniker has that provocative je ne sais quoi quality. From the outset it is crucial to explain that throughout my teens outward appearances ranked relatively low on my reasons for pursuit-of-the opposite-sex list. If you are tempted to think that I must be blind or epicene, don't. Zelda was a stunner but I was more into what pretentious fun and excitement might emanate from a relationship. My rational of lifestyle was to live in the opposite mode from that my worthy parents were trying to impose.

Our first meeting was quite unexpected, taking place when we bumped into one another at the Rutherford's Point community drinking water pump. Zelda's cottage was fully modernized including indoor plumbing, something unusual for cottages the 1940's. Our domicile on the other hand was about as primitive as an early Prairie settlers minus the sod roof. This pump being unmaintained was capricious at best, but this is another fascinating story not relevant here. Zelda of course had no reason to need an outdoor source of outflow from this pump whereas we in our state of facility underdevelopment depended on its use far all our potable water requirements. Turned out that Zelda's family feline preferred the drippings from this water source that accumulated continuously beneath the spout in a muddy puddle to those provided in her own fancy china drinking bowel at the house. So it transpired that one day while Zelda stood guard from the woodland fox while her cat thus salubriously indulged I happened along 2 pails in hand ready to perform my twice daily water procurement chore. But again I digress. Zelda's only interest in me was that I might be a potential source for the fourth for bridge, a pursuit she and her three girl friends were attempting to organize for evenings in her bunk house. At about this time the fox appeared and made a run for the cat and my fortunes took a massive turn for the better when I succeeded in foiling the plot while obtaining as collateral damage a bite on the back of my hand. This occasioned all manner of useless yet welcome concern from my newly discovered friend. There was nothing I could do to offset a pleading that I should proceed to Zelda's house for consultation on this tiny fox induced blemish. Rabies and all other manner of much more minor consequences were predicted as potential problems by her mother and a trip to the doctor was organized. The only doctor in the nearby town was an unhinged alcoholic who just happened to have a cottage; you guessed it on Rutherford's point where he happened to be residing at the time in question. We found him stumbling through a game of tennis with one of his sons. The bleary eyed doctor listened distractedly to the story of the fox bite and rummaging carelessly through his nearby medical bag on a patio chair gave the wound a cursory look and a swipe with an alcohol swab and slapped on a bandage. When questioned by Zelda's mother about the danger of rabies he made a dismissive gesture and returned to his tennis. As we were about to leave he called us back on an afterthought and without explanation reached into his medical bag drew out a syringe and with a palsied hand and gave me an intramuscular upper arm painful injection of a vile looking liquid. Since the treatment for rabies in that era was 5 consecutive daily shots of medication in the stomach area what he had just injected in me bore no relationship to rabies treatment. More evidence to support this conclusion came soon when after returning home I began to feel swimmingly bobble headed in a manner I supposed would be experienced by a drug addict. To be honest I would have felt more confident to have been examined by the consummate town vet who I am certain would have been more proficient in making diagnoses even on a human. My family seemed unperturbed but Zelda and her mother insisted that I should report to them at their cottage at regular daily intervals during the next week!

I knew that I was on to a good thing when I gained Zelda's mothers confidence that I was indeed a nice guy and she was pleased that I was going to be the fourth for bridge with Zelda and her friends. Onwards and upwards as they say and my nightly safaris from my sleeping cabin to the cabin in the woods began and were beginning to persist even when no bridge had been scheduled. BTW I forgot to tell Zelda and her friends that I had never learned how to play bridge. Even after a crash course I took from a book written by a bridge expert I was a lousy bridge player and this may have had something to do with the decrease in the number of foursome get-togethers. I would rather leave it to the reader's imagination what occurred in the cabin when only Zelda and I were present together. My truthful accounts of these encounters would undoubtable be boring by comparison.

I am sure the reader is anxious to know what had become of Zelda's father in this riveting saga. Actually you will have to conclude after the denouement that he fulfilled the most important part. This crusty old reprobate was the owner of a Chrysler dealership in the outskirts of the GTA and he only graced his family and the cottage on weekends. Rumours abounded about his dissolute life on the fringes of the city. But forget about those because the crucial part was that he drove a brand new and different coloured Dodge convertible each time he arrived. These were the piece de resistance of my cottage days.

On Saturday nights there was a dance at a nearby resort pavilion. Zelda and I loved dancing and she was given permission to take the car for these occasions. We always departed early and as soon as we were out of sight of her cottage Zelda let me slide over into the driver's seat to assume control of the driving for the rest of the evening. The summer evening sun shone until 9pm and like true teens with an seductive new toy we drove up and down the resort 4 mile beach attracting and picking up new friends as easily as enticing flies to fetid sticky paper. All except the driver sat on the top of the soft leather seat backs engaging in the most fascinating bumptious repartee. I was without doubt the envy of the beach crowd. When we arrived at the dance I had the pick of any partner and my dancing was fortunately much better than my bridge playing.

Fast forward to the day of reckoning for this newly created beach bum into which I had morphed. One evening as the summer waned toward a conclusion so exploded the days of my new found joy. Upon sneaking as usual to visit my damsel in the woods I arrived to hear a male voice emanating unexpectedly from the cabin. As I got closer and could peer unnoticed through a window I saw this ominous interloper with his arms around Zelda and could you believe it they were even kissing. I retreated quickly full of anguish at the thought that I had been swapped. In trying to rationalize as to what had taken place, for a second I had the 'inspired' thought that maybe this guy was her cousin but when I recalled the intensity of the kissing this wishful thinking quickly expired. Turns out in my distracted euphoria of dancing with every enticing girl at the dance Zelda had zeroed in and was concentrating on one particular partner. Worse this guy came from a wealthy family and was in line to inherit a horse farm. Zelda loved horses, having one of her own. Zelda's horsey substitute not only took my place in the cabin, drove the convertibles on Saturday night, danced every dance with Zelda, he eventually married my former damsel.

Driving my dad's 10 year old ford with the rusted out rocker panels to the dance I went virtually unnoticed. Not surprisingly I reverted at the dance to my usual wallflower capacity with no more ladies willing to even give me a tumble.

PS. Horsey and Zelda are divorced.

## An Auspicious Pinnacle

It was about noon and Jock after finishing his third bowl of Shredded Wheat for the day made an unusual suggestion. "Let's go up into the cottage attic and watch my mum get naked when she comes in from swimming".

A little explanation is necessary before we proceed. Jock's cottage ceilings/attic consisted of loose boards that were by no means laid in a continuous fashion from between the outside walls. These were 1" x 6" planks strewn in diverse directions at random across the ceiling rafters. Non-the-less there had obviously been an intension at some time in the future of adding additional planking to construct a closed in ceiling. However like much of what Johnny, Jock's father had planned when he originally began construction of this edifice, the ceiling was a co-lateral casualty to his employment and bass fishing mania. Be-that-as-it-may a roughed-in staircase led from the floor of the front closet to a small landing in the ceiling. From there an adventurer to this area required skill and great care to transverse the spaces between the loose planking without falling through. The lumber in the area above the main bedroom had been rearranged presumably by Jock at an earlier juncture so a body or two could lie prostrate in obscurity while peeking through a crack at the action below.

Again before proceeding a question must be addressed. Why would anyone want to view his mother in the nude? What thrill is that? It's important to stress that yes Tammy was a looker but she wore such revealing bathing costumes (shocking for the 1940's) that one's imagination could easily fill in the rest. Apparently the answer revolves around the fact that during the week Johnny left his wife unattended except on weekends because of his need to be at home some 140 miles away solving problems as and Insurance Company VP. It devolves that during these absences this bedroom saw enticing extracurricular activities if you know what I mean.

Okay then with those scintillating preliminaries out of the way let's return to our story. At Jock's persistent imploring I was tempted to join him in the ceiling area above this beguiling boudoir. As Tammy was crossing the road from the lake near the cottage Jock was full of instructions on how to avoid being detected. Mainly we were to remain perfectly still and pretending to be viewing a distant horizon so that we would not make a sound during whatever might transpire. Well distant horizons were impossible for me to imagine once Tammy's top was slowly removed. At that point a very different horizon appeared included two auspicious mountains crowned in red pinnacles at which point I jammed my hand to my mouth to suppress my emotions but what leaked out was a childish giggle. End of the good part of the adventure. The gig was up and we were chastised and chastened with a vitriolic lecture on our undoubted depraved woebegone futures. There was no question in my mind but that Tom could so devolve but as for me I was sure my capriciousness was totally decommissioned.

BTW on my next foray to Jocks's cottage I noticed the ceiling had been completed but only over the bedroom area. I wonder how this wonder occurred without Tammy divulging her dialectics.

## The Little Laboratory in the Tundra

It was mid June 1974 and I was heading to the "land of the midnight sun". We lifted off smoothly from the busy nickel mining community of Thompson Manitoba and headed towards a mining site near Edehon Lake in the Northwest Territories (now Nunavut) of Canada.

This was long before the advent of GPS and flight navigation was generally by radio station beacons. However, due to the absence of radio beacons in the target area and the inaccuracy of compasses at this latitude, the pilots on this flight relied almost solely on visual identification. Aerial photographs on the co-pilots knee and verbal radio contact were the only means of navigation for this twin engine DC3 aircraft.

Aboard were a very experienced bush pilot, co-pilot, myself and a cargo consisting of food supplies, drums of fuel and the remaining space chockablock full of boxes of dynamite sticks. The latter commodity was of great concern to me, but I kept this matter to myself. A well known fact in those times was the consistency with which Transport Canada cargo and weight restrictions were ignored by the carriers, due to the intense atmosphere of competition amongst the many charter companies in the north.

With cruising altitudes of only 2600m, we were ensconced from time to time in cloud cover which not only made for a very bumpy ride, but must have caused difficulty with aerial photographic navigation. This was one of my first experiences with "bush" flying and the constant clatter and banging of dynamite boxes thudding together, coupled with the poor visibility, had my heart in my throat for the entire several hour flight. Neither pilot nor co-pilot showed any worrisome symptoms and in fact kept up a constant laughter filled conversation, except for snippets of navigational comments. As we circled to land the sight of a relatively short narrow landing strip, almost indistinct amongst the tundra, did little to settle my nerves. The choppy descent, the bouncing about upon landing and a grinding and sudden stop, had my heart in my throat. Stumbling down from the aircraft I commented upon my relief at having safely arrived, despite flying in a live bomb! In an incidental manner the pilot informed me that dynamite would never explode without specially designed caps and we had no caps on board. I made a mental note that in the future I would seek such details prior to, rather than after the journey.

A quick appraisal of the mining site indicated a very small operation. In fact no mine actually existed and at this phase the operators were engaged in exploration drilling, to remove cores of the suspected gold bearing sub surface rock from various locations. Essential to this phase was a laboratory in which to analyze crushed cores that the geological engineer was singling out as potential gold bearing prospects.

I was directed to a small heavily insulated windowless clapboard structure. It had wooden counters along two walls, a porcelain sink, a conventional electric hot plate for heating solutions in beakers, cupboards holding chemicals and a spectrometer for the final analysis step. Electric lighting was excellent and a propane heater supplied ample heat. The only deficiency was that the wooden counters could not stand up to chemical spills and this problem could easily be rectified with a chemical resistant overlay.

My gear had been taken to the long and rather narrow Main Building, which housed all other essentials including an electrical generator. A guess would be that this building was constructed by connecting a number of large caravans end to end. Strangely a large section of the building windows had been covered by an opaque silvered material. The wisdom of the modification became evident in my first night, as the sun shone brightly 24 hours per day. In this way the sleeping quarters were provided with night time darkness. Time seemed to be seamless and the use of a watch became essential to retain normal schedules.

In my consulting capacity I was solely involved in the training of laboratory personnel. Bob the head chemist had a university degree in this discipline. His assistant Steve was a chemical technologist. As anyone who wears jewelry can attest, gold is unreactive and unlike silver which tarnishes easily, gold remains shiny and clean even under frequent exposure to household chemicals. Ironically this is a daunting problem in the determination of the levels of this metal in crushed rock from the cores. Using conventional acid dissolution procedures, the gold in a gold containing powder would be undissolved and thus undetected by the spectrometer, giving the impression that the core had no gold. Consequently, I assisted in developing special methods not only to dissolve the gold totally from the powders, but to keep it soluble until it was determined by the spectrometer. Bob and Steve were excellent disciples and my job was proceeding very quickly.

As a naturalist and environmentalist I fell instantly in love with this treeless tundra terrain. Quite opposite to my previous conceptions, the area was inhabited very densely by a wide variety of plant and animal life, too numerous to write about comprehensively. Most obvious were the nesting migrant birds. The nests densely lined much of the tundra and it was necessary to take precautions not to make a misstep and cause serious damage. Most families of North American birds were represented; most notably, robins, vireos, flycatchers and warblers amongst the perching bird classification, while water fowl included, shore birds, gulls, loons and ducks. Their day round cacophony was delightful. Food was abundantly available and the time required to raise a brood was much shortened by the 24 hour daylight conditions. Food was provided by the dense clouds of blackflies and mosquitoes, which in contrast were a constant aggravation for all humans. Additionally plant life was abundant with flowers, berries, tender shoots and root lings easily obtainable. The water birds dined on sea snails, copepods, plankton and green algae.

Readers who are fishermen would delight in the Arctic lakes. Out of curiosity I was examining the contents of freezers in the kitchen and to my surprise one was full of huge Lake Trout. Apparently this species is so abundant that only those over 15 kg are ever kept for eating purposes and even the few fishermen amongst the crew can easily maintain this freezer to overflowing.

Although a variety of mammals exist, I was treated in my short visit to only a few well camouflaged rabbits and a fox. Of particular interest in the area was the Arctic Tern, which during the northern winter makes a 19,000 km migration to the shores on the Antarctic, the longest migration ever recorded amongst birds.

A permafrost layer characterizes the tundra which itself consists mainly of sphagnum peat moss. The tundra is easily damaged by human activity and vehicles leave track mark depressions which remain barren and relatively permanent. An example of this was some track marks near the main building, which had been unaltered throughout a ten year period. This dictates great care is essential to maintain this crucial ecosystem. One precaution was having vehicles travel over the tundra only in mid-winter when the freezing and snow cover prevent any such damage. Such a necessary activity is difficult and exacerbated by the 24 hour darkness that characterizes the Arctic winter.

All too soon my job was completed. Bob and Steve were so proficient that my delightful stay at this unique location was only one week and I was to leave on the next weekly supply plane. This return trip back to Thompson was in a close relative of the DC3, a modification developed by the Douglas Aircraft Company for war time purposes, a C 47. A full load of supplies was discharged when the C 47 arrived and thus with a cargo free return flight to anticipate, I was in a carefree happy mood.

Perhaps I should have been more sensitive to the pensive mood of the flight crew. At the time, I also failed to take note of subtle irregularities in the prefight inspection procedures. After a choppy but otherwise uneventful liftoff, we slowly attained cruising altitude. After about 3/4 hour of the several hour flight, I was suddenly pitched forward in my seat belt. The aircraft was straining as though it wanted to make a hard left turn; this being accompanied by a few puffs of exhaust smoke from the left engine and abnormally slow rotation of its propeller. The pilot quickly killed this engine, while struggling to maintain the normal flight path. We immediately descended a few hundred meters and at this point I was extremely concerned. The copilot, assured me that this aircraft could be readily flown with only one engine, but this belied the present contortions on the pilots face. I assumed that we would return to the relatively still nearby mining camp, yet no effort to turn the C 47 back had been made. When I questioned this wisdom I was told that Thompson was still our destination. Apparently a return to the mining camp would be unacceptably costly to the charter company owners, as the aircraft mechanic and parts would then need to be flown back. I was very perturbed and annoyed, as it seemed to me that this aircraft possessed two engines for the purpose of stable flying and that flying with only one was a risk that I was unwilling to chance. None-the-less, pilots have full authority in command of the aircraft and nothing I might spit out would had any influence on this decision. Another complication of losing an engine was that the air speed was appreciably reduced and 200 miles out from Thompson, twilight descended making our visual flight impossible, but by good fortune we had reached an area where VOR beacons were being encountered. My set of earphones and microphone to the cockpit had much earlier judiciously been disconnected and the remainder of this flight was a frightful blank. Reacting to the sudden downward pointing gesticulations of the copilot, I could see a glow of orange light from my side window, outlining two intersecting runways. Moments later we were taxiing safely towards the small terminal building.

Several months later in casual conversation with another consultant that had travelled to this mining camp, I divulged this unnerving one engine C 47 flight. His comment, rather than one of surprise and commiseration was; "oh did that happen to you also"? Apparently it was well known that this particular aircraft had a propensity for such predicaments.

## Peter

The first day Peter walked into my brand new lab at the University of Toronto, the facility I had myself designed, I expectantly waited to hear his praises. Watching his eyes dancing around this sparkling new beauty, the delight of my scientific life, which always sent a feeling of pride coursing through my veins, he bluntly pronounced "This whole mess will require rewiring!" Have you ever had anyone hit you over the head from behind unexpectedly? Suddenly the scene began to deteriorate into a clutter of debris in my mind. In short the system was indeed deficient, improperly grounded and in need of rewiring.

I had with careful deliberation chosen Peter from a world famous scientific research group in Australia. He was the finest electronics mind available and I needed him to design and assemble a unique type of spectrometer - one that would revolutionize a crucial area of environmental chemical analysis. Without a versatile, stable, properly designed and installed electrical system to work from, the design testing and prototyping of our device would prove impossible. If we succeeded, we would have a $20,000 unit that would have the same capability of existing systems costing in excess of $1 million. Production of this unit would allow its distribution to the poorer nations in the world, who coincidentally had the greatest need for these types of analyses.

I made out the job order for the rewiring of the lab and was given a start time eight months later, much too late for Peter's research to begin. Thus he and I began to do the rewiring ourselves. Someone in the union found out (due to the large orders for electrical hardware I was placing) and threatened a University wide to strike if we didn't stop immediately. Hot on the heels of the union rep, was an invitation from the Vice President of Research to his tribunal, which as you can guess was not to pat me on the back for my initiative.

While I had been yo-yoing around receiving hours of pending frightening repercussions, Peter had been carefully inspecting my large old office located around the corner from the lab. Here-in he had devised a plan that would allow us to alter enough of the electrical system for his purposes. He determined that he could set up his experiments on two very large tables presently piled high with my notes and books.

So it was that our situation was beginning to take on a mostly positive light. I would just have to delay submitting petty cash accountings of the electrical system modification purchases for unusually long periods of time. We hoped that no one would notice two new breakers in the main office electrical panel, but this was unlikely since Electrical Union inspections would be done in the lab. Peter would have to keep the office door locked, meaning that if he should electrocute himself, the body might not be discovered for several days. I would now have to work almost totally from another tiny office cubicle that I maintained.

I kept my lying boots handy but these began to accumulate dust after a few cursory laboratory inspections turned up nothing and interest at all levels of authority began to dissolve. Due to the high volume of large sums of money from other sources requiring attention at the accounting office, my petty cash submissions fortunately attracted no detailed attention. Most importantly there was an absence of dead bodies.

On the project front, Peter, a perfectionist, kept producing multitudinous designs, most of which seemed very relevant in my view. Peter delighted in reviewing these with me, finding what to me seemed the tiniest of flaws and consigning the total design to a mountainous waste heap before starting anew. Several months had gone by before his waterfall of ideas began to trickle into what seemed to constitute for him a suitable conception.

Construction and testing then began and again, what always to me seemed cunning in operation, had in his view acute imperfections. Now the growing pyramid of discards consisted of segments of electronic circuits. I was in a panic. With only 2 months of Peter's 12 month Toronto tenure remaining, our invention consisted of several aggregations of disconnected components, still being altered daily with sometimes major modifications. Using the most advanced and sensitive testing equipment he was demonstrating strange looking wave forms, which seemed to differ drastically with every modification.

It was time for some action...Peter was authoritative, a technical genius and a perfectionist. I was none of these; in fact I was beginning to even wonder if my initial project conception was well founded. None-the-less I had to act full of confidence, sound like an expert and demand that a product be produced.

It began like this, both of us facing each other over Peter's table. A stuttered gurgle rose into my throat that I over corrected into what sounded like a roar of displeasure. I demanded that the development should be over. I wanted an end to the squiggles on the oscilloscope and what we had must now be built into our intended invention. Peter was totally impassive after my outburst. He calmly repeated his dictum that improvements were still possible, which he wanted to quickly evaluate. Pressing him, I was convinced these were very minor in nature. It was also obvious that perfection as he perceived it, would never be reached even being measured in geological time. Thus I pulled something straight out of the air and stated that funding was exhausted and that to finish what we now had I would have to cobble funds from other grants.

Fortunately the gods of science smiled down upon us. Peter miraculously produced a working spectrometer within the remaining couple of months and it was a complete success. Fast forward six months later and I was in Campinas Brazil teaching a course and using the spectrometer to do important environmental analyses at 1/100th the cost of its competition.

## Sewage Flowing in the Basement--The Ultimate Solution

When we lived with a basement in our house in Toronto, my wife avoided any excursions into this abyss. This was not surprising considering my management tactics of this area. Used as a repository for "valuable junk", these items came to rest either by a toss from the top stair, or by being slid or rolled down into the agglomeration at the bottom. From time to time, perhaps to fix the furnace, repair a minor leak in the basement wall, or just to relieve the congestion, it would be necessary to drag the mounting aggregation to some random location further from the target area. Even our double car garage was reduced to a single car space and negotiating one car into this narrowing space amongst my collectables, became a challenge. As we became empty nesters, a vacated large bedroom provided an even more convenient area to deposit my most treasured objects.

Apparently some family members felt I was using the terms collectables and treasured objects loosely, since most of these items had been retrieved from the neighborhood garbage. It was always a curiosity to me how someone might discard an item like a kitchen sink, which obviously was of some appreciable monetary value. Subsequently I had accumulated four of these. Likewise a ten year old lawnmower with rusted out wheel wells and a missing wheel, but otherwise in perfect running condition, upon being repaired could easily fulfill a future need.

Electronics were a particular favorite and included a variety of televisions. I had three non-working varieties, four if you count the one that dated from the black and white era. Well you could never be sure that black and white TV might not make a comeback, n'est-ce pas? Desktop computers also made an appearance with an assortment of blown power supplies and moldering motherboards full of valuable electronic components. I even had a decal and part of a case of the Lisa Computer. This brilliant, but unaffordable and fateful model was the last straw resulting in Steve Jobs untoward early dismissal from Apple. My souvenir had been carefully cobbled and stored under a bed. Unfortunately I was a much better collector than fixer or salesman and this treasure-trove of potential valuables continued to accumulate unabated.

Then alarmingly, while my wife and I had gone on a two week holiday to Europe, several of our children struck without warning. Over a several day period they cleared all areas except the garage, of every item so painstakingly collected and trucked it all to the dump. Upon arriving home there were red ribbons tied to the basement and spare room door handles, as though some gift lurked inside. Instead only empty space greeted our eyes. My wife was ecstatic, whereas I was wishing I had perceived the need to have posted a guard with a gun. Robbed blind by my own children!

Several years later my treasure trove partially restored, and thankfully augmented by the contents of a cottage we sold and my now deceased mother-in-law's house, the basement was so full it was a challenge to locate any empty space at all. A contemplated move to a newly purchased condominium, which was sized much more appropriately for what had become only two of us, had unaccountably set my wife to tears. Apparently how to dispose of the contents of the bloated basement was causing this unexpected reaction.

Then it happened again. Later that night the storm of the century caused a back up of the neighborhood sewage and formed a two foot deep stinking refuse pond in our basement. Inexplicably tears became smiles, as my wife was informed that the basement and its contents, due to city bylaws, would have to be removed and deposited in the dump. All that would remain would be the cinder block basement walls. We were also told that all this would be done for free. Additionally, our insurance would cover a complete remodel of the rooms, including a brand new furnace and water heater. Robbed again of so much of potential value and not even a red bow to mark the occasion. I had sneaky thoughts of rescuing some of the best contents, but was foiled by a promise of a huge fine, should any such attempt occur.

A dumpster that approximated the volume of a large living room arrived. Its unusually large size required Toronto Hydro to disconnect power lines, to accommodate its move into the driveway. It required two trips of this monster to remove the dismantled basement and its contents, from our precincts. Things seemed to be happening smoothly and according to the letter of the law, until I spied our large nearly full freezer still sitting on the lawn. Surreptitiously the contents disappeared, divided evenly among the workers. Even I, the defender King of Useful Junk, had a queasy feeling at the thought of the consumption of potential sewage exposed food.

Only the garage remained to be cleared and my son kindly brought his truck and together we removed my collection. At the entrance of the disposal yard, my son had to drive the truck through a narrow lane next to the yard office. Upon approaching the reception window, lights started flashing and loud sirens screamed, making us vault out of the truck. The attendant motioned us to reverse the truck and shouted that we could not bring this load into the yard due to its radioactive content. I was astounded since I had not collected anything that could possibly have been radioactive. Upon hearing this assurance, the attendant asked if either of us had any medical tests done recently. I said that two days ago I had a heart test. I was then commanded to stay back while my son again drove the truck towards the window. This time there were no lights and no sirens. Luckily I was not part of the load to be left. Their detector was so sensitive or alternatively I was so radioactive, that I had set off the alarms. Part of my heart test involved the injection of radioactive technetium for a scanning procedure and its many hours long ½ life, meant that the decay (to neutral iodine) had not proceeded far enough to escape the detectors. Triggering the detector had left me disconcerted and with a lingering concern about the safety of the whole procedure. Might I even have been glowing in the dark!

## A Slight Brush with Hell

Jail was just about the last place I considered I might ever land. But there it was, an ugly possibility unknowingly staring me in the face. I was a young, idealistic, fearless researcher. Publishing the truth, or what in this case I strongly believed to be rigorously accurate chemical results, dominated my priorities. It was therefore a total shock being legally challenged by one of Canada's Mining Industry giants and sent my fearless idealism into an unexpected spin.

They were cool but bright days in early May 1972. A colleague and I were studying the fish population and water quality of a suite of lakes near the Mining Capital of Central Ontario. Emanations from the nearby smelter stacks were sulfurous and metal bearing in nature. Nets had been set in the target lakes at strategic points to allow an estimation of the fish population. The acid levels were measured in situ and typical water samples were taken and stabilized for lab analysis.

We were surprised to note that he numbers of fish netted were few and mainly elderly, indicating that the fish, mostly trout, were unable to spawn in these waters. We were using scale rings (similar to counting tree rings) and also the calcium content of reproductive organs, to determine their age. However, being young and idealistic, I was engrossed in my work and enjoying the great outdoors. Our Camp Director, a trapper and hunter, made the most delicious fish stews from our catches. These eaten with sour dough bread slathered in butter were a delight. (The fish had been taken in gill nets and were not in a fit state for release). Life was grand; yet unknown to us shadowy images of high, razor wire topped walls and cold concrete floored cells were dogging our every move.

A Government report was compiled using our results. Our work was on behalf of the local indigenous peoples who depended on fishing for a large part of their livelihood. The story becomes hazy at this point. Whether the government sued the large industrial complex for contamination of the large suite of lakes that we found almost bereft of fish and highly contaminated with metals and acid I don't know. Our results had disappeared into a Government document stamped "Confidential". That said results that were undeniably ours were suddenly and mysteriously being quoted verbatim in the press. All I do know for sure is that soon we were being sued for circulating erroneous and slanderous data and jail had become a distinct possibility.

Having been one of the few laboratories in North America using standard reference samples to verify our results seemed like a slam dunk for vindication, but strangely the challenging industry were claiming results showing ours to be about 10 times too high! The situation was escalating daily and before we knew it a trial date was set. I was too panicked to attend (so much for the fearless, young researcher) and any way the lawyers had my co-worker and all the results. On the last day of the trial it was clear the judge had become seemingly ensnarled in legal diatribe woven by some of this country's most prestigious lawyers and in his asides to opposing council appeared to be hinting at conviction.

Just by chance, as the specter of jail was closing in on us, an anonymous person from within the complainant's organization, placed a smuggled document onto the prosecutors table. This document apparently showed that their results in fact did agree with ours. After a very short consultation amongst combatants the industry settled with the affected Indigenous people for the full amount!

Sometimes beads of perspiration still break out on my forehead when I think of this quandary. One question continues to haunts me though; how can I have taken every possible step to be certain of my results and then still be dragged into court and brought so close to internment?

## Under the Yardarm

Perhaps her general sense of superficial dilapidation should have been enough warning; but without hesitation we slipped the mooring of our rental craft and slowly motored away. But wait this yarn began weeks earlier with other hints of ensuing adversity.

Careful planning and faultless execution would be essential for a successful adventure such as our long premeditated boat trip from a Rideau Canal marina to and back from Expo 67 (opening date April 29). Fact was that neither my friend Bill nor I were particularly well endowed with these desirable characteristics. But we were nothing if not full of enthusiasm.

In 1967 we all were struggling to make ends meet and Bill's Mini Minor, our only present option, was incapable of handling transport of 4 adults and all their gear from Willowdale to the marina. A larger more substantial car was essential and our proposed methodology perfectly illustrates our bumbling approach to solution of problems. How to maximize the returns from the sale of Bill's rapidly decaying relic was to be our first hurdle. With cryptic conniving our procedure developed as follows.

The car was advertised for auction in glowing terms in the newspaper so that we could attract buyers. This did attract a small gathering at the appointed hour. After this group of potential purchasers had examined the corpus delicti and proffered their bids, posing as a genuine purchaser of interest I stood amongst this group and called out a higher figure. Despite Bill's cautionary warning not to make my figure so excessive as to prevent a higher offer I ended up winning the auction. The legitimate bidders having dispersed and because of a time constraint our only recourse was to trade the car in at a dealer at a piteously low figure. I'll leave your to imagine the pathetic vehicle austerity dictated that we were fated to purchase.

Now back to our vessel a 7 m long motor launch that Bill, with celebratory cigar clenched firmly between his teeth, was carefully maneuvering towards the lock leading to the first lake below our point of departure. The plan was to exit through the Rideau Canal into Lake Ontario, then cruise east to the St. Lawrence River and travel thence into a rental sip at Expo 67. Having transected 2 sets of locks without any difficulty we found ourselves motoring happily in a large lake about 1 hour south of our point of departure. Suddenly a fetid smell began wafting up from the cabin below followed closely by Shirley who was loudly complaining that the toilet although flushing was failing to empty the contents. To stem this vociferous backlash husband Bill volunteered to fix the problem while I took over the controls. After what seemed to be an inordinately long period of time Bill reappeared with a small bucket filled to the brim with a foul smelling liquid which he hastily discharged over the stern. This was followed by a refilling of the bucket with fresh lake water and his disappearance with said bucket to the precincts below. He immediately popped back to declare that the toilet was broken. It was assumed by 'all' that the toilet had been faulty before we acquired the boat and hence would have to be bailed and refilled thusly for the remaining 3 weeks of this odyssey. The tight reservation arrival time at Expo gave us no option to return to the point of departure to have the toilet repaired. Although our nights would be spent moored in other marinas our equally tight budget prevented expenditure on any such repair. Oh, did I remember to mention one other slight oversight? One foggy evening we discovered ourselves travelling erratically out of sight of land starring at an empty compass bracket.

Never mind, the sun had sunk below the yardarm and thus as all sailors will relate it was now permissible to break out the cocktails. Honesty requires me to reveal that a motor powered vessel such as ours had no yardarm, that being an accoutrement of sailing vessels; but since it was necessary to have nautical means of establishing the onset of the cocktail hour we arbitrarily imagined its position as if this had indeed been a genuine sailing craft. A drink or two later and the perception of a malfunctioning toilet and lack of an essential navigational aid seemed to be evolving into more of a slight inconvenience.

Apparently lady luck had another disaster in her repertoire for this first day out. That evening Maureen had occasion to search for a pair of pajamas. It was at that point discovered that in my rushed departure her suitcase containing all her casual wear still remained sitting in the hallway of our Willowdale home, together as it was discovered, with my suit bag containing all my evening wear. That's not quite true since the suitcase with my casual wear did include my best pair of dress shoes. Be that as it may my credence rating had received a serious demerit. However considering that Maureen had a penchant for spiffy and I had a serious aversion for anything more upscale than jeans and a sweat shirt covered in coffee stains these circumstances seemed to suit this happenstance to a T. In any case we were fortunate to discover that whenever potential debacles were discovered it seemed always concurrent with the sun being below the mythical yardarm and the onset of cocktail hour.

Expo 67 was indeed an enervating experience and residing as we did in the marina inside the grounds we had 2 important perks. The first related to the upscale washroom facilities reserved strictly for marina residents. Herein the simple freedom from toilet bailing would have been sufficient compensation; but added to this was being able to be first in the lineups every morning to enter the most popular attractions.

But our problem free intervals had a propensity to end suddenly and unexpectedly. Unknown to Maureen and I, Bill had accepted the invitation from a well to do relative for an evening's outing on them in downtown Montreal at the roof top restaurant in Place Vile de Marie. Jeans and sweats not quite meeting the dress code requirements left me with a cavernous quandary. Not to worry, Bill had packed 2 suits and I had a pair of dress shoes in my suitcase. The vignette now unfolding is me dressed in one of Bills suits with pant cuffs and coat sleeves rolled up, a 5ft 9in body in a suit of the 6ft 1in owner. Worse my dress shoes having gone missing were ultimately mysteriously located floating in the bilge. These when donned and utilized sounded like rubber boots full of water. The Maitre de upon our arrival gave me a look that suggested that I appeared like one of Al Capone's henchmen protecting the Boss.

It seems this trip required 1 final mishap for its completion. To return the boat to the rental marina on the Rideau Canal we opted to exit Expo and travel down the St Lawrence River to its confluence with the Ottawa River and then motor up his byway to the city of Ottawa and from here travel south on the Rideau Canal to our final destination. The Ottawa River during that era was singularly bereft of marinas. Thus at one point about noon the boat sputtered to a stop out of fuel. At this point Bill, the self-appointed captain, handed me an empty gas can and sent me swimming shoreward with the instruction to hitchhike a ride to the nearest gas station. During my traverse to the river bank, emanating from the boat I distinctly heard ice cubes being discharged into glasses. How the remaining occupants could have determined that the sun had sunk below the yardarm at noon thus signaling cocktail hour remains an unsolved mystery. Standing by a roadside dripping wet I figured my chances for transport rated slim to none, when a piece of unimagined good fortune occurred. The first vehicle to arrive was driven be a friend of my uncle in Ottawa. Not only did this kind gentleman provide me a ride to and from the gas station but treated me to an ice-cream cone to boot.

Some days later upon arriving back at the rental marina the owner politely enquired about our enjoyment of this voyage at which point we lambasted him for sending us forth with a defective toilet. As we were filling the car trunk in preparation for departure we sensed the arrival of a not too bemused marina proprietor. With one hand on his hip, in the other rubber gloved hand he was clutching firmly a disgusting waterlogged ruminant of what appeared to be a cigar butt. This he pointed out had been discarded into the toilet and was the cause of our sorrows. It was impossible to prove that this was the remains of Bill's celebratory cigar. But Bill made no attempt at denial and suffered our acrimony stoically.

## Rounding Cape Horn and the Peril Lurking Beyond

Despite our frantic efforts to clean it up, broken glass kept menacingly reappearing from under the bath tub, thwarting our desperation to reach the toilet. Several cm of water streamed constantly from throughout our cabin thrown from the raging sea, through the broken balcony door and into the passage way. This was the last passage around the Horn that season and we were aboard. The cruise was shoehorned in just before the hazardous southern hemisphere fall and winter weather normally took hold.

Of course stories are legion of ships encountering horrific storms in roaring forty latitudes of the Cape Horn region. Countless losses of ship and cargo had been recorded here in the days of the Clipper Ships forced to sail this route before the advent of the Panama Canal. Our calamity materialized in the leg of our journey just after we had rounded the Cape.

One of the most famous trips into these southern waters was that of Sir Francis Chichester in a successful solo circumnavigation of the world made in a relatively small 20 meter ketch class sail boat (main and mizzen masts) when he was in his 60's. Constantly deprived of sleep due to bad weather and damaged self-steering gear, together with having suffered mild personal injury in a fall turned for Chichester, what were tedious sailing conditions under normal conditions, into a nightmare. Gales encountered in these southern waters produce mountainous waves. Couple this with winds so strong on his stern that despite hoisting just a tiny spitfire jib to maintain stable forward motion and dragging a sail aft in the water as a sea anchor', he was for many hours in danger of broaching. This is a condition in which the wind from behind uncontrollably causes the boat to swing around sideways on the top of a wave. Whereupon tripping on its keel the boat capsizes, presenting the danger of dismasting and other potentially fatal damage. Even the courageous Sir Francis admitted being in a constant state fear of these conditions.

In what turned out to be our ignorance and complacency we had no such fears. Our ship, a relatively large and powerful cruise ship with 4 or 5 decks, seemed well suited for stormy weather so it was hard to believe the calamity that lay in wait for us in tempestuous conditions that Sir Francis encountered and conquered alone in his diminutive craft many decades before. But wait, what we were destined to encounter had an electrifying extra kick.

Maureen and I together with 2 friends booked our mid-March cruise from Valparaiso around Cape Horn to Buenos Aires. Both Chile and Argentina plunge south enormous distances that extend from north of the tropic of Capricorn through the "Roaring 40's" and into the "Furious 50's". The tip of Cape Horn (Chile) region, our turning point, brushes 56 degrees south latitude.

Our flight was to landlocked Santiago from whence we traveled by a tour provided bus, to the Chilean coastal port of Valparaiso. Our vehicle wound along a modern highway through countryside that at a casual glance was reminiscent of Southern Ontario. Of course on closer inspection the trees and other plants were unique to our experience as were some of the domesticated animal species. Along with the ubiquitous cattle and horses was an indigenous group of which the llamas were the most common representative. All members bore the typical llama small heads on extended narrow necks protruding from relatively rotund bodies on 4 long legs. All told the animals varied somewhat in stature but averaged about 1.5 meters high. Color differed amongst the group from white to shades of brown.

In the days preceding the Panama Canal the vessels that ventured towards the Horn region took on provisions at Valparaiso. In present times the volume of shipping has been much reduced and the pace of life in this working class city has quieted. Buildings looked ramshackle and the rutted streets ran steeply to the port area. Cruise ships of which there were few, muster passengers here from the airport at Santiago. Many of these like ours are destined to round Cape Horn. Others, also south bound, investigate the Beagle Channel or tour the Strait of Magellan. Our cruise ship although scopious in length, tonnage and power was the smallest representative in the cruise line that we chose.

It is interesting to note that many a vessel destined for The Horn, even those of capacious size and tonnage has unexpectedly been forced for weather related reasons to shelter and/or cruise through the Strait of Magellan instead of proceeding as intended. Thus many Cape Horn bound tourists have thus been prevented a sighting of their main goal. Early Explorers in the Straight report sighting many fires along the shoreline with aboriginals, totally naked, despite perpetual frosty and windy conditions, beckoning these newcomers to come ashore.

Ports of disembarkation for a cruise ship like ours are relatively few and the itinerary rather standardized. But to the contrary of what this might suggest, we found many delights on the expedition the foremost being spectacular mountains, fiords, glaciers, avian life small cities and historic sites in the more southerly regions. The crown jewel, the rounding of Cape Horn, would have in itself been sufficient justification for me in choosing this voyage.

Chile is dominated by the Andes Mountains, with only a narrow coastal region, extending only 440 km at its its widest. The Andean Mountains are laced through with imposing volcanic structures with the Mount Fuji like Mount Osonoro being of particular note. Many impressive glaciers emanating from the steep slopes discharge voluminous melt waters into the sea. Chilean glaciers, like those elsewhere on this planet are in relatively rapid retreat. This, of course, is due to the disastrous phenomenon of human induced Climate Change. The Amalia Glacier is arguably the most impressive of Chilean glaciers to be viewable from a ship. A long and spectacular fiord dead ends at this location. Fiords in Chile are more striking than most in Alaska but pale when compared to those I viewed on the west coast of Norway. For anyone who has been in Glacier Bay in Alaska, the Amalia Glacier is disappointing in both width and height. However the bright blue color lends a charm that helps negate any deficiencies in stature.

Difficulty pervades choosing land based tours to feature in such a short article. But because of my extensive summer experiences working on farms in Ontario and in Western Canada; of particular interest and enjoyment for me was a trip to a Southern Chilean ranch. The windblown shrubbery and stunted trees along the route were spectacular. At the ranch, a short ride on a small horse was on my agenda, as was a tour of a small private museum containing 1800's farm implements and household fixtures. Then to the home which included a dining room with seating for 75. Outside we could view a small grouping of sheep and a BBQ pit sporting several searing sheep carcasses. These were carved within sight and the delectable morsels plated for our eating pleasure.

One of the tour highlights is to stand in the south coast Chilean city of Ushuaia next to a sign announcing that this is the most southerly city in the world. Since Ushuaia, gateway for tours to Antarctica, is not on the contiguous continent but resides within the Tierra del Fuego Archipelago it does not usurp more northerly Punta Arenas in its claim to be the most southerly city on Continental America. Punta Arenas was our first contact with the Country of Argentina gateway to the wind swept, relatively flat Patagonia region thrusting incessantly to the north.

Destination Cape Horn! The weather although thus far having been dull in these southern latitudes there had been no suggestion of storms. Everything now depended on retaining this state of affairs. The Captain announced that passengers would be awakened around 7.00am local time in the region of the Cape. The long anticipated day dawned bearing calm cloudy weather but with unlimited line of sight. About 1 km distant directly north, there was The Horn soaring precipitously to a maximum height of perhaps 400 meters with a breadth of about 800 meters. A Dutch Explorer in 1616 named the Rock, 'Hoorn', after his town of birth. The Northern tip of Antarctica is 800km from this location.

Despite the lack of even a brisk breeze large frothy waves broke at the base of the rock. As expected, for March, the onslaught of the Southern Hemisphere fall, the temperature was cool but not cold as it might have felt in a wind. But imagine ships in the 1800's, delayed by unpredictable events earlier in their trips, rounding this promontory in the southern winters, in mounting gales accompanied by freezing spray!

Average winds in this region are in the 50 km/hr range so as expected there are no trees on the Rock but plenty of close cropped dark green and brown plant matter which extends, with a most tenacious grip, right to the ocean surface. A notoriously cold west to east sea current flows about this headland normally coupled with a west wind, itself accompanied by ever varying 'Willivaw' wind currents.

Leaving the Cape region, finally turning to the north a large island appears. During the relaxed and celebratory mood resulting from successfully negotiating the Horn region many ships crews in bygone eras came to grief by failing to give Staaten Island and its reef choked waters too sparse a berth. On our transect north via the Falkland Islands we stayed well off these treacherous waters.

Port Stanley is the Falkland Islands main port and we landed there. One's first impression is that the tourist industry must dominate the economy. This is because the area of disembarkation and several cross streets stretching inland are cluttered with shops selling island curios and locally produced woolen products. However tourism is only number 3 in the economic ranking. The fishery and sheep farming place number 1 and 2 respectively.

East and West Falkland Islands account for the main land mass. There are about 750 mostly small islands in total. Relatively flat to first view, there being many bogs, the highest point in the Falklands is actually 700m. Westerly winds constantly blow, usually at high velocity; the humidity is high with winter and summer temperatures averaging 5 and 16 degrees respectively. Thus upon discovering that expensive imported petroleum was the main source of energy throughout the islands we nonplused several authorities by enquiring why wind power generation was not in wide spread use.

There plenty of vestiges of the 1982 war between the UK and Argentina, not the least of which are a number of fenced off areas of mine fields containing in total 25,000 mines. Derelict hulls of ships are prominent making excellent camera fodder. During a walk near the coast in an elevated location a sign post was discovered covered top to bottom with signage indicating the direction and mileage to most major world cities.

Surely the Captain must have known. What with radar satellites and other ships in the region, but we were never told.

Happily we left Port Stanley, snuggled up in bed and soon were asleep. But about midnight we were startled awake by the crash of drinking glasses smashing to pieces on the bathroom floor. Maureen, tossed hither and yon by the ships bucking motion, stumbled to the bathroom to retrieve the glass pieces before they were trodden upon. This effort was mostly in vain because each heaving motion of the ship caused a seemingly endless supply of glass shards to spew out across the floor from under the tub. The pitching bow to stern was accompanied by shuddering through the metal superstructure accompanied by alarming creaking sounds. After day break things were progressing into a worse state. We were quartered on the upper deck of cabins and had a balcony. Even at this considerable height water was now flowing through the door from the balcony and streaming across the cabin into the hallway. No one knew what to do and no announcements came. We could see mountainous waves, some 40 m high coasting by; great precipitous mounds topped by wind-lashed froth. Suddenly a shattering crash came from below deck, which was the windows breaking in the dining room.

The storm was frightening in as much as the ship groaned throughout. It was hard to imagine how such a large vessel could rock so fiercely with such alarming sound. Gradually towards night the worst abated and the crew started to mop up the mess. We learned that we had intersected a rare Southern Hemisphere hurricane. Throughout this nearly 1.5 days of plight the Captain had skillfully maintained the ship's bow into the wind most of the time thus preventing more serious damage to people, the vessel and contents.

Despite our ordeal our ship limped into Buenos Aries almost on schedule, having bypassed only one port of call, Puerto Madryn, to manage this feat. At that time our ship was taken out of service, too badly structurally compromised to avoid the scrap yard.

## The Cantankerous Christmas Tree

I was startled awake in the middle of the night by what appeared to be a loud bang and whooshing sound resonating from precincts below. More precisely the sudden noise appeared to have originated in the basement family room. I grabbed my trusty baseball bat from under the bed and descended cautiously down the stairs. But alas I have left out a few enlightening details.

You are probably familiar with a girl's figure skating dress; you know the one with an off-the-shoulder top, a frilly tutu for a skirt and tights up over the thighs. Well this should have nothing to do with a Christmas tree purchase, right? Au contraire, at least on this occasion it had everything to do with averting a disaster. Many years ago on my way back from retrieving my teen daughter from her skating lessons, I hatched a plan. Since she was unaware of my covert scheme, a detour to pick up that year's Christmas tree, she was as usual coatless, anticipating a direct drive home. Thus she rushed from the arena jumping post haste into the inviting warmth of the car's back seat.

This drama unfolds during a typical chaotic Toronto rush hour on an early December's winter day from Hell. Snow was falling in windblown drifts; the traffic was backed up many blocks and I just managed to skid the car to a stop in a Christmas tree lot near the corner of Bayview and Steeles. This location seemed like a good decision because our home was close, being only a left turn at the intersection and one block away after that.

My daughter refused to appear out of the car dressed as she was. This presented drudgery because it meant that I had to choose a tree then pull this over to the car for her approval which needless to say involved many rejections before one was finally affirmed. By then I was nipped to the bone and bedraggled to the state of exhaustion. The destination for our quarry was a family room with 5 m ceilings meaning that I had been bilked into acquiring one of the largest trees available, really costly and horrendously heavy. Between the lot attendant and me we were barely able to lever this monstrosity on to the roof rack of our SUV.

The following is one of the best illustrations that could likely be devised describing faulty thinking, bad judgment and failure to pay attention to the wisdom of a teenage daughter. The distance to be travelled from the lot to our home was barely 500 m. The Christmas tree being unusually heavy and wedged into a high sided roof rack appeared firmly ensconced. Pressured by the desire to get my freezing butt back into the car post haste I opined that the usual complex job of roping the tree to the roof rack would be unnecessary. Thus I demurred from this time wasting complication and threw the unused rope onto the backseat with my daughter. This caused a flurry of doubt-laden, vindictive patter from this location which I totally ignored. With seemingly fundamental logic I explained that the weight of this tree trapped in the roof rack, even without ties would ensure its safe transit to our nearby home.

Wrong. After leaving the lot I slowly struggled through traffic and into the intersection. I was faced with dilemma. The traffic light was yellow and about to turn red. Without due consideration except to get home as swiftly as possible, I accelerated flat-out into a left turn. Good news, the car and its occupants successfully beat the light. On the other hand the sudden change in direction discharged the tree to the roadway which we discovered was now blocking the intersection. To the music from horns of what seemed like hundreds of annoyed drivers, I jumped from the vehicle and ran back intending to retrieve and replace the tree. Of course it wouldn't even budge. Embarrassed so completely by the scene I was perpetuating, my daughter sprang out to help. Strangely the horns ceased to blow and a crowd of men magically appeared on the scene from their cars and disdainfully brushing me aside, under the supervision of my apparently distracting daughter they easily replaced the tree on the car. Then very slowly and with much merriment attached this item to the roof with the rope my daughter had retrieved from the car.

Pondering idly on this part of the fiasco I wondered whether I had erred in my judgment or kindly provided an unintended but welcome diversion on a miserable winter's night?

The Christmas season was a particular stimulant for Smudge our Labrador Retriever. Her enjoyments always seemed to involve problems of one type or another. Not unlike the majority of dogs, keen taste and smell dominated reactions. Of particular note on this year of our Christmas tree-in-the-intersection fiasco our children decided it would be fun to hang gingerbread men amongst the other decorations to enhance the appearance of the Christmas tree. This process was initiated with an abundance of avidity. Mother and the 3 children baked the gingerbread men; created parchment cones filled with many different colours of homemade icings and artfully designed the finished products. The messy clean-up thereafter, well much less enthusiastic. In fact I know this with certainty. Ostensibly I was receiving payback for having cheered them on while making occasional quick tasty forays with my fingers into the icing as the apparently unappreciated quality control supervisor.

The colourful appetizing delights were soon attached to the tree and made a princely display. Particular care had been exercised to place these at a level on the tree unreachable even by a dog's tongue.

Now comes the 'loud banging and whooshing from below and being startled awake part' alluded to at the beginning. Quickly descending from the second floor bed room, baseball bat defensively at the ready I was greeted by the following scene in the family room. The cussed tree was again resting heavily on its side. Smudge was posed there-upon, ravishingly licking the gingerbread men's delicately administered icing décor and then consuming the remains one gingerbread man after the other. Instead of taking charge, retrieving Smudge and attempting to right the reclining tree, I shouted "bah humbug" and precipitously left the scene.

## The Prodigal Prodigy

It shocked and pained me deeply but I was not surprised; his limp body there on the floor, a homemade mask pulled over mouth and nose and plastic tubing protruding therefrom. I didn't even bother to check for a pulse, the dark blue pallor of his face screamed it out all too clearly. There was the end to it; Sasha could not endure his self-contrived tortured world any longer. That fine spring morning I had just arrived at the lab early expecting that nobody else would yet be present. I immediately called 911 and a few key University Officials.

Despite overt enthusiasm for his ground breaking research, Sasha conveyed a sense of dysphoria, together with the additional manifestation of being driven by a relentless internal engine that had only one speed and that was full on. Thinking back on the 1.5 tenure in my research group of this 16 year old PhD candidate, I realized that I shouldn't have been surprised at the piteous tableau confronting me on the floor of his laboratory cubicle.

Sasha had no interest in my own categories of research programs, so why had I accepted him as a member of my research group? In fact I had decided during our first interview that I would reject him on these grounds and because of his immediately obvious and unsettling, pretentious mannerisms. That was before he informed me that the rest of the departmental staff had rejected him and I was his last chance to gain admission. This coupled with the recollection of a phone conversation with a colleague pointing out that Sasha was in fact a scientific diamond in the rough, whose distressing behaviour, like that of many prodigies had likely emanated due to lack of traditional social skills. My colleague went on to say that his only reason for rejection was based on Sasha's emotional problems which he was unwilling to abide. Having suffered myself with repudiation from this same set of problems emanating from the consequences of my own bipolarity, I wasn't surprised at hearing myself tell Sasha he was accepted.

Sasha began his work in my lab, by during the first few months, discovering and patenting a method for binding organic compounds to metals that had potential to revolutionize industrial coating procedures. Such an achievement, born as it was in the mind of a 16 year old, placed him instantly in the category of prodigy. The prospects of ancillary related fundamental developments spilled profusely from his brain.

Unfortunately this scientific largess was accompanied by an equal volume of collateral emotionally based problems. Sasha had joined an off campus group that specialized in a procedure called 'scream therapy'. Try as I did to convince Sasha to adopt conventional assessment and treatment which was available free from skilled University Health service personnel, he rejected this approach in favour of alternative methods; scream therapy being only the most disturbing of the lot. In many ways Sasha behaved like a typical 12 or 13 year old battling the dynamism of entering the early stages of puberty. He had no serious commitment to any treatment, entering each just for camaraderie of likewise inclined individuals and the shock their outlandish practices rendered to outsiders.

Sasha became somewhat of a pariah around the department and I was under pressure by coworkers and my Professorial colleagues to take remedial action. I issued him a series of warnings which were often in poor judgment not enacted due to the success of his research. His bimonthly progress reports were astounding, highlighted by the end of the first year with his acquisition of 2 more patents and 3 publications in major journals. Even the Department Chair had to admit his work had been superior enough in quality and quantity to rank him academically near the top of PhD candidates.

He was a dynamo in the laboratory. Whereas most students needed about 8 meters of bench space for their experimentation, Sasha had multiple research stations, all simultaneously active, that occupied about 3 times this much area. I can still see acutely in my memory Sasha, laboratory water bottle in hand from which he constantly sipped, almost at a run servicing these multiple setups. Unlike most students he never seemed to pause to sit at his carrel to write up results; instead he scribbled scattered notes in lab books which were strategically positioned throughout his research locations. Creation of formal reports, publications and complicated patent applications flowed like magic. It was as though Sasha could coalesce rigorous scientific arguments from seemingly random observations his laboratory notebooks contained

Anytime was work time for Sasha. Sometimes when he was under sanction due to particularly severe emotional out bursts he would disappear for a few days. This would then be followed by a week or so in which he worked 20 hour days always at his double quick time. Finally in mid second year of his tenure after a serious of vociferous, salacious, threatening outbursts that could be heard by a large portion of the building, I told him he would be dismissed unless he received proper treatment. Miraculously he seemed to acquiesce and his outbursts ceased. During this interval Sasha was seldom seen around the lab, his excuse being that he was under intensive treatment. Strangely even during this interval his bimonthly reports contained the same volume of outstanding work. Just as suddenly came that fine spring morning that I found Sasha dead.

I was about to be arrested for possession and distribution of drugs. The police during their investigation had discovered drawers throughout my laboratory contained large but well hidden quantities of a variety of illegal drugs. It was only after assurances of University officials that I was definitely innocent that I avoided this catastrophe. Testimony of the building night cleaning staff revealed that during the above short period in which Sasha had supposedly been receiving treatment, he was in fact working all night. In addition he frequently put them to fright with his screaming; his practice of scream therapy no doubt. These kindly folk were reluctantly about to lodge a complaint but that was just before I found Sasha dead.

Death had occurred due to suffocation while breathing nitrous oxide (laughing gas) without an appurtenant flow of enough oxygen. Nitrous oxide was readily available in our lab for producing flame sources for our spectrometers.

Being the trusting, simple minded person that I was I never had any idea that Sasha was into drugs. This was my rueful introduction into the vagaries of the drug culture. Apparently breathing nitrous oxide with a deficiency of oxygen was a game of blind man's bluff. The magnitude of the high this produced was proportional to the depleted level of oxygen; depleted too far a lack of sufficient oxygen results in suffocation.

Whether it was death by misadventure or suicide does not matter. The result was a societal and scientific tragedy and it had happened on my watch.

# Chapter 2

# Australia

Probably my favourite country outside of North America was Australia. I had 2 consultancies and an Invited lectureship in this often underrate land. Additionally my wife and I enjoyed 3 extensive holidays herein. It became a joke in conversations with the locals that we had probably been to more parts of Australia than only the most widely travelled Aussies.

## Atrax Robustus and the Garbage Pail Lid

Australia has the largest number of species of poisonous creatures of any country on this planet, a fact of which I was blissfully unaware when I first agreed to become resident with my family as a Visiting Scientist at CSIRO, Division of Chemical Physics. In fact it wasn't until my second round of work in Australia that this problem became an issue.

East Heathcote, a Sydney Southern Suburb exists in its totality within Royal National Park. Living herein was like moving to the wilderness despite being only 1.5 km from the Heathcote suburban center and a station on one of the busiest rail lines to Sydney Central and extending onward to Bondi Beach.To begin with there were the large clutch of raucous Cockatoos who chose the middle of a Munster's rerun every night to return deafeningly to their roost in a nearby Norfolk Island Pine. Even with windows and doors tightly shut the thread of even this predictable comedy became indiscernible. This was however trivial compared to finding a poisonous "Redback spider" holed up on the garden trowel I was reaching for in the garage.

My work at CSIRO was located in Lucas heights a 20 minute bus ride away. That is until a fellow lodger discovered a path through a pleasant ravine that not only saved the bus fare but provided enough cardiovascular exercise to obviate our nightly exercise routines. Both sides of this 60 m deep ravine were heavily wooded with Eucalyptus trees punching above a tangle of barbed Acacia locally called Wattles, resplendently smothered in late winter by tiny, brilliantly yellow, powder puff like flora.

The extremely narrow, poorly defined but persistent path, meandered through the underbrush but was bisected at the bottom by a massive fallen eucalypt trunk suspended 1 meter above a small stream. Its considerable diameter meant levering oneself up from a stone in the stream and then down the other side to the continuing path. Upon struggling to the ravine summit on the other side the CSIRO property could easily be entered. On a good weather day about 40 minutes was required door to door. For several months this trip became my daily regimen until the practice ended suddenly.

Upon reaching the top of the fallen eucalypt trunk one morning I found my leading foot about to descend onto the wavering head of a large and neurotoxin laden, "Eastern Brown Snake" waiting ominously on the other side. Up to about 2 m in length these scaly reptiles have no compunction to strike if sensing a menace. This induced a world record breaking 180 degree spin back over the trunk that threw me face down in the stream bottom mud. Worse I was still within striking distance for the snake from under the log. Next morning back on the bus and in answer to my seat mate as to my sudden return to this sedentary method of travelling to work, I stated that ravine walking had become not as healthful as I thought it should be.

Probably the most famous hazard reputed to inhabit the confines and outskirts of Sydney is the Sydney Funnel Web Spider. The likely encounter with one of these spiders whose venomous bite was the cause of severe illness and sometimes death until the 1980's when anti venom was developed, became the favourite taunt of my kindly landlord who stated his grounds were fraught with these insects. Often encountered in a web in a hole in loose ground where it would await at the top to attack its unsuspecting prey, it was not adverse to having a nibble of a wayward barefoot or hand which happened across. Needless to say I was respectful of this warning and always wore heavy shoes when moving about outside. Surprisingly, on the other hand, the landlord himself took few precautions when out and about and particularly when without gloves he weeded his garden. This caused me laughingly to comment that it was interesting that, despite his warnings of the prevalence of this beast, I had never in 2 months had the "pleasure" of an encounter. I went on to opine that he probably invented this fable to prevent tenants from disturbing his treasured garden.

Imagine my shock when returning to my room after work the next evening, I noted a large tightly lidded canning jar had been placed on my bedside table wherein reposed a lively 6cm hairy black spider, spritely jumping about. This unsettling phenomenon brought forth the information that this critter, a male Funnel Web, had been readily netted under the lip of one of the household garbage pail lids, one that I had often with bare hands opened to deposit trash. Unlike the female her consort develops a wanderlust accounting for its presence in this most perturbing location.

Upon hearing my protest over this predator's unexpected presence, the landlord's girlfriend entered and without even a by-your-leave unlidded the jar and calmly tipped its lively contents into the garden just under my open window. Despite Sydney's oppressive summer's heat and no air-conditioning this, my only window, remained tightly bolted for the remainder of my tenure.

## Bees Booze and Bush Fires

Eucalypts consist of more than 700 species of trees and shrubs, native almost solely to Australia, with there being only 9 species native elsewhere which are not found here-in. This fast growing hardwood has been transplanted in dense stands to almost every other subtropical region of the world. The greatest negative consequence of this action resides in their high degree of combustibility which has caused ruinous wide spread bush fires in areas such as Southern California.

Not surprisingly ecological renewal in Australia is based to a significant degree on fire or exposure of seed to other severe physical or chemical processes. Some botanical species possess seeds that will not germinate without being released from their pods through burning, a well-known example being those of the Hakea shrubs. Having come upon a recently badly burned area one fall near Sydney I was startled to view a lush new green leaf protruding from the charred ruminant of a large diameter stump of a tree that had been burned to within 3 meters of the ground. In Aboriginal times small bush fires were common as a result of lightning strikes of as carefully controlled burns. The massive bush fires now common in the Australian summers, frequently threatening homes close to urban areas are often deliberately set by arsonists or result from the careless use of campfires or deposal of cigarette butts.

Eucalyptus ficfolia, the famous red gum found mainly in the lush band rimming south eastern Australia along the south through South Australia and materializing again in South Western Australia, is prized for its abundance of scarlet red flowers. Flower heads of eucalypts have no petals consisting instead of a powder puff like large massing of stamens. Although eucalypt flowers range in colour from the common white through shades mainly of yellow orange pink and red all consist of stamens which are an abundant source of nectar.

Abutting the patio of a posh Melbourne golf club stands a 2.5 meter diameter but relatively low growing ficfolia. Strangely I heard this tree before its visual presence could be noted. Upon approaching our luncheon seats Sir Alan put his hand on my shoulder to stop me. "Listen", he whispered. Even above the chatting sounds of the few diners the buzzing noise was obvious. Reaching our seats a tree encased in a layer of bees became evident. Hers and there through the crust of insects the brilliant red flowers of this Eucalypt became obvious.

European honey bees had been introduced in the 20's by apiarists for the purpose of producing honey. Australian bees, a number of stingless varieties and most solitary by nature, had been unsatisfactory for this commercial venture. Those that graced this remarkable tree were of the imported variety. With such a pleasant humming accompaniment background luncheon music was superfluous.

A sherry aperitif seemed called for to celebrate my recent appearance at CSIRO, especially in light of these delightful surroundings. That sipped and dispensed with we each chose a smoked brown trout entre accompanied by an essential bottle of Pinot Noir. The conversation which began spottily and haltingly as we sought for salient topics, toward the bottom of the bottle became colourful and jokingly provocative being much more easily derived. The decision to have a snifter of Port seemed as natural as requiring water on a sweat filled hike. As this was arriving I noted that the music of bees had disappeared and the shadow from the tree had elongated considerably. A smooth run through a couple of glasses of Port and it somehow appeared that we had fallen into evening unnoticed. After an appropriate period of cessation in libations, we each returned home to a vociferously curious reception.

The habit of such liquid refreshment at lunch time quickly turned into tea breaks both mid morning and afternoon crowded into long fruitful days of research and discussions, with only a quickly demolished sandwich delineating morning from afternoon. But always on Fridays as the afternoon descended toward evening Sir Alan summoned me to his office to put an exclamation point to the week with a single glass of single malt and a chat.

## Big Desert –Big Fun

A relatively small Australian treasure is a 1130 sq km area named "Big Desert". This seems a contradiction in terms when speaking of a county with a central desert region of 6,400,000 sq km, comprising 4/5ths of its total area, which is commonly devoid of rainfall for 5 or more years at a time. Big Desert National Park, together with its abutting and physiographic twin, the somewhat larger Wyperfeld National Park, is both quite dissimilar to the massive arid inland desert.

Although covered for the large part in a layer of sand and sand dunes, a surprising richness and diversity of flora and fauna exists there-in. This bespeaks particularly of a relatively small but consistent 270 mm to 370 mm yearly rainfall and considerable humus material mixed within the sand. This latter is constantly replenished by the decay of the dominant mallee scrub vegetation, a low bushy pink, white and yellow flowered eucalypt. To view this complex soil mixture one need only happen upon the massive nest of one of the most unusual of all birds anywhere in the world, the mallee fowl. These birds, the size of a small chicken, dig, fill with vegetation and mound up a 2 meter round deep depression, where-upon the female lays several eggs there-in. Incubation is effected by the male; using a heat sensor on his beak and covering and uncovering the eggs to keep them within a degree Celsius of the required temperature. Another example of fauna richness in the region was two hundred species of birds that have been identified in this relatively small area, many being of the comparatively rare broadtail parrot species.

An investigation of these fascinating areas in the 1970s was best accomplished on foot. After a few hours of slogging through loose, 15 cm deep sand in 30 degree plus temperatures, the urge to pack it in and rehydrate was overwhelming. This brings us to a most memorable experience of living, drinking and eating in an old bush style hotel.

At that time Hopetoun in Victoria was the nearest community with accommodation for tourists. The only hotel in this community at the time was a relatively large ornately decorated 2 storey wooden structure, the lower area of which was dominated by a men's only pub. The noise level there-in and spilling out onto the street, resulting from a rough overflowing crowd of farm workers and drovers would certainly have drowned out the cries made by any large flock of screaming parrots that we had encountered in our earlier explorations. Frequently arising above all the din was the phrase "It's my shout", meaning it was their turn to buy the next round of drinks. An Australian custom for men drinking in groups in a pub, is to take turns buying the next round of drinks. A tiny area to one side housed the hotel office and a small restaurant and drinking area for use by groups of mixed sex. Rental accommodation was on the second floor and consisted of small, dusty, sparsely furnished rooms accompanied by communal toilets and bath rooms at the end of the hall. Our family crammed into one room, with the children being provided with single sized cots.

The first excitement during our sojourn occurred when Maureen, unwisely as it turned out, decided to bath 2.5 year old son Jon. The moment his feet contacted the frigid water he squirmed free, climbed from the tub and ran down the stairs making a beeline into the men's drinking area, with Maureen in hot pursuit. The violation by a woman of this men's only sanctuary was greeted by volleys of ribald shouts of displeasure, all totally ignored by Maureen who continued unabated to the location behind the bar, from which she plucked the pint sized escapee.

The rigors of the day's explorations, plus Maureen's mishap with the bathing, suggested a pre-dinner libation was in order. The majority decision was for sherry. The owner/ bartender/ waitress was astounded at this request. Apparently the usual patrons seldom ask for any drink other than beer. Luckily, every Australian Hotel has a bottle shop (liquor store) often detached from the main building. After a quick trip to this location a bottle of sherry was procured. It was then our turn to be astounded when after passing this bottle across, we received this aperitif back in 500 ml beer glasses, all three quarters filled with sherry!

Next came the main meal. The only menu item was large Australian free range, tough but tasty T-bone steaks and we opined that a red cabernet sauvignon was in order. Again this momentarily stymied our hostess. Back across we all tottered to the bottle shop and were pleased to discover a choice of several wines of this type. My colleague Jack, our host on this short holiday, was well-known in Melbourne as a wine expert and imagine his surprise and delight when he located a special vintage that he thought had long been unavailable. The price of this treasure he was certain would be impossible for us to afford, likely exceeding $40.00, that being the last known approximate price when available in the city. Our obliging proprietor looked up the price on her list but could only find the cost for a recent and very commonly available year for this same brand. The price she discovered was $10.65 per bottle. After some serious cogitation she stated; "I can't very well charge you that price, since this here bottle is many years old. Would $6.50 be alright"? Without hesitation Jack not only agreed to that charge for the purchase of this bottle, but acquired the remaining 23 bottles at the same price to bring back to his wine cellar in Melbourne! This was done in such a slick move, that I wondered whether he might produce some sleight of hand and exchange the bottle that had been bought for our dinner, for something of a much poorer quality, thus saving the complete two cases for his Melbourne collection. Though at this point in the evening, it was fast becoming a moot point, as we were all in such good spirits and had been so entertained, that I doubt we would have noticed the difference!

## Uniquely Australian, Some Finer Points

In 1975 myself and my family relocated to Melbourne, Australia for the best part of a year, as I had accepted an invitation to work at Australia's Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation. Although an English speaking country, I was fascinated by differences in culture between Australia and Canada.

A weekly highlight on a typically cool wet Saturday afternoon in Melbourne, was the Australian Rules football matches. There were twelve teams and therefore six games that were played simultaneously across the city, in stadiums equipped with 35,000 to 100,000 seats. A cold twelve pack of beer and four meat pies constituted the minimum provisions of two footy (colloquial term for football) fans.

Footy combatants, and I use this word advisedly, wear no padding, yet the contact is every bit as rough as American Football, where players are required to wear both padding and helmets. The basics of Aussie rules football are easily understood. A type of mayhem ensues on the field from the drop of a rugby shaped ball. Players from the two teams defend separate ends and attack one another for ball possession. Once obtained the possessor dribbles and kicks the ball towards his enemy's end, while being hampered by fierce bumps, forearm assaults and tackles. If a team mate is observed to be in a preferable position, the ball can be passed using a punching motion. Each end has two sets of goal posts, one set inside the other. The object is to kick the ball between the relatively closely spaced centre two posts for a score of 5. If the ball should instead fall through the outer posts, a point of only 1 is scored. If an unsuspecting, uniformed individual was suddenly beamed into this scene, his impression most likely would be he had been thrust into a German blitzkrieg.

Parking was generally desultory, being catch–as-catch-can, in an open field mostly devoid of definitive aides. The resultant rows of driving lanes were discontinuous at best. On the other hand, exiting is an unimaginable pandemonium, with beer sodden fans trying, first to find their vehicles and then to exit at full throttle from the developing scrum. This scene was often more brutal than the game itself. More by luck, actually too much grog, than good management, me and my friend Bleaker, could never remember the location of our car and always awaited the end of this carnage, hoping to find the vehicle in one piece and somewhere within view.

Similarities between living in Canada and Australia are surprisingly few. Both languages are English based, but differ widely in accent, vocabulary and structure. Many expressions came from Australia's colonial English background. These, for the same reason, are common in South Africa and New Zealand. Some examples are; bathers (bathing suit), singlet (undershirt), jumper (sweater), ta (thanks), bonnet (car hood), petrol (gasoline), panel beating (dents out of car body) bloke (male other than child), engaged (phone busy), bangers and mash (sausage and mashed potatoes), tea (dinner)and chips (French fries).

Australians have also developed a unique selection of vocabulary that is known as Strine. Some of the unusual language was so endearing that through travel and the media, they have now become part of North American vocabulary (though not in 1975). Some examples are; barbie (BBQ), Aussie (Australian), OZ (Australia), veggies (vegetables) and G'day (hello). Then we have the genuine Strine, eg. Billy (can to boil water inside), billabong (pool with drinking water), fair dinkum (something true), bush (any land outside a city or large town), kinder (kindergarten), cuppa (cup of tea), cocky (farmer), cocky (cockatoo), winge (complain), tucker (food), didgeridoo (long hollow log used as a wind instrument by Aboriginals), blowies (blow flies), dob (tell on someone), I'm right (I am fine), ankle biter, (crawling small child), grog (hard liquor), and barrack (to cheer).

Driving is on the left side of the road in England and thus became so in Australia also. Many roundabouts (traffic circles) and uncontrolled major intersections, ruled only by giving way to the right, could be problematic. Learning disabilities such as mine are usually considered severe disadvantages and have only a few upsides, the ease of changing my driving habits being one of them. Within two or three days of driving on the left side of the road, it became as easy as though this had been the practice of a lifetime. This I attribute to not having a strong sense of left and right, similar to my reversal of letters when writing. Despite several thousands of miles of driving, we had only one minor accident in Australia. This occurred when Maureen instinctively looked to the wrong side and knocked down the stone wall fronting our rental property, while backing out from the driveway.

Melbourne's winters are not as severe as Canada's but the lack of central heating threw us a few curves. Most average homes during our Melbourne tenure were single story and had a briquette fired lounge room fire place and electric heat. In our case this latter consisted of a single 1200W unit. Winter mornings could be the source of a bit of a donnybrook. The first problem was to entice someone to have the first shower in a 12C or less bathroom. Then with heater blazing full power, providing a comfort zone of 1 square meter, the five family members elbowed and shoved to position themselves within the warmth long enough to exchange pyjamas, for their day wear.

If only we had paid more attention to the North American coined phrase, that Australia was "down under", we could have easily avoided the following two dilemmas.

As winter approached we scoured our Melbourne household closets for additional bedding. In Canada electric blankets, when spread on top of a sheet were large enough to be tucked in at the sides and bottom and then when activated amply heated bed and contents. Luckily we found three relatively small electric blankets. When these were placed on top of the sheet, they barely covered side to side or to the bed bottom and could never have been tucked in. When activated the heat output radiated in all directions and was totally useless in heating the bed and contents. We suffered through a few weeks of fitful frigid nights before a guest, seeing this layout, indicated that the electric blankets were meant to be slept upon (down under) and not used blanket style.

Another geographic conundrum arose one morning while listening to the weather report. The announcer warned of brisk northerly winds expected throughout the day, at which point I donned an extra thick sweater. Upon opening the front door to depart I was immediately greeted by a witheringly hot blast of air, which I might have anticipated since the equator in Australia is in a northward direction.

One memorable night, I arrived home from a dinner party at about 11.00pm. Being slightly gassed, I had difficulty meshing the house key with the front door lock. This having finally been achieved and the door unlocked, I reached for the front door knob and felt a furry sensation, which made me retract my hand posthaste. There in frightful glory was a Huntsman spider, grasping totally around and obscuring the door knob. We immediately departed around to the back door, a practice I adopted from that time forth. This was one of my most notable encounters with urban Melbourne nature.

Australia is also blest with a particularly rich avian population. Among this grouping in the Melbourne area is the Yellow Wattlebird, a variety of Honeyeater. My friend and colleague, Jack, advised that if I were to hang a large test tube of sugar solution from the branch of a tree, I would be rewarded each morning by the arrival of a Yellow Wattlebird. As things turned out there were several of this species that were attracted to my sweet liquid largess. For a week or so the family arose around 6:30 am to observe this feeding phenomenon, which apparently had already been for some time in full session. Like many good things there comes a time at which the enjoyment wears off and a longer period in bed is more attractive. I then removed this feeding attraction, expecting that these birds would no longer linger. The next morning around 5:00 am I was startled from a sound sleep by what sounded like a formation of jet aircraft flying low over the house. When I arrived at the back window I was greeted by a screeching flock of angry Wattlebirds bewailing the loss of their snack. Collateral damage turned out to be twofold. The remainder of the family were now awake and venting their anger and later I was accosted by neighbours who were equally perturbed. One might expect this would be a one off occurrence, but no, a repeat performance was offered up the next day. Thus to prevent a potential family and neighbourhood revolution, I was forced until the end of our stay to provide a refill each day. We never did find out the fate of the owners in this regard when they moved back in. Suffice it to say we were not included on any local Christmas card lists.

## Steak Medium Rare with a Secret Ingredient

Fetid 5 month Summer Weather even in Australian cities of the SE coupled with homes lacking air conditioning dictated a an overriding dependence on the BBQ. The very familiar phrase now parroted widely in North America, "Fire up the Barbie" is an Australian import. Very little of consequence in the food line had not been adapted to cooking on the BBQ. Australian back yard chefs have developed this approach to meal preparation to gourmet status.

It was into this environment that I was unceremoniously dropped. The now dominant propane or natural gas BBQ, in 1975 was virtually nonexistent in Canada. While In Australia these, if they had existed, would most surely have been viewed with an air of contempt. Having been invited to many a dinner at friends homes in Australia it became crucial to begin the reciprocation; trouble was that I had neglected to learn this art as it was there-in practiced. Although our rented accommodated was replete with such an item its use had been avoided through the first few months due to the budgetary dictated consumption of inexpensive poor quality cuts of meat. Hence our first attempt, beginning with the most urgent invitations consisting of persons at the top of our social order, found me confronted with porterhouse steaks of the highest quality requiring the initial use of our BBQ. Sir Alan and Lady Walsh, together with the eminent physicist and second in command John Willis and wife Betty, were these guests.

Libations consisting of the best Australian sherry that could be stretched from our limited finances were served in copious quantities to begin the festivities. Needless to say I was in a state of "controlled" tipsiness as I approached the task. Having thoughtfully located the BBQ and placed this in a position of convenience prior to the party, I now gazed into a cooking implement devoid of fuel or starter fluid. Imagine my delight when I spied a heap of briquettes tumbling from under the house. Although these more massive, firmer feeling items, bore little resemblance to any I had used in Canada, I just presumed them to be another uniquely Australian facsimile. A cursory hunt in the garage located a tin of paint thinner which seemed to this chemist a natural substitute for starter fluid. A generous layer of briquettes drenched in paint thinner was subjected to the carless toss of a lighted match stick. As a result a conflagration of immense proportions erupted within and above the cooking implement and apart from a slight singing of my hair, this was accompanied by flaming drops falling down the sides of the BBQ causing small fires in the grass. This unfortunate but rather sobering occurrence was thankfully out of sight of the party celebration and after what seemed like an eternity the grass had been extinguished and the flaming mass had subsided to a glowing mass of briquettes. Despite a strange unidentifiable odor in the smoke I began the cooking procedure. The relatively intense heat of the coals provided a relatively short period necessary to achieve the required medium rare consistency of the meat.

Maureen had meanwhile had arranged on plates on a beautifully decorated table tasty salads and veggies to complement these precious pieces of beef flesh so lovingly subjected to the BBQ process. The feast began, but it became instantly obvious that something was horribly wrong. As I stood there judiciously pouring glasses of a respectable Shiraz wine I noted a sour looking grimace appear on Sir Alan's face, followed by the careful removal of partially chewed portion of steak from his mouth. Sir Alan's indomitable sense of humour immediately took over resulting in a follow-up gale of laughter. To say Maureen and I were non pulsed at this turn of events was a bit of an understatement. Arising from the table and grabbing me by the arm Sir Alan walked me to the precincts of the BBQ and upon gazing there-in pronounced the briquettes I had used to be those commonly used in the Lounge room fire place. These I was informed are severely contaminated with sulfur and hence totally unacceptable for cooking. Putting 2 and 2 together and using a bit of chemistry I realized my precious meat had been cooked in an emanation containing the acid forming substance sulfur dioxide!

## The Clothesline that thought it was a Hose

Automatic washers and dryers were not present in our Melbourne abode. This presented a challenge for a family used to the latest in such equipment in Toronto. A family with wife, children aged 2 still wearing cloth diapers, 5 and 7 and the father who walked 3 miles to work each day, presented a new and unexpected challenge in the cloth washing department.

The washing machine was out in the glassed-in porch resting rakishly on the sloping and spongy floor. The device consisted of a tub, a motorized wringer mounted above the tub and a hose to fill and empty the tub. It sat tight against a sink. The sink was heavy concrete construction, contained 2 compartments and was mounted on the floor. A swivel mounted hot and cold water tap attached to the wall, even when centered barely hung over the sink because the tub leaned well away from the wall at the top due to the slope in the floor. A common occurrence was to have water from the tap splash off the lip of the sink onto the floor when the spout was positioned too far to the right or left.

Cloths were loaded into the tub and hot water run through a hose to apply cover over the load. Care was essential not to run the tap at excessive speed to prevent the hose from squirming from the tub over the top causing a flood on the floor. Large flaked soap powder, unlike anything used in automatic machines, was liberally poured into the water. At the throw of the switch an agitator on the central spindle in the tub began in a back and forth motion. A deep froth of soap bubbles formed over the surface. After 30 minutes or so the soapy water was drained from the tub through a hose stretching out the door into the back yard, leaving persistent soapy foam covering a large area. This was followed by 2 or 3 rinses which entailed a procedure similar to the wash cycle only with clean water.

No obvious cloths line existed in the back yard. However a metal pole rising up about 3 meters out of a cement pad on the patio was clad in a structure that looked like the skeleton of a collapsed umbrella. The umbrella like arms were joined together by looping wires. Projecting from the base of the pole was a pipe with a hose connection. Out of curiosity we attached the hose to this connector and upon opening the hose tap the arms on the pole rose slowly up to create an open umbrella like clothesline.

## Spanish Coffee and Other Fiascos

Residing in a strange environment especially in a land so different than Canada in its geography, customs and legal system must lead to unexpected situations, most of them either amusing or embarrassing or both. The reverse seasons can also provide challenges.

Deplaning in January to be greeted by what resembled a wind from blast furnace caught completely off guard in our jet lagged state of somnolence. Visually intense shades of green stretched from horizon to horizon. We seemed to adjust rather happily to this condition. Then one day a month or 2 into our stay while dressing for work and idly listening to the radio a fragment of weather caught my ear. The announcer was stating that a wind was blowing fiercely down from the north from the north. Naturally assuming a bout of cool weather I donned a warm sweater. Upon opening the door I was greeted by a humid 40 degree C wind that would have caused naked person to break out in perspiration. This was a dramatic lesson that in Australia the equator and not the Arctic is the a northerly quadrant.

Another anomaly, this one due to a British heritage, is left hand drive. In my case being the main drier in the family, I became comfortable with driving in this position in the car and with staying on the right hand side of the road while driving. Maureen on the other hand was very uncomfortable with this arrangement. One morning this difficulty took on a rather unique guise. It was very uncommon for me to receive telephone calls at work. Thus when I was summoned to the phone one afternoon to speak with my wife an immediate sense of foreboding wafted in. An incomprehensible stream of words began assaulting my ears. Words such as damage, car, reverse, driveway, dented, fence and destroyed were muddled in such a frenzied disorder that I was completely at a loss as to the nature of Maureen's problem. Not having heard anything such as blood. Injury or children I was somewhat reassured. It was however abundantly clear that in her view a serious disaster had occurred. With a few Soothing comments from me that if no injuries had occurred then mishaps of other types could be fixed, I finally discerned that the car had knocked down our front fence. This problem arose from her unfamiliarity with left had drive exacerbated by the fact that she ws reversing down the driveway. Since this was our rented home and the fence consisted of heavy, cemented stone and the car was dinted and scraped, Maureen was unable to calmly conceive of a solution that would fit our budget. The solution of fixing the fence turned out to be relatively simple since despite the collision it had remained in 2 sections which could be pried up into place on top of a layer of fresh cement. The car however remained in its damaged condition. Surprisingly despite this obvious blemish we recouped nearly our purchase price in a private resale upon our departure.

Daft is the least offensive word to be used for the big whizzes at CSIRO when they decided to terminate the Division of Chemical Physics. At first this came in the form of a challenge only. The thinking was that this division must demonstrate its relevance to Industry to survive. Some bright light in CSIRO's upper reaches, realizing that since CSIRO was an acronym in which the "I" stood for Industry that all divisions no matter how prestigious in world science would have to have a strong relationship to industry. The Division of Chemical Physics was not only a world leader in Theoretical Spectroscopy but had also been the home of the development of novel instrumentation which had been farmed out to Australian Industry for production and sales. This seemed like a no brainer guarantee that this division was indeed a fit into the industrial component of CSIRO. Not so however in the minds of those making decisions. Thus a powerful campaign became essential to assure its survival. That's where I became an important cog in this battle at least in the mind of Chemical Physics' Head. Gaining public support for a cause is always an important step. To this end, as a foreign "expert" I was inserted into all the network TV morning talk shows. Additionally I wrote passionate letters to the CSIRO top brass and politicians concerned in its operations. A variety of other foreign experts followed a similar procedure to myself and as you probably guessed we were unsuccessful. About 8 years later came the demise of one of the world's most scientifically productive groups.

Oh yes what ever happened to the Spanish Coffee tale that I promised? You see we had this prestigious group of scientists and other friends to our home for dinner. This time I managed not to BBQ with sulfurous lounge room briquettes. In fact all was a great success until the coffee course at which time Maureen was to serve her specialty, Spanish Coffee. In case you think that Maureen caused the Spanish Coffee fiasco, she did not. This sad episode was totally of my making. As usual she mixed the coffee with the liqueurs and before topping the final mixture with the whipped cream. At this juncture she was having problems with poor flaming effects, so her expert chemist, me, suggested adding another dash of the liqueur. There was an immediate whoosh of flame as she obediently followed my "expert" suggestion. Apart from singing her eyebrows she dropped the glass in fright, whereupon the flaming stream of fluid began combusting the curtains. Needless to say I came out lacking in her estimation on several fronts. Fortunately the house did not burn down thanks to quick action of guests in dousing the flames, but I lost any good reputation I previously possessed even as an adequate font of domestic chemical knowledge.

## Walsh Party Panache

After completing yeoman's scientific service during WW2, Alan Walsh emigrated to Australia to take a position at The Division of Chemical Physics in Clayton Victoria. He Subsequent met and married Audrey Hutchinson, an Australian National. It behooves me to emphasize, that whatever his task and whatever the weather, Alan dressed with shirt and tie and jumper (sleeveless sweater) slavishly retaining this English tradition.

Brighton is a much favoured suburb of Melbourne, being that it comes complete with beach in Port Phillip Bay. Unlike other almost completely enclosed bays in many other large Cosmopolitan areas worldwide, Port Phillip Bay has been kept mainly free from harmful Municipal discharges. A state-of-the art waste treatment facility a Werilby, 40 Km south of the city and land disposal saw to this even prior to the 1970's. Brighton's pristine beach attracted bathers city wide, but local residents had access to Changing Huts clustered at one end of the beach giving them a measure of privacy from interlopers.

In the good weather, effectively from October through April, parties at the Walsh's Brighton home included a 3 block walk to their changing hut, and a pleasant dip at the beach. This segment of any such function was particularly pleasing for the children. No, that was not really the initial step at a Walsh shindig; number one was a quick glass of sherry in their famous rose garden. Here amidst roses in a multitude of shades and colours, growing on tree girthed stems, we gathered together the strength and the will for the passage to the beach.

Returning from thence the crowd was always shepherded into a bed room where a tiny woman, Mrs. Hutchinson Audrey Walsh's mother, was carefully ensconced in a bed full of covers. All having nodded or given a salutation we departed the scene for the main festivities.

All parties included excellent food, special wines from a remote Monastery NW of Sydney and good Scotch. I would estimate that we attended 10 parties at Walsh's over our tenure in Melbourne, all of them enjoyable. There were festivities celebrating Guest Workers who came and went. Others seemed to have little reason for occurring except to provide a friendly venue for a good time when Alan deemed such to be appropriate. What seemed to make a Walsh party stand out was how the host and hostess seamlessly combined everyone into a grouping that ensured that all guests were included and were guaranteed a fun experience.

One party I particularly remember was for a silly reason. In the 70's we had little news from Canada, except through Radio Canada International, obtainable on the Short Wave band and only when reception was adequate. Otherwise the only Canadian news story carried by an Australian during our time there source was the visit to Ottawa by Princess Dianna. News from the USA was more common but still spotty. Thus I was startled while at the dining room table to suddenly see the Super Bowl come on the TV, which was only visible from the family room due to a geometric quirk in the layout of the Walsh's lounge room.

Our families visit to Ballarat hosted by Alan and Audrey might seem to stretch the Walsh party concept. However this evet serves to illustrate the lengths that thes caring individuals would go to ensure the success of a social event.

Ballarat is the town in Victoria founded at the site of one of the earliest gold rushes in Australia and is a 3 hour drive from Melbourne. Restoration to its state during the gold fever had been done in great authentic detail. Gold panning and stage coach rides were only 2 of the many activities available. Sad to say but for some trivial reason I refused to take our children on the stage coach. Not to worry, Alan jumped into the breach and took them on this wild ride around the course despite his well-known ailing back. Again I nixed the wish to go panning for gold; not to worry Alan and Audrey took up this slack and granted the children's wish. To top off the adventure Audrey had prepared a sandwich lunch accompanied of course by a fine bottle of Alan's wine.

## Sullivan Kindness

Demountable hollow cathode lamps as radiation sources in optical spectroscopy might sound strange as a research pursuit, yet work in this area was timely, exciting and a tremendous challenge for a none Physicist such as I. It was my privilege to be assigned as my main research task to the laboratory of Jack Sullivan a noted Physicist of very high intelligence and the world expert in this investigative area. I was in a state of excited fright at this prospect. It is not common for the mainstay of research in a complimentary field during the birth of a crucially important field like Atomic Absorption Spectrometry, to maintain pre-eminence through the entirety of their long career. Competition to be the leading light in research of such complexity, variety and importance is daunting, but despite this factor such was the case with Jack. My lack of knowledge and experience in this research must have been a cumbersome burden, yet Jack found the time and patience in a kindly and understanding way, to bring me along to a level that at least at a pedestrian level I was able to experience a sense of contribution. Such was one of his most notable kindnesses.

My work began very poorly, as I made statements with errors in Physics continuously. Jack felt no reason not to correct these in a very vociferous manner. This can have one of 2 obvious effects. Either I kept my mouth shut most of the time or I accept this criticism and learn important concepts no matter how embarrassing. I chose the latter. Within a few weeks the frequencies of my mistakes was significantly reduced and I had learned important concepts that were to aid me greatly throughout the rest of my career. Jack must have approved because he became my closest colleague and great family friend. It is in this latter capacity I wish to expostulate.

Jack worried from the beginning about our possible shopping problems in the new situation we faced in Melbourne. Thus a weekly ritual on Thursday noon's was a trip to the Dandenong market in this community about 5 Km along a main thoroughfare. Due to Melbourne's mild Mediterranean like weather most typical fruits and vegetables were fresh and available year round. Green peas, a family favourite, became one of my constant weekly purchases. On our initial foray to this food fair I reached to help myself as was common practice in Toronto but this was not tolerated here, Instead the stall owner filled your bag and you had to take what he chose. Of course the varieties of some produce differed from those with which we were familiar in Toronto. Thus in the absence of Macintosh apples we were introduced to a fine substitute of English heritage, the Jonathan. Granny Smith apples were a new variety for us also at this time. New cultivars hardy enough for our weather are now being widely grown in Southern Canada. And so it went, we always had a delightful selection of fresh fruits and vegetables weekly. The Sullivan family took a serious interest in ensuring our enjoyment during leisure time. This mainly consisted of weekend mini trips to enjoy the pleasures of the local area. Our first foray in this regard was to the hills known as the Dandenongs a short distance west of the town and market. Most of us can recall dreams in which some bizarre rendition of a familiar plant or animal suddenly appears, frequently chasing us until we suddenly awake with a shivering start. While resting on a bench between sightings of Wallabies, Kangaroos, wombats and other typical Australian wildlife in a small zoo, I twisted around to relieve a crick in my neck. Suddenly my eye encountered a strange bright blue apparition. Turning slowly back to better identify this object I was startled to see an indigo bird that eerily resembled the North American House Wren in all aspects except its unusual colouration.

Our most notable Sullivan outing was the extended trip to Wyperfeld National Park. This adventure, deserving of separate treatment was detailed elsewhere under the title, "Big Desert".

Daily trips on weekends, most often to enjoy the glories of beaches tucked into the scenic shorelines of the areas to the south of the city were frequent and greatly enjoyed. Two of these playgrounds were of particular note.

Aries Inlet was distinguished both by its hidden location and the ambiance of angularly sandstone weathered cliffs and soft sand beach tucked serenely therein. The southern shoreline of Australia intersects the notoriously unpredictable Southern Ocean. One could easily suppose that the largest number of shipwrecks per unit of vessels has historically occurred in the Southern Ocean. The reasons are multi fold. Being bounded to the south by the immense, frigid and calving glacier riddled, Antarctic Continent results in a continual cold water temperature that maintains an uncomfortable coolness even as far north as the Australian southern shores. Of particular further consequence is the myriad of jumbled, fast flowing currents that exist herein. These coupled with the almost constant high velocity winds increasing drastically in the 59's and 60's latitudes, make small vessel travel in these climes a constant danger even at the best of times. The waters along the shore at Aries Inlet, although on Bass Straight across from Tasmania still bear a perpetual coolness that prevents all but the heartiest from enjoying a swim therein. The afore mentioned lofty sandstone cliffs shade much of the area from the rays of the sun that resides towards the north in the Southern hemisphere sky. A small discontinuity in these cliffs allows the Aries beach a flooding of warmth that is uncommon throughout this most picturesque area. Knowledge of this oasis by the sea is scant making picnicking here a most enjoyable experience.

Enclosed waterways bordering major cities are notoriously polluted. This was not the case with Melbourne's wonderful Port Phillip Bay. Our cherished bathing episodes with the Walsh's at Brighton Beach in this Bay have already been mentioned. Unlike the inadequate sewage treatment of the 70's in most of the Worlds cities, Melbourne's Sanitary Engineers pioneered a process, now being copied around the World, that removed noxious waste components prior to the discharge of sewage effluent into the Bay. Thus it transpired that a large, thriving municipal resort area at Sorrento evolved. Here handsome sand beaches were scattered along a shoreline intermixed with fascinating tidal rock pools. Many weekends were spent exploring and swimming in these precincts. During these times Jack, wife Sheila and their children exposed us to all the delights of the natural wonders contained in this unexpectedly rich environment. Now almost 40 years later the spectacle of Jack holding forth under his ubiquitous though severely tattered beach umbrella floods my memory.

## Barossa Valley

Eight hundred km west of Melbourne rises the city of Adelaide. Originally inhabited by the Kaurna Aboriginal tribe it was settled by the British in the 1840's. Adelaide is the 5th largest city in Australia. Beautifully preserved Victorian architecture remains resplendent here in marked contrast to the more modern structures that dominate many of Australia's other major cities. A trip to Adelaide is well justified on its own merit but for many, including ourselves, it is a welcome addition on the way to the world famous wine production region of the Barossa Valley 60 km to the NE.

Settled by German immigrants in the 1860's, these industrious peoples began the creation of a wine industry that is now responsible for the production of roughly half of the wine in Australia. Red wines particularly Shiraz and Cabernet Sauvignon have historically dominated in this region.

Within the past 50 or so years Australian wines and particularly those from the Barossa have made a huge inroad into the imported wine sales formerly dominated by the Italian and French brands in North America. Reasonable pricing and high quality have been the main reasons for this trend. Jacobs Creek, Wolf Blass and Penfolds initially dominated the imported wines from this district which in total boasts more than 50 wineries.

The lure of the trip, an opportunity to investigate another famous jewel in the Australian physiographic crown was the rational for our visit and indeed from this point of view our initiative was well placed. Rolling hills relatively sparsely vegetated lent the area not covered by vineyards suitable tor sheep farming. February the month of our visit and typical of the central growing months is characterized by hot temperatures (highs in 30's and lows in high teens) with less than 25 mm rain and only about 2 days during which more than 1 mm is to be expected. Thus it was not unexpected to see widespread irrigation in the form of elevated sprinklers throughout the fields of grape vines. Cars of the 1970's were seldom blessed by air conditioning thus it was a sweaty experience travelling the roads and highways of the region.

In consequence of travels under these conditions it was tempting to have frequent rests in the tasting rooms of the ubiquitous wineries on the main routes. We of course, succumbed not infrequently to this behavior, with the predictable result. Our resultant state of mind drove us to frequent purchases culminating after several days in a trunk chock-a-block full of assorted wines.

Roughly half way between Melbourne and Adelaide resides the city of Mount Gambier. This city the second largest in South Australia is named after an extinct volcano. Of particular note in this area is Blue Lake a "bottomless" artesian beauty residing in a crater one of several constituting the ancient eroded volcano. Tourists like ourselves are drawn to this location by the unusually intense indigo blue colour of these waters contained in the almost circular geometry of the crater. Grampian National Park is another delight easily visited on a trip to the Barossa. This Park rises out of the plains as a series of mountain ranges. Apart from the spectacular rock formations covered in large part towards their peaks by low growing intensely green vegetation; we were drawn here by the wildlife. The usual marsupial mix contained one member that we gratefully saw here for the first time in the wild, the koala. These well-known but seldom viewed in natural habitat, animals, inhabit a very specialized habitat containing a unique variety of Eucalypt, the leaves of which being their required diet

A wonderful route between Melbourne and Adelaide if you have plenty of time lies along the Great Ocean Road. Frequent glimpses of the great Southern Ocean culminate in a famous highlight at Port Campbell. Here towering very near the coast suddenly arise 12 great monoliths known collectively as the 12 Apostles. Formerly termed the Sow and Piglets these limestone stacks, eroded remnants of the coastline, are subjected to constant wave and wind attack. This culminated in 2005 with the collapse of a smaller member. Although it is difficult to see all 12 from any one location Maureen and I were transfixed by the grandeur of this unexpected spectacle on our travels back to Melbourne.

## Big Apple of the South

As Victorian as most of Australia remained including its big cities in many physical and social aspects, so the great city of Sydney seemed to be in contrast in a more modern sense in the 80's. Sydney was also Australia's largest municipality at that time.

Compositionally the cluster of multitudinous, separately named, communities is very reminiscent of London. Geographically downtown Sydney hugs the southern shore of Port Phillip Bay while the city proper spreads to the north and south from Ku-Ring-Gai Chase National Park to The Royal National Park respectfully. Proceeding south within the city lies Botany Bay, as large as Port Phillip and the first landing spot of the British in this area. Along the east coast a string of 100 magnificent beaches form this municipal boarder. While to the west communities gradually diminish in density as they flow into the perimeter of the Blue Mountains. Climatically Sydney's weather approximates that of Northern Florida.

In the 70's ethnically the population was still dominated by the British with Greeks and Italians also residing here-in in appreciable numbers. Contrary to popular folklore the British population was not derived largely by descendants of the transported prisoners of the 1800's. The non-prisoner related population began as merchants and farmers who soon arrived to support the prison population and this was followed by large waves of British citizens seeking refuge from the oppressive conditions that existed in their homeland in the 80's and early 20th century .

Culturally although dominated by British lifestyle, Sydney began to develop a reputation for a broad range of multicultural activities. In particular the diversity and quality of multicultural restaurants were rivaled only by those in London and New York. This, of course, gave a hint of the wide variation of minority groups of citizenry that was beginning to become established in this great city.

In choosing to relate Sydney to New York as is implied by this story title, I must hasten to state that my rational is very tenuous. It is based on a perception of architectural modernity, diversity and torrid pace found nowhere else at that time in any other large city in this great Southern Continent. Still along these lines Sydney is the only Australian city that achieves a worldwide instant mental visualization in many people's minds for the distinctive Opera House and gigantic Metal Harbour Bridge, particularly when resplendent with fireworks at New Years, that dominate its skyline. This could be compared with the instant mental recognition of the Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building and other Structures that likewise characterize New York.

Sydney boasts a variety of unique characteristics that due to their nature, magnitude and desirability have a uniqueness that is typical of other cities of particular renown. Directly intersecting its northern and southern boarders, 2 sizable National Parks give Sydney an ambience of greenery that certainly compares with or exceeds anything in New York or London. The fact that these Parks are filled with native plants and animals provides a fitting wildness to be expected of natural areas in a country like Australia. Over 75 separate recreational beaches providing year round playgrounds that must be the envy of any great city.

Formerly characterized by a vibrant downtown and comprehensive shopping consisting of small businesses in each constituent suburb, by the late 80's large North American plazas began to appear here and there throughout the city. Present day Sydney now possesses all the shopping characteristics of modern Western style cities.

Cultural and entertainment facilities are numerous in Sydney ranging widely in nature. Flea Markets and Antique shops crowd the ancient "Rocks" area tucked tightly under the southern span of the Iron Bridge. Live theatre thrives in the World Famous Opera House Complex and in several spacious Concert Halls. Outdoor entertainment and shopping proliferated in the still expanding Darling Harbour complex that resides on an inlet soon after one passes under the bridge. The harbour side Botanical Gardens is a noted exposition of many native plant species that occur naturally throughout Australia. Museums and Art galleries as one would expect in great cities are numerous and diverse in nature.

"Take the Sydney System", was one of the best pieces of advice I received early on during my Sydney sojourn. Unfortunately I had no idea what this Sydney System was. In a city blessed with a surfeit of public transportation of a variety of types including buses, trains, subways and a monorail (A light rail transport line has been added since the early 80's of my stay), the term Sydney System was hard to surmise. My first guess was that this designation related to this entire transport package. Wrong. This unofficial but common term referred to the 10 city subway lines and the integrated 16 suburban train/subway corridors. Sydney Central station a multilevel rabbit warren of lines forms a focus from which subway routes transect north and south many covering the total ride from the city center to the most distant suburb often without a change.

Such was the Illawara line which whisked me from Central to Heathcote Station, a 5 minute walk from my residence. To achieve this trip it was necessary to find the correct platform and then consult a light studded board with names of several lines, further confused by the fact that the Illawara line could have any of 3 designations. Thus the light that was lit for Illawara could be for anyone of Sutherland, Royal Provincial Park and Waterfall final destinations, with only the Waterfall one travelling to my desired station at Heathcote. Needless to say I frequently rocketed away having made the wrong selection.

Amusingly, despite this comprehensive and rapid transportation system, as in most large cities equipped likewise, the roads remained clogged by "king" car. In my case my work was in Lucas Heights, like Heathcote an outer eastern suburb and to which a short bus ride was the most efficient connection.

## Invisible Rabbits

Lucas Heights a small relatively sleepy Sydney suburb is wedged between a wooded Military Reserve and the large Lucas Heights Research and Technology Center establishment on the south and Heathcote National Park to the north. Thus it was not surprising to find a surfeit of Australian animals and plants within this area. As a keen amateur naturalist living in East Heathcote, itself jutting into Royal National Park and working at CSIRO Division of Fuel Technology part of the Lucas heights Research and Technology Center was like spending an interlude living with nature.

Expansive lawns lightly wooded extended in all directions from the building housing my office and the Mass Spectrometry laboratory that housed the new equipment being commissioned. A lunch period that could be protracted making up in part for lengthy overtime sessions were filled for me with slow jogging all throughout these grounds. During these episodes the luncheon menu consisted of the observance of an abundance of flora and fauna. Included in this engorging visual repast on the avian side were gaudy Eastern and Scarlet Rosellas, pink and grey Galahs, raucous Sulfur Crested Cockatiels, drab Noisy Miners and yellow eyed Black Currawongs. The floral dish included abundant and ever flowering Bottle Brush, powder-puff yellow flowering Wattles, Banksias bearing erect yellow and red flower heads, pink and red flowering Calistemons, scarlet Boronias and high above white, red and yellow flowering Eucalyptus trees (It is important to be aware that many Australian native flowers are composed of dense bunching's of stamens rather than petals resulting in large concentrations of bees). Hence luncheon music in this miasma consists of bird chorusing and the buzzing of bees.

Few ground based creatures were encountered. Apart from the odd harmless snake, lizard and from time to time a wallaby or other small marsupial one could not depend on this type of animal component. Few mammals are to be expected amongst the Australian fauna. Any that might be encountered would usually have been introduced from Europe or North America by man. Having heard of the terrible plague of rabbits existing in the southern parts of this Continent, I was amazed to have never encountered even one. A remark to this effect brought an amused smile to the face of a colleague. He told me to make a quick inspection on any section of the ground on which I stood thereabouts. In making such an observation I found that almost every cm of ground was covered with the unmistakable round pellets of rabbit dung. Being nocturnal the rabbits themselves were invisible during my noon hour romp.

## Beyond Sundays at the Beach

Elbowing my way through a crowd of surf board wielding youth carrying my bulging hockey bag, hockey stick and ice skates was no mean feat boarding the train on Sunday morning at Heathcote station. The disparaging looks cast my way were of particular amusement. It was Fall in Sydney yet most days the temperatures still ranged well into the 20's making the beaches an attractive destination.

Ice hockey in Australia seemed an unlikely possibility, field hockey being widespread and the more likely version of hockey in a warm country. Yet surprisingly, this sport has a history back to 1909 when the first game was played in Adelaide. The Australian Ice Hockey Federation exists and is a well-organized and run group. Ice Hockey Associations forming local stewardship are in every Australian jurisdiction except the Northern Territory.

In 1988 when they heard a Canadian ice hockey coach (My son and I coached minor hockey in the Toronto leagues.) wanted to coach an Ice Hockey team in Sydney there was an immediate scramble by the clubs in Sydney to acquire my services. The New South Wales Ice Hockey Association assigned me to Canterbury one of 7 Ice Hockey Clubs in the Sydney region at the time. There were 6 ice hockey rinks in Sydney and a rigorous schedule of Sunday games was played there-in.

After a very short period of time it became embarrassingly apparent to me that I was far from the best coach in Sydney hockey. It hardly seemed reasonable that in isolated Australia there were coaches that had developed such lofty ice hockey acumen. It was not surprising then that I frequently skated together with my players through the opening session of unique skating and hockey drills presided over by the most talented trainer I had ever met in hockey. Not encumbered by the litany of dull cumbersome drills common to hockey in Canada this innovator had developed a program that not only developed the requisite conditioning and skills but was genuinely fun.

I had been assigned to the Canterbury Bantam hockey team. Until my arrival this group had never won a game. The skill levels ranged widely from a Russian goalie that had to be helped up each time he ended up sprawled on the ice to a wizard from Chicago who played at the highest select level. One might think, as did I, that this talented Chicagoan must have been my best player. However half way through my first game I discovered an Australian with no particular pedigree who could not only a superior skater but could score goals at an astounding rate. The opposing team had a glaring weakness manifest in a propensity for clearing the puck out of their own zone up through the center. Thus I placed my phenom in the center along the blue line from where he many times intercepted the puck and scored 8 goals. This together with our prostrate goalie who unwittingly stopped every shot, resulted in a 15-0 final route. Pandemonium reigned supreme as this former luckless bunch celebrated an incredible reversal in fortune. By season's end a second place finish had been achieved together with the same placing in the grand final.

Some of the more amusing occurrences included trying to coach while standing in at least 100cm of water behind the bench. This resulted from deluges of fall rains common to Sydney the runoff from which drained into the arena from backed up sewers. Another consequence of this wet humid weather was a fog which covered the ice surface floating up to a meter high. Because of this I was frequently unable to see the end of the rink and had to depend on the roar from the crowd to indicate when goals were scored. Probably my most frustrating coaching experience was trying to keep my Aussie goal scorer on the bench in order to ensure that all players received the required equal playing time. Every time I was involved in some distracting event I could almost be certain to look up and find his position on the bench vacated. Fortunately the parents cut me slack on this oversight due to the team's unexpected winning ways.

## The Driving Lesson

Shrinkage of the body is a sorry fact of life during aging, usually annoyingly accompanied by rounded shoulders, soft bodily protrusions slumping downward with the force of gravity and stiffened fingers that refuse to totally unravel and many other arthritic related conditions. Strange thoughts also begin to permeate the mind and for some, can lead to embarrassing statements and deeds. My aged Grandma sometimes had odd conceptions. For example she had it her mind that she had run over and killed a policeman in New York City. I was aware of this because one Sunday she stated that she had mentioned this during Confession. This was impossible of course because she had never learned to drive and at no time even been to America. Nonplused I enquired as to how she was to achieve absolution? Well she replied the Priest after sputtering several times stated it was not my fault because we drive on the left side in Australia, but to play it safe I had better say an Our Father and repeat 23 Hail Mary's.

That would have been that except that the following week my mother announced that her Uncle Nick having recently attended a séance received the message that a deceased New York policeman was suggesting that Grandma should learn to drive and that Uncle Nick was to provide her with the requisite lessons. Of course I sprang into action to attempt to nix this potential disaster. Jumping on my Blackbird with a quick look at my watch; "Wow 10 am he's sure to be at Mass". I pellmelled it as fast as possible to St Mary's. "Not there"? I did happen to notice what appeared to be crumpled metal adorning the front yard. Someone suggested I try the Burrabliss Pub. Upon banging open the recalcitrant door it was obvious something had gone wrong. It was not particularly strange that uncle Nick's leg was in a thigh length cast and his head was replete with a loosely adhering blood soaked bandages; it was that I thought I was hearing him yelling hysterically, "It's my shout". Something had obviously flipped in his mind since everyone knew Uncle Nick was tight as a tick. Yes he had definitely reached a high level of delirium. When I reached the bar Uncle Nick was mumbling incoherently about somebody's Grandma slumped over a steering wheel in the remains of what had been his brand new Holden now crumpled and covered in fencing lying in the Parish front yard. Not being able to make any sense of Uncle Nick, I managed to discover the following from one of his mates. In a flash of genius, that morning, Uncle Nick thought he might couple their trip to mass with Grandma's first driving lesson. Apparently after copious detailed instructions with Grandma at full attention while sitting bent over and slung low in the driver's seat, Uncle Nick labouriously assisted in placing her arthritic hands firmly on the steering wheel. Helpfully he them powered up the car and shifted into gear. With the accelerator to the floor and the engine whining at full cry Grandma suddenly let out the clutch. No one can properly describe in any detail the ensuing events, but suffice it to say wheels skidding, the engine shrieking, cars streaking by, blaring horns, careening through the main intersection, and momentous bumps with a final flight through a fence and a collision with a mallee clump ending in abrupt termination, were just a few of the highlights. No word on Grandma as yet except she was glimpsed limping into the sanctuary. It's probably safe to assume that although Grandma did reach the intended destination as planned her performance failed to rate a reprise.

## The Boss's "Holiday"

My Sydney sabbatical in Australia was slated for a six month period from January to June 1981. The assignment was to install and fully commission a new and unique type of mass spectrometer. I arrived in the blistering heat and humidity that typified a Sydney midsummer. CSIRO Division of Fuel Technology was a tiny research team within the Lucas Heights CSIRO Complex. Incidentally a large and very publicly controversial part of this complex contained Australia's only Nuclear Reactor, which was used at the time for Physics and Health Research.

The installation and commissioning of this new mass spectrometer would provide the possibility of serving the special needs of research groups throughout the many divisions. Mass Spectrometers, devices for sorting ions of substances by their masses, had been around for years. Our project however was unique due to a novel source for the production of the ions. The new source was plasma, or more correctly an inductively coupled plasma. Plasmas are simply very hot gases containing electrically charged species called ions. The beauty of our device was that it was so hot that compounds were broken up into their constituent atoms leaving a relatively simple ionic "soup". When this mixture entered the Mass Spectrometer and was whirled around in the magnetic field to the detector, a very simple mass spectrum was produced, in marked contrast to that resulting from conventional ion sources.

This unique device was in its infancy at the time, with only four or five in existence worldwide. Commercial equipment for this new approach had just been developed by two competing companies. The hardware and software was in the usual state of disarray, typical of recently developed equipment. The first commercial offering worldwide, the one which I had helped prototype, was Canadian. Unfortunately the British model had been purchased. Thus I was in the uncomfortable position of facing, installing and commissioning the, as yet very much unproven, British equipment.

Upon delivering and after a fast disheartening run through, I had to explain this initial sad state of affairs to the head of the laboratory. He reacted by immediately going on holiday, thus leaving me and my talented but unfamiliar cohorts to sort out the mess. Thus followed four months of computer crashes, blood, sweat, tears and much overtime; the latter incurred because when the instrument was in working condition it became essential to continue the session until the inevitable break down. Finally, after many custom modifications by ourselves, we determined that only with new software could the instrument be made functional. This was promptly developed and the first useful results were obtained.

The laboratory boss then returned from his holiday and I happily left for home, leaving him with the kudos for all the great results that were to be forthcoming. Again it was made clear to me that with new techniques, it is within the initial struggles and not in their subsequent daily use that the real excitement of learning and contributing resides.

## Belf on Tacoma

One of my more memorable working sojourns, was boarding in a small, three bedroom bungalow, located in Tacoma street in Southern Sydney.

The landlord, Brett, was a character not easily forgotten. In the category of obtuse reasoning, have you ever questioned the action of people that insist that entry to a house be gained from the back door, even when the front door is much more convenient? Brett supplied me with a single key to the house, that being for the back door. To enter the house by this method, access began through the front gate, up along a side walk and through a back yard gate with a sticky latch, along another side walk, before finally reaching the back door. Naturally, I initially believed this was to ensure the cleanliness of the front entranceway for arriving guests. But no, whenever a guest did ring the front door bell, Brett would shout, "would you please mind going round to the back and I will meet you there?" And no, the front door was not inoperable. This remained for me, one of life's mysteries.

Arrangements for my housing had been made months before my arrival in Sydney. My bedroom contained an immense wardrobe, that graced half of my five meter bedroom wall and reached from floor to ceiling. The lower third section of this monstrosity contained lockable drawers and poked one meter out from the wall, while the upper remainder consisted of conventional shelving. My total travelling possessions were contained in a smallish suitcase and appeared miniscule as they were scattered about in two of the six dresser drawers. Apart from a large window which graced the end wall my bedroom, there were only two other objects. One of these was a conventional 250 cm diameter waste basket. The other, the piece de resistance, was without any doubt what I dubbed my "Belf". This, my sleeping accommodation, consisted of a conventional issue army cot 90 cm wide by 2 meters in length and stood 50 cm high from the floor. It was shoved up against the front wall by the door and was adorned with a single grey polyester blanket and a foam pillow that was wider than the cot. The name "Belf" was a natural, because although it was my bed, it looked more like a low slung shelf. The contrast between my bed and the monstrosity wardrobe was amusing indeed. Had the dresser drawers been continuous along its length, instead of only half this span, I could easily have used one as a much more spacious bed. The only other tenant in this boarding house was a scientist from Scandinavia. This gentleman's bedroom accoutrements included a Queen Size bed, but a much less ostentatious dresser.

On the east side of this bungalow was a two acre horse farm, from which strange noises and offensive smells trespassed day and night. For this reason, Brett and the farm's owners, remained in a constant state of heated confrontation. I had noticed early on in my tenure, Brett's propensity towards frugality and his often futile attempts to solve life's problems. Aroused from my bed one night by the sound of loud offensive mutterings, I proceeded to the front lawn. Here I found myself viewing Brett in a state of great frustration, planting in the ditch in front of the offending horse farm, a closely spaced row of 10 to 20 cm high Eucalypt tree seedlings. Although it was obvious as to his intent, I could not prevent myself actually enquiring about this action. He commented wryly that he was unable to pass up his good fortune in finding a conservation organization which was supplying these saplings in large quantities, free of charge, to anyone having permission to locate such on any needy block of land. This largesse became in his mind the golden opportunity for a defensive wall against the farm's irritants. Aside from the fact that he was locating these in the local Council ditch, for which permission would be highly unlikely, I couldn't help picturing, decades from now, a mass of spindly trunked trees providing protection for some future owner.

Our landlord's avaricious nature once again came to the fore on Sydney's one day per year, when householders could place all their accumulated junk on the curb for collection. During the week preceding this event, Brett organized his boarders, relations and friends and presented them with detailed instructions and selected routes for travelling neighbourhoods early in the day. A list of objects he was looking for was given to every participant. On the day a variety of listed items were duly discovered and transported back for his approval. My discovery of a large wheelbarrow was a particular success, despite a 0.5 m jagged hole in the centre of its tray. To render this treasure serviceable our multitalented landlord fashioned a plywood patch that remained loose over the hole when in use. Attempts to bolt this to the badly rusted tray only caused the hole to become bigger.

Frugality also dictated an odd arrangement for the laundry. The washer was contained in a tiny ramshackle building attached to the house, but with access only from the side yard. The plumbing was installed by Brett and had about the same utility as the 15 cm high Eucalypt sound barrier in the ditch. Our opportunistic landlord had been presented with a cheap plumbing package deal that he could not pass up. In this case, pipes of insufficient diameter were installed and this factor, together with multitudinous leaking problems, caused frequent shut downs of the automatic washer. To complete a load of wash it was necessary to sit outside the laundry shack and while slipping and sliding in the leaked water flowing out the door, reset the machine many times for each load. The clothes were then pegged on a three meter long line to dry. Since Sydney's Fall weather is characterized by frequent sudden drenching downpours, during this period a vigilant watch was essential to achieve success. Often I would take advantage of my wonderful dresser and use the massive drawer space as a clothesline, simply by hanging my laundry over the fronts of these units. Fortunately the slight delaminating of the flimsy wood on the drawer fronts, caused by the wet clothes, went unnoticed during my tenure.

Another of Brett's colourful activities was his home beer brewing operation. Although seeming to be part of his parsimonious tendencies, I also think he believed that he was able to out brew the commercial operators. The scale of his brewing and bottling operation are of particular note. Brewing was carried out in 10 to 15 carboys, each with a 4 litre capacity. Carboys are containers used for transporting fluids and these carboys bore a suspicious resemblance to those used for the dispensing of reagents, in the laboratories where he was employed. When the beer was brewed and it was time for bottling all the usual suspects reappeared. Most I remembered from his trash picking brigade. Brett used two kitchen sinks and several twenty litre galvanized containers, to very thoroughly wash and rinse his immense collection of stubbies. These were then lined up row upon row on newspaper, which covered both the living room and the dining room floors. Using funnels, also suspiciously resembling laboratory issue, helpers then filled the stubbies row after row. Finally these were laboriously capped by Brett himself, without the help of a mechanical capping device. Storage took place in a hole dug into the soil under the kitchen. Needless to say it was important to consume each batch within a few months. This was accomplished largely on weekends, when Brett and his cohorts (never including me) went "prospecting for gold" in the Blue Mountains. During my residence, the only thing of value retrieved on any of these trips, was a large ugly looking blue lizard, which was released into the garden to control some undefined insect problem.

On the occasion of my departure and much to my amazement, Brett treated the tenants and his girlfriend to a trip to a Chinese restaurant. A very friendly and efficient waitress presided. We had a delightful feast and no expense was spared. When the bill came I was horrified to see that our host intended to leave no tip. I was assured that tipping (1980), was not practiced in Australia. None-the-less, I secretly spirited out of my pocket the usual tip commensurate with this service in Toronto and left it on the table after the others had left. Incredibly next morning this largesse appeared exactly as proffered on my dresser! Apparently Brett had meant this to demonstrate that he had managed to have the last word on matters of financial proprietary. Incidentally Brett said his goodbye at the backdoor of the house, leaving me to stand at the front gate with my bag, waiting for the cab to the airport.

## Used Car with an Unexpected Surprise

Living on only half pay and half way around the world, called for a variety of creative living strategies, all of which placed us in completely new territory. The salary constraint was one of the conditions of a full year's sabbatical, which was taken from the University of Toronto during my 1975 tenure in Australia.

Peter Pyper Motors, a well established Melbourne Ford Dealer, had been vetted for square dealing by a knowledgeable friend prior to our attendance at the lot. In short order, we discovered a six year old, family size Ford that seemed to fit our needs. The price was within our allotted figure and the deal was consummated.

Upon taking possession of this vehicle, I was pleasantly surprised to note that the gas gauge read full, a perk I had thought would be doubtful in a used car. The family had all come to have an initial drive, a sort of trial run to practice my skills in coping with left hand drive, something I had tried only once previously, on a trip to London. Being learning disabled (poor visual memory and some spatial quirks), can have its rewards and one in my case, was that it didn't seem to matter which side of the road I was on, after a short distance it just seemed to be natural. Thus I found whilst in Australia that I easily dismissed my previous lifelong predilection for the right.

To my surprise an Ontario driver's license made the acquisition of a local version unnecessary. As a result I had not bothered to read the rules of the road, relying instead on advice from my mentor, Sir Alan Walsh. His only comment was "there is only one rule, give way to lorries (large trucks)". Armed with this sage advice I was ready to hit the road.

Melbourne is blessed with a variety of fascinating biospheres, all of which were worthy of visitor attention. A particular draw was Ferntree Gully, an area replete with large Fern Trees, some of which were up to 3 meters in height. These I had thought, would have been more expected in the wet climate of New Zealand than Australia. Thus, this became our first destination to explore.

Along the route the first unsettling experience was in the center of the suburb of St Kilda. Here a junction of five roads all spilled into the same intersection, like spokes of a wheel, without the benefit of traffic lights or stop signs. Applying Sir Alan's rule we found ourselves careening through this labyrinth, with several near misses involving cars but nothing larger.

Back at this time, Ferntree Gully was located in a sparsely travelled deep hollow and was bereft of commercial development. We were all enjoying the unique views when about three quarters of the way through this impressive scene, the car gave some sputters and the engine came to a complete stop. A serviced car, just purchased from the lot with a full tank of gas, what could be wrong? After a short period considering this unexpected dilemma, I knew my only remedy was to trek to a gas station. Since we had not passed one for several kilometers, I decided to go in the direction we were headed, which involved walking up a steep hill. Fortunately this was a wise decision, as a Texaco station lurked around the corner at the top. An obliging young man there kindly suggested that he would fill a big jerry can with gasoline and drive me back to the scene of the trouble. I insisted that we had plenty of gas since the gauge was still registering full. My helper was no to be dissuaded from taking the gas and we returned in his tow truck, with the unnecessary cargo. Without any examination of the situation, the attendant immediately began discharging gasoline into the tank. I waited frightfully, expecting gas to overflow onto his clothing, but no, he was able to empty the complete contents into the tank. Then suppressing a smile, he turned the key in the ignition and after a few revolutions the car sprung to life! The car had a defective linkage in the gas tank float mechanism that had jammed the needle to the full mark on the gauge. With much embarrassment I paid for the gas and for his time and we were on our way.

Of course I took the car back to Peter Pyper Motors, discharged a few choice comments, after which the repair was completed for free.

## The Humble Genius

Contrary to what you might suspect form his super star status, Sir A was one of the most humble innovators that I ever knew. The only reason he pushed his ingenious invention so vigorously was that others were publishing erroneous rubbish to try to prevent the scientific acceptance of this radically superior technique.

Sir A was one of the few scientists who had the capability to see unique ways to solve crucial problems. To put it in common lingo Sir A had an eureka moment when he envisioned that it would be much simpler to analyze complex materials for their elements in every important field, eg. environmental, clinical, metallurgical, biological, (you name a field and his innovation would be superior).

Okay so he made a prototype of this proposed equipment in his lab and he used it to obtain data to prove its mammoth improved capabilities over the presently widely used equipment. The latter was very expensive, complex and impossible to use without extremely expensive training. He published a seminal paper that outlined the device and all these advantages together with the information that his new device could drastically increase sample throughput.

So in a perfect world everybody would throw out their existing costly, complex, inferior equipment and purchase Sir A's device from forward looking company(s) which are now manufacturing these at 1/10th the cost of the throwaways.

To put this in perspective this is like some physicist proposing, proving and publishing a brand new radically different Standard Theory of Particle Physics. (BTW this is likely to happen sooner than later since the present theory, so highly touted by thousands, can only explain the workings of 5% of the matter, since unexplained dark matter and dark energy constitute 20 and 75% of the universe respectively). The tens of thousands of particle physics Physicists are now left holding a redundant theory that has dominated their lives for decades. In a perfect world these Physicists who have spent their life time researching, publishing papers and books and have based their reputations on the now redundant theory accept the new theory and start again from scratch.

It's not hard to predict that the perfect world scenarios aren't going to happen.

Let's go back to Sir A to illustrate what happens when somebody develops a revolutionary approach that makes redundant an approach that is being used by hundreds of thousands of labs worldwide many that are headed up by career world class researchers. This huge melting pot of superfluous individuals start trying to subvert the new theory using every means possible like falsifying results and making derogatory unsubstantiated statements at conferences etc., implying the new approach is so full of holes it will be dead by weeks end. Worse the manufactures of the now redundant equipment, the only sources that could quickly retool to mass produce Sir A's equipment at its startup, deliberately build deficiencies into their versions of Sir A's equipment. Thus purchasers get pissed off when this equipment won't work as promised by Sir A and loads of horse droppings are flung at Alan in the scientific press from all directions and almost everyone goes back to buying and using the old equipment and call Sir A an incompetent fool.

If I had been Sir A I would probably shot myself in the head. Sir A being Sir A of the never say die variety begins constructing a properly designed model of his revolutionary equipment at his own cost in his family garage. To do this he needs a few key people that are passionate believers in Sir A's innovation, to volunteer to make some of the key components. He then gives these devices away to the few key researchers who still dare to associate with this dilatant. In the beginning these individuals all resided in the Southern Hemisphere since no one north of the equator had the courage to be involved.

Slowly the technique gained acceptance but still only one commercial manufacturer and that also in the Southern Hemisphere could be persuaded to manufacture the proper equipment. It wasn't until a decade later Sir A's innovation really took off and that was when a large instrumentation company in the US started building equipment. The development was in such demand by that time that one of Sir A's colleagues made a calculation showing at that present rate of sales every inch of the earth would be covered by an AAS by the turn of the century! Of course demands tailed off as all the large pool of initial needs were filled.

What is often typical of eureka innovators was true with Sir A and that is if you tear down a modern day computerized version of Sir A's device every component that Sir A described in his first paper is still there but in modern day guise. A well understood comparison would be how a modern day vehicle contains all the important elements of the Henry Ford designed Model A automobile.

Now back to Sir A's character. You can see that he had to take a bellicose self-serving position at the outset to prevent from being defeated. But the true the true Sir A was low profile; he hated the grandiose intros he frequently got at conferences and other public appearances. I know this from personal experience because I had to do this job on several occasions and he always threatened to sever my personal parts if I did not promise not to be short and low key. He used to laugh and tell me to just say "I give you Sir A an avid but lousy golfer and then just sit down".

Production and sale of Sir A's innovation singlehandedly saved a large North American company from bankruptcy, helping to turn this organization into a multibillion dollar operation. When this company wanted to recognize Sir A's great contribution by putting him into a high profile six figure salary per year position in which he would be required to do no real work but only advise a couple of times a year he told them no thank you. They then asked what they might do instead and he said; "send me to a few good golf courses in the US when I have to be in the country for other purposes". Instead they promised him that they would send him to all the golf courses in the world he might want to play any time he desired and as many times as he wished.

Sir A. disliked having to associate socially with bigwigs in science or business; instead he adopted my wife M as his defacto social convener because his own wife of many decades was confined to their home with her sick mother. He found that Maureen had a knack of skillfully and graciously freeing him up from obligations such as these. He did enjoy cocktail parties with friends though.

Sir A had high expectations of his staff and even more of himself. Although he could be a tough task master he was always kindly and fair.

## Subterfuge and the Farewell Party

Our money had run out. My sabbatical at CSIRO Division of Chemical Physics in Melbourne was over and the University of Toronto was calling. We now had many cherished friends and I had gained numerous esteemed colleagues, so in honor of these fine individuals, a farewell party was to be given.

Unfortunately it transpired that the farewell party, which was to take place a few days prior to our departure, was also the cricket Test Match. Back at that time (1975), nothing superseded the game of Cricket in importance in Australia and never more so than when there was a Test Match against England. This match is dubbed "The Ashes". This strange phrase is the result of a satirical obituary in an English magazine, The Sporting Time, which was published in 1882. It read, "In affectionate remembrance of English Cricket which died at the Oval on 29 August 1882, deeply lamented by a large circle of sorrowful friends and acquaintances, RIP. The body will be cremated and 'The Ashes' taken to Australia".

Pace bowling or simply fast bowling had developed in Australia in the late 1800's under the tutelage of such Australian Cricket icons as James Lilywhite, the Grace brothers and Billy Murdoch. A short, fast pitch was focused directly at the batsman making it hazardous for him to protect the wicket. Such pitching was almost impossible to hit. During my tenure, heroes such as Australian Captain Greg Chappell, led almost invincible sides to victory against all comers. You would think that any match where the outcome was a foregone conclusion in Australia's favour, would seem to the casual follower to have little interest. Such was not the case. My blood thirsty colleagues and friends were keen for English corpses.

The party was planned as a chatty and intimate event, in which Maureen had hoped husbands and wives of friends and colleagues would celebrate, in conversation and dancing, our very socially enjoyable and scientifically successful tenure. Plans included a steak and lamb barbeque, supper accompanied by donated dishes of salads, vegetable casseroles and of course the famous Australian delectable desert, Pavlova. Tables containing these fine victuals were packed to overflowing. Despite the diminutive size of our bungalow, guests packed in, but there was still space for a small dancing area. Maureen had assembled a fine collection of recordings for use for this purpose. Of critical importance, Jack our noted wine expert, provided a selection of excellent wine, vast in both popular vintages and in quantity. I had of course by then mastered the typically Australian approach to perfect barbequing. This involved the use of large hardwood chips allowed to burn until a glowing, intensely hot, charcoal ash remained. Over these coals the meat could then be cooked to precision.

After surprisingly discovering the conflict between the cricket Test Match and the party, Maureen made it clear that the fate of our marriage rested on my ensuring that the TV was suitably inactivated. There was to be no chance that an intrepid fan could revive the TV to view this sporting event and spoil her party. With this in mind I removed three major electronic components, an action that would completely inactivate any electronic receiver device including a TV.

All went well through the cocktail hour and meal. The conversation and dancing were about to begin, when to my horror our "inactivated" TV began broadcasting the cricket match. This soon attracted a happy throng, consisting of most of the male contingent of the function. To say that I suffered a severe vociferous abusing from Maureen vastly understates the matter. This only engendered a few chuckles from my obviously less than sympathetic friends.

I suspected Jack as I knew him to be something of an electronics whizz, from my period of experimentation in his laboratory. I was puzzled though, as I was sure that even he could not activate a TV with three missing essential components. However, when I stuck my head inside the back of the TV, I was stumped to find the "removed" components provokingly present. What kind of black magic had returned these from their hiding place? I had taken great care to place them inside a tightly packed suit case which was at the back of a hidden cupboard.

As it turned out, I was soon to realize another of Jack's exceptional talents. He was not only a world class scientist, wine expert and electronics genius, but he also loved children. Many great family days with Jack's clan, spent at beaches and in bush walking, had resulted in a special relationship between Jack and our son Jon. The closet and suitcase containing the hidden electronic components unfortunately resided in Jon's bedroom. Despite the fact that he was only four, he had seen and recorded in his mind me, clandestinely I thought, hiding the TV components. Jack's single hope was with Jon and this snitch was able to lead Jack straight to the hiding place. Voila! The main activity at Maureen's carefully planned farewell dinner party was watching the Test Cricket. I hesitate to indicate that she and I have survived many such disasters and have, as I write in 2012, sustained 50 years of marriage.

# Chapter 3

# China

## Disappearing History

Having had the privilege of close personal relationships with Chinese citizens I could sense a frightening disappearance of an awareness of determining individuals good and bad, world shattering discoveries and crucial trends and events that flowed through the millennia of Chinese History. In contrast important family oriented traditions were still widely celebrated despite suppression attempts by a recent succession of Communist governments.

Mao was particularly anxious and vigorous in his attempts to destroy the Imperialistic past. As an example the numerous and intricately beautiful Gates that enhanced Beijing throughout a large swath of the past were systematically removed during his leadership. On a much grander scale the Cultural Revolution, Initiated by Mao and headed up by the sadistic Madam Mao (she died in jail during my first tenure in China) and the notorious Gang of 4 utilizing their agent the Red Guard, resulted not only in the destruction of the repositories of history such as ancient books, art and important structures, but particularly in the demoralization and dehumanization of scholars and religious leaders. During my tenure in China over a decade after this disastrous period, vestiges of the Cultural Revolution still hid within the psyches of my academic colleagues, resulting in a caution toward attempting leadership within the institutions that I was attempting to introduce.

Dancing about with a papier-mâché clowns head pulled down over my face with the school band playing some unknown-to me-tune, caused the class to erupt into laughter and encouragement. I was invited to observe a Beijing elementary private school grade 5 classroom. Maureen with her own elementary school in Markham had asked if I might bring her back a report. What I saw was undoubtedly a special case of what schools in China really do. Even with this caveat I believe I was observing the trend in education at this level. Each student had a computer loaded with the latest Western software. A close observation of what had been loaded and was kept in the files demonstrated an absence of Chinese history beyond the formation of the Peoples Republic. Such a brief and superficial observation is hardly conclusive of any trend. However in my Consultants position I was able to observe the knowledge bank that students in several jurisdictions brought to University. From this it was possible to assume that what I concluded about the limited history syllabus of students was true.

The ease with which I was able to purchase Chinese historical artifacts was another sign of the slight regard the current (1980) regime held for ancient history. Maureen cherishes dearly an authenticated Bronze Age primitive fish shaped necklace fob found in a Princesses tomb that I was able to obtain. This together with a historical boxed collection of Chinese currency was purchased in the gift shop of a former Buddhist temple. The currency collection dated to the BC period when fabricated bronze and silver and gold likeness of objects to be purchased were used for trade.

It is important to stress that there are many important ancient artifacts that remain revered and carefully preserved in China. Important and well known examples are the Great Wall, Ming Tombs and more recently the massive army of Terracotta Soldiers found in an Emperors tomb near the ancient Capital city of Sian.

## The Dilemma of a Touch of Flu

Mystification was the name of the game in many routine seeming situations in China of the 1980's. Whilst situated in Canton for a chemical research assignment for the World Bank I had a most unusual flu dilemma.

At the time, a variety of accommodation was available in the big Chinese cities, which ranged from American and Chinese style Hotels to University residences. I opted for the University residence, however a couple of weeks cooking on a single gas ring using leaky pots, having an air conditioner which regularly caught on fire, and enduring a meagre 1 hour per day of hot water, soon propelled me to relocate in a nearby Chinese Hotel. As I had always endeavoured to live as much as possible amongst the citizens of the country in which I was working, I was somewhat dismayed with myself at this move.

In those days each floor of the Chinese hotels had a reception type desk manned by English speaking male and female attendants, at which the resident was required to report and be escorted to his room. The door was duly unlocked and the room inspected before the hotel official handed over the key. Upon leaving each day the patron was required to hand the key in at this same desk before being allowed to leave the floor.

I had already become something of an enigma because I took my daily exercise by running in the stairwells between floors each morning, rather than trying to run on the crowded sidewalks outside. As might be expected this always drew an audience of bewildered hotel workers who clustered to watch from the entrances to each floor.

One morning I seemed to have developed mild flu like symptoms and felt the need for a pain killer for my headache. Attired still in my pajamas I went to the reception desk on my floor and thinking that Aspirin must be a known brand even in China, I asked for 2 tablets. Without producing any pain killers the gentleman on duty mysteriously escorted me back to my room, although it was still unlocked and to my bed and then remained with me. In what seemed like only a few moments later 3 persons appeared in my room. I was then told that 2 were doctors, a man and a woman, both of whom conducted a cursory examination. The other a Government Official was in charge and he stated that I could choose to be treated using Western or Traditional Chinese Medicine. By then my headache had disappeared consumed no doubt by the over dramatic incident that was unfolding in relation to my possible touch of flu. Surprisingly I heard myself say that I would try Chinese Medicine. What did I have to lose; it wasn't as though I was facing a fatal disease and after all my mantra had always been to gain as much experience with local traditions wherever in the world my work was to sequester me.

The woman doctor then stepped to my bed side and extracted 5 bottles from her satchel each containing what appeared to be 150 or more red coloured BB sized pills and deposited these on the bed side table. She then directed me to take one. Thus I dutifully removed the lid from 1 bottle, spilled out a few into my hand and then carefully choose one pill. I was about to swallow this acrid tasting orb with the aid of some water, when she interrupted and stridently stated not one pill, the complete contents of the bottle! It was at this point I wished I had remained in residence and was only having to extinguish another air conditioner fire.

Back at the University my Chinese colleagues carefully explained this dilemma. Apparently I was classified officially (they were always big during that period on fancy sounding categorizations) by the Chinese Government as a "Distinguished Visiting Expert" and as such it would be a horribly awkward international incident in their view if I were to perish while in Chinese precincts. To this end, as a precaution and no matter how minor seemed the complaint, I was to receive their ultimate diagnosis and treatment.

Upon returning home it came to my mind, whether by divulging this grandiose sounding foreign status to my family doctor in Toronto I might gain some advantage? Sadly, I dismissed this idea on the grounds that he being of Chinese background himself, he would probably see through this nonsense and instead penalize me by extending my already aggravating 1 hour office wait times.

## Tiananmen Toddling

Being singlehandedly responsible for the deaths of 200 million citizens would surely ensure that such a fiend would reside forever in infamy but not so if you are the father of Chinese Communism and referred to respectfully as the "Great Helmsman". Instead Mao Zedong's remains are ensconced in a crystal coffin in a flower bedecked Mausoleum in the center of arguably the most famous square in the World. Tiananmen at 900 m by 500 m will hold 1 million people and residing in central Beijing is the largest city square in the World. The Gate of China, a great Qing Gate until the 1950's, formed an impressive entrance to the square. At this time it was demolished under Mao's direction as one of his many attempts to delete from the Chinese landscape reminders of this countries Imperialistic past.

Construction of the square began during the Ming Dynasty. The name, Tiananmen, translated into English means Gate of Heavenly Peace. Tiananmen Square is relatively flat containing here and there undulating flower beds but no trees. A tall "Monument to the People" is the only structure of any height, with Mao's tomb and attached sculptures residing roughly in the center of the square being the only other items of any vertical dimensions there-in. This latter is popularly believed to have been constructed by 700,000 ordinary citizens, when in fact these workers simply formed long lines for the useless purpose of passing construction materials hand by hand to the site. The real construction was accomplished by experts. In 1990 I paused briefly within a long line of people to view the preserved remains of Mao resting within his Mausoleum. Upon emerging from this structure I was surprisingly greeted by a vast crowd of vendors not unlike what one might expect at such a location in North America.

The west side of the square is flanked across a roadway by the massive dull grey Great Hall of the People. The Tiananmen gate stretches across the north of the square, graced by a mammoth portrait of Mao, it provides the entrance to The Forbidden City. When I was there a Kentucky Fried Chicken Outlet could be seen across the street from the southern border.

Immensely broad Chang'an Ave., which translates as Forever Peace Street, runs between the Tiananmen Gate and the square. To allow pedestrian access across this thoroughfare a tunnel exists. Those brave souls who attempted a street level crossing found it necessary to run dogging in and out of massive bicycle traffic. Today such a route is impossible due to automobile congestion. The loud echoing sounds of syncopated marching getting closer and closer stood my hair on end as I travelled this tunnel on my first trip to Tiananmen Square. Being "L" shaped, the bottom part of the "L" oriented EW as it descends from the square, travelling in this direction 100 m before a right turn which takes the traveler in the tunnel into the NS direction for the under street crossing. I was stumbling along the NS section approaching the right turn with this cacophony of footfalls still in the EW tunnel section. Suddenly into my frightened gaze marched intense expression soldiers arranged in military parade like columns. A wave of relief blew by me as the phalanx continued passed me on their way. This was just the first encounter of many that I was to experience in China with organized but indefinable, military maneuvers daily within its cities.

Many events colour the history of the square. Of particular notoriety was the vast scale student riots of 1989 during which military intervention resulted in a massacre of massive proportions. The following year in June on the anniversary of this event I was present. At this time the square was filled with school children flying colourful kites together with a somber military ceremony occurring which centered about a matrix of a dozen or so helmets of their comrades whom had died during the event. A few of us tried to enter the actual square by crossing the street from our vantage point on the other sidewalk on Chang'an Ave. Upon our arrival we were rudely herded into the tunnel and forced to return to our former location.

Other numerous protests sprinkle Tiananmen's history. On a more peaceful and celebratory note Mao proclaimed the establishment of the Peoples Republic of China on October 1 1949.

## Stringencies of Typical Faculty Habitation in China

As living conditions in China at the time of my residency in 1983 were so foreign to the comfort I was used to, I have dedicated this story to describing my abode.

Being mid Fall in Changchun in China's northwest, the temperatures outside were already below freezing during the night. Thus my dorm rooms at Northwest Normal University were only 12 C by morning. Every morning a loud gurgling and rattling in a small radiator hanging half way up the bathroom became my alarm clock. It was 5:30 am and it signalled the only 1 hour period during which hot water would be available for the day.

Chilly dorm temperatures however were not the major issue. Hot water for a morning shower was much more important. While nominally hot water was turned on for one hour per day, the number of residents depending on this brief service meant that the overtaxed and under designed system was running in the tepid range after only about 30 minutes. Thus I would spring from my bed at first gurgle and head straight for the hoped for warmth that awaited, thereby ensuring a stimulating beginning to my day.

Perhaps I sound impoverished in this the final phase of my China consulting, but I was actually among the privileged, having been provided with a room with its own bathroom. Pity the many other occupants of this facility who shared a bathroom. Other discomforts related to the lack of meaningful heating were easily circumvented through layered clothing during the day and at night by full use of the supplied heavy bedding. Luckily, as I had two beds in my room, I could combine bedding to ensure a comfortable sleeping temperature. I particularly liked the duvet which graced the outer layer. This fluffy item was finished with a silk like blue green outer layer decorated with dragons and other frequently used Chinese symbols.

A fuller description of my rooms is in order. The two beds had a flimsy table sandwiched between them and filled most of the main room. Upon entry from the hallway it was necessary to squeeze between one of the beds and a large desk, to face a window which was hung with floral patterned attractive drapes. A badly stained wall to wall, heavily worn rug adorned the floor. The positioning of the worst staining, which was along the edges abutting the outside wall, suggested water leakage along this perimeter. Two lights attached together were positioned between the beds and provided the only illumination within this room. Although not pertinent to the time of year, there was an air conditioner installed in the window. This odd looking device must have been of local construction. A truly fascinating tag hung prominently from it, with handwritten English instructions stating; "Running this unit for more than 4 consecutive hours may be a fire hazard".

In the large old fashioned bathroom, all the plumbing ran helter-skelter and was attached to floor to ceiling white tiles. Pipes running at rakish angles between fixtures were fitted with abundant valves, the purpose of which was obscure, at least to the untrained eye. At one end of this room was ensconced a thick walled blocky bathtub with a flimsy hand held shower. The thin walled toilet had an equally thin ebony coloured wooden seat and had been placed about half a meter out from the wall. Atop the toilet tank sat a roll of bright pink razor thin toilet paper. In contact with the toilet stood a typical old fashioned bathroom sink, under which reposed a yellow plastic waste basket. Covering the wall above the sink was a large black framed mirror with vanity cupboards attached to each side.

At the other end of the bathroom there were three fixtures and a large cupboard. The large wooden cupboard, including its exposed shelves, was totally empty. I presumed therefore, that this must be a clothes closet, as there were none in the main room. Facing this on the other wall was a laundry tub sized sink and two gas appliances. The connection of these to the gas meter was amusing and unsafe but not unusual, with the pipes crisscrossing each other as the attached to opposite devices. The specific identity of these appliances was something of a mystery in my mind. Upon careful appraisal the one on the left it appeared to be a stove, but why such an item would reside in the bathroom could only be answered by the architect. Because the apertures on the right appliance were stuck closed, it could not be faithfully discerned. This issue was academic in any case, since any attempt to use a gas appliance of such complexity seemed to me risky, especially considering the ominous warning sign on the air conditioner.

The main room also contained a small kitchen consisting of a deep, sagging, wooden counter which stuck out from one wall and ran the total length of the room. This severely restricted standing space between the bench and the wall. The bench was bare except for an oily black gas ring, a large metal teapot and a metal cooking pot with a patched leaky bottom. These few items easily sufficed my cooking needs. Due to the absence of dishes simple meals could be cooked and eaten in the pot.

During my tenure I felt a great deal of trepidation using gas fired appliances of any types, mainly because of their questionable connections. Adding to this concern was the constant low level odour of gas that pervaded the apartment.

## This and That

Here-in reside a few observations and happenings that although diverse are interesting in their own right.

In the early 1980's cars were in particularly short supply. In this regard I was embarrassed every morning and evening to be transported the few blocks from residence to the university by a special Government automobile. No matter that I tried to insist that walking this distance would be a savings of the driver's time, the use of scarce petrol and also provide me with much needed exercise; such a practice was apparently de rigueur for scientific experts. The inner lane on major thoroughfares was reserved for motorized vehicles and hence we sailed along unimpeded beside the miles long rows upon row of bicycles carrying Chinas ordinary citizens. A pitiful sight occurred at major intersections when our driver wished to turn left. Here the policeman, commonly standing high above the traffic chaos on a covered platform in a small white box like structure, would bring the mass of bicycles to a stop. He then directed our car across from the curb lane to the center of the road to make the left turn maneuver. Amusingly the actions of police in this regard were often ignored by cyclists making this maneuver anything but straight forward.

How could I travel to Beijing without arranging a trip to the Great Wall? Such an historical defense structure clearly visible from satellites in space certainly demanded my attention. Thus one Sunday (we worked Saturdays in China) I privately engaged my driver to make this visit. The traditional location for a visit from Beijing is Badaling.

Since about the 5th century BC, a series of walls were built here and there for defensive purposes. Traveling along the length of the wall, the nature of the structure varies from primitive rock piles to the massive coherent structure as can be viewed at the Badaling site. Beijing the Ming dynasty capital of the country was successfully defended from Mongol attacks during that era. Of particular interest to me was the challenge of walking from the Badaling entrance to the highest point along the wall. Having struggled and accomplished this I was rewarded with a personal letter in Chinese which authenticated my climb. Although this area has become plagued by vendors and others seeking to benefit from the growing popularity of this historical phenomenon, much remains to enjoy. This includes the beauty of the surrounding countryside which when I arrived was awash in pink blossoming cherry trees.

North of of Beijing in a specially selected 40 square km valley reside the 13 Ming Tombs intended for the interment of Ming Dynasty Emperors. Presently 3 tombs are open to the public but only one, known as Ding Ling, has been excavated and arranged to contain artifacts typical of those found during this process. Most of these artifacts are replicates due to the destruction of the originals during their improper storage during the Cultural Revolution.

Returning from the journey to the Great Wall I was able to include a stop at this location, with a trip down inside the Ding Ling tomb included. Far more impressive to me was the Spirit Way. This 7 km road leading to the tombs is lined with giant carved stone mythical animals meant to be the tomb guardians. Needless to say a large amount of archeology is still essential in this area for the total story to emerge.

Often in the dead of night I would be awakened by the explosion of hundreds of firecrackers outside my window whenever I was living in a Chinese style hotel. Such disturbances would never be permitted in Canada particularly at night. Wedding parties in China could be elaborate affairs and were almost always concluded with the setting off of firecrackers as the couple left the hotel party, perhaps the Chinese analog of confetti.

The future of the world's Tobacco industry without a doubt lies in the Developing world. In these jurisdictions laws banning smoking in any locale are absent. The wedding party Mentioned above would most certainly have taken place in a choking smoke filled atmosphere. The legal sale of tobacco products occurs in Government stores. But this is only a small part of the business. Illegal western brand tobacco products of all descriptions are sold surreptitiously from a variety of locations. Walking down a Beijing back street I was startled to view a citizen place a quantity of money in a suddenly to appear hole in the wall of an ordinary looking house. The hole closed and then moments later it reopened and a package of cigarettes was deftly swept into a waiting pocket.

## A Memorable Existence in Canton

One of my 3 consultancies was at a technical University in Canton. To that date my labours had been restricted to climates not unlike Toronto. Although I had spent work periods in the tropics of South America and Africa it was somewhat of a shock to encounter the unexpected heat and humidity of a Canton summer. First of all my choice of apparel was almost totally unsatisfactory. There was no alternative to the relatively heavy selection I had unfortunately brought. That is my financing did not allow for the purchase of a more suitable wardrobe. As a reluctant concession to my error I moved to an air-conditioned hotel American style. In defense of this move I cite the abhorrent humidity that necessitated carrying my camera out of the hotel in a Ziploc bag to prevent the inside glass surfaces of the lenses fogging with condensation.

Making up for this discomfort was the tropical grandeur of the flowers which everywhere covered the ground, bushes and even large trees. Tall apartments had balconies streaming with potted flowering ornamentals.

The open markets were festooned in exotic fruits vegetables and sea foods. Tubs of slithering eels, small fishes, prawns and many other such items fresh from the sea were abundantly available. Mangoes still only rarely available in Toronto Supermarkets could be obtained in many varieties and at the peak of sweetness. Bananas of more than 10 varieties melted in my mouth. It became my passion to purchase any of these delights that could be eaten uncooked in my room. As a result my food bill was a fraction of the amount necessary in the more northerly cities.

The consultancy itself, the only reason for my presence was perhaps one of my more useless efforts. Imagine my shock and surprise to discover on the very first day that one of the Universities professors had written an excellent Chinese language book on my very area of expertise! In fact because the math was in the usual script I could, without being able to read a word of the text determine that his book had more advanced theory than I had been able to include in my own book. Needless to say I was on tender hooks giving my lectures fearing that at any moment he might catch me out in an important theoretical error. Fortunately my forte lay in the practical application of this theory and I was able to provide details and an organization to exploit the work for the solution of Environmental and Clinical problems locally.

## Another Day in Paradise

In the late 1980s, Chinese living conditions, even in the major cities, were Spartan by Western standards. Rule by Communist Government can seem oppressive, arbitrary, inefficient, immutable, intrusive, merciless and intimidating to the foreigner. It could be all of these and more to the Chinese citizens.

Although I have never had the privilege of entering the homes of those in average or below average living conditions, it did not take a genius to imagine such habitation. My only excursion beyond my own relatively rugged living quarters was to visit the home of a famous Chinese artist. His paintings, three of which he did especially for me, hung in art galleries and Government buildings. His home consisted of two sparsely furnished rooms. The total floor size was probably less than one third, of the 300 square meters of my home in Toronto.

Private bathrooms were unaffordable luxuries and in this case the bathroom was shared by other tenants and was down the hallway. With two teenage daughters in the household and unknown numbers of other tenants, a rut must eventually have developed in the hall floor. Of the two rooms in my apartment one was the kitchen and eating area. Here on several occasions the 4 family members and myself lined up in the preparation area and participated in the time honoured activity of progressive dumpling preparation, a staple of North East Chinese cuisine. The largest room was the living quarters, bedroom, study, art studio and sewing room all in one. No television existed, although available at this time, the equipment was of such deficient design that breakdowns were persistent and programming was interspersed with frequent political propaganda. A small "boom-box" type unit played cassettes and local radio. Despite the fact that this part of China had typically Southern Canadian cold winters, as is common in China, heating was undependable. To continue work under persistent cold spells in doors, all Chinese householders wore gloves in which the tips of the fingers were missing.

It was a strange sight outdoors with yards, sidewalks, parks, in fact any free area, chock-a-block covered with vegetables of most types (even Romaine lettuce), drying in the fall sun. Unlike Toronto, fresh vegetables were commercially unavailable during the cold months and this was one of the essential annual winter preparations.

Refrigeration was uncommon and hence packed into already intolerably busy days, were trips to the market. Supermarkets were virtually nonexistent depending on the locale. Markets were out of doors and consisted of rows of stalls here and there throughout the city. Water filled tubs of eels and other fish were common and contained their produce both living and dead. All types of red meat and poultry were dispensed, always without refrigeration and often exposed to the full sun. The stand was typically constructed of rough hewn wood, with an uncovered bamboo log slotted dispensing surface. Blood soaked into exposed surfaces peppered the stand from top to bottom. Carcasses were strung from wire across the roof line. Upon demand the merchant dislodged a carcass from the wire and hacked off the requested cut with a few whacks of a wicked looking blood dripping cleaver. In the absence of wrapping materials the customer was handed the mangled dripping mass to be deposited into a customer provided receptacle. Street vendors also hawked tofu from large trays held over their heads as they walked. In this case the vendors cut rectangular pieces to order from the large shivering slab.

In the early 1980s, 95% of the Chinese population had only bicycle transportation. No commercial back packs were available. Thus produce was transported from the market in mesh bags and the like, hung here and there like Christmas tree ornaments from the bike.

Primitive stalls lined busy side streets. From these structures vendors and trades persons provided goods and services. Shoe and bicycle repair were two of the more common offerings. Barbers and herbal medicine practitioners could also be found. Book stalls were of particular note. With the heavy handed Government censorship of literature being practiced, I was shocked to discover books in English by American authors like Salinger and Hemingway and English writers Virginia Woof and even Dickens.

Related to a new emerging pattern of flexibilities was the appearance here and there, particularly associated with Universities, of clusters of large sign-boards. These were covered by writings in Chinese. My colleagues were quick to explain that these well read posters were political criticisms and calls for greater personal freedoms. As proof that censorship was still alive, large swaths had been obliterated by black paint. The mere existence of such signage was a surprise considering the proximity of this era to the Cultural Revolution.

One day as I was carried along in the usual fashion by the crush of sidewalk crowds I suddenly found myself swept through a shop door and inside, although I had no intention of shopping there-in. Regaining the outside I was swept further along to observe a very unusual event. I witnessed a man fighting with a woman at a bus stop. Without thinking I stepped in between these combatants. The sudden interference by a foreigner caused an immediate cessation of the fracas. To put a permanent stop to the problem I grabbed the woman onto a waiting bus and paid both our fares. This engendered a large smile from the woman. I only hoped the bus was travelling in her desired direction.

Although public agitations were rare, it was not uncommon to witness what appeared to be a politically motivated minor disturbance. When such an event occurred, often an individual wearing civilian clothing would, out of the blue, produce a red cloth arm band which would be quickly donned. Within minutes this individual would restore proper order, often removing the offender(s) to a location from which the police could affect an arrest.

In the early 1980s, during my three years of intermittent consulting, I was fortunate to observe and contribute in a small way to environmental educational programs in China, during the very early emergence stages to becoming a world power. Canton, Beijing and Changchun, the locales or my most concentrated educational efforts, although differing in types and degree of industrial development they had relatively similar environmental challenges. The reason for this was that the major pollution was related to widespread use of coal for power generation and to country wide primitive procedures of urban waste disposal

What a change has transpired in just 30 years. Pick up at random several consumer items from your kitchen, office or bathroom. Check where they were made and it will be rare if you can find any that were not made in China or elsewhere in South East Asia. Despite this tremendous development in consumer product manufacturing output not surprisingly statistics from 2012 show that power generation using coal is still ranks number one in China.

## Eating "Chinese" In China

She approached the nearby Changan Avenue rubbish bin at a trot. Groveling through the waste there-in, a motherly looking woman garbed in what appeared to be clean clothing, retrieved a grease covered paper box. Deftly out of her coat pocket flashed a pair of chopsticks. Quickly she sat down at the other end of my curb-side bench and in rapid fire fashion began consuming the remaining contents. This mysterious scene, never repeated in my presence again, was certainly an unusual event in the cities that I knew in China. Begging of any type was not evident on China's streets. No matter how menial, everyone appeared to have employment and hence the where-with-all to purchase food. The same seemed to be true of habitation.

Large red tassels, hanging in a row across the front of buildings, defined them as restaurants. The absence of western type, often garish signage, was the rule in the early 1980s. Many of my meals were taken in restaurants with medium priced fare. One of my colleagues in Changchun was very knowledgeable of the city's restaurants. At an early stage of my tenure there, he announced that he would take me to the best dining facility in the city. Knowing that my means were limited and envisioning this destination to be to be upscale both in decor and pricing, I was hesitant. Surprisingly we motored into the back neighbourhoods of Changchun. There appeared to be little commerce in the area when unexpectedly a red tasseled building appeared. Upon entry I was presented with a most unlikely scene. The walls were marred floor to ceiling by dried food stains. Today's menu could be gauged closely by the food fragments littering the floor. The cacophony approximated that of a Toronto subway station at rush hour. Needless to say the place was jammed. Tables that had no coverings were as stained as the walls and in what seemed a lucky circumstance considering the filth, there appeared to be no space. My friend searched here and there and found two chairs, which he left in my tutelage, with the command to retain these no matter the circumstances. There were no servers or Maître D. To place an order it was necessary to locate the "manager", dictate from memory the desired dishes, barter the price, pay and then wait at the kitchen doorway to pick up your tray. Meanwhile my grip on the chairs was being tested by new arrivals to the establishment. Having reappeared with the meal, my colleague directed to me to carry our chairs to a tiny location he had physically generated at an already crowded table. By the time we sat down my level of tension had built to about the two Valium level. I had already banished the thought that this restaurant had the best food in the city. Imagine my delight and relief, when after a few bites I indeed had to agree that the food met his lofty promise. Despite this excellent culinary experience, I spent the next few days waiting for Montezuma's revenge, which remarkably never attacked.

In marked contrast to the red tassel denoted indoor restaurants, here and there in groupings on sidewalks along many thoroughfares stood carts, or small stalls, offering everything from salads and cold meat dishes, to barbequed snacks served on skewers. No provisions were made for refrigeration, nor were the meat products cooked with any degree of thoroughness. The creamy salads in particular could have been days old, as estimated from their often somewhat off-coloured appearance. Unlike western practice, there was no evidence of licensing.

Two restaurant specialty dishes that I particularly wish to single out were snake and fried ice cream, both of which I sampled. In the case of snake there was a restaurant in Canton that served this as the only meat dish. Here the customer could pick this reptile of their choice from a writhing mass that was showcased in the street-facing window. To the untrained palette, snake, like a few other reptilian dishes I had sampled elsewhere, tasted vaguely like chicken.

As an addendum to eating in local restaurants and the dining rooms in Chinese style hotels, I was given the advice by numerous friends; "whatever you do refrain from asking what meats were being used in potpourri style dishes". Apparently it was not uncommon to serve cat, dog and horse meats. This list contains only the more common of the offbeat (to a Westerner)meat ingredients. The mind can only boggle at other possibilities.

## Personal Monetary Undertakings, Legal and Illegal in 1980s China

In actuality there were two currencies in China; Foreign Exchange Certificates (FEC) and Chinese Yuan. If you counted the US dollar, then there were three currencies. The FEC was the legal tender for foreigners and the Chinese Yuan was the true currency of the realm. Strangely, I never possessed any of the FECs; strange because technically it was illegal for non Chinese to use the Chinese Yuan. FECs could only be used in Friendship Stores and I was never able to locate such a store where I lived. This was not unexpected, because there was only one such store in all of Beijing at that time and none in Changchun. Obtaining Yuan was simple. This was accomplished by having a colleague change my money, or simply by accommodating a local who was anxious to procure some American currency. In the case of the latter, the Black-market, exchange rates much greater than the going rate were possible. In fact, I was able to exchange traveler's checks in a local bank into Chinese Yuan, on my own, by proffering a small bribe. Bribes, the universal practice in most developing countries of the 80s, could accomplish almost anything.

Detailed banking procedures for the cashing of traveler's checks were of particular fascination and worthy of note. Upon entering the facility, I was immediately struck by the numbers of employees. Each sat at a desk which was positioned in a semicircular fashion behind a wall of continuous glass panels. The signed checks, together with my passport and an American dollar, were placed in a drawer offered at the base of one the panels. The drawer was then pulled behind the pane and its contents were retrieved by the clerk nearest. After careful scrutiny, checks and passport made the slow rounds of ten or so employees. To my view, each simply made the same careful visual observation of my offering. At one point, one individual must have removed the American dollar, since I noted its absence near the end of this monotonous observational procedure. Finally, at a station in front of another drawer containing patrician, the traveler's checks disappeared and a pile of Chinese Yuan and my passport were disgorged through a drawer.

Friendship Stores were established in the mid 1950s and were mainly the purvey of Russians working widely in the country at the time. I cannot describe Friendship stores very extensively not having used these facilities. However, I was informed that along with life's usual necessities, these emporiums were particularly noted for selling Western goods of all descriptions at outrageous prices. Wanting to sample the local culture whilst living in China, I was quite happy to remain ignorant of the whereabouts of Friendship Stores.

Thus, technically I was in violation of regulations with all my monetary transactions while in China. I say technically because the practice was so widespread that it was the rule rather than the exception. The exchange rate for American dollars into Yuan was so favorable and the denominations of the Yuan generally available so small, that even after changing a small amount of American currency, my pockets bulged to overflowing with these colourful notes.

The typical Chinese Department store was relatively small, seldom higher than two stories and covering an area of ground about half the size of a Canadian supermarket. All the goods were stored in the central core, inaccessible in any direct way to patrons. The perimeter of the central core was a continuous rectangular counter, behind which resided a bevy of generally very bored looking clerks. The goods were displayed on vertical shelving, floor to ceiling and were accessible only by pointing to the item and having it retrieved by a clerk and placed on the counter for your inspection. For example, should I wish a white dress shirt, there would likely be only one choice in several sizes. The sales persons were remarkably adept at guessing the correct size. To emphasize their assurance in this regard, they looked me over, fingered through several shelves, then extracting their choice, slammed it with emphasis on the counter in front of me. Such an item was folded and contained only by a broad paper band, no cellophane or other dirt protection existed. Trying the shirt on was out of the question, so the only recourse was to remove the band, unfold the item and hold it up in front of my body for assessment. Surprisingly, back at home I normally found the purchase fit perfectly. Outlets of the type I describe contained dry goods, house wares and clothing through to small tools. Outdoor markets supplied meat and vegetables. "Drugstores" sold conventional goods of this type, plus alcoholic beverages and packaged goods, like crackers cookies and related foods.

Being in Changchun in Northwest China in December, I had the opportunity to observe another variation on Department Store operation. The outside temperature was about 3 degrees Celsius and upon venturing inside my usual emporium, I found the place to be totally unheated. Clerks, in their usual disinterested attitude, were garbed fully in bulky outdoors winter cloths, with their hands encased in special lower half fingerless gloves.

Here and there were more specialized stores. Hardware type stores sold a variety of the usual items plus sometimes other goods like cameras and camera supplies. Of particular interest to me in these outlets was the wide selection of the thickly enamel coated dishes, cups and related items. These, typical of my grandparents era, came in a spectacularly bright range of colors, with a background of typically Chinese scenic patterns. During my tenure in China I managed to acquire a collection of ten enamel cups, from which I had to eliminate six to fit the confines of my one piece of meager luggage.

## Procedural Perturbations

Perhaps the flight from Hong Kong to Changchun should have provided a clue to the unexpected experiences that awaited me in the Manchurian Industrial Heartland of China. Dragon Air provided my transportation. The aircraft was of Russian manufacture. Rows of seats, three across on each side, were separated by a razor thin isle which required sideways navigation for anyone of physical substance. Upon entry to the cabin each traveller was presented with a mysterious small cardboard box, which it turned out contained lunch. This was a mass of strangely tasting, cold noodles that were eaten with chopsticks. No cabin crew was provided throughout the duration of the flight.

Everything about the aircraft appeared normal as we taxied ready for takeoff. The moment the engines were gunned however, a frightful din erupted in the cabin. This presaged the discovery that the bolts securing the seats were either loose here and there or that the bolt holes had become badly warn. The Chinese specialize in many things, most of them admirable, however their penchant for the practice of heavy smoking was not meritorious. Despite a no smoking sign that blazed clearly during takeoff, the cabin was bathed in a dense murky fog before the sign was even switched off. About one hour into the flight I struggled down the aisle to the washroom, but after viewing the urine covered floors and toilet seat I made a hasty retreat. The entire flight could be simply summed up as very disagreeable and perturbing.

My request, as always, was to be billeted in a local style dwelling. Arriving after a short drive from the airport I was greeted by what most Canadian business persons would assess as a 2 star hotel. Relating it to a comparably priced Hong Kong dwelling this might easily have been assumed to be the case. Such was not my estimation. As a case in point consider the following. Perhaps the most crucial item to the Chinese at the time was the tea pot. This was usually a baked enamel container into which a maid would nightly throw a hand full of tea leaves, followed by a fill of freshly boiled water. The Hong Kong equivalent was a stainless steel self heated pot, capable of delivering steeped warm beverage right up until bedtime. For me though, the return to baked enamel cookware brought back fragrant memories of my youth.

In a Chinese hotel of this type the guest was never permitted to remove the room key from the premises. So the hotel feature for me that stood out above all else, was the special desk on each floor manned day and night by friendly attendants, whose job it was to handle the entrance and exit of the patrons. Behind each desk on the wall hung all the door keys and upon departing the elevator the arriving guest would walk to the desk and state their room number. If the clerk spoke English all was well, otherwise it was necessary to write down the number on a pad provided for this purpose. With key in hand the attendant accompanied the guest to their room, where-upon the door was opened and an inspection of the room was accomplished before the occupant could be left alone. My room, being cluttered as usual with clothing hanging loosely from floor lamps, bedposts and the like, must have been a sorry sight for the usually fastidious Chinese. The key was then left in the room. Upon leaving, the key had to be returned to the custodian. Not being used to this system, I was often pursued to the elevator to be relieved of my key. The word elevator reminds me to again emphasize the predilection of the Chinese for smoking. It seemed that the most certain approach to ensure being overcome by an onslaught of cigarette smoke, was to enter a crowded elevator. The simple action of closing elevator doors appeared to be a stimulus for smokers to light up.

My first breakfast experience in the hotel dining room proved fascinating. There was no menu, just a choice of a Chinese or a Western style meal. My co-diners were an assortment of Western and Chinese individuals. The only unusual circumstance was the presence of about twenty grumbling individuals, all sitting together in an isolated section of the room. These "gentlemen", it turned out, were Americans, employed by the local Government to install a power grid complex. As is my convention, I ordered the local style food. This was despite warnings that Chinese breakfasts might contain unusual constituents, particularly meat, of an "exotic" nature. Most non Chinese ordered the Western meal. When this was served to the Americans a hue and cry erupted, because a European style mixture of rolls, a few meat slices, cheese and coffee, was being proffered instead of good old North American bacon, sausage, toast and eggs. A heated debate ensued during which shouted vexatious language frequently peppered the exchange. Nothing was solved and these diners were forced to make do with the original menu, meanwhile making the atmosphere most unpleasant for all others.

Grimy, polluted and crowded, Changchun bore all the wounds of heavy industrialized cities everywhere. It was the magnitude of the mess that made this city more typical of such localities in the developing world. Dried up waterways flowing only during rain, with ensuing runoff often filled with visible pollutants, together with industrial stacks spewing multi-coloured emissions, were the rule. No obvious attempts, even minor, had been made at pollution control in any segments of this biosphere.

Remnants of the Russian occupation periods were evidenced by dominant, Stalinist styled, heavy blocky looking grey concrete buildings. Strangely, locations of botanical beauty had been constructed here and there against this dismal back drop. Such was The Peoples Square, which consisted of two or three hectares of trees, flowers, grass and flagstone squares, wedged between a large car factory and a military heavy industry site. This square was the gathering place for thousands of citizens and became the back drop, especially on weekends and holidays, for such diverse activities as Ti Chi and Communist propaganda sessions. Sandstorms from the Gobi Desert, a few 1000 Km to the north, were the source of unimaginable intensely coloured sunsets that from time to time bathed Changchun in an atypical blanket of beauty.

As part of my research and teaching contract, I was assigned to the Northeast Normal University science faculty. "Normal" Universities are the source of most teachers in China. I made it my goal to slant work in both areas towards Environmental Chemistry. In this way I could hopefully create programs that would produce graduate teachers, armed both with the will and the tools, to begin the auspicious task of engendering an environmental consciousness. I hoped this training would begin rectification of China's massive pollution problems. Industrial and Governmental participation in this process is of course essential. The most useful approach in this regard would be to involve key personnel in these jurisdictions in design and implementation of research and teaching programs at the University.

Interweaving university, governmental and industrial interests in almost any endeavour, even in developed locations, provides a complicated challenge as I had learned many times in Canada. Attempting this in a country like China was close to absurd. The government of 1980 had become entrenched in the habit of establishing and administering programs and the ground rules required that there be little consultation or interactions with the principals. Commonly, individuals sympathetic to and cooperative with, the government were appointed to the decision making roles within industry and university and thus provided no independent leadership roles therein. Fortunately, due to internal environmental disasters and outside pressure exerted at the highest levels, the government had become anxious to explore changes to industrial and municipal environmental practices. To promote a venue for change in this instance, my approach was to establish working groups of academics of widely ranging disciplines, together with government representation, to investigate problems, establish priorities and then plan programs for rectification. Sounds wonderful in theory and does work eventually, but initially just achieving some meaningful dialog and then establishing even a vague understanding among individuals within such a diverse group, is a major job in itself.

Perhaps most frustrating was government arbitrary decision making. For example, upon establishing an "agreement", (always couched in generalities and often unwritten), it was common to celebrate with a banquet. The principals involved would gather in a private hall within a good restaurant and partake of a multi-course feast, laid out in profusion on an immense Lazy Susan. This was always finished off with a soup course. Being the reverse to North American dining procedure, this was a challenge for me to pretend to enjoy. The practice at the time entailed presenting the fish eyes to the honoured guest and these delicacies, so difficultly consumed, seemed to roll around in my stomach for days. Thus when a few days later I received a severe rebuff for initiating the details of the perceived "agreement", it became obvious that the officials were more interested in celebrations than living up to their word. This misfortune of having governments backing out on time consuming and intensively negotiated precepts, was common in countries existing on the extremes of the right and left wings politically. Any person in my position had to accept such behaviour with understanding and then patiently unravel and reconstruct the agreement. The only alternative was to affect a complete withdrawal. The fact that I remained and continued through several iterations of such negotiations, was in total contradiction to my practice in Toronto. Usually I refused categorically to consider administrative positions, on the grounds that such were a waste of valuable research time.

## Three Thousand Mile Toot Across China

The bureaucracy of travel within China, as within many Communistic jurisdictions, is difficult for a Westerner to fathom. Lineups are the curse of almost any endeavor and most Chinese have become hardened to this inevitability. Commonly, there appears to be more than sufficient clerks and supervisors available to handle tasks quickly. However in practice I found, these individuals move slowly and handle even simple tasks inefficiently.

Consequently, whilst visiting in 1991, the conceptually simple task I had of exchanging one aircraft ticket for a train ticket, became a labor of several days duration. Thankfully though, I remained for the most part out of the loop. It is often said that business people travelling abroad see little of the countries involved, except at the airport, on the trip to the hotel and from the inside of the hotel where the meetings are held. As maximizing my exposure to the jurisdiction in question was always near the top of my list, this was hardly ever true in my approach to travelling abroad. Travel arrangements were usually made for me by the hosting organization and from time to time upon careful examination, I noticed incidences in which opportunities to become better familiarized with a country had been sacrificed. My flight from Canton to Changchun was a blatantly obvious missed opportunity.

A few days prior to my date of departure I horrified my hosts in Canton by asking to have my travel plans changed. I was startled by this extreme reaction and by the cajoling attempt to have me reverse this decision. Remaining firm, I requested to be driven to the agency involved in such exchanges. However I was powerless to enact this seemingly straight forward business. The procedure began by surrendering my passport and travel documents to an official I had formerly not met. This woman, together with two of my entourage, disappeared, only to reappear several hours later empty handed. I was informed that late the following day my passport and train ticket would be ready for pickup. Instead it took two more days before my colleagues were able to present me with these documents. At this time I was also informed that US$10 had to be expended for "ancillary" expenses, or more straightforwardly expressed, for bribes. Since I had become used to such motivators in the past I quickly made reimbursement for this transaction requirement.

I was pleased that I had remained firm on these changes, as the ensuing five day odyssey by "milk-run", became a highlight of this consultancy. What did not happen was often as illuminating as the events that occurred. In the former category, the lack of heat for extended periods even in "first class" sleeping coach accommodation, became a distraction as we travelled the northern part of the excursion. Of course officially, no class distinctions were present in China at the time. No food was provided on the train itself. At meal times it was necessary to purchase meals from vendors on the platform, or from cafeterias at the stations where the voyage was briefly suspended for this purpose. My fate was much better than that of the Chinese travelers, due to my American currency. As soon as I waved an American dollar bill from the steps of the coach, I was surrounded by competitive vendors offering the finest of their offerings. As a perk of first class, when evening approached a billy of hot water was set up in the middle of the coach floor on a gas burner. This was then anointed, at the appropriate moment, with a handful of loose tea by a large person of indeterminate gender. As no cups were provided, I used a bright red enamelware cup which I had purchased in Canton and reminded me of my Grandparents era in Canada. The sleeping cars were spacious and had upper and lower bunks on both ends of the room. The toilet facilities, which consisted of a hole in the floor above which one squatted to soil the speeding track immediately below, were at one end of the sleeping car passage. A sink with cold running water and an olive tinted translucent mirror completed the fixtures. The approach to our final destination of Changchun was occasioned by a 4:30 AM wakeup call. This enabled bedding to be removed in time for processing before our 9:00 AM arrival. These conditions in the premier section of this train may sound a little rustic, but a venture into the coaches at the rear of the train made me realize the comparative luxury of my section. In this escapade, upon entrance through one of the rear car doors, I was welcomed by a burst of fluttering and scratching claws, as a chicken landed on the top of my head. This removed deftly by its owner, I could then see through the gloom to row upon crowded row of hard wooden seats, all jammed with large families consisting of grandparents through to babies. Possessions of all descriptions, including poultry and other small farm animals, covered the floors with household items and clothing mostly contained in sacks. Among these were food provisions for the trip. Smoking of course was unrestricted and this car, not unlike my own, was bathed in a smoggy atmosphere. The difference in this car was the complexity of unpleasant odors created by beasts and their excrement, soiled clothing and food of questionable freshness.

Most of the daylight hours I spent marveling at the kaleidoscope of scenery, ever changing as we travelled south to north close to the coast. One constant though was the lack of non sea bird species. Coastal bird populations suffered severe decline under Mao, due to rapid loss of habitat and consumption as food, especially during the many periods of enforced starvation. Collectivization resulted in immense land transformations. It was not unusual to see seemingly endless stretches of farmland; this was particularly notable between Beijing and Changchun. Former single family dwellings had given way to small clusters of buildings spread here and there. Traditional market vegetable plantings on a large scale wallpapered the ground from horizon to horizon. This lack of individualism was broken here and there by the appearance of small plots of a few diverse varieties of vegetables growing along ditch edges. Not surprisingly these personal plantings were distinguished by a lushness which was absent in the massive farm crops.

My sleeping car partners were a congenial group of men and women. Although they spoke no English, they kept me involved in life within this tiny environment. Foods were shared. One passenger had a guitar and I was invited to hum a tune, which although it would be Western, he usually readily picked up the basic melody and did his own unique rendition. At meal stops, or at locations of scheduled passenger stops, they took me to find less primitive toilet facilities. Of particular note were the clothing changes night and morning. These were mainly accomplished in the visually unprotected center of the car and were accomplished with a surprising lack of embarrassment.

Although altering travel arrangements in China was not a bureaucratic nightmare, the experiences that I encountered on this trip have stayed with me over time and gave me a more intimate understanding of China as experienced by its people, rather than the China encountered by most business travelers.

# Chapter 4

# Brazil

## The Plot Thickens

My main Academic Appointment was as a Full Professor at the University of Toronto, a full time commitment. From time to time not counting sabbaticals I applied to my Dean for permission to undertake consultancies abroad, particularly in Developing Countries. These were generally approved with the understanding that I would still fulfill me teaching and research commitments in Toronto. These visits, encounters and consultancies were my "Brief Encounters with Life". It was really only at such times that I experience life as it is in the majority of the World. An outline follows briefly describing a typical consultancy from which most the stories in the rest of this book derive.

The University at which I taught was the State University of Campinas (Sao Paulo State) called Unicamp founded in 1966. The section I belonged to and in which I taught and helped setup research was funded by UNESCO the Educational Division of the United Nations. Here the faculty was about 30% foreign, mainly US. The Campus consisted of a string of low rise buildings built in a wood on the out skirts of the city. This gave a pleasant ambience for learning.

In all personal contact severe criticism is a no no. Praise in as liberal quantities as can be justified is important. Indicating the correct avenues of approach for course content and research in kindly but not condescending terms is appreciated. In working in developing nations it is crucial to recognize political and financial differences and constraints. Maximizing what can be done within the existing situation is critical. Sometimes it may be necessary to circumvent obvious problems like skimming. In this regard I ran into the following road block.

I possessed in my own laboratory a very functional but dated piece of equipment which was no longer of use to my work. I recognized it's value to modernizing and expediting work here. It seemed that the equipment should be shipped here to Unicamp and I was quite anxious to do this even at my own expense. The request was made to approve the paper work. Somewhere up the line and outside the University (which was pleased with the idea), a snag developed. Someone wanted the equivalent in cash and then would purchase some equipment in Brazil. Firstly I knew such quality equipment did not exist in Brazil and secondly I had been informed that such a sum would be much diminished before, or if it ever came to the proper place. As I was wrestling with the situation an unexpected solution appeared. I complained bitterly in the presence of my host. A representative asked me where the equipment currently stood; I explained that it resided on such and such bench in my lab. He the said, "when do you wish it to arrive" and I replied "the sooner the better". Next week there it stood in the Unicamp lab. It was in full working order which was amazing since it contained delicately adjusted optical components. During the remainder of my stay I was careful to remain within the existing boundaries.

Lecturing would appear to present a problem since I spoke no Portuguese. In the first instance many student scientists knew English. In fact it would not be possible for a scientist not to do so, if he wished to make a mark with his work (all journals of import and conferences at high levels were in English). Despite this an interpreter was provided. This allowed all students to learn the material. Also he could provide Portuguese references to be given. Lectures were usually 3 hours long so I could cover a terms worth of work in my allotted time. Exams and assignments were mandatory since these were credit courses. Such were set in Portuguese to minimize misunderstanding. Answers were written in Portuguese for the same reason. I managed to learn "some" scientific Portuguese so with much assistance I could mark what was received.

## An Enlightening Encounter

Smooth as a baby's bottom describes the Varig 747 flight I had taken, destined for Sao Paulo Brazil. I had been bumped to First Class due to my frequent flights on this airline. During the 14 hour flight it was a no-aides-for-balance needed trip, straight to the washroom and back.. Despite this, a young woman seated next to me, looked straight ahead for the entire journey. She didn't read and couldn't sleep and additionally refused to eat and drink during meal time. Trying to make even the most innocent conversation was met with a minimal, somewhat labored reply. But I could relate to this. Many times I'd had to fend off unwanted attention on other occasions in flight. Then abruptly a drastic change occurred. Without warning, just as the aircraft began its long descent to our target, turbulence hit. Suddenly, this woman threw off her seatbelt and jumped into my lap, holding me with a vice like grip, as two cups of hot Brazilian coffee poured over me. Casting aside her previous silence, she let forth with a cannonade of Portuguese interspersed with snippets of English. From the hue of her face it was obvious that the next course for my pants would be arriving from her stomach and it did with dispatch. The tumult was so bad that no help from flight attendants could be expected. With herculean effort her seat belt was loosely restored, but I held her head in my hands against my chest for the next 20 minutes until touchdown was achieved. With help from the crew and after a quick kiss on my cheek she was gone. As I passed through customs I was surprisingly greeted by a government official. It was explained to me that my seat mate was a relative of the Governor of this state and had appreciated my help very much. Although I had only being wearing a pair of cheap pants, which had a previous stain and faulty zipper, I was escorted to a very upscale men's wear establishment and refitted completely from shirt to shoes. This treatment continued with a limousine ride of over 100 km to my destination in Campinas and an all expenses paid dinner at the hotel.

Following this incident, I regretted three things. The first was that I had been unable to obtain any further knowledge of this mystery woman. Secondly, that I had chosen a very cheap Brazilian Hotel for my abode, which had dictated the quality of the free meal. Lastly, that the new clothes which I had placed carefully in my closet, awaiting my first trip to my assignment, were stolen; this latter being an adjunct to the second point regarding the cheap hotel. Thus I found myself washing the pants from the flight with hand soap; in the tiny wash bowl in my room.

It was on this first night at my hotel, that I was woken suddenly by the sound of gun fire in the street below. I felt very vulnerable and somewhat like a virgin caught in the middle of a jail break. I immediately phoned my sponsors, trying to hold back a sense of panic, only to be told quite matter-of-factly, that this was only a celebration of a football (soccer) victory.

Brazil was my first employment outside of North America and I had been appointed by UNESCO to teach and to set up chemistry research at the State University of Sao Paulo, in Campinas. This city of 1 million or more people lies about 100 km west of Sao Paolo. When making travel arrangements, I had asked to be accommodated in a Brazilian domicile and not the American hotel, which had been my sponsor's designation. Making such decisions was easy while living In Toronto and ignorant of living conditions in Campinas. As a first principle, I wanted to experience the life of the locals. My hotel actually turned out to be quite livable, except for some communication challenges, as no-one spoke English; Portuguese being the native language. Also to have a hot shower, a pleasure I craved daily, the water tank on the roof had to have been heated adequately by the sun. Campinas, sitting as it did on the Tropic of Capricorn, possessed at normal times lukewarm water in all taps connected to the water supply. My room, facing the back, was also somewhat of a surprise. It was sparsely furnished with a bed that slung so low in the middle that my bottom rested on the floor. There was also a nondescript bureau, the drawers of which were totally inoperable, probably due to the tropical humidity. The room was perpetually dark because its one small window faced directly on to the nearby wall of a business college. A single dirty dull bulb in a cracked ceiling fixture provided the only illumination.

My first unintended divergence from typical local living came several weeks later, on the day after I tendered my first room rent payment in US currency. Upon arriving back from work I was escorted to a bright larger room, facing the street and replete with a narrow balcony at no extra charge. Apparently using US currency was an indication that the bearer was in some way special. My best guess is that US currency was a much desired commodity, being exchangeable on the black market for excessive premiums and the owners wanted to ensure the preservation of this source.

I was on the 6th floor and like all the other rooms; the only access was from a circular staircase in the lobby. To say this chimney like internal geometry made the hotel a fire trap was an understatement. But that was Brazil; no safety standards. Despite such conditions, I was living like the small middle class that was now beginning to emerge within this country.

One of the features of my new front room was a resident Kiskadee, a bird of rare vocal talents, which it unleashed each morning, beginning about 5 o'clock. It started as gravelly rumblings and then evolved into something resembling a scream. I was favored by this every morning like clockwork. As I look back, the gun shots of my first night paled compared to this cacophonous racket. A radio and TV adorned this room. It seemed that whenever I turned on the radio the present hit song, "Private Eyes" by Hall and Oates, was blaring. Soccer matches were common on TV and of particular note was the announcer shouting "score" in English after each home team goal, but in such a way that the o-r-e part of the word was drawn out at high pitch for a number of minutes, seemingly without taking a breath.

The first morning I dressed soon after the rude Kiskadee awakening, only to find my breakfast hosts must have been living in a rear facing room, as they were nowhere in sight. Perhaps I was not as privileged as I thought with my front room. The incident did however spurn me into the discovery of a true Brazilian delight. I ambled out the door, walked a block or two and stumbled into the fruit market. Even though my room rate covered breakfast, I soon learned that the prolific varieties of fruit, including five types of bananas, various types of mango, red and orange papaya, and some unusual custard apples, were all better than the soggy papaya served at the hotel. So I absconded with a set of hotel cutlery and ate this delicious fruit off the dusty dresser top in my room. Many of these fruit, which were not available in Toronto during the years I was in Brazil, happily are now available locally.

There was one particular Brazilian gourmet delight that came to the dining room each morning and that was locally grown coffee. This ambrosia, boiling hot, thick and black as ink, came in a one liter sized pot, but was served in tiny espresso sized cups. Each diner usually consumed one or two cups, black, but mixed with raw cane sugar. I also drank mine black with no condiments, which may explain my stomach upset in recent years. I was now faced with the problem of how to lay my hands on one of these coffee pots and spirit it up to my room each morning? US currency was a form of magic in poorer countries like Brazil in the 80s. In retrospect I am horrified at how often, in cases like my addiction to fine coffee, I disregarded my first principle of living like the locals. I lit on a flawless procedure to guarantee that one of these steaming pots would be transported directly to my room at breakfast time. One single US dollar bill placed in the hands of a server twice a week ensured that the desired liquid was not only delivered, but that it was always accompanied by a coffee lovers sized cup.

Dinner was an unusual adventure. I tried out a variety of restaurants/cantinas in my local area, which was pretty much in the city center. Campinas, not being a tourist area, had very few waiters who spoke any English and the menus were all in Portuguese. North American style fast-food establishments were many years down the pipeline. You might think I would learn a few necessary words in Portuguese, but my learning disability prohibited that. Failing any ability to communicate with the waiters, I took to trying to pick out some words on the menu that looked familiar, but Portuguese unlike even Spanish and some other European languages, bears virtually no resemblance to English. As the poor waiter stood over me pen in hand, I made a random stab at an item and then waited in anxious anticipation for what was to appear. I had many surprises. One dish had a pig's snout, tail and feet together with a ¼ beef heart protruding from a slurry of black beans. This mess, called Feijoada, was actually their National Dish. As noted in a later story, I found this was a special treat traditionally and advisedly served with highly alcoholic drinks before football on Saturdays. Surprisingly I did have some successes, though unfortunately I could never recall from one time to the next, which ones I had stabbed at on the menu. Then I lucked out. There it was staring at me from a restaurant window, Canadian Bacon. There were unintelligible descriptors following, but what the heck it was something containing our world famous bacon, so I was definitely going to give it a try. All speculation ended when a pizza appeared with many pieces of what did appear to be our famous bacon. It was so good I began dining there often.

Another food related item was drinking water. It had been part of my approach when traveling abroad to never drink the local water. Thus I hunted expensive, hard to locate, bottled spring water throughout the downtown area. I consumed great volumes due to the heat of the tropics and when I located a source, I purchased large cases, which I transported by hand to my often very distant room. It was toward the end of my stay, when I refused a glass of tap water at a colleague's home, that I was startled and somewhat addled to learn that Campinas tap water, being spring fed, was some of the purest in the world. What's more, it also turned out to be the source of my costly, hard won, bottled water.

Another interesting aspect of Campinas, was that although it was a comparatively wealthy city, being highly industrial and surrounded by sugar plantations, it also had an amazing density of transparent poverty. One morning near the fruit market I was confronted by a woman, poorly dressed and holding a baby in rags. Out of kindness I slipped her two $1 dollar US notes which were the only items left in my pants pocket, a very large sum to the poor as I became aware. Suddenly from behind every obstacle appeared women dressed in a like manner with hands extended for money, jostling and pushing in quest of a handout. I was lucky to have escaped relatively unscathed.

Campinas also had an interesting conundrum in relation to the law. On every main corner there proudly stood individuals representing all three levels of the law, being local, state and federal. But if a lawless incident occurred, confusion as to who should respond to rectify the problem ensued. After an animated debate, lasting well after the offence was perpetrated, one of the officials would take off in a car with siren whining, frequently in the opposite direction. I had a personal involvement in such an incident. A street child, of whom there were plenty, many posing as shoe shine boys, pick pocketed a gentleman's wallet. The offender then ran near me, at which point I stuck out my foot and he tripped. Although there was plenty of commotion from the police, standing only about 50 meters away, they eventually completely disavowed the incident. Thus it became my practice to slip a bit of money in my pocket and then leave my wallet and passport in the hotel safe. To completely destroy my initial allusion of personal safety, I later saw citizens carrying rifles, with impunity and in full view along the streets!

Criticism of government is rampant in Canada and in many cases deserved. However, having lived abroad in countries such as Brazil makes me aware that although life here can sometimes have its downsides, it could in large part be considered idyllic.

# The Bizarre Tale of Two Hummingbirds

Walking along the north boundary of Swan Lake in Markham on an early, sodden fall day last year, a sudden whirring sound accompanied by a flash of sparkling green accosted me,. My mind chugged slowly through a kaleidoscope of possibilities coming to rest at the realization that a ruby throated hummingbird had just buzzed me in its search for late blossoms. These it used to fatten itself for its 6000 kilometer odyssey to its wintering grounds in Central America.

Scanning about it was obvious that bloom was sparsely if at all present to this date. Not to worry I had two suitable feeders, which in my small back yard were attracting little but a plethora of unwelcome wasps. These brightly coloured tubes could easily be filled with sugar solution and secreted in amongst the spruce trees that resided in the fields bordering a nearby duckweed covered pond . Faithfully thereafter I trod through early morning, pant legs soaked by tall grasses and shrivelling foliage of Queen Ann's Lace, to refill these depleting feeders. This ceremony was repeated biweekly until early October, when all feeding activity appeared to cease. Only once or twice was I fortunate enough to catch an iridescent glimpse of an actual hummingbird using my provisioned facilities.

In Eastern Canada there resides, through the summer months only this one species of hummingbird. Among our plentiful seasonal ornithological population, the ruby throat provides residents with a unique peek into what is a numerically rich population. This species of hummingbird, is native mostly to the Caribbean, Mexico, Central and South America.

This encounter brought to mind an incident 10 years previous, when I was similarly seeking a glimpse of a hummingbird, whilst working in rural Brazil. Working under a UNESCO contract with Sao Palo State University, my Brazilian hosts had been incorrectly advised that I was an Ornithologist. Although certainly interested in bird viewing, I was by no means an expert. To my horror I received a phone call, after a week or so after arriving in Brazil, from a real Ornithologist who had gone to the personal trouble of arranging a bird watching trip in a preserve near the city. I was discomfited but felt I should accept.

Upon the appointed Saturday the Ornithologist and his wife picked me up at the Hotel before sunrise and I sat in the back seat of their old style Volkswagen Bug. This popular model had been banned for sale in Canada because of safety issues, but was still the vehicle of choice here, even for the police. For two hours I'd watched dense tropical brush rushing by and felt the pitch and roll of the rutted roads, whilst in continual combat with a potato sack full of what I thought was large diameter hose. On the twisting roads, driven at relatively high speed, the bag persistently slid over against me and I kept shoving it back. Its owners ensconced in the front, were maintaining a continual unintelligible stream of English mixed in with Portuguese. Suddenly on with the brakes and the driver leapt from the car and hefted the potato sack from the back seat. I was curious to know what birding equipment this contained, when much to my terror a large boa constrictor, slowly emerged, looked at us with its slotted eyes, then nonchalantly made its way across the road into the brush.

The Ornithologist, a science teacher at the American School in Campinas, explained that he wanted to dispose of the reptile, which was now too large for captivity, in this "humane" manner. My mind was instantly full of images of this animal locating food sources at , for example, chicken coops on some poor farmers property. I began to wonder if this act was entirely legal, but in Brazil who knows and more likely who would care.

Still recovering my nerves, a few miles further we disembarked at a location with brush on one side and untouched open area on the other. Then out came the viewing scope and books on birds and other nature, including mine on birds of Argentina. A tripod with a specially mounted birding scope was erected and I was given the pre-eminent instruction not to leave the roadway for any reason.

After about 2 hours sighting into the open area we had distinguished about 150 varieties of birds, an astonishing number for a Canadian who, even as an enthusiast, would be lucky to see 200 species in a lifetime in Ontario.

After so many bird sightings I was beginning to show signs of diminishing interest when a Scissor Tailed Hummingbird shot by and began feeding behind, in a nearby lushly blossoming tree filled copse. Wishing a close-up view and possible photo of its unique long, clapper tipped tail, I carefully descended into the grass. About 3 steps later a "fire" ignited in my shoes, creeping slowly upward I was soon engulfed in total inferno like torture. I made a futile dash back to the road, ripping off my clothes as I ran, because at this point I could see red ants emerging down my arms, biting fiercely as they progressed.

For the next too many minutes I stood completely naked on the road as the Ornithologist and his wife, protected in specially designed gloves which they seemed to don with agonizing lethargy, brushed and picked these voracious invaders from every crack, crevice and protrusion of my body. My clothes were ant contaminated throwaways, so the empty sack from the now vanished Anaconda became my mantel, creating quite an impression as I wandered through my hotel lobby upon our return.

## Where Football Eclipses Religion

What dominates a Brazilian? One might guess religion, since each town is overshadowed by an immense Cathedral, commonly contrasted by encroaching ramshackle homes. But this is far from the case when numbers of actual practicing church members are taken into account.

Football, at least among the males and younger females, creates a tremendous following. As is the case in many countries, the main cities attract the best players. Thus teams such as Flamengo in Rio and Corinthians in Sao Paolo dominate the field. All the main cities in Brazil have relatively large stadiums and teams, but not all teams play in the first division.

But is football the main event? Whilst in Brazil on an Educational Consultancy for UNESCO, I spent several Saturdays going to games. I came to realize that a pre-match institution creates much of the spirit and for some constitutes the complete event. For most followers a 2pm match is often started mid morning with drinks and a meal at a Cantina. The drinks are nothing like I had ever experienced. They are called Caipirinha's, a name completely unfamiliar to me. They are constructed variously and served with a twist of lime in a high ball glass. The "various" compositions must be high in alcohol, and at least contain a smidgen of lime juice. The alcohol, masking as cane liqueur in Brazil, is above 100 proof and often way above. Ice may be added if desired. Some poor souls never reach lunch, since after a few of these they are ready to be pushed vertically or horizontally out the door. This then makes space for more clientele. Upon attaining the lunch level, one is greeted by a black bean slurry swimming with pieces of pork some still recognizable as pig's tails, pig's feet and of course a pig's noses. The basis for the formulation is, however, a beef heart. This dish, first served by the slaves on Brazilian coffee and sugar plantations, is called Feijoada. It seems quite acceptable, even tasty, especially after the Caipirinhas.

From what I have described, one might assume that the next step, The Game, is anti climactic and perhaps for some this is the case. For most, a new part of the delirium is about to begin.

After descending carefully from the Cantina precincts we approached the game bus. Helping each other aboard was a slow process. It is still far from the official gate opening time at the stadium, but past experience told us that we would be able to enter soon. After a short ride, the bus disgorged us into a milling crowd. The Caipirinha's and black bean swill began to ferment in my stomach, giving me a nauseous feeling. Stay down, stay down I muttered under my breath.

Suddenly the gates opened and the stands began to fill. Seats were not an amenity provided in these older stadiums. Before the official gate opening time the stadium standing rows were usually fully occupied. None-the-less the gates remained open and fans continued to stream in. To accommodate the encroaching crowds, we became more and more compacted together along the rows. Many also climbed, or were dragged onto to a small roof suspended over the top of part of the stadium, which was supported at the corners by only single rowed cinder block columns. When the festivities began the occasional stomping of feet throughout the stadium caused a rhythmic vibration in the total structure. Surely we were ensconced at a disaster just waiting to happen!

One thing I had not counted on, were the flares being ignited by fans in the crowd. These were set off when their team scored a goal, a perceived bad call by an official occurred or opposing players were discovered involved in a misdemeanor. In the latter case the ignited flares would often be propelled onto the field. If you were unlucky enough to be sitting next to a flare possessing devotee, a bad burn could easily be suffered.

When a diversion seemed required due to lack of action, a number of fans in an upper row would organize a simultaneous push in the backs of those in the next lower row, causing a cascading effect which meant you ended up lying prone on the backs of those in the row in front, after unwittingly knocking them forward and so on with many rows tumbling like cascading dominoes toward the bottom row. Problems incurred during the precarious mass recovery from such a mishap were legion and could even result in physical desecration of the protagonists.

What about supporter protection? As may be supposed from the above, there was little or none. A mote about 10 m wide and 6 m deep encircled the field edge. This supposedly protected the players and officials from intruding enthusiasts. In reality a few fans sometimes bridged this impediment. When the stands erupted in any really "serious fan violence" an intense beam of water from a water cannon, would be sprayed around the offending stadium area. The effectiveness of such a weapon might well be thought of as being about as useful as a snow plough in the Sahara, since tropical rain storms of a violent nature were not uncommonly encountered in this area.

In reality, the rules allowed for the forfeiture of games and the designation of games to be held in the absence of supporters, should fan/player or fan/official physical molestation occur. These were only occasionally enforced and usually only invoked following death causing incidents. On the positive side regarding enthusiast activity, was the flying of colourful kites from the stands. This was particularly common among Flamengo fans visiting from Rio. On the other hand even these could erupt into duels where rival navigators would endeavour to down another's kite.

Smaller urban area teams, like the two from Campinas where I was headquartered, had little chance against the big city teams. Yet these games were extremely popular, because local fans had a chance to see many players who would be promoted to the National Team when world tournaments were held.

Canadian ice hockey is a part of my "culture" and its predisposition toward violence is frequently denoted by the homily; "Last night I went to a boxing match but an ice hockey game broke out". In the same vein my experience with Brazilian Football could well be described thusly; "I went to a Brazilian inebriated fan contest and a football match broke out".

## Brazilian Beauty

I had the good fortune to travel back to Brazil some time later, this time with my family, Wife- Maureen, Children- Lisa, Melissa and Jon Jr. in toe. We had planned a sightseeing adventure of a few of the major geographic, ecological and political regions of the country. We had chosen Rio, Brasilia, Falls Iguazu and Manaus.

I will not mention Rio again as it was covered on our 2 visits in the section above. This was included above to be able to contrast the city as it had changed drastically between travels intervals. Also we were so unimpressed by the antiseptic, artificial and non Brazilian ambiance of Brasilia that I will exclude comment on our visit there. A location such as Rio Grande du Sol would have been money much better spent.

### Manus

Located as it is only about 3 degrees south of the Equator the family would be able to experience an equatorial type climate and ecosystem. This city is also north central as far as its positioning within Brazil is concerned. Being at the confluence of the Rio Negro, a clear dark river flowing to the south east and the main tributary of the muddy Amazonas, to form the core Amazonian River, strange water patterns are formed. The mixing of these contributing sources is not complete near Manaus so large dirty patches of unassimilated Rio Negro flow on well down the major river.

Hotel accommodation at the time of our visit consisted of an expensive resort or something of much lower grade in the city it's self. Our finances dictated the latter; in fact the hotel we booked was only partially finished. Rooms facing the river were available. Behind these was a wide hallway bordered on the side opposite by hording. We booked on the 6th floor, allowing an excellent view of the river and surrounding area. The patchy river and port area were clearly visible. The river was very wide and the opposite shore though visible was not detailed. Ocean going ships could ply the waterway as far as Manaus. A few of these, fishing boats and a few tour boats filled the harbor. From our room it was usually possible to see a patch of rain somewhere in the local area and down pours were common. Of course the humidity was always extreme.

Historically the city was built mainly on the rubber boom which ensued with the process of vulcanization and the rubber tire for the automobile in the 1890's to 1920, after which time synthetic rubber killed this trade. However during the rubber period fortunes were made and the city grew both in size and culture. A world class opera house was constructed which attracted many of the world's greatest stars in many fields. This edifice has been well preserved and is a major tourist attraction, which we as well enjoyed. After the riches, came an era of poverty, which had not entirely disappeared at the time of our visit. We greeted a time when the tourist trade had begun in earnest and the city was a "free port" allowing purchases to be made tax free. Brazil being a nation with a surfeit of semi precious stones meant that bargains in this area abounded.

Of greatest interest to us was a tour of the Rain Forest which because of high water could be arranged by boat. Stories of Piranhas, hundreds of bird species' monkeys Caimans and Anacondas thick through as a man's leg filled our heads. What we mainly saw was many species of trees and only heard the screeches of monkeys. From time to time a few very colorful birds swept down from the dense, canopies which towered above. Suddenly upon rounding a curve between trees the worst happened. There before us popped out a typical North American tourist scene. A dock above which hung colorful bunting blared over the previous natural scenery. At the end of the pier stood a muscular looking chap ensnarled loosely in a constrictor type snake. Upon closer view I realized that the snake was a non native species (boa constrictor) probably overfed for the occasion thus available, as he desired, to sling over any willing visitors. Behind him lay numerous tables strewn with enticing (for some) trinkets and manned by some indigenous people in their typical costumes. This, of course, was the mandatory stop at which the tourists were milked and the tour operators prospered.

The Amazonian Rain Forest is disappearing at an alarming rate. Peoples in the richer countries must bear abundant blame in this regard for a number of reasons. The hardwoods of these areas as in other tropical rain forested areas in the world are in much demand for furniture. The mining industry has found mineral wealth worth exploiting and this is done with little regard for environmental damage in the local area. Probably the most destructive of all is the deforestation for agricultural purposes. Soils in Amazonia are very rich BUT terribly thin. The lack of depth results from the extremely fast decomposition of forest litter and the recombination of nutrients thus released, at a very rapid pace back into living species. Agricultural crops as a rule denude the nutrients into edible material and hence these do not return back to the soil. Rapidly the soils become useless for agriculture and the area is abandoned in favor of a freshly cut section of the rain forest. Human Induced Climate Change is a very serious receptor of the consequences of deforestation. Unless countries, most prominently those comprising G-8, pay compensation to prevent rain forest destruction who can blame the Brazilians for using these approaches as a source of income in an effort to tilt the wealth balance.

There is a bit of irony associated with agriculture in Amazonia. A farmer acquaintance of mine told me the following story. Growing Soya beans was becoming a big trend in Canadian agriculture to satisfy the expanding oil and organic food market. But now the Brazilians are growing this crop in such quantity and at less cost that Canada is being priced out of one of our most important agricultural initiatives. To illustrate the Brazilian scale of farming a crop he said he watched a harvester run on a line of the crop, straight for 4 miles, before having to turn back and harvest another row!

Flying out of Manus can be quite a frightening experience even for the seasoned traveler. A torrential rain drummed down on the day of my flight to Campinas. I was transported to the airport and loaded onto a 747 non-the-less. Presuming that we would wait at the gate for a break in the storm I began to read over some lecture pages. Suddenly I realized that the airplane had begun to taxis. In an instant we were speeding down the runway and of we went in a bump and at , what seemed to be an impossibly steep angle. The lights all extinguished within the cabin and the plane seemed to roll. I felt we had been upside down. Then just as suddenly we burst out of the storm into tranquil flight. I looked down and many of the lecture notes had flown into the adjacent seats. My hands seemed to be welded together around the knuckles. When he appeared. in an angry tone I queried the flight attendant as to why we had taken such a chance. He calmly stated, "Sir if we didn't take off from Manus as we did the majority of days the flight would not go". What a great comfort!

### Iguassu Falls National Park

A dream world, a fairy land, it is hard to find words to adequately describe the semi tropical Iguassu Falls region. Try to imagine a network of some 270 separate falls, the actual total depending on the volume of water flow in the river, which in turn depended on the season and the up river drainage. Some of these cascaded over several levels of rock. Each segment of falls was divided by separate islands along the brim. With an altitude of more than 80 meters extending along a 4 km stretch ( much wider than Niagara) the cascades were highlighted by Devils Throat, a large unbroken segment in the center. Then realize that the National Park is in both Brazil and Argentina and is semi tropical. There are several spellings for "Big Water" (translated from the Aboriginal) and these boil down mainly to Iguassu used by Brazilians and Iguazu common in Argentina. With the sighting of Iguassu Falls my wife and I had now had a glimpse of all 3 great falls, albeit Victoria Falls from a commercial jet aircraft at cruising altitude.

The country of Paraguay is only a few kilometers up stream and forms a triple frontier with the above mentioned countries at the confluence of the Iguassu and Parana rivers. Illuminating helicopter and fixed wing aircraft excursions are possible over the regions at a cost much too steep for our budget. Walkways exist around the falls area, both above and below, highlighted by "safe" footbridges over some of the cataracts. The quotation marks around, safe, simply indicate that accidents had occurred during the era of our tenure but there is no recent evidence to suggest that the footbridges are not now secure. The walkways in the valley could be locally treacherous, both rocks and wood, due to wind born spray from an adjacent falls. These were however well worth chancing for the Views and study of the unique ecosystem both avian and botanical compared to that contained in the vast areas above. Additionally the family took a dinghy excursion well above the falls which illustrated the high rate of water flow and allowed the viewing of many exotic water and shore birds indigenous to the area.

Our accommodation was Motel style with rear windows facing toward a small segment of the falls. The sound of spray contacting the rock below was distinctly audible within the room. Of perhaps greater interest was the frequent intrusion into the living area of the shoulder high flightless bird of South America, the Rhea. Sometimes our rooms were even graced by an unidentifiable species of hummingbird. In 25 years of camping in Ontario Canada the presence of wild species within our abodes had never occurred and perhaps this was our good luck as large animals such as Black Bears and Moose, indigenous to the area, would not have been welcome.

Trails leading from our back door into wooded areas were overflowing with nature. In the early mornings after sunrise and the again in the evening before sunset, the atmosphere at various levels was filled with vibrantly colored birds flitting along the paths, in and out of the trees and often above tree level. In this category colorful Toucans, with their seemingly oversized bills, glided at high altitude with only very slowly oscillating wings. Sizes of birds varied from tiny many varieties of hummingbirds to the previously mentioned Toucans. Bird song, sometimes overpowering, filled the ears. Completing the air born kaleidoscope were vividly colored butterflies which often brushed carelessly against a hand or arm. Some of these, as big as dinner plates, were a florescent bright blue. Others were formed or colored in fearsome manners to frighten predators. Night brought out an equally diverse collection of wildlife. Particularly visible were the moths. At this latitude there are an abundance of retiles and insects, many poisonous. Even at night in these environs, nothing dangerous was encountered. Unlike the African tropics, to be covered in a later segment, the wild roaring and screeching sounds were absent during these hours.

## Churrasco Farewell

The time arrived when my departure was necessary. I could hardly leave without throwing a party for my wonderful friends and colleagues. There was only one choice, a Brazilian Barbecue. This unique experience is called a Churrasco. What makes this unique is it's antiquity (1530's) and format. The real McCoy is in an outdoor restaurant where a large blazing pit of hot coals is crossed by real swords containing skewered roasts, commonly various cuts of beef and pork Upon arrival the scent is overwhelming even before you reach the tables. Of course there are the mandatory Caipirinha's as starters. Soon a line of waiters select swords from over the pit and the come one by one by your table and you choose which steaming delicacies you wish; the waiters then cut slices with lethal looking dagger type knives. One cycle was more than enough for me, but several guests were able to tolerate twice around. As I recollect we also had wine. The total cost for 12 diners which included all the above was $32 using my American money!

An aside to this experience was the typical Brazilian restaurant toilet arrangement. In the Men's there is a stainless wall instead of urinals with a trough below flowing with water. No need to wait in lines to get the job done! Although if you required other than urination, I have no idea how this would be done. Actually this should not be nearly the problem for me as for most. This is because being learning disabled; I have often mistaken a W for an M and walked boldly into the Woman's without meaning to putting the fear of God into any occupants.

# Chapter 5

# South Africa

## SAA via SAL En Route to Johannesburg

Verde in Spanish means green, yet 4000 meters below was a sun drenched island archipelago of barren rock and sand, devoid of any hint of green. This apparently desolate scene was the Cape Verde Islands, located about 600 km west of the Senegalese African coast, off a point of land known as Cappa Verde. In 1983, the island of Sal in this archipelago was the only one with an International airport.

The South African Airways flight originating from JFK and bearing a large number of conference attendees destined to Johannesburg from North America, was now about to touch down at this location for refuelling. Interestingly, nothing had appeared in the preconference flight information to suggest a stop at this unexpected location.

Of relatively recent (geologically speaking) volcanic origin, the ten Cape Verde islands were discovered by Portuguese colonialists in 1640 and became an infamous center of trade for African slaves. It was not until July 5, 1975, that the islanders acquired their independence. Sal, the island we were now descending to, means salt in Portuguese; this substance being the main initial commodity on the island at that time. With 2.5 inches of rain being the total average yearly accumulation agriculture is virtually nonexistent. This means 90% of the food must be imported.

At first blush this barren looking wasteland seemed anything but appealing. However on Sal, at Santa Maria towards the south of the island, a deep golden sand along a 6 km beach has almost year round sun. Being the closest tropical islands to Europe, has in more recent years spiked income from tourism.

Upon arrival at the Amilcar International Airport in 1983, dourness would best describe the look of the building. I quickly snapped a picture of the airport, fronted by the national flag, as proof that I had actually been to this unlikely locale.

During refuelling all passengers are required to leave the aircraft for safety reasons. So here we were, a large crowd that had almost filled the jumbo 747, elbow to elbow in the small transit lounge and sipping Coke as the only available beverage dispensed from the single vending machine.

Apartheid still reigned supreme in South Africa and as a result few African Countries would permit SAA in their airspace, let alone allow a landing for refueling. Cape Verde Islands became one of this few; probably due to the large sum of money and other considerations that accompanied this right.

Once away from the Cape Verdes, SAA traveled south over the Atlantic Ocean, following the coastline but without trespassing into any coastal African countries airspace. However, upon reaching Namibia, a colony of South Africa, the quest for Johannesburg was routed over the African mainland.

Looking at the landscape, some of the novels of Wilber Smith immediately came to mind. It was easy to imagine the diamond hunters along the coast, scrounging and fighting amongst themselves and with government and company engineers in the diamond rich alluviums of the Namibian river mouths. Some rivers, no longer in existence, appear only as hypothetical sketches on maps of geologists. Traveling further inland, it is surprising how far the desert extends before intersecting any form of greenery, however sparse. The desert is anything but flat and is filled with abundant reptilian and insect species, many of which are only seen at night. Large circumference crescent and circular formations betrayed the presence of dunes, even large hills, the former sculpted by incessant on shore winds. Further inland the desert seemed to have water sculpted features such as gullies and dry lakes. After the desert, an abundant greenery of Savannas and Acacias formed an almost total continuum into the Johannesburg Airport.

My flight time from JFK to Johannesburg was almost 18 hours in duration. With the demise of apartheid and until aircraft capable of a non-stop flight for this route became available, SAA made a stop in Dakar Senegal. With the new aircraft, this route is now a non-stop flight and consequently three hours shorter than our original flight path.

## South African Foibles

As a younger man I was immature, adventurous and eager to gain recognition for my research in analytical chemistry of gold and the other precious metals. As such I excitedly accepted an invitation to speak at the International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry Conference, which is a bipartisan organization in South Africa. Obtaining an invitation as a Plenary Speaker was high recognition and indicated respect for my work as a notable in the field (although the recognition was really for my late Research Director, Professor F.E. Beamish, with whom I was a junior co-author of two books on the subject). At the time, the interest in my research stemmed from our joint research work, but was also focussed on my adaptation of precious metal analysis procedures, using the relatively new technique of Atomic Absorption Spectrometry.

This preamble is by way of a lame excuse for going to South Africa in an era of horrific treatment of blacks and other non-whites, under the Apartheid system of government. During this period, the white ruling class used abhorrent acts such as disenfranchisement, torture, espionage and massacre, in each category even involving women and children, to repress the rights of the indigenous population. This is extraordinary considering only 15% of the population were white and 85% black (including 10% of other ethnicities). At the time that I travelled to South Africa in 1976, it was one of the worst cases of population deprivation and repression in the world.

At the airport we were greeted in a special area and taken to an elegant hotel in Johannesburg. Unlike other countries, I was unable to stay in local style hotels as none existed. Most blacks were being expelled from living within the city and had to travel to work, generally as domestics and miners, from the surrounding black townships. These locales owed their growing existence to this very expulsion and the migration of poor landless farmers, looking for work in the city. It is important to stress that South Africa in the 70s and 80s, had the greatest discrepancy between rich and poor of anywhere in the world.

One memorable incident, which highlights the Apartheid separation, occurred to me in Johannesburg, when I found myself in need of a public toilet. Not surprisingly there were two doors, one marked Coloureds and the other Whites Only. As I was much opposed to Apartheid, I first thought to use the Coloureds side. On reflection I thought this might offend the Coloureds in some way. So marching into the Whites Only enclosure, imagine my astonishment to bump face to face with a black gentleman. Immediately he exhorted, "Very sorry boss, please don't tell anyone!" Of course this was the furthest thought in my mind, but his fear greatly disturbed me.

Another notable occurrence was more personal in nature and happened during my speech at the conference. The format of typical conferences such as this involves a series of sessions on different, but usually closely related, topics. A Plenary Speaker, which is a scientist with a well-known reputation on a particular subject matter, provided an expert overview. This was then followed by six to ten papers that were considered cutting edge advances relating to the session subject matter. After each talk, including that given by the Plenary Speaker, thoughtful questions from the audience were expected. The first sentences of my plenary speech were a lilting tremolo, betraying profusely my state of unease, but by the midpoint of this presentation my demeanour had settled and towards the end I even had a strong feeling of confidence creep in. Although there were about five hundred people present, it was hard not to notice an officious looking, well dressed and very attentive individual in the front row, who was obviously enjoying the proceedings. Imagine my horror, when without even holding up his hand for recognition by the Chair, this gentleman leapt up almost before my last words had died away and ejaculated; "What idiot could ever recommend atomic absorption for the work you described as the main point in your lecture"? Flabbergasted and turbulent is hardly a sufficient description of the state of my emotions, as I received this unexpected and rapacious assault. Fortunately, I was able to reply confidently and seemed to satisfy most attendees. To this day this remains one of my more memorable lectures.

Conferences have a habit of being on the dull side during off hours. However, a most intriguing incident did happen one free afternoon. The wives had a special program planned and thus I retired alone to our hotel room. The room had already been made up for the day and I was laying on top of the fresh blankets when there was a knock on the door and a key turned in the lock. In walked a maid in tight yellow shorts, bare feet and a loosely slung blouse like top, with hanging brassier straps. Stepping to the side of the bed and leaning towards me she whispered, "Are you sure there is nothing else I can do for you today sir?" In my typically sincere and naive Toronto style, I looked hastily around the room and seeing that everything appeared immaculately arranged, I could think of nothing and replied thusly, after which she quietly left. Honestly, it wasn't until many years and many hotel rooms later that I grasped the real meaning of her suggestion.

In fact naivety seemed to shadow me on this trip. In this same hotel I took my modern, light blue jean suit to the front desk to ask for it to be dry-cleaned. When I returned to the room the following evening there was the clean jacket hanging on the clothes rack without the pants. Of course I went to the front desk to complain and was told that the pants probably had been temporarily been misplaced. I was distressed because the suit was unique for its day and made quite a conversation piece at dances and informal gatherings. After two or three days I was informed that it could not be traced and they would have to pay for the loss. So I gave a reasonable replacement estimate and they paid without bargaining. About two days later they asked if I would give them the coat since they had paid the required replacement fee. Stupidly I handed it over. Later I realized that I had been conned and that someone either sold the suit for a profit or was out dancing somewhere wearing my stylish garb.

Whilst in South Africa there were a couple of tourist signs which I recall to this day as they amused me greatly and seemed a comic backdrop to what was otherwise a very confronting country. The first was a sign in the hotel room which stated, "Do not flush the toilet unless absolutely necessary and take a bath in only two inches of water because of severe water shortage". I thought the potential for violation of the toilet missive was great, since I didn't really know how "absolutely necessary" was to be interpreted. The other sign I encountered in a Kruger Game Reserve Rest Camp and was more reflective of the ever present danger. It read, "In case of an insurrection lie down in a safe place". This seemed rather ironic to me that the park officials postulated there could be any safe place in an insurrection. The danger of "insurrection" came from the intrusion on the eastern park border of armed bands from neighbouring Mozambique, a country often in a state of violent turmoil.

In 1976 South Africa was a land in upheaval, with serious problems to be solved. Although it still has a plethora of issues, today at least, it has moved away from the oppression of Apartheid.

## Beauty and Corruption the Disparate Foes

"Do not flush the toilet unless absolutely necessary and take a bath in only 2 inches of water because of severe water shortage" read the sign on the back of my room in the Manhattan Hotel in Pretoria. The potential for violation of the toilet missive was great, since I didn't really know "absolutely necessary" was to be interpreted. This was indeed an interesting hotel from a number of perspectives. The hotel backed onto the railroad terminus which was used to bring Black workers to Pretoria each day. I found a position from which I could view the platforms which had been surrounded by a high wall with razor wire topped adornment. As trains drew in, workers flooded from exits onto waiting busses for transport through the city. In sharp contrast the front of the hotel spilled out onto the corner of a beautiful park. The latter was adorned with a deep fringe of gardens, shrubs and trees. To reach the conference location that I was here attending it was necessary to thread ones way along a path into the park and then across the grass to the building entrance. Also indenting into the park from the street was a Dutch Reform Protestant Church. Happening to be there on a Sunday I snuck into the back to observe the service. It was filled with Whites only, of course. The service was imparted in Afrikaans, hymns included. In the case of the latter the tunes being familiar from my early Christian period I could follow along in my mind with the English translations. Prayers and sermon I was informed, spoke of love and charity to mankind and the usual other typically Christian views as expounded by Christ and in the case of the Savior were meant for ALL mankind regardless of race. It seemed strange that these Christian professing church members supported a Government that formed "The Special Branch Squad" which spied upon, made brutal house searches, arrested, detained often without charges and inflicted torture and death on their coloured and black coexisting citizenry. It is very important to point out that there are many fine, daily practicing Christians.

Predating Johannesburg, Pretoria (founded in 1855) is the Administrative capital of South Africa, Cape Town and Bloemfontein being the Legislative and Judicial capitals respectively. If queried most people will call Pretoria THE capital of the country since most of the governmental business is enacted therein. Since independence there has been a low level Government approval to rename Pretoria Tshwane but officially this action has not yet occurred. The population hovers around the I million mark. Gauteng the province which includes mainly Johannesburg, Pretoria and Soweto has a population close to 8 million. Given the close proximity of these cities/townships it contains one of the largest metropolitan populations in the world.

Pretoria is world famous for its spring, purple blooming, Jacaranda tree, lined Avenues, particularly stunning in front of The Union (government buildings). Also particular noteworthy, burgundy, through vivid pink, racemes of Bougainvillea dangling from the ends of gigantic bushes often grace the whole sides of homes much as drab ivy does in Europe and North America. Considering the biodiversity of spectacular ornamental plants native to South Africa is it not surprising to realize that both these, the cities trademark botanical decor, are in fact South American natives?

Gardens, flowering bushes and trees made Pretoria one of the most beautiful capital cities I had seen The familiar Geranium, really a Pelargonium, of our annual gardens and native to South Africa, often grow on bushes with stems up to 8 cm in diameter. Proteas, the very showy national flower, grows abundantly in gardens. Myriads of types of cycad, one of the most ancient macro plant species thus far identified in the world, grow with swollen stumpy woody trunks adorned with green foliage emanating from the top providing an image of leafy foot stools. Unfortunately It would be impossible to do justice to South African Native Plants and ornamental gardens without creating a book sized chapter.

Avian species abound in the home gardens. A very old and folksy, book written, at an unspecified date by Dorothy Norman BA., published by Juta and Co. Cape Town and Johannesburg entitled "A Bird Book For South African Children" is a treasure of my library. It contains names and descriptions of about 20 familiar birds separated by lovable unsophisticated poems by J.Y. Gibson (eg. "The Thirsty, Dusty Birdies"). Bird names are given first in English Then Latin and finally in Afrikaans. Of course the early days of colonialism perpetrated the common occurrence worldwide of the naming of birds after English lookalikes, a familiar case for many being the American Robin actually a Thrush and not even in the same species grouping as the European Robin. South African examples are the Black Crow and the Golden Oriole. Some of the familiar birds among Ms. Norman's choices with funny/strange or very descriptive names include; Jacky Hangman who impales large insects from thorns to be devoured later; also of interest is it being bird of many calls, often unique to each individual. Mr. Toppie loves fruit laden gardens and warns of snakes by shrieking "Quick! Quick! To Calcutta!". The Noisy Robin Chat with the more common name Piet-Sy-Vrou (his song) feeds on garden insects. The Hoopoe is another bird, rather large in stature that was named after its call. Finally to end this treatment here is the Honey Guide, who feeds on bees, grubs and honey and is parasitic by nature, leaving its eggs in the Barbet's nest to be hatched and the young to be reared.

"End to apartheid in South Africa was negotiated in Pretoria. This was probably catalyzed largely from vociferous and multitudinous International opposition. Embargos were set in place on many crucial commodities by countries such as the USA, UK, and Canada, many jurisdictions in Europe and elsewhere which hampered greatly the operations of the White Supremist Government. Internal, increasingly devastating sabotage, by banned Black centered groups, like the ANC, on power stations, oil refineries, ports and railroads exacerbated the dilemma. First meetings to investigate whether common grounds could be established for negations on problems related to apartheid were undertaken in secret between the leader of the National Intelligence Service, Dr. Niel Bernard and Nelson Mandela (moved from Robben Island) in Poolsmoor Prison. An agreement on "Talks about Talks" resulted. However it was in 1985 that still secretive, but more official, overtures were undertaken on the matter by the P.W.Botha government. Nevertheless it was not until 1990 that the ANC and other banned organizations were recognized and Nelson Mandela was freed from 27 years incarceration. A variety of negotiations occurred under the umbrella of a mixture of Whites and Blacks called CODESA (Convention for a Democratic South Africa) which appeared productive until President De Klerk declared a Whites only vote on the results. This referendum, with a nearly 70% majority, upheld the principle of a continuation of reforms and negotiations. Blacks were becoming impatient with the lengthy negotiations and the negotiations were suspended. But the Biapatong massacre in 1992 in this region supposedly precipitated by the De Klerk government but carried out by hostile Zulus gave urgency to the resumptions of negotiations. At this point a truly multiparty negotiation began and despite near outright anarchy resulting from ultra right wing assignations of prominent leaders within the ANC and the South African Communist Party and an extremist fight wing attach on the Kempton Park negotiation Center area an interim constitutional agreement was reached. An all party election was held in 1994 in which the ANC won with 62% of the vote. Nelson Mandela was declared president. In a follow up move the controversial, but very important "Truth and Reconciliation Commission" was formed to deal with politically motivated crimes occurring during apartheid. As it turned out these latter were just considering the corrupt repressive and unjustly violent actions of White security forces. Sadly as we consider the present situation in South Africa violence and corruption are common occurrences.

## The Perverse City Of Mines

"The Mine Dances", a Saturday afternoon's form of entertainment in Johannesburg, was a not to be missed tourist attraction. This phrase, somewhat reminiscent of the title of a Sherlockian mystery, was poorly chosen and the event was no doubt exploitive, yet our group, including me, attended. The music and dance was provided entirely by different black tribes, members of which were local mine workers. The beat, pace, and dance steps were unique to each dance (tribal) group. Somehow the agenda was arranged such that the cadence and volume of sound increased throughout the progression of the program, until at the ending, the ground seemed to be literally quaking.

Following this very moving experience it seemed that drinks were in order, so the whole group retired to an upscale Johannesburg pub. Tables were laid out in a typically staid Victorian manner. Then in comes our boisterous mob of "elite", but motley, scientists and partners crashing down onto the chairs. Patrons and servers alike assumed a startled and defensive stand. Upon being summoned a server was asked to provide a carte du jour listing the available libations. George, our heavy drinking and very jovial host, announced to everyone's surprise that no proffered item fit the bill. He then sauntered over to my wife Maureen and asked if she would mind preparing the drink that he had enjoyed so much at our home in Toronto, for the pleasure of all his guests. Although shocked and surprised she agreed. The drink, Spanish Coffee, a now readily available staple of most bars, required rum, brandy, Kailua, dark coffee and thick whipped cream. The rum was the finest as specified by George and South African brandies also rank with the world's finest. The server dutifully supplied all the specified ingredients, together with a large supply of Cognac Snifters to our table, including, at Maureen insistence, a supply of long stemmed matches. Let the games begin! A crowd had now surrounded the table. I could sense a tremor of apprehension reaching me from the work station. A spoonful of rum, a jigger of Kailua, a jigger of Cognac and 100 ml of dark coffee, then light the match to ignite the mixture and whoosh a blue almost invisible flame appears. To conserve the alcohol content this is quickly doused by a dollop of whipped cream. Poor Maureen, the enthusiasm and the accolades from our group and servers alike, resulted only in a never ending call for refills, including sampling from the management, but not even one drink for her! This continuum ended only with the sating of the drinkers. The bus was then loaded and all except Maureen, who fell asleep from exhaustion, headed for the hotels singing. This was not the end of her trials and tribulations serving this drink as Spanish Coffee was often demanded during our extensive world travels.

Speaking of drinks, cane liquor was a cheap and potent substitute for vodka and could be consumed straight or in a mixture with fruit juices. In the case of the latter, a drink similar to our old Brazilian friend, the Caipirinha, was produced. So as might be expected in countries where the meteorological conditions are suitable for sugar production, some of this commodity ends up fueling an alcoholic concoction.

Following the above chronicle of extravagant white frivolity, it seems appropriate to sober up with an account of one of the many deplorable inequities of the black versus white population. Throughout South Africa, white people's habitations have an average floor area of 33 square meters for each person compared to only 4 square meters for each black person. These statistics have been approximated from 2001 figures in the New Internationalist, "The New South Africa – The Facts". Johannesburg itself has an area of about 1,700 square kilometres or about 2,000 persons per square kilometre.

Johannesburg and its townships owe their existence to the mining industry that formed along the precious metals rich Witwatersrand (Rand) reef. Herein existed a uniquely rich deposit of gold, platinum, palladium and other rarer precious metals, from which these valuable metals could be relatively easily recovered. Almost 50% of the worlds gold reserves are found in South Africa and although declining the annual production is still greater than 10% of the world total.

During Apartheid the conditions in the mines were abysmal at best and I was not allowed to descend to see a mine in operation. Additionally, black miners who often traveled long distances in order to come and provide monetary support for their families, were paid a pittance, their main "perk" being "free lodging" in overcrowded bunkhouses. The treatment of miners by foremen was often brutal. Typically miners were allowed only two weeks annual leave to be back with their loved ones. Fatal accidents were frequent and mine safety, even as recently as 2007, was still very much an issue.

Maureen and I we were kept totally ignorant of the riots going on in Soweto during our tenure. It was only when we reached our next destination, Kenya, that this state of affairs came to our attention. Upon our return from Kruger Park, as we approached Johannesburg from the south, the sky in the distance was billowing in smoke as one might expect from a large bush fire. In pointing this out to one of our hosts, my question as to its origin was carefully brushed aside. Apparently our families in North America were well aware of the happenings and were frantic for news of our safety. On air communications were sketchy as television didn't exist until shortly after our departure, but of course this medium was subjected to intense restrictions.

Soweto is a well-publicized black township outside Johannesburg. This rapidly growing municipality, itself consists of about 60 (estimate 2006) individual townships. In 1948, the Afrikaner controlled Parliament started implementing Apartheid principles in earnest and the near total expulsions of blacks from "white designated" areas in South Africa began. This caused black townships to grow astronomically and none more so than Soweto.

It was easy to tire of Johannesburg, its tensions, the White elite in the businesses world and even of my group as a whole. Fortunately I was slated on my own to travel to the National Physical Research Laboratories at the CSIR in Pretoria, which gave me a more direct view of South Africa and its people and problems.

## Cape Province the Gardeners Dream

Roadside ditches strewn with indigenous Calla Lilies bordering on fields rife with Proteas re-awoke my memory of the Bougainvillea and impatiens covered verges of the Brazilian country side, suggesting again that I was again about to experience a natural botanical setting the richness of which was unique only to relatively small earthly segments. In fact if the average household garden in many temperate climates such as the Northeast US and South-central Canada be inventoried the dominate resplendent ornamental annuals will have originated growing wild within one of these 2 confines.

My 2 South African scientific conference journeys were completed in this picturesque area of Cape Province. It was easy to forget distracted by this prolific beauty that my mandate was to give a series of talks at the University of Cape Town and adjacent areas. Outside of Witts in Johannesburg the University of Cape Town is perhaps the second best known University in Africa. As far as many rankings are concerned the latter's academic status is often considered number 1. At the time of my visit the campus was totally white dominated. Its location on the slopes of Devils Peak is resplendent to say the least. As In Johannesburg at this University my talks were politely and gratefully received. Additionally as before, the posed questions were thought provoking and in some cases beyond my immediate capability to answer.

Cape Town was the initial White settled area in South Africa and is located in the shadow and on the rolling hills below world famous Table Mountain. In my estimation it is the most beautiful city that I have ever experienced in my extensive world travels. In Victoria the Capital of British Columbia in Canada are the famous and beautiful Butchart Gardens. However ever even as a proud Canadian and a great admirer of British gardens including Kew, I must admit that the Kirstenbosch National Gardens in Capetown on the slopes of Table Mountain are more spectacular. The comparison is somewhat unfair considering the nourishment of the latter by the Mediterranean type climate and the natural biodiversity that occurs in South Africa as a whole. Kew gardens in London may contain a greater group of plant species due to the largesse of 18th century explorers/ colonists, including contributions from the uniquely famous Botanical explorer Charles Darwin. But the Cape Town setting and the impressive display of spectacular native flora in its matchless setting elevates Kirstenbosch to my number 1. In contrast to all this beauty the Cape Town area has become today, infested with HIV infection and resultant AIDS, tuberculosis and other serious infectious disease. Because of its port and easy rail and air access to the northern cities and townships, it is the center of the illicit drug trade and attendant violence.

Cape Town became the center for countless opponents of the antiapartheid movement. Many of their leaders were incarcerated on Robben Island located in the sea just 11km to the south. Also in relation antiapartheid activities in the city Nelson Mandela gave his first self-determination speech on the City Hall steps on the first day of his freedom in 1990.

Cape Province (Capital-Cape Town) as a whole is divided into 3 areas eastern, northern and western The latter includes much of the fruit and vegetable farming and famous wine industry in South Africa. Most of the Western Cape is dominated by towns with quaint Cape Dutch architecture, characterized by thick walled white lime washed homes and farms. Of particular note in our activities in this area were the municipalities of Paarl and Stellenbosch. Around Paarl we viewed vineyards and sampled their bounty in the form of wines and brandies. Paarl is also the center of the tree fruit growing area being particularly suitable for growing peaches, plums and pears. The town is situated in the Berg Valley upon the slopes of which are the vineyards. Stellenbosch, like Paarl is dominated by oaks, (some now National monuments) imported and planted in the early history of White settlement and is also typified by Cape Dutch architecture. I gave a talk at Stellenbosch University, in the Physics Department, which was a noteworthy challenge in my career, since I had only to that date dabbled in this broad subject area, but survive I did.

Surprisingly to many, Cape Point the southern tip of the Cape of Good Hope in Cape Province is not the most southerly tip of Africa. This honor goes to Cape Agulus some kilometers to the east but also in Cape Province. One Sunday we thought to make a journey from our Cape Town Hotel to the Cape of Good Hope National Reserve and as close to the Cape as possible. We had a rented car but alas had neglected to fill the gas tank on Saturday and in true White South African fashion everything, including gas stations, was closed on Sunday resulting in only a very short foray into this area and then an about turn back to the city. We could however see in the distance relatively high rocky promontories which we supposed to lead to the desired destination.

## Post Conference Shenanigans

Tough country exits on the High Veldt on the highway east-north-east from Johannesburg on the route to the jewel of South Africa and certainly the greatest game park in Africa in most citizens' minds, Kruger National Park. Brown parched foliage and crack riddled land abounds during this the dry season. Wealthy farmers, the male called Baas, by his workers live well back from the main route in large acacia and eucalypt enshrouded farmsteads bespeaking of much more verdant periods in the year. Even now kitchen gardens thrive watered from wells drilled deep into the aquifer. In stark contrast are the black workers hovels clustered together in the Kraal, usually on the poorest land bordering the highway. A bare subsistence living exists in the Kraal.

Delegates to this conference are being treated to a well organized trip to Kruger. Temperatures are moderate and the air is dry before our decent through the remnants of the Drakensberg Mountains in their northern, less spectacular region onto the Low Veldt.

The Drakensburg Mountains, known as the heart of the Zulu Kingdom, to the south of our route contain some of the most spectacular scenery in South Africa. For example herein is most of the cave rock art (now in 2007 being backdated 10's of thousands of years from earlier estimations to 175,000 years old). Threatened flora and fauna are here located. As an example Devils Tooth area has a high ridge where the only examples of Protea Nubigena (protea being the national flower and common in flower arrangements world wide, grows in an abundance of species elsewhere in South Africa). A World Heritage site, the Mlambonja Wilderness Area resides in these Mountains containing the very visible pyramidal Cathedral Peak. Perhaps most famous of Drakensburg locals is the Thukela Falls which cascades a total of 948 meters. Although occurring in 5 vertical steps it is considered the second highest falls in the world. The Mzimkhulu Wilderness area in the south has peaks that are as yet unconquered by climbers which seems strange when it appears obvious that the mountains here are lower than just north. However the valleys are also very deep making a view from the plains deceptive.

Back to our trip from Johannesburg to Kruger through the northern Drakensburgs; one could not characterize the terrain as mountainous or filled with valleys as above. A rugged, rock strewn, arid area presented itself as we descended along a winding road. The flora was dominated by cactus and succulent species. From the bus the large size of these was spectacular to those of us from colder climes. Of course we were probably not aware of the smaller variety of which there were undoubtedly many. Some of, particularly cactus, had giant, stunningly colored, flowers.

My seemingly constant conference protagonist, Professor F was the Key Note Speaker at this conference but he and I had become closer acquaintances now (one never became a friend unless you were, according to his scrutiny a super star). This the day of the film camera and I had an unpretentious single lens reflex camera (all I could afford) with one lens of relatively poor speed and magnification. On the other hand my acquaintance had an obviously expensive camera and a variety of lenses neatly arranged in a large camera bag some of which he had purchased to fit the requirements of this trip. Although a short man he cut an impressive figure always stranding erect on the bus, camera to his eye. His purpose was obviously to use the device like a monocular and to snap pictures as desired. The lens would have had to be "fast" i.e. highly light gathering. Such equipment was exceptionally expensive. Additionally he told me the camera integrated the light to obtain the proper exposure, if true expensive again. I say "if true" because my knowledge of optical capability suggested this would be questionable. In any case he had seen something that he thought I might be interested in seeing with his camera so he kindly pointed to the spot, with no hint of the items identity and I looked through his camera only to see the normal terrain. "Then he asked "can you see it?" and of course I said "yes". Luckily he did not ask me what I saw!

Lunch time had arrived and we alighted about half way down at an African style bistro (low with external walls of local sand/clay mix) having a separate eating area for groups. Male Black Servers dressed immaculately in bright white floated about the tables serving a fixed English/Victorian era menu consisting of several dishes. The Victorian Menu and living styles among the white population will be described in detail in the section on Johannesburg. A swimming pool was available in the back for those wishing a cooling break.

The decent to the lunch café break had taken us from the dry moderate temperatures of the High Veldt to more humid heat which was soon to manifest itself full bloom when the Low Veldt orange groves and banana plantations appeared in the muggy haze. Startlingly white Calla Lilies grew in small clusters in ditches as wild flowers. This served as a reminder that the vast majority of House Flowers and Garden Annuals which we grow in North America originate from Southern Africa and Brazil. Southern Africa in many areas is like an inverted dinner plate with elevated center (the High Veldt) falling to a broad rim (the Low Veldt) an elevation change of about 1.5 km. Kruger Park is in the lower area. It is important to emphasize that there is an extreme difference in the climate and hence biosphere conditions in the 2 veldts.

Entering Kruger National Park is now possible from 9 points along the western boarder, but when we were there the best approach was by the Paul Kruger Gate towards the south.. From thence we traveled to the Lower Sabie Rest Camp further to the south in the eastern area. Hear we were presented with a camp about 0.5 km in circumference surrounded by a low fence. At 2 or 3 points it was possible to exit on footpaths and park staff could be seen entering, often on foot in the morning. I had little desire to venture from the protection of the Park confines, on foot on my own. (Still indelibly stuck in my mind was an early experience in Northern Canada when as an Earth Sciences employee I had wandered into the bush with our camp cook to hunt for deer with a 22 caliber rifle. Upon an un expected encounter with a large Moose, the stupid man shot it in the head which of course only proved to sting him like a bee as the small bullet ricocheted away. The understandably angry animal made a dash towards us at which point we grabbed for a tree and made mad climbs to safe heights!).

The guest living structures In the Kruger Rest Camp were rondovals which are circular in shape. Posted inside the doors were posted notices which stated; In case of an insurrection lie down in a safe place". This seemed rather ironic to me that Park Officials postulated there could be any safe place in an insurrection. The danger of "insurrection" came from the intrusion on the eastern park boarder of armed bands from neighboring Mozambique, a country often in a state of turmoil.

The Park has an interesting history of white occupation. First all the Parks in the area were denuded of wildlife due to the Rinderpest virus. Appearing then is Major, James Stephenson-Hamilton appointed by the government as the 1st Warden of a small area called the Sabi Game Reserve in the southern region of what was to become the Kruger Park. This later came into being with the strong lobbying of the Warden for the addition of the area from the Sabi River to the Olifants River. There were few visitors to the area considering the Low Veldts reputation as the white mans grave due to high incidences of Malaria. Those who came were often poachers entering along the eastern border. The Malarial scourge together with an earlier problem, the tsetse fly, were eliminated With the wildlife population still hanging by a thread Stevenson-Hamilton put together a small police force to control malicious human intruders. This although meeting with limited success brought a degree of safety to the animals. The increase in numbers of antelope and the various species types in this grouping were mainly aided by Hamilton-Stephenson's practice of shooting the predator animals that he encountered during his frequent trips throughout the park. This custom he later stopped when he noted the draw that animals such as lions had for tourists. Stevenson-Hamilton employed a railway that in 1912 was constructed through the park to entice tourists to make rest stops. Today the numbers of annual tourists are placed at more than 1 million.

Here and there a few Wildebeests were seen gathered at a water hole, a Water Buffalo looked lazily from the tall grass, a few Impala bounded characteristically across the road, not one carnivore had been seen or had been confirmed by any of the tourists in cars whom the bus driver queried, not the thousands of animals that we had been regaled about on the bus and in communications from the organizing committee.

To me Kruger during my first visit was a vast emptiness except for birds which seemed to abound in just the opposite way to large animals. In fact the driver grew weary of my many interruptions with bird identification questions during his intense concentration to spot animal life. Few of my traveling companions seemed to care that there are 520 species of birds that have been identified in the Park and that Kruger was one of the top named birding locals in the World. Of the 520 species I did, or supposed I had, identified 62 species in 2 separate trips 7 years apart. The array was so spectacular in bird coloring and/or form or both that I must hold back in my listing here only to those of special note.

Birds occupy a large range of niches in our ecosystems. Just as hyenas are scavengers of dead animal carcasses so The Lappet Faced Vulture seeks the same food source. A variety of avian species are insect eaters. These range from the Oxpeckers and Red Billed Buffalo Weavers, seen riding on living large game as they ply their service, to the relatively small brilliantly rainbow coloured Bee Eaters often seen carrying large insects in their bills as they fly. In this same category are the swift flying colorful acrobatic Rollers. Then we have the species that occupy various height levels in a single area such as the canopy occupying, the red crowned Grey Loerie contrasted with the seemingly out of balance (oversized bill) Southern Ground Hornbill and gigantic flightless Ostrich. Then there are birds which very similar to those in Canada and the US are much more colorful. Standing out among these are Burchell's and other Glossy Starlings which shimmer in a rainbow of darker colors but otherwise in size shape and mannerisms mimic our drab birds of similar name. Perhaps not surprisingly there are the ubiquitous, European introduced, so called House Sparrow (really a Weaver-finch). An oddity amongst a collection of birds of strange appearance are the ugly, menacing and immense Marabou Storks lurking about on bare tree branches.

One would be very remiss not to mention snakes and crocodiles of which there are legion in Africa. Among the snakes one of our group reported sighting a 2.5 meter long deadly black mamba gliding through the grass head held menacingly high. As our bus was parked for window viewing I spotted a sluggish and fat Puff Adder slowly crawl beneath the vehicle thankfully finally emerging on the other side. It was then that I appreciated that we had been forbidden from alighting from our position of safety.

One evening my wife and I and the other scientists and spouses were treated to a barbeque of game which had been culled to prevent over population which could cause excessive grazing damage. I hesitate to mention in detail what was offered in order not to offend in any detail. One amusing incident was a question I put to a bus driver when I asked if what I was pointing to was the Southern Cross Constellation. He stated no, which greatly confused me because I was becoming more confident in its identification. Next morning I felt a tap on my shoulder and when I turned around there was the sheepish driver admitting I had been correct and that he had been drunk!

During my second visit to Kruger, 7 years after the first, the driver found himself literally picking his way through the vast arrays of animals of multi species. At one point a herd of Wildebeest began flowing like a fast moving river from the right side of the bus in a surge that seemed to last steadily for a matter of many minutes finely ending in a few stragglers of what must have been injured or elderly animals. No obviously young animals were seen leading us to believe that they were swept along as a protection in the center of the pack. We were able to see Kudus, Hippopotamus, stately Giraffes, bounding Impalas, Elephants male and female Lions and even a Leopard mauling its prey up in a tree. With few exceptions Antelope type species maintain herds for protection, thus offering up only a few, usually the old, weak and injured, to the predators.

The Rest Camp bordered on the Crocodile River, which as it turned out, was appropriately named. Therein On could view many crocodiles and at a deep area of the river a short distance from the camp resided 4 or five hippos. It was hard to judge the exact number because of their habit of ducking under just before being counted. But it was at night that the river really came to life; the sounds were deafening, particularly roars and continuous splashing. Any tourists managing a sleep near the river must have a high tolerance for the constant cacophony. By morning light one expected to see chunks of mutilated carcasses and ruby colored flowing water, but nothing appeared from the rising mist but the clean shores and clear waters of yesterday. Here and there lazy looking crocodiles bathed in the slanting sun rays including some opportunists with noses dangling hopefully in the edge of the water.

Bidding adieu to the splendors of Kruger I was reminded that the foresight of the founders back when National Parks were a rarity anywhere in the world was indeed noteworthy. Yet one also might cogently argue that had the White Settlers not stolen the land from the Black African Aboriginals no Park would have to have been designated and the relatively unspoiled wilderness would have extended from sea to sea. Environmental alteration and often severe damage would not now be an issue. In stating such euphemistic sounding sentences it is also important to remember that there was much devastating conflict amongst the Aboriginals which often took a high toll in human lives (as of course have wars amongst mainly White populations ). Widespread locals including, but not exclusive to, South American Countries, African Countries and Australia have suffered such problems from White Settlers. Many readers and myself have seen the problem in the US and Canada in our dealings with Aboriginals and Blacks.

The return trip to Johannesburg had one unusual event. Most of the group was tired and snoozing off and on. The journey up the Drakensburgs was again notable for arid succulent filled road sides. The enormous flowers seemed even more spectacular on the way back. Back on the High Veldt, after we had traveled for I hour or so I noted a large expanse of smoke dense beginning to rise on the horizon in the direction of Johannesburg.. It was something you might expect back home from a forest fire or a large area of burning tires. Upon approaching closer the smoke sources individualized into a massive collections of plumes. Unfortunately and probably purposely the highway was too distant from the source to see anything in more detail.

## The Big Smoke

Upon our return from a Kruger Park adventure as we approached Johannesburg from the south, the sky in the distance was billowing in smoke as one might expect from a large bush fire. In pointing this out to one of our hosts my question as to its origin was carefully brushed aside.

An Important comment about my ignorance and lack of sensitivity to the 1976 riots in Soweto is difficult for me to remember. Compelling research that I undertook both in printed and movie venues has left me shocked that I undertook my projects in this country, especially the second one in the late 80's. The excuse I used that my focus was intensely on my science and that had little to do with politics, no longer holds water. Today, February 11 2012, for example I watched a movie made before the end of Apartheid called, "A Dry White Country". In this excellent portrayal of the 1976 riots I leaned that children as young as 11 years old were held and tortured in jails under appalling conditions for up to 850 days without charges being laid. Statements were made such as "Justice and Law are distant cousins" in the cases of blacks and that a black man willingly "added his body to the growing pile because they (Whites) won't be able to play the game forever)! The scenes of torture graphically displayed and the condition of the mangled dead bodies extended beyond atrocious.

The Community of Soweto (short for South Western Townships) is a well publicized "Black" township slightly south and west of Johannesburg. This rapidly growing municipality, itself consists of about 60 (estimate 2006) individual townships while 30 or so others exist in the area but outside this grouping some strictly representing different ethnic groupings. Soweto was the name adopted in 1963 for this grouping. Klipspruit was the first Township established in 1904 near a SW municipal sewage farm by the British by moving the Blacks and Indians from the Johannesburg Municipal boundary during a "plague" outbreak. Following the discovery of gold on "The Reef" in 1886 Blacks flooded into the area that became "White" Johannesburg to work in the mines. The mine waste dumps occur throughout the Soweto area and contaminate the ground and surface water with acid runoff.

In 1948 the Afrikaner controlled Parliament started implementing Apartheid principles in earnest and the near total expulsions of Blacks from "White designated" areas in South Africa began in earnest causing Black Townships to grow astronomically, non more so than Soweto

The townships near Johannesburg are growing yearly as landless rural blacks flock into the area. The population of Soweto as a whole is approximates 1 million. To illustrate the deprivation in services only one hospital, built in World War 2, but now admittedly the world's largest, services this population. The large township of Orlando within Soweto, formed in 1934 is well-known for the spot in which police first opened fire on the 10,000 or so strong group of students during our 1976 visit to South Africa. This, of course, was the event which drew strong world attention and the subsequent rash of sanctions against White South Africa. Thus in the Black struggles to freedom Soweto bears a landmark scar.

Even within Soweto there is a discrepancy in living standard but its economics were restricted by Apartheid principles. In the early 90's there was about a 6 times better wage earned by persons living in Johannesburg than in the surrounding Townships. Electrical supplies are erratic within Soweto, with most of the poorer population unable to afford this service. The year of our visit, 1976, found only 20% of Soweto homes with electricity, the large hospital, 2 movie theaters, 2 hotels. The poverty and the absence of electricity in most homes meant cooking was done over fire; hence the smoke that pervaded the sky over this entire area in 1976. Soweto's Blacks were permitted to operate small shops but the Township was developed mainly as a "bedroom community". Homes of brick exist in Soweto but large areas of not meant to be permanent makeshift housing still occur. Education, though improving after Apartheid is still sub standard. Health Care is abysmal and the generally poorer state of health I due not only to lack of access to modern facilities but food shortage and disease, particularly HIV/AIDS. In the case of the latter the area has one of the highest incidences anywhere in the world!

## Where Only His Body could be Imprisoned

Like electrified ether It pervaded decisions of government, determined the actions of all peoples and ultimately gave the non-white majority their freedom. From his lowly prison cell for the extent of his stay his unending ubiquity swirled as the determining force throughout Apartheid South Africa. Of course it was the fear of this indefinable energy that kept Nelson Mandela in charge.

Although I never encountered Mandela in the body in my trips to South Africa I almost immediately recognised his overpowering presence in the irrational actions of governance that stumbled forth in reaction to the certitude of his influence.

Tap, tap, tap, for 25 years in the blistering sun Nelson Mandela shaped pieces of white stone in the prison called Robben Island to meet meaningless government regulations. To the Warders cry of wakker, staan op he arose at 5:30 am, used his cast iron "sanitary bucket" known as ballie, then shaved and cleansed his body in the few inches of water held in a dish shaped porcelain lid covering this contrivance.

Mandela's prison environment, particularly during apartheid, provides the only real method of putting the necessary exclamation mark on any account of being in the South Africa at that time. This is most particularly because although he was forced in body to endure the inhuman physical conditions his spirit could not be suppressed. So what of this insult to humanity?

Geographically Robben Island is about 12 km west of Green Point in Cape Town and roughly 8 km directly south of Blouberg Provincial Reserve.

Famous mainly as a penal colony Robben Island has over all an unsavory reputation. Early on during low water it was connected by land it was inhabited with black tribes. Very shortly after colonization by the Dutch in the 1600's it was used to house prisoners from various Dutch colonies in Asia and Africa. It also has the dubious distinction of at one time housing a leper colony. Its notoriety comes in large part from the maximum security prison constructed here and operated between 1961 and the early 90's to imprison the three thousand or so political prisoners, mainly involved in the anti apartheid movement. Few prisoners ever escaped the island, the most notable escapee being its first detainee who somehow swam the distance to shore through opposing currents and shark infested waters.

The island was a shipping hazard particularly in the early days when the sail ruled the seas. Light houses have been built and rebuilt over the years and are pretty well unnecessary in these days of radar and GPS. The locale was militarily fortified during the second world war.

Conditions on the island are very arid and most of the 1 km wide island is only a few meters above sea level. Today the location has been named a World Heritage Site by UNESCO in 1999 and houses a Museum. The museum was established in 1996. Its mission is to maintain the unique and universal symbolism of the Island and among other things contribute to the socio-economic development and transformation of South African Society. To this end I might hasten to add that although no longer a prison its mission for the future is not unlike the past where the incarceration of one man and a few other dominant confederates provided a universal symbolism that unintentionally for its Apartheid Jailers and their leaders lead to the socio- political transformation of South African humanity

# Chapter 6

# Japan

## Japan Introduction

In truth I think I liked Japan least amongst the countries in which I worked.

Claustrophobia pervaded not only the cities, particularly Tokyo, but also the countryside for hundreds of miles. Town upon town, terraced agricultural land resulting in fields upon fields and narrow copses of trees strung out forever along the route of the Bullet Train. Unlike China where physical contact caused crowds of urban pedestrians to move as a swarm the indeterminable hordes in Japanese cities moved in an orderly fashion. However in central Tokyo, unlike Beijing, the sidewalks were narrow, shop fronts continuous, vehicular traffic endless and exhaust fumes vehemently choking. These latter were layered in stagnant clouds trapped on the sides by buildings and above by a blanket of elevated roadways or subway lines. Even on windy days the air at street level in sections of the city such as these the air never moved.

Penetrating odours were horrific In Tokyo, where I spent the majority of my Japanese tenure. Predominant among this stinking miasma was exhaust, ventilating sewers and uncollected garbage.

The formality of Japanese people provided me with a barricade to the casual friendships which in other jurisdictions, even in spite of language differences, provided a much needed break in the non working time silence. Even the knowledge that the root of this formality was a statement of respect failed to assuage my deep rooted sense of loneliness.

One of the joys for me of residing in foreign locals has commonly been the introduction to and the consumption of local cuisine. My distaste for Japanese food removed another of the usual pleasures of my nomadic existence, but this is another story to be unfolded in a separate section below.

## Embarrassing Muddle

First impressions sometimes and I admit probably very unfairly, dominate my overall impressions of a Country. The fact that I came to detest all Japanese cuisine and have an unfavourable memory of Japan in general seems strongly interrelated.

The New Otani Hotel and your average Japanese style guest accommodation were totally unrelated. As a Guest Lecturer at the 9th Internationl Conference on Atomic Spectroscopy and the 22nd Colloquium Spectroscopicum Internationale 4-8 September 1981, Tokyo, Japan Maureen and I were ensconced all expenses paid in this elaborate edifice, one of the newest and finest American style hotels in Tokyo-Strike One. Abiding here was akin to remaining in Toronto. Granted upon stepping outside one was presented with alien sights and sounds. Most particularly one was engulfed in typical Japanese landscape gardening almost devoid of flowers and this was Strike Two. In my mind flowering plants in abundance are the only essential ingredient in attractive landscape design. Tragically I went from the typical North American to the Ugly North America in one single step. Unlike my usual procedure of greedily drinking in the ambiance of a new jurisdiction I found myself in violation of my treasured principles of travel.

Strike Three was again very non typical of my travelling behavior. Unfamiliar with Tokyo dining opportunities the decision was made to have our first evening meal in the New Otani main restaurant. This locale was nearly deserted meaning that we were descended upon by a phalanx of servers. This group consisted of young women dressed in typical Japanese costumes. Menus were dispersed and we were left to consider a variety of dishes all carefully described in English. For me only one item had any culinary appeal. This was tempura which was actually of Portuguese origin introduced into Japan during the ancient Shogun period. Consisting of battered sea foods and vegetables to be dipped in sauce it appeared to be the only choice of any real substance.

Soon the servers appeared with chopsticks, North American cutlery and bowels of a steaming dark coloured liquid. Soup being a particular favourite of mine I descended upon this greedily with the very small spoon that was amongst the proffered cutlery. This dish had a strange very spicy taste very unlike any soup I had consumed in other worldwide jurisdictions. Part the way through Maureen alerted me to the knot of servers who looking our way were engaged in what appeared to be a fit of laughter partially hidden behind their hands. Finally one of the group broke away from her colleagues arriving at our table and whispering in my ear the very sagacious observation, sauce not soup!

Perhaps it was a sign of things to come. On my morning jog on the day of the Conference opening sessions, I felt the ground shake momentarily beneath my feet, in a manner that you expect when a monster truck rumbles over a railroad crossing. The problem was it was 3AM and there was no truck and no tracks. This minor tremor I was soon to learn was a common occurrence in this earthquake prone country. Indeed another bombshell was imminent at the Conference Introductory program when we learned that sadly the Conference Chairman had passed away that night.

Scientific Research presentations are the main purpose of a conference of this type. These purport to outline advances that have occurred in the subject area. A Keynote Speaker, a person judges to be the most prestigious in the field provides exciting insights to initiate the Scientific Program. Plenary and Invited lectures are presented by recognized experts and usually are major summaries of the most important advancements together with prognostications for future developments. Used to set the tone for the day or for individual sessions these speakers are followed by presentations of submitted papers that have been approved and accepted by the Conference Committee. Presentations of this type are given in oral or poster format. A variety of impressive halls within the New Otani Hotel was the venue for the conference.

Accompanying persons and mixed Social Programs are also significant components of these conferences. The Conference banquet was memorable to most for its truly Japanese style content. My distaste of Japanese food was this time balanced by Saki served in traditional wooden boxes. An unique event to the Tokyo conference was a 5 Km mixed running race which I was fortunate enough to win. This together with an Invited Lecture were my only conference contributions.

I particularly wish to mention the Invited Lecture by a USA colleague, Jim Winefordner. It seemed to me that I was always at a run to try to keep near the forefront of our science. My reading skills hampered as they were meant I had difficulty remaining abreast of the latest journal material. Jim had a particular facility in presenting material simply and concisely while still conveying the depths of the important material. For me attendance at a Jim Winefordner lecture was a short cut around the necessity of days spent toiling over journals. True to form he dazzled me with his contribution at this conference.

Although not an official conference function all the Plenary and Invited lecturers were invited to the home of Professor Fuswa and his wife. This was a particular honour for the participants. Invitations to Japanese homes are seldom proffered. A Japanese University professor even of the high stature of Professor Fuswa receives only moderate remuneration. Housing in Tokyo being obscenely expensive the apartment to which we came was not surprisingly 5 stories up in a building without an elevator. Tastefully furnished the unit was contained in 3 rooms. Unquestionably the abundant hospitality must have consumed at least a month's salary. How privileged were Maureen and I to have had such a wonderfully magnanimous experience?

Tours for Conference Scientific participants were few but a visit to the Old Tokyo district of Asaskusa was a must. The approach to this attraction is through Nakamise, a shopping complex specializing in Japanese "trinkets". Passing through Maureen and I were overwhelmingly showered with items purchased by one of my Post Doctoral student and his wife who had come to me from Chiba a Tokyo suburb. Sensoij a Buddhist Temple is the main attraction of the district. Although spectacular in layout, traditional decorations and colouration, tourists could be forgiven in judging this as just another temple in a maze that covers this country much as churches seem to dominate the urban landscape of Europe.

## Into the Bowels of the Clubs and Brothels

Dodging ball bearing like Pachinko balls rolling down the sidewalk was my fate on a first evening jog in my new location. Due to traffic and tides of humanity, jogging was impossible in most of Tokyo in the daytime. Here night clubs, strip joints and brothels extended this difficulty well into the night.

From the very upscale New Otani Hotel into the heart of this trendy area replete with Clubs and a noted Red Light locale went I. At the termination of the conference phase of my Tokyo sojourn I was moved to a private and conservative residence, the International House of Japan. Strangely this bastion for visiting academics was right in the heart of this notoriously sleazy locale called Roppongi, sometimes referred to as the Poor Man's Ginza, in the district of Minato. Patronized commonly by foreigners since the end of WW 2, Roppongi in the early 1980's, was notable for its high concentration of Japanese English speaking citizenry.

The University of Tokyo Hongo campus, Hongo-sanchome station was reachable in about 40 minutes with only one line change from the main Roppongi Subway station. An easy 8 minute walk from my residence to the subway station entrance each day included passing a fascinating small shop which specialized particularly in fresh, locally grown fruit. Grapefruit sized peaches displayed prominently in the window became my culinary weakness to the extent that I seemed to be sucked from the sidewalk into this shop at each evening passage. Due to long hours spent at the University my nightly stroll to the residence was greeted along Gaien-Higashi Dori by the technicolour grandeur twinkling from base to top of the Tokyo Tower.

Even had I been single clubbing and the lure of Pachinko Parlors, strip clubs and brothels would have been lost on me. This being said it was impossible in the evenings while jogging or walking not to be awash in the external atmosphere of these establishments. To wit, one evening upon awaking at about 3:30am and departing my lodgings as was my habit to have my daily jog the relative quiet of this area at that hour was suddenly shattered by the clatter of high heels in hot pursuit. This and the accompanying giggling caused me to look behind. To my astonishment a small group of Roppongi's finest "ladies" had me in their sights. With that detail I wish to cease this account to let the reader devise the ending. Suffice it to say that business that evening must have been dismal.

Gambling for money is illegal in Tokyo yet the multitudinous existence of Pachinko parlors seemed strange. Resembling a vertically inclined pinball table the pachinko devices are lined up row upon row much like slot machines, giving the parlors the atmosphere of a gambling casino. Always jammed with players seated elbow to elbow, each contestant releases metal balls which one by one fall through the workings most of which descend harmlessly, as expected into the bottom. Infrequently a ball finds its way into a winners slot whence the player is awarded with a trifling prize. If you are from curiosity inclined to follow this winning contestant, you will discover that this seemingly worthless prize can be exchanged for real money at shops that appear unrelated being some distance away from the Pachinko parlor.

Ah but yes there was the Purple Onion. Forgotten even by today's Internet this dominant structure set back on a wide sidewalk at a major intersection, this source of nightly cacophony in 1981 was the mother lode of clubbing activity amongst the young, beautiful people. Many's an evening I stood near its precincts just to view the comings and goings. Here is a mystery worth solving; how could this iconic landmark of the early 80's have disappeared so completely.

Drumming at a volume that even penetrated the walls of my room in the residence bluntly drew attention to a Matsuri (festival) celebrating the rice harvest. An investigation on foot located several sites on small vacant properties in our area that had been elaborately decorated featuring purveyors of food from stalls that that reminded me of those that resided in Canadian midways. Here the similarity ended. Curious I decide to sample the wares. My experiment was a dish that resembled egg-in-the-hole but covered profusely in a milky appearing sauce. To my horror the taste was more medicinal than egg flavoured and a nearby trash barrel was soon soiled by my vomit.

Large horizontally mounted barrel shaped drums toping a structure 2 meters above the ground with forward balanced, muscular drummers pounding out the melody with fat sticks pervade my memory. Yet Internet investigations in 2010 of this event showed drummer groups consisting of a row of drums sitting side by side vertically on the ground played by anemic looking seated musicians. No way could i imagine the drama and cacophony of the early 80's emanating from this sorry arrangement.

## Bastion for the International Elite

A $200 (today's dollars) per day room was provided free by the Japan Society for the Promotion of Science under a Fellowship I received as a Visiting Scientist in the Department of Chemistry at the University of Tokyo. The International House of Japan, referred to widely as a residence for the Elite was my unbelievable destination. In my case as far as elite went nothing could have been further from the truth. I still have a great curiosity as to what criteria were applied in my case to land me in this environment. My perception is that as a Member Professor Fuswa, a well defined Elite Scientist, used his exceptional Influence to sneak me through the undoubted not inconsiderable red tape. Our finances in the early 80's had dictated that my travel clothing consisted of one suit, 2 pairs of pants a few shirts, holey socks and underwear and the shoes I was wearing all fitting in one relatively small battered suit case. Thus upon entering these "elite" precincts I required a lot of nerve and concern that no one of importance was in the lobby.

Dating from the Edo period of the early 17th Century this property had been occupied by a Clan of Feudal Lords and was known as the Mansion of Kyogoku. With funding from the Rockefeller Foundation the buildings and grounds underwent extensive renovation in 1976. The property was run as a nonprofit organization.

The grounds were particularly beautiful consisting of a broad area of grass extending out from the front patio. This was scattered with rocks, bright red benches and carefully clipped low bushes. A pond modeled from the Heian Period (794 to 1185) was sequestered there-in. The backdrop consisted of low trees and shrubs, many of the trees being flowering Japanese Cherry.

When on the premises i took care not to leave my room except to go and come. Although having the odd breakfast there-in I was careful to do so during early hours when few others were present. Prowling about and jogging was done in the Am hours and off the grounds. The idea for this establishment during my tenure was to engender interaction between the elite scholars in residence. Needless to say I avoided this interaction which I considered to be way out of my league.

## Mysterious Proceedings

Hard at work in my office frequent unfamiliar annoying, piercing, beeping episodes below my third floor window were ruining my already tenuous concentration. Not yet mandated in Canada (1981) trucks in Japan were equipped with devices that automatically emitted this warning beeping sequence as soon as the gear lever was engaged in reverse. My office it turned out was directly above a busy loading dock.

Ranked amongst the finest universities in the world, my tenure in the Department of Chemistry as a Visiting Professor was an exciting prospect. Without doubt my intention had been to spend the majority of time in the laboratory. Unlike in Toronto I had no Administrative responsibility, Research Grant proposal preparation/report drudgery and no manuscripts to prepare which in that jurisdiction seemed to consume the vast majority of my working hours. The forced concentration on these duties cast made me wonder whether the obvious success in our research might have little to do with me personally, but was perhaps resulting almost entirely from my skilled and ambitious Graduate Students, Post Doctoral fellows and Guest Scientists. Here I supposed was my opportunity to reassess my laboratory and research skills.

Boldly I entered the laboratory of the famous Professor Fuswa (not his real name). A quick appraisal of this facility confirmed that all the lab ware, chemicals and instrumentation essential for my research was indeed available and in pristine condition. In my work the preparation of chemical solutions was the initial task. I bent eagerly to this task, collecting the needed glassware, weighing assorted chemicals and carefully diluting the dissolved chemicals to prepare the Standard Solutions on which all my ensuing results would depend for their accuracy. Slowly it came to my mind that something was amiss. No one else from Professor Fuswa's mammoth Research Group was currently present in the lab. This seemed strange since I had observed on several occasions much activity here-in. Gazing about I noted a large crowd of his associates observing my perambulations from behind the glass paned entrance door to the laboratory. Then suddenly Professor Fuswa, himself making his way quickly through his assembled workers burst in through the door. Upon reaching my side I observed a man in severe consternation. He then informed me that Professors in Japan never make up their own solutions and that there are a variety of skilled fluently English speaking helpers, presumably those crowding the door, whose job it is to do all preparations and experimentation under my direction. In fact I learned later that Professor Fuswas consternation arose because several in his group had threatened to quit should my work continue thusly.

In my haste to do some research I had failed to inform Professor Fuswa of my intention. This together with a lack of knowledge of how Japanese Research groups are structured entrapped me in this near disaster. In a resulting session in Professor Fuswa's office I discovered that this great man headed an enormous Research assemblage consisting not only of Graduate Students, Post Doctoral Fellows and Visiting Scientists such as myself, but several "lesser" Professors, young colleagues who spent an interval under Professor Fuswa's tutelage. To say the least I had stuck my foot in a tank of hungry Piranas. Worse I was not to have my cherished desire of a direct test of my own research capabilities. Here in Professor Fuswa's laboratory I found myself even less personally involved with the real work than in my own lab in Toronto.

## A Bullet to Kyoto

A famous truism for travelling Businessmen and Academics is to say; yes I have been to exotic country X but I might as well have stayed home since all I saw was the inside of my hotel and the scenery from taxies. On a somewhat larger scale this was almost my fate. I found myself confined mainly to the city of Tokyo and although I had traveled widely within its confines I was seeing little outside these boundaries. Maureen on the other hand with the Accompanying persons tours had travelled widely in the district reaching as distant as Mount Fuji.

Fortunately Professor Fuswa and Maureen persuaded me to get my act together and at least make a trip to Kyoto. With instructions in Japanese for a cab driver carefully scripted with directions to a highly recommended Ryokan in Kyoto, the Fuswas left us in the coach of the Bullet Train at Tokyo train station.

My first impression was that Japan west along this railway line was just an endless city. This impression of course arises due to the immensity of the Tokyo metropolitan area. When you finally do break free the countryside transforms into a giant rice paddy replete with villages lined with rows of poplar trees. Perhaps I dosed off from time to time and missed things, but the absence of woodlands and conventional farmer's fields was palpable.

Our arrival in Kyoto was greeted by a blast of heat as from an oven. Kyoto is located in a valley and in the summer seasons can be unbearably hot due to its low elevation and the entrapment of the heated atmosphere by the walls of the valley.

The Nation's Capital until the Imperial Restoration during the Edo period of 1868 Kyoto gave way in this regard to Tokyo. As would be expected for any capital historical venues are rampant in Kyoto. In my usual way , due to perceived work obligations at the University I allowed1 day and 2 nights for our tenure here. Thus we rushed about on a bus tour in the intense heat obtaining a city overview and visiting on foot a total of the enchanting and spectacular lakeside, Golden Pavilion followed by a preserve of Macaque Monkeys. These later fascinating long haired primates are native to subtropical to alpine habitats in mainly 4 regions of Japan. Television nature programs on monkeys often feature this particular species plunging into hot springs to refresh having been covered with snow from their alpine habitat.

There had been time for other adventures but due to the heat we retreated to our lodgings in a typical Japanese Ryokan. These establishments are the traditional Japanese style Inn. Once at the door we were greeted by a pile of discarded shoes, 2 pairs of which we were to discover belonged to a couple from Calgary Canada. Thus stocking footed we were greeted by a female employee dressed in beautiful Japanese style. Doors are of the sliding variety making small rooms there-in seemed larger. Tea taken at low standing tables required the participant to assume some form of crouching position. It was during this ceremony that the World seem to shrink when we met our country cohorts from Calgary. Bedrooms featured futons, now popular even in Canada. Thank goodness this adventure was in my younger years because a crane would now be an essential to manipulate my aging body between crouching standing and bed in a Ryokan.

# 

# Chapter 7

# A Couple of Other Destinations of Note

## India

### Intersections of Poverty and Beauty

A large, common looking black crow on the tarmac, with an intestine like object hanging in a curve from its beak, was my first sight of exotic India as the plane rolled to a stop in New Delhi. It became a common spectacle to view vultures and other scavengers in most landscapes we were exposed to in this country. Just as common was the open palm. For example our bags had been scattered in a rectangular fashion about the arrivals area with customs people in the center running from traveler to traveler to stamp the passports and release their luggage. I became impatient and then suspicious when I could not make contact with any of these officials to have our formalities completed. On closer observation I noted that the serviced travelers had one of their hands held down flatly on one of their bags. Below this resided a USA currency dollar bill. Once I learned this important scam our paperwork was completed forthwith. Such behavior, common throughout India, I also encountered in other developing countries, in the future, that I chose to visit.

Then in with a crowd we squeezed out the door, like tooth paste, into an even larger throng of city residents pushing and shoving and even coming from underneath on hand mobilized trolleys to achieve our attention in the hopes of providing a service, desired or not, or just to obtain bhiksha (beg for food ) or often money. Grimy children pushed forth by parents and amputees (some, we were told, had self inflicted the injury) were scattered among the multitude. Here and there one could see the almost submerged roof of a vehicle, presumably taxis'. Imagine the impression such a fracas had on a Toronto family, particularly the children. Only by good fortune did we find the person arranged to meet us from our travel company.

The hotel, chosen back in Toronto, had a 3 star rating and we were assured was quite acceptable. This was to be the first time that we released that the star rating system must vary from location to location throughout the world. (In Cuba it was a 4 star Havana hotel without toilet seats). Here In this abode, I was preceded down the hall by a quickly receding rat. A fast glance down a shaft-way indicated the presence of garbage of all descriptions from food waste to solids and oozes of no particular definition. We had little choice, it being here or the street. In the case of the latter there were dozens of citizens squatting on their little territory, leaving sparse room for uninvited guests. Cooking odors dominated by fat and curry wafted from all directions and pretty much dominated the airspace. Urine but not feces odor could also be discerned. Feces were fastidiously removed by the poor of the "Untouchable Cast". For some reason we had 2 rooms, but not adjacent, Maureen and the girls in one and Jon Jr. and I in the other. It was Christmas eve and we had little expectation that there would be many Christians celebrating the season in the hotel. Unfortunately Maureen's room abutted one in which a "gentleman" and undefined guests were partying at unprecedented drunken and vociferous levels and because of this we all jammed into mine spreading ourselves wherever a space allowed.

The food problem dominated our thoughts. This was the first and only occasion that oranges were our staple. These were plump and juicy and quite the best I had tasted anywhere before.

A trip to Agra and the Taj Mahal was on the books for Christmas day 1974. Winter in the Delhi region of India is mild and sunny for the most part and the trip to Agra was in excellent weather. Driving, using hired drivers is in my experience "spotty", not to put too fine a point on the issue. In our case the young man had a desire to reach the destination in as little time as possible without worry for consequences outside the vehicle. In this regard he totaled a dog with only the utterance of a curse, not even bothering to slow. When not holding on for dear life we noted beautiful Bougainvillea bushes growing wild in the ditches and flocks of Ring Neck green Indian Parrots circling above. Some villages were populated by buildings constructed entirely of "thatch". I did manage to persuade our transporter to stop for fruit at a stand in a small village, at which point we were able sate both hunger and thirst with oranges. When I look back I wonder how we missed out on the wonderful, juicy, Indian Mangoes which are, because of modern transport, now available even in Toronto. Of course I probably would not have recognized a mango in 1974, even if it had hit me in the head. The Taj was partially visible from some distance off because of its size and imposing appearance. Upon arrival it was hard not to remove ones gaze from the Splendor of this monument, even more so since this architectural and construction feat was accomplished in the 1600,s. Before approaching this "Crown Palace" (meaning of Taj Mahal) it was necessary to stroll along a path through rose gardens which seemed to try unsuccessfully to rival the our goal. This white marble, jewel encrusted, edifice was built in memory of his favorite wife by a Muslim Emperor employing 20 thousand workers and costing about 30 million Rupees. The jewel constructed inlays represent most often plants and their flowers. A black and white marble checkerboard forms the floors. In order to enter to view the magnificent domed ceiling it was necessary to remove ones shoes. Photographs were extremely poor renditions of the actual structural and decorative components. What an experience for Canadians on a Christmas Day! But strangely as I retreated to the car, I found myself trying to contemplate the position of common Indians of that era and locale going about their daily lives. Surely it was extreme poverty under the heels of a few extremely rich. In many countries this condition still exists today.

Bazaars, the equivalent of our open-air Markets but more particularly, Flea Markets , are often immense in size and sometimes seemingly unsanitary. They are common in any sizable Indian town or city. Here-in one can purchase foods, a variety of household essential and other bic-a-brack of all imaginable descriptions. In some instances bazaars specialize in one or only a few items bazaars, for example the Sadar Bazaar in Delhi which features ironware and other cooking utensils. And the Mina Bazaar jammed with bronze items and needle work. Each bazaar has unique smells and sounds which assail the visitor often from some distance off. We drove around Connaught Circle, the upscale shopping district of Delhi, where-in resided many of the Name Brand stores found in North American and European High End Shopping regions. Today there is the Palika underground market where counterfeit goods can be obtained. The Largest bazaar in Old Dehli is Chandni Chowk; its offerings of countless varieties of goods and wares are accompanied by the strident voices of Hawkers from every direction. This coupled by the incessant crowding was, to us, quite unnerving. During the whole time I had my hand thrust warily in my wallet pocket.

Shahjahanabad became the Capital city in 1640 AD in a move from Agra. This was the 7th Muslim City to be developed in the area. The Red Fort on the eastern side of this Capital City within Delhi, is contained within a wall 30 meters high and 2.5 km long. The red color of Fort and Wall derives from it's construction from red sandstone. Today Delhi is a large metropolis filled with people and loud wailing and accosting voice sounds, together with the cacophony of and vehicles permeate the senses. Side streets are often wall to wall with pedestrians making vehicular traffic difficult and hazardous. Per haps our most interesting excursion in India was a 4 hour car adventure to and stay at My brother's mother and father-in-laws home in NE Upper Pradesh (UP) province. I had hoped after our terrifying ride to Agra the Agency might have sent a different driver, but this was not to transpire. Once outside the city, following written instructions, which he read over extended intervals in complete disregard of the road, we bounced and rebounded from side to side within the car streaking our way to the destination. I have long ago forgotten the name of the town that we visited, but I can still pretend to be in the main room of the cozy home that was our goal. Of particular note three walls were covered floor to ceiling along their full width with hundreds of paper backed books, which had been so thoroughly used, that the backs were badly scratched and some were even peeling up and/or down, away from the gluey bindings. The room was tidily but furnished. The final touch was a mouse whose frequent side to side dashes went seemingly unnoticed by the occupants but certainly not by ourselves. We were fed in grand fashion (the meal was probably a weeks wages), by this kindly Christian family. Dinner entertainment was surprisingly provided by a wild peacock which jumped, in full view, onto the veranda while thoughtfully fanning his tail for our astonished visual consumption. The after dinner events were nothing so wonderful, being highlighted by me holding young son Jon over one of the 2 holes in the outhouse facilities behind the house as he chokingly relinquished his meal.

In the 1070's there was no inexpensive bottled water to drink in countries like India, as there is today. Thus A great thirst had accumulated during the days of our stay. Upon boarding the PAN AM flight that we were taking and which had originated in New York I made an urgent dash to the water cooler, drinking about 8 of those little conical cups full of water. The Stewardess was just passing by and I commented to her on how tasty and satisfying it was to have fill up on good old USA water. My stomach took a sudden lurched when she replied that the water in that tank had been obtained at an airport tap in Delhi.

In the very few days we spent in India we had undertaken a full daily schedule but had only brushed a few of the sites, sensations and sorrows that comprises this fascinating and important country. Here we had had another and more penetrating (than Brazil) view of how the majority of the world's population must subsist.

## Korea

Impatience, torrid pace and very friendly such was the instant impression of life in Seoul South Korea. Plenary and Invited speakers from the Tokyo Conference had all received an invitation, all expenses paid to give presentations at a Specially arranged conference in Seoul. This event was arranged to piggy back on the concentration of scientific talent that had been attracted to this area by the much larger Tokyo gathering.

Everyone flew to Seoul on the same Korean Airlines flight and passed through customs and immigration at lightning speed. That is except Professor Fuswa, who being Japanese was treated to every delaying tactic in the rule book. Why so you might wonder? All his papers were in order just like ours. However the historic antagonism, including war and periods of occupation of Korea by the Japanese still smolder resulting in manufactured time consuming frustrations for Japanese citizens entering this country.

From the tangle of waiting taxis Maureen and I chose one that appeared to have the fewest prangs and seemed "clean". Even before I could hand the driver the card with the hotel address the driver placed his hand firmly on the horn and swung from the curb proceeding through traffic at an alarming rate. From time to time during our journey the cab screeched to a stop to pick up or discharge other passengers. Only then did the driver release the horn. As soon as we continued our careening run to the hotel the blaring began again. Welcome to Seoul!

Our quarters were in an American style Hotel with a forgettable moniker. Located in central Seoul, little remains in my memory of the hotel itself. My favourite thoughts relate to 3 aspects of this area.

The first was how Jon Jr. with his light blond hair mesmerized the average citizen. In the early 80's North American tourists were relatively scarce and a child with blond hair was an enigma, an attraction without equal. Our progress in public was continuously disrupted as the average Korean had an irresistible urge to stop and try to finger this God like oddity.

Secondly I found a potentially ideal jogging arrangement of streets bordered by wide sidewalks and with no major street intersections. This "track" started across the street from the hotel entrance and extended for about 1 km returning to the proximity of the hotel in a roughly square configuration. Again the populace was not familiar with this Western oddity and as a result I found groups of gawkers formed waiting for my reappearance on every lap.

A few blocks from the hotel we happened into an immense emporium. The Shinsaqae Department Store whose sister store in Busan is the largest in the world, was remarkably like similar facilities in Toronto. Our arrival as the doors were opening in the morning was greeted by a surprising event. Suddenly a musical chord was struck over the loud speaker system. At this signal everyone sales persons and shoppers alike stood quietly at attention where-upon the National Anthem was blared throughout the building. Following this business could begin in earnest.

A postdoctoral fellow with whom I worked while acquiring my PhD was a Korean and a resident of Seoul. Very kindly he and his wife met us and took us by taxis to a Korean Buffet. Here we were presented by 2 banks of tables. On the right was a variety of food of familiar colour whereas the grouping on the left contained the same selection of food with a bright red colour. My very firm instructions were to choose only from the dishes on the right, the left being laced with hot pepper. Of course I went for that on the left. One would have to admit that there was a certain tang to my meal. Yet I had no difficulty consuming what I had chosen plus a second portion of much. We were sent home in a taxis with the same unsettling treatment by this driver as we received in the airport taxis. In my view this had to be the reason for the stomach fire that ensued inside my person as I woke suddenly around midnight. During the rest of the night and until about noon the next day I remained perched over the toilet in a gut wrenching position vomiting profusely and endlessly. Indeed my stomach was so "unsettled" that mild, dilute, white rice became the only solid sustenance that would remain down for the next day. Maureen meanwhile was being treated to a roast beef feast at the American Armed forces club.

All lectures at the conference transpired in a single day. Following this intensive diet of science the speakers and accompanying persons were bused through the picturesque South Korean countryside to view the site of the Demilitarized Zone. It being fall many fields were covered in a layer of those stomach destructive red peppers drying harmlessly in the sun. In my mind these peppers were much more menacing than anything one could view at the DMZ. Here through lines of fencing and razor wire could be observed only a few strolling soldiers quietly patrolling the North Korean side.

## Thailand

## My Donnybrook

Unexpectedly Part 1 of our around-the-World trip prior to arriving in Australia was to end here and It was not, as might be expected, because of young Jon's illness.

We all arrived in the pink of health. There were 2 episodes that bear mentioning here. On the first day, after a restful overnight in the hotel in Bangkok we began the sight-seeing.

First, we took the famous floating market tour. These markets are Some distance from the center of Bangkok and we traveled to the location by motor boat. These were the strangest water craft I had ever seen. Long, low and narrow they had motors, which were small car engines mounted on long shafts with a propeller at the far end and the handle for steering protruding from the other end near the motor. The Pilot must have had arm muscles like steel, yet a gentle touch to maneuver so carefully as he needed to do. In open water the craft must have traveled at 40 to 50 Kmph. Upon arrival at the markets we disembarked into several small crafts. A Thai woman guided this boat skillfully through the maize of floating markets and other traffic. In an indifferent type dialog that she had obviously enumerated countless times, she described all the most important occurrences. At one point she nonchalantly bought a bunch of bananas and casually dispensed this into the bottom of the boat without missing a word of dialog. Some time later in the tour she told people to help themselves to a banana. However when she looked down there were only 1 or 2 left, our young Jon had eaten all the others. Upon arrival back we continued the days events with a walk in the crowded streets, our main destination being the temple of Dawn (Wat Arun), a Buddhist Temple of magnificent architecture and construction. It's spire, 70 meters tall, is world famous for the intricate and colorful ancient china (porcelain) and glass fragments embedded in the surface.

The highlight that evening was an authentic Thai meal (this is 1975 so such cuisine was not generally available in Toronto). Of particular note, I chose a seafood soup which was remarkably delicious. The rest of the courses were typically spicy, but not overly so. We retired to our hotel beds soon after, exhausted by the many activities of the day. At about 2.00 AM it began! I darted from my bed to the toilet with a fiery stomach and promptly lost all my meal. I was unable to vacate the bathroom, losing fluids from both ends in an almost continuous manner. A frantic call brought the Thai trained hotel Doctor. At a relatively quiescent point in my proceedings he gave me two 5 mm round, red pills. I almost immediately became light headed and with a silly smile on my face I staggered back to bed. For the next many hours and the next day and night after (the doctor came again with 2 more of these pills in the morning) I had the greatest feeling and sensation of flying about 20 cm above the bed. Meanwhile, after fending me off Maureen and the kids had to walk to an airline office through a very seedy and apparently scary district of the city, to amend our tickets in order to bypass Singapore, our next destination, so we could travel straight to Melbourne. On the day of our departure I was trying to remain in case the doctor might appear again, with his magical pills.

## France

### Slumming It in Paris

No matter how quickly I moved the hall light switch timer by the front door would extinguish all hall and stairway lighting before I could race up the stairs to reach my 4th floor room. To make matters worse the door lock was hidden amidst some Victorian like crenulations and would be difficult to locate even flood lighted. There were evenings, so exhausted by conference proceedings and the imbibing thereafter, that I would catch myself slowly slumping to the floor in favour of a struggle to open the recalcitrant mechanism on the door.

Reading even a cursory account of Paris it's difficult not to have been mesmerized by the phrase "left Bank". Thus I was startled to see a notation among the locations that were being offered as possible available billets during The 1st World Congress of Environmental Medicine and Biology July 1-5 1974 on the threat to human health of heavy metals in sewage sludge. This had become available because of the Parisian habit of leaving Paris in the summer. Without a second thought I corralled this abode in the 6th arrondissement (Luxembourg) and the day before activities began duly reported there-at. Rue Visconti was begrimed and no wider than many alleys and my edifice was several in from the intersection with Rue de Seine which in turn lead within a few blocks of Quai Voltaire itself flanking the Seine. Being 6 blocks from Metro station Sainte Germaine-des-Pres made it convenient travel to the conference.

Even after having stayed in a cramped grungy hotel room in Brazil, the shock I received upon opening the door was palpable even to the accompanying inebriated concierge. Perhaps noting that the door lintel reached about eye level might have provided a hint. Upon ducking there-under I was greeted by a narrow bed perched beneath 1 of the 2 dormers and in the end of the other reposed a murky window. To stand totally erect it was necessary to stand in the exact centremost area. Entering the bed was achieved after crawling to its side on hands and knees and then rolling onto the thin covering sheet. It being late July the temperature in this tiny uninsulated garret was like a furnace on a sunny day and still uncomfortably hot most nights. Attending a conference meant night only residency during the week and attendant impaired sleep, not nearly as romantic as I had supposed.

As a very young academic in the throes of purchasing a house and raising a family, the content of my punctilious wardrobe was skimpy. In fact I had only 1 fall weight suit a couple of shirts, several ties and 1 pair of dress shoes. Additionally I had my lecturing togs a Harris Tweed sports coat and grey flannel trousers with slightly fraying cuffs. Sounds a bit sad but Maureen had insisted that if I was not such a slob and abstemious by nature certainly we certainly could have found the wherewithal to purchase the minimum requirement of summer appropriate apparel. In my unpretentious life in Toronto I had little call for rakish styling during summer months. On the other hand I must admit strolling steaming Paris in a Harris Tweed garment provided ample grounds for a re-examination of priorities.

French cuisine really turned me off. Miniscule, expensive, entrées artfully drowned in unrecognizable multi-coloured sauces and garnished with fragments of fruits, nuts, herbs and vegetables would have been a hard sell in most Toronto restaurants of 1970's even as an appetizer. Likewise hamburgers at a McDonald's would only have been tolerated as a family outing in Toronto but an outlet was conveniently locally located and I found myself of an evening consuming double cheeseburgers. That was until one early morning, I discovered, piled uncovered on the sidewalk, replete with a flock of pigeons, the days supply of hamburger rolls awaiting retrieval by late arriving staff. After that meals were "catch-as-catch-can", except for my expected attendance at the conference banquet.

Picture this if you can. The location was the Paris City Hall known Worldwide as the Hotel De Ville, administration site of this city since 1575 and the apart from the overwhelming list of visiting dignitaries both royalty and commoner it was notorious as the site of the arrest of French Revolution dominant Robespierre. Visible only as an insignificantly tiny dot in this edifice with its ponderous history choking every centimetre and decorations including 17th century painted ceilings, immense chandeliers and an extravagant staircase there stood I, a scruffily attired young professor about to dine that July 1974 evening with a mixture of delegates, politicians, high level Conference administrators and Nobel laureates. Sounds overwhelming don't you think? Ascending the staircase I found myself stumbling amongst a tidal wave of scientific superstars, I felt like the seed of unsightly sand trapped in the centre of a glorious pearl grown there-upon.

Then appeared the great leveller. Famous throughout human history for its potential to dissolve pretence, stimulate conversation and encourage frivolity at every level, alcohol arrived that evening disguised as the tasteless stimulant contained in renowned expensive French Wines. Unlike myself who treated wine simply as a carrier for an intoxicant, many diners were wine aficionados and their first sips brought forth complimentary elucidations on hidden attributes. These included many, but just for example were fruitiness, oaky, crispness, strawberry, smoothness and in one case a foxy finish, the latter seeming to me more like an amusing alliteration better suited for describing a well turned out female. Be that as it may these delectable liquids were available in large quantity as one might expect at a fine dinner in France. The result was predictable, first a rising crescendo of conversation often involving individuals on vastly different levels of the social and scientific stratum, followed by a plethora of poorly enunciated toasts that resulted in appreciable quantities of spilled beverage.

All these preliminaries was indeterminably delaying the arrival of the cuisine and fortunately realizing the potential consequences of so much drink with no solid substance I made my way unobtrusively-fortunately at this level of cacophony and general frivolity even an elephant stomping around would have gone unnoticed-away from the table, back down the stairs, struggled out the doors and was soon dizzily jolting along on the Metro. Not unexpectedly considering my somewhat incompetent condition, the conference banquet entree for me were several potentially pigeon kissed cheeseburgers at McDonalds.

