First off, if you've not previously gotten one of my Advent letters, I start with what appears to be a travelogue of my previous year's trip, as that is for me and most lectors the most interesting part of the year. That having given me a sort of catharsis of the previous year, I then go on to the business of the rest of the year. In this case, there have been some quite happy events. So, let's get on with it.
Also, I do want to address a suspicion raised by another correspondent: they claimed I encourage calamities on my trips so I'll have something to write about in these letters. Not so, any more than a football quarterback intends to have his teeth broken: activities such as ours bring concomitant exceptional challenges.
As has been the practice for the past 32 years, the trip starts after holiday parties with family, friends, and colleagues, climaxing with the first Mass of Christmass at the Church of the Advent. Having laid out a reception for those who will be at the morning Mass, back home to pick up luggage and get to the airport. Why, you might ask, go to the airport at 1:00 in the morning, when your flight isn't till 7:00? Well, as I have to check in two hours in advance of the flight, and as I'm already wooden with fatigue, I don't expect two hours' sleep would do me much good at this point.
Finally airborne, I'm delighted to have as my travelling companion again this year Ours (French for bear), whom Jessica had created for me two years ago, fearing I might be lonely without her company on that trip. Well, Ours has become a permanent fixture now, as his presence sticking out of my jacket pocket incites all sorts of good responses from in-flight personnel, customs officials, and fellow travelers. Helpful that Ours was constantly smiling, as there wasn't enough time to catch any sleep before Chicago.
Once in Chicago, had a rather bizarre experience, one however that I had rehearsed some years before as a joke, so this iteration was without bad consequence. A clean-cut young man claiming to be a civilian employee of the military stationed in Heidelberg said he had arrived at Chicago without his passport, was planning to meet his wife at Tokyo. Now here's the pitch: would I be willing to call his wife once I arrived at Tokyo to ask her to wire him money so he could pay his hotel bill and get on to Tokyo once he replaced his lost passport? I took all the information from him; once he left and began talking with airline personnel, my suspicion was justified: he told the agent that I (his alleged travelling companion) would put his ticket on my credit card! Two words with the agent, and my companion's plot was discovered
Now onto the long flight into Tokyo. I was blessed on this leg with a Tokyo-based crew who had had a few days in Chicago and were in great humor. Inflight I was given four seats across to make up for lost sleep during this 13-hour flight, then 8 hours Tokyo>Bangkok. The sun never set on the 25th. 3 films, 4 meals on this segment. The flight to Narita was superb, in fact the best flight I've ever done with United. Flight to BKK was full, happy to have slept well till Tokyo.
Arrived without difficulty at Bangkok as scheduled. How the heat and humidity struck me when I arrived here - 80=B0F at midnight. Feeling in good state; the sleep over the Pacific served me well. Got to Rangoon without problem; most of the passengers chose to go through the nothing-to-declare line, were all carefully inspected. As I had three cameras and only one was allowed, went through the things-to-declare line, was waved through with no problem:).
Then to my hotel & shower right away. A bit of exploring near the hotel. As normally, I picked a Western-standard hotel for my first two days, giving me time to acclimate before finding a guest house for the long term. Though it's swank to see a bulletin in the lobby announcing that Mr. David from Boston USA has arrived at the hotel, the atmosphere is decidedly like Miami, with no relationship to Burma. So I went out and wandered a bit, found local food stalls where I was delighted to be greeted warmly, sat for my first local Burmese meal.
My first night, fourteen hours' uninterrupted sleep undid the grind of getting there. Then began wandering the streets in the morning and quite by chance as I was walking by the Strand Hotel, newly renovated at $300 per night, came upon (just like in Saigon) brand new guest house: The May Fair Inn was to become before my departure some weeks thence much more than a lodging place. Right after I booked for arrival the next day and left, the owner came calling me in the street: he wanted to introduce me to his Wife, an MD specializing in pulmonary health. She greeted me so warmly, introduced their two sons.
Was delighted to get out of the elegant Equatorial and into the May Fair the next day. So good to be away from tourists and plunged into the life of Myanmar. Had a smooth adjustment to Burmese customs, eating in stalls like in Vietnam.
Went down to the Embassy of the United States, finally reached the sub-counsel to register. First (and one of few) signs that there is anything whatever tense with local conditions: the roadway towards the embassy is cordoned off: only those who prove they have business there are allowed to approach.
One sign of how well things were to go for me: I mentioned to the owners of the May Fair that one of my dental crowns had come loose. They first arranged for a dentist acquaintance to come by the inn to tend to it; as that would be too long, had their car take me to a dentist right away. Super care and attention with a silken touch, cost all of one dollar.
A bit about local currency, as it was at first rather confusing: The Kyat (chat) is officially 7=3D$1; was 100=3D$1 last year; 300=3D$1 when I first arrived; finally 330=3D$1 at a government run money exchange. Now, all independent tourists must change $300 into Foreign Exchange Certificates ($1 =3D 1 FEC) upon arrival. This confusing exchange assures the government that each tourist will leave a minimum of $300 in hard currency. As the official exchange rate of Kyat 7/dollar is used in all commercial transactions, a foreign business wanting to set up in Burma must put up half the cost at the official rate; the government has the other half. Doesn't take a mathematical genius to see that investing in Burmese business carries a 5,000% premium. On the other hand, the money changers (under government supervision) happily change the FEC's or dollars at the 330/dollar rate.
One caution to tourists in many Far East countries: American Express and other travelers' cheque vendors tell you to keep your receipts apart from the cheques, in case of loss: in Burma and similar countries, on the contrary, they demand the certificates before they will change your TC's. Took a bit of baksheesh to convince them I had deliberately left my certificates back in the States and to get TC's changed.
Once arrived at the May Fair Inn, the real trip began. Spent the first whole day simply wandering the streets, did nothing special, ate lunch on the side of the Irawaday River. One special treat of life at the May Fair: each morning all of the guests have breakfast around a common table; my first day I was with two Germans, two French, one Italian. Great opportunity for swapping of experiences.
Next obligatory event on my annual schedule: haircut on New Year's Eve in a local barbershop, so carefully done for twenty-five cents (including big tip!). Remembered Jessica's thoughtful act back in Vietnam and bought a big bouquet of flowers for my hosts. Though New Year's is no big deal for them, apparently the flowers were the first given them by a guest.
It's neat: every shop or vendor I pass a second time greets me as an old friend - ingenuously outgoing: where you from; how old; what your work, etc. Only 4 days and Rangoon is at home for me.
Having to get off all of the New Year's postcards on New Year's day (so the text will be easy), spent some time addressing 160 of them. Again the crazy money in Burma - airmail postage to the USA is only ten cents.
Although the Burmese hardly observe the holiday, everywhere I went they tried to offer me a beer; my waiter wouldn't take my money for supper! Had thought I'd have a quiet meal in a local shop; the staff began chatting with me, ended up inviting me to a celebration organized by the shop owner for his staff. I could not have arranged a more fun welcoming of the new year.
Again with the assistance of my hosts, found a bus company for my trip up to Mandalay (having already made a list of all the facilities/ guest houses/ bus lines, etc., that are private and not part of the government monopoly (the Lonely Planet guide to Burma again being an indispensable assistant, as between publications of the printed version of the guides, they are constantly and immediately updated on the World Wide Web, so the information is never out of date)). When I got to the Leo Line, found my hosts had made sure I'd have a seat in the front row, so my touring would be without obstruction.
A bit about inter-city travel: the bus up to Mandalay would take a scheduled fourteen hours (17 in reality), is air-conditioned and with good suspension. Four scheduled stops provide supper, midnight meal, breakfast, and mid-morning tea time, all included in the $6.60 fare!
The daily cost of my room in Rangoon being only $10, shall keep it throughout my stay in Burma rather than having to repack everything for each trip, nor lug all my possessions along. Also, it's fine to have a place to call home half way 'round the world!
It was especially hot on New Year's day, about 95F, but not a cloud since I arrived. With practically no humidity, the heat is hardly noticeable. As I was happily ensconced at what has become my favorite luncheon venue in Mandalay, it came to me that I was rather putting on the dog: the Myanmar Beer Garden is one of the fanciest venues on Merchant Street, with the waiters in western trousers (rather than the skirt-like longyi worn by 95% of the men in Burma), and with luncheon costing as much as one dollar! The restaurant opens onto the street, so there are the sights, sounds, smells, colors of daily life passing by.
There being a severe shortage of electrical generating capacity in Burma, each city has its own way of dealing: In Rangoon, the power cuts off during the night and is normally back on around 9:00 in the morning; in Mandalay the power goes off for whole days (not always on schedule), and in the small towns such as Bagan and Nyong Oo, electrical power is quite unpredictable. This leads to a curious social convention: when you're invited for dinner in a private home, the hostess can't be sure of the day of the week there will be electricity, telephones just before the event to tell you what day the invitation is for. Further, all of the shops, guest houses, and better private homes have generators on their property which provide sufficient power for illumination and fans, but not for cooking, hot water, or air conditioning.
Got to the terminal for the bus early in the evening, found that concerns about space are without foundation, as the bus companies just keep adding vehicles till all ticket holders are aboard. The passengers were about three-fourths locals and one-fourth tourists. It was a friendly enough time, but rather difficult to get sleep, as it would seem from the velocity and volume of the conversations all around me that the people travelling together had not seen each other for several decades. The four rest stops were pleasant enough interludes, with quite nourishing food. I had had the foresight to bring along four liters of bottled water for the trip.
Once arrived at Mandalay, I was looking about for a taxi to take me into town, found a car marked, Sabai Phyu Guest House, precisely the one recommended by Lonely Planet; could not have been easier. Once there, booked a room on the fifth floor (would come to regret that!) looking out over the Mandalay Fort, and just below the rooftop where an ample breakfast was served each morning, this included in the daily $5 charge for an air-con room with private hot bath.
Sitting at the terrace of my room, looking down towards the city center, decided to do a bit of exploring before lunch and a long rest, found my way to the central market (that feature of every Far East city I find most intriguing and most conducive to creative photography). Could see that I was going to have plenty of exploring to do in Mandalay!
Well, decided to get some lunch, walked out of the central market, and...
First, please believe me when I say I'm not deliberately checking out health care in SE Asia. Nor, contrary to the suspicions of one reader indicated at the start of this missive, do I have calamities in order to have something to write about (look, I've already gotten to Page 4 without an untoward event!). However, as I left the market, I took a step into the street and found myself falling into what seemed was a bottomless pit. As I fell, I thought of the text appointed in the Gospel for the First Sunday in Lent, when I had been scheduled to preach at the Advent on 21 February 1999 [Matt 4:1-11]:
Well, I reached the bottom of what turned out to be a sewer (in the Far East, sewers are in fact open gutters 1/2 meter wide by 1 meter deep, normally covered with cement plates - the plate over the instant sewer was missing, and this tourist wanting not to miss a sight was not watching my step).
I somehow had the instinct as I fell to put my arm carrying my camera bags out straight, so they weren't damaged. Not so lucky my sole, however: the floppy I had been wearing came off during the descent, and my sole stopped short on a broken bottle in the bottom of the sewer. People hearing my yell at what is one of the most painful moments in my memory, several came running and lifted me (a stinking mess) out of the pit.
A sweet little girl took her scarf off from around her neck and wrapped it around my foot to stop the bleeding. A man took a flask from his hip and poured brandy onto the wound (probably more efficacious than would have been oral administration). Then four lads picked me up and transported me to a nearby clinic, Would you believe that, as I was being carried to the clinic, I insisted on taking pictures even as we traveled. Further, having had the thought of our Lord's temptation while falling, my mind turned to Mary Magdalene as I thought of the sweet girl with the scarf, and to Simon of Cyrene as I was being carried to the clinic.
The doctor (in charge of radiology at the People's Hospital) - so gentle, so reassuring, so comforting - immediately stuck me full of antibiotic and anesthesia and got the glass out of the wound. His wife did the actual sewing of the wound, which was about 3" long and rather deep. As there was no electricity at the time, it was not possible to do x-rays, but the doctor was confident there were no broken bones nor severed tendons.
This good news was reversed when I arrived back in the States three weeks later: the continuing pain and swelling in my foot was due to three neatly severed metatarsals. Fortunate I didn't know I had broken bones while still in Burma: I would probably have flown back home, missing all the wonderful experiences which follow!
A pedicab took me back to the guest house. The driver was to be with me throughout my time in Mandalay, acting as a conscientious guide and chauffeur, waiting to take me back to the doctor each morning for change of dressing, then getting me as close as possible to temple, zoo, and restaurant so I could hobble about.
Recall that I brought few of my things with me, leaving most (including change of trousers) back in Rangoon. No problem: my host sent out for a longyi for me. This native garment is about four meters long, is sewn end-to-end into a tube that comes just above the waist. You grab the two ends and tuck it securely at the waist. That's the plan at least: one morning coming down to breakfast, I felt mine give way. As an English acquaintance in Rangoon noted that as he was bringing the offering up the aisle of the Cathedral one Sunday, his longyi gave way for all to see. I've now spent several sessions at home practicing how properly to tie it so it will stay.
Everyone was so solicitous, helpful, and caring. Sorry about the accident, but lucky it happened in such a wonderful place.
After two more days in Mandalay got okay from the doctor to continue on to Bagan, not, however to go by boat down the Irawaday or to visit Inle Lake as I had intended. One positive result of the accident: had a relatively
less frenetic time than is my wont when abroad. Was shocked when, after three days, the doctor gave me his bill for all of the treatment, for the medications and injections, for the cleaning and suturing of the wound: $12!
How to figure: Lonely Planet had recommended a particular Indian restaurant in Mandalay, but it was too far to walk. Found another just a block from my guest house - starkly plain, but such good food, cooked as I sat there. No, a bandaged foot is not a pleasure, but it was such a conversation starter and traffic stopper as I went about that there were some positive dimensions to it. Took most of my meals in this wonderful restaurant; if I return to Mandalay this year, the restaurant will be a major destination. Shall note it to Lonely Planet.
My fourth day in Mandalay, visited the city's Hill & Fort, the largest book in the world, carved in countless stone cenotaphs, sort of like a huge cemetery (took 2,000 monks to read it through in 6 months), even did some walking round the zoo. If this is what a slight handicap gets, give it to me.
Finally, about to leave for Bagan, was told by my guest house owner that he would be honored if I'd stay at another of his properties that had just opened in Bagan. So, all set there, too. Not only was the New Park Hotel in Bagan (actually Nyaung Oo) expecting me: the manager Nu Nu had arranged that a car would meet me at the airplane. Once I settled in at New Park, was introduced to Maung Maung, the driver of horsecart #66.
If I did nothing else while in Burma, the two days with Maung justified the trip. He told me that his father, too, was sixty years old and that it would be his pleasure to show me this treasure, declared by the United Nations to be one of humanity's cultural heritages.
My first evening, went to the nearest restaurant, chosen only for its proximity to the New Park. Happy coincidence - turns out the Royal House Restaurant in Nyaung Oo had a traditional Burmese marionette show during dinner each evening. My waiter Kyaw made sure I got a table right near the marionettes each evening. This wasn't on Lonely Planet's list; shall note it to them.
In brief, Bagan was, from the third through the sixteenth century the center of Buddhism in Burma. Each succeeding ruler or member of the court wished to show his devotion to the Buddha by building increasingly elaborate, huge, and ornate temples. Many of the temples were overturned by earthquakes, but international assistance (principally from Germany) saw to the restoration of thousands of them. Though the restorations continue, it is already a site without parallel.
Incredible the wood carvings and frescos have largely survived the centuries and the earthquake of 1975. All residents of old Bagan were moved to a new village 10 years ago to preserve the archaeological zone. If one visits only one place in Burma, Bagan is it, and Maung Maung in horsecart #66 the only guide to use. One could say it is a sort of Burmese Williamsburg. Still not understood is how all of a sudden in the sixteenth century the area was apparently completely abandoned.
It was no easy task to climb through all of these spectacular temples; Maung, however, was diligent: he put extra cushions in the back of the horsecart for me, accompanied me throughout the two days. In fact, late in the afternoon of the first day, he pointed to a temple in the distance and said that I'd go up to its summit, about eight stories high, the highest temple in Bagan. I replied that this would be an impossible task. Maung would not take no for an answer, insisting that he would carry me to the summit if necessary. Well, we did make it to the top, just as the sun was tending to the west, over the Irawaday River.
Now you'll get superlatives: here, from horizon to horizon, 2,500 gold-plated temples, with spires bejeweled as sort of exclamation marks, were as a necklace to the Almighty. Maung asked, "Now do you understand, Mr. David, why I insisted you come up here?" Do I ever! This was the apogee of the year's trip.
The next day, as we continued our exploration of the surroundings, Maung asked if it would bother me if he left me at a restaurant for lunch, to return an hour later? Why? Turns out his infant son had fallen toward the hearth at breakfast in the kitchen, and had rather nasty burns on his hands; Maung wanted to check on him. I asked why he even came to take care of me, with his son hurt. He replied that it was his pleasure and honor. See why I'm stuck on Burma?
The doctor in Bagan redressed my foot, found all going well. On my last evening there, I was sitting on the porch of my cottage, listening to VOA (Voice of America) as it broadcast live the beginning of the impeachment trial. Later, talking with Burmese, they asked whether it upset me that this process was going on. On the contrary, I replied, the fact that a government-sponsored radio station is broadcasting for all the world to hear the process of the trial of the president of the country speaks volumes about the transparency of our political system. I doubt such open processes would be permitted by many governments.
On the second day, got to visit a lacquer ware manufactory. This process is centered around Bagan, and is quite different from the process in other parts of the Far East. First, elephant hairs are woven into the desired shape. Then several layers of lacquer are applied, with slow drying between each layer, followed by pumice polishing. Then the black piece is scratched out where the first color is to show. The whole object is covered with the desired color; after it dries, careful polishing with pumice removes the color, except from where the incisions had been made. Then the next color's design is scratched out and the process repeats for as many as six colors. Alternately, a design is excised and then filled in with gold leaf. The typical small object takes a total of about six months from beginning to final drying and polishing.
Was happy that the doctor in Bagan who tended my foot each day found it to be scarring well, though the continued swelling was probably exacerbated by my continual walking about. Not too encouraging that the doctor said that, after a similar injury, his foot had remained swollen for a year! Mine was pretty much back to normal size and capable of fitting in my shoe after six weeks.
Had a delightful respite of a few hours on the porch of my cottage before departure for the airport. It might seem bizarre to you, as I had been only two weeks in Burma up till now: I was so eager to get back home to the May Fair Inn in Rangoon, back to my home base and city I've come to know so well.
My hosts back in Rangoon referred me to a colleague, who removed the stitches. I yelled like a banshee; she asked whether it had hurt as much when the stitching was done. No, the doctor who had stitched me used anaesthetic; she was removing them from the dried wound without! Good, finally that I would now be able to do the daily dressing of the wound myself and, within a few days, return to normal bathing!
Went to Rangoon's largest central market, much like that in Saigon, but with an incredible variety of smuggled foreign goods, everything from live chickens to $2,000 ruby necklaces.
Every man smokes constantly and chews betel nuts; those two things and the constant horn blowing and aggressive driving are they only irksome things here. No mosquitoes nor bugs. I had no sense at all of crime, pickpockets, or danger anywhere in Burma. What few beggars I came across were polite and not offensive.
Oops! The Lonely Planet guide indicated that the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity, immediately abutting the big marketplace was Roman Catholic. No, as I went to tour it, found it to be Anglican. Though it was quite closed up on that Saturday, saw that there were two masses on Sunday: 6:00 and the late mass at 8:30 a.m. You can be sure of which I attended the next day.
Another ineffable experience: found the cathedral packed with several hundred worshippers, all but me and one English lady native Burmese. Was intrigued to find that the worship was done totally in English, using the traditional formularies on which I had grown up, not the vulgar modern changes so prevalent in the West lately. Only the sermon was delivered both in English and Burmese.
The Vicar, Fr. Oak, invited me to breakfast after the Eucharist; we were joined by the English lady. Turns out that she and her husband have been living in the far East for many years, first in Thailand and for the past several years here in Rangoon. Fr. Oak said I would be welcome to participate in the Liturgy the next week; unfortunately, I was due to depart the following Saturday for return to the States. I shall, however, take him up on his offer to let me preach when I'm next in Rangoon, which will be the first Sunday of the New Year!
Found a young couple set up a "restaurant" on a street corner right near my Inn. Every evening they would deploy their wok, set out a few tiny tables and stools, and proceed to serve the most delicious fried chicken or fried fish with sticky rice, sauerkraut, and tea. Never did see another westerner eat there - their loss. Mrs. Ma Min Ngu, her husband and teenage son were so solicitous of me! If I carelessly emptied my plate, along would come another huge helping.
One evening, I noticed their son was not working with them, inquired why. Turns out her sister had been admitted to hospital that day; their son was with her. Why wasn't she with her sister? "I wanted to make sure you ate okay, Mr. David; I'll go to my sister when you are done." Beginning to understand my affection for the place?
By the way, this delicious supper was all of 33 cents! When Liz Shepherd, the English lady I had met at the cathedral, invited me for a supper party, was sure to let Mrs. Ngu know that my absence was due to an obligation, not to any problem. In fact, my last night in Rangoon, she refused to take any money from me for my supper; I was happily able to convince her to take a few dollars for her son's schoolbooks.
Now, about the party with the Shepherds: what tourist would be invited to a dinner party with two expatriate couples (one English, one Australian), with the Vicar from the cathedral and his wife, and with the widow of the former bishop of Rangoon, all this in one of the most elegantly understated homes I saw in Burma.
The next day, Liz invited me for lunch at the British Embassy Social Club, another unique venture. I am not a T-shirt collector, but had to get the one emblazoned with "British Embassy Social Club Rangoon." What a hoot!
As we ate, Liz told me of an orphanage she is supporting just north of Rangoon, and asked whether I'd like to visit. Turns out that not all of the 30 6-month to 16-year-old residents of the orphanage were in fact orphans: many of them were from minority tribes in the north of Burma and had no chance of getting an education or a future in the hills. Their families would send them down to the city orphanages. The kids were all irresistibly sweet and stuck to me like glue. The children spend half their day in school, the other half doing chores and schoolwork at the orphanage. I'm going to see if it will be possible for me to spend a few days at the orphanage this trip, possibly helping out with the kids' English lessons, or whatever. These kids have nothing, yet their gratuitous and ebullient warmth is one of my most memorable souvenirs of Burma.
Found the Kyat to have returned to its value from when I arrived - seems the excitement over the introduction of the Euro has apparently softened the dollar. Happy they've just introduced the 1,000 Kyat note, as previous largest note was 500 =3D $1.60, not at all practical for a major purchase. In fact, the day I bought most of the lacquer ware and other special things, had to take two lunch bags filled with notes to pay for it all.
Spent one day visiting the reclining Buddha at Chaukhtatgyi Paya (150' long, 45' high), the zoo with many species I'd never before seen (built by the British in 1908), and the botanical garden. Happily had an overcast day (2nd of the trip), so it didn't get over 90F.
Spent one afternoon at the Shwedagon Paya, the most holy spot for Burmese Buddhists. It's actually at the summit of a mountain completely covered with temples and sacred spots. The main paya, about ten stories high, is in process of being restored, and so was completely covered with tarps when I visited; will be complete this Winter when I return. It is encrusted with thousands of precious stones, with a 50-carat diamond at its peak! The juxtaposition of immense piety and carnival hucksters takes a bit of getting used to. It was an excruciating number of stairs to climb, but well worth it.
Visited Rangoon's oldest market, still don't understand 20 adjacent stalls all selling the same products. Then, right in the middle of the market, Rangoon's only surviving synagogue, being maintained by foreigners, and there is not a sufficiently large Jewish population in Burma to keep it up.
Got into interesting conversations with another guest at the May Fair: John Hughes, retired from Wales, teaches in an English-language school about eight hours per week and was able to support himself on that. Got me to thinking: though the torrential rains and impossible humidity which pervade Burma during our Summer make it almost intolerable to live there, during our Winter Burma is dry and not nearly so hot or humid. Hmmm...
Again last year, had to buy a large suitcase for my purchases. I now have three of these cases at home, think this year to pack my normal bag, put it into the large bag, and have the extra case ready at the end of the trip. Another little trick others have said is useful: it seems the sinks in hotel bathrooms are not nearly large enough, and the bathtub altogether too large, for washing out a few articles. I take with me a rather heavy-duty plastic bag, put it into an empty wastebasket, and have a perfect container for soaking/ washing out clothes.
My hosts at the May Fair, besides giving me Coke and water for the trip, gave my a handsome blue longyi: I now must return to Burma, as that's the only place I'll be able to wear it!
Any apprehension I might have had about travelling with my injured foot was ill-founded: my hosts at the guest house had their driver bring me to the airport; everyone was solicitous about my foot - no problem with security/ customs/ immigration. It was as if I were boarding a subway car. Ours is back in my pocket, facilitating my travel. Of course, Thai Air service is super. Had four seats to be able to stretch out. Supper was super in this flight of 70 minutes.
What with crossing the international date line, the day was 34 hours long for me, resulting in our getting into San Francisco only 2 hours after leaving Bangkok.
Was met at San Diego by Marty Fisher, who just as the previous year provided me an idyllic easing back into conventional living. We had a Mexican dinner, a huge Texan breakfast followed by touring of the coast and an Indian dinner. Finally, on the way to the airport, another calorie-filled breakfast. The 747 on the flight Los Angeles to Boston had only about 20 people; no trouble sleeping.
Return to Boston found me and everyone else plunged into preparations for Jessica's wedding. Even with all the movies about the process and anecdotal tales from others, I had not realized what a complicated, detail- filled event a wedding can be. Starting with a small wedding which might have fit in the Lady Chapel at the Church of the Advent, we ended with 300 guests, choristers, acolytes, clergy.
Alex and Jessica met several times with Father Martin at the Advent, kept a good balance between the solemn nature of Holy Matrimony and the joyous fun of gathering with friends and relatives on this, Jessica's starring day. In fact, all at the church - choirmaster, flower arranger, servers, and clergy - went out of their way to give Alex and Jessica a launch of their married life that would never be forgotten.
As Alex's best man was coming from Switzerland and probably wouldn't have opportunity to arrange the traditional groom's party, I got from Jessica contact information for relatives and friends who would probably want to help Alex observe his last party as a bachelor. He thought it was only I who wanted to be with him and suggested we go to Pho Pasteur, a wonderfully authentic Vietnamese restaurant in Boston. When he arrived, there were all of his friends! Such a fun time for us all.
The wedding was on the Saturday following Easter Day; as Jessica had noted a preference for pink flowers, all of the banks of white Easter flowers were removed and replaced with the most glorious variety of pink flowers imaginable. We were so fortunate that the choir sang Dufay's Missa Ecce Ancilla Domini; it was celestial. Happily, the choir recorded this mass for a CD to be released before Christmass, will make a fitting gift.
It is not many fathers who get to marry their own daughter, or to preach at their son-in-law to be. Actually, as Jessica and I followed the choir, the sanctuary party, the groomsmen, flower girls, and bridesmaids in procession up the aisle, we each had a bit of a tear in our eyes; I didn't expect I'd be able to carry off my part. However, as soon as Fr. Martin asked, "Who giveth this woman to be married?" and I answered, "I do," I handed Jessica over to the Church and reversed my position so I could officiate at the wedding.
Realizing that many people from the parish, from our work sites, from the co-op where Jessica and I lived, and from the choir and acolytes wouldn't be coming to the reception, arranged that the folk who provide pizza parties for MIT deliver 25 pizzas, jugs of wine and soda, and salad to the Church so they, too, could share in the festivities. Such had apparently not been done before; I commend it to you as a simple way to include all in the festivities.
The wedding was followed by a New England Clam Bake at the Children's Museum for 200! Jessica's mother Claudine oversaw this event. But for her and Jessica's meticulous attention to detail and tasteful arrangements, I wouldn't have thought the formal majesty of the wedding could properly be followed by a clam bake. However, once we all arrived, everyone had such a wonderful time: relatives of Jessica's from Belgium, groomsmen from Switzerland and Vietnam, friends from long ago and far away - what a happy start to Jessica's and Alex's life together!
At the reception, during the toasting, I failed totally to be able to put into words the overwhelming feeling the event gave me: almost as if all I had done before in my life was preparation for that moment. Certainly, more events will come; I doubt any will compete with this one.
It has been reported that a playful Bride was seen to get out of a limousine at Charles Circle shortly after the reception ended and dance up the middle of Charles Street (still in her wedding gown) to the Sevens (a local bistro) where she caught up with her attendants. That couldn't have been Jessica, could it?
A sign of how Jessica enjoyed the vacation we had taken together in Vietnam: she and Alex retraced our journey for their honeymoon.
You might recall that, after Fr. Mead's departure from the Advent, Fr. Martin joined us as interim rector, with the understanding his would be a healing ministry until the parish matured enough to call a permanent rector. In the two-year search for this fifteenth rector of the parish, I had had my hopes up for Fr. Allan Warren, who had been an assistant with us till he went to Resurrection New York seven years ago.
The search process has to have been the most carefully guarded secret in our history; what joy it was to learn that indeed Fr. Warren and Polly would be returning to us. And what a pleasure to be secure in the knowledge that the traditional values and emphases of the parish would be honored. All this, with a gleeful joy, to the point that a colleague noted, "Now church will be fun again!"
Over at MIT, there has been an increasing attention to the role of electronic tools in the enhancement of the educational process - such things as distance learning with students in Singapore and Cambridge sitting live in the same class; electronic classrooms with wall-sized screens; the ubiquitous use of the World Wide Web to enhance the learning process, collaborations with commercial and other educational entities, and so on. What a personal effect this has had on me: my boss, Vijay Kumar, while remaining Director of Academic Computing, was appointed Assistant Provost, to provide an Institute-wide focus on educational technology. I had not exactly been without enough things to do before his new appointment; now, however, multitasking and keeping multiple priorities in sync have become a real challenge.
Was delighted to be invited down to Brown for a weekend of renewal and focusing; found the new president, Gordon Gee, to be returning to emphasis on those values of respectful intimacy, collegial affection, and familial cordiality which meant so much to me. This sea change comes just in time for me to get busily involved in preparations for my class's 40th reunion.
Mum has left for a few months in Daytona Beach away from the harsh winter; so glad she's at a place where the same group has been gathering for fifteen years now, at a hotel which provides plenty of activities for the senior set.
Given that I was unable to complete my intended itinerary in Burma last year, and that I've been invited to participate at the Cathedral in Rangoon, shall be returning there. However, observing my canon that each year end must bring a new country, shall be starting this year's trip in Chittagong, on the Bay of Bengal, then over to Rangoon.
Did I need a sign that this was the right destination, it was provided me one Saturday evening this Fall, after I had planned the trip to Bangladesh. Just as I was leaving my office at MIT one Saturday evening, I noticed a young man trying to get into the secured building, asked him what he was doing. He replied that he was looking for the theatre at MIT. Sure, I thought, and asked what was going on. He replied, a cultural show about Bangladesh. And where was the lad from, I asked? Harvard now, but his family from Bangladesh! I went with Tawfiq to the exposition, witnessed Bengali dance and music, subsequently was given such helpful background on his beloved country.
May the celebration of our Saviour's birth bring you joy, peace, and strength as we go forward to our new Year. I'm grateful for those of you who have written (seems the practice of an annual letter is becoming increasingly common) and look forward to hearing from the rest of you!
CHRISTMASS GREETINGS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR
ADVENT LETTER 1999
Click home to get up to Hogarth's home page; click travel to get up to index of Hogarth's trips. These notes last changed 11 December 1999