Summer Scootering

One of the particularly enjoyable aspects of my summer here is always the scootering. Riding a scooter effectively forces me to take the back way, to slow down, and encourages stopping to stretch the legs and generally enjoy myself in ways I am less likely to do when driving a full size vehicle. For these reasons, when looking to cross the Susquehanna River this summer, I found the ferry instead of taking the bridge. Yes, there is still a ferry, a wooden paddle boat that takes you across a wide stretch of the river, almost a mile, in a leisurely twenty minutes. Considering that in the summer the river is rarely more than a couple feet deep, one need not be too concerned about the seaworthiness of the vessel! So, here are a few pictures of the scooter and my brother’s cycle on the Roaring Bull.

Most of my scooter miles are, of course, commuter miles. My ride to work is almost always in the middle of the night which, at least in the summertime, is a great time to ride. The stars, the moon and the chorus of bugs that make noises all night long generally make up for hazards such as the occasional sudden cloudburst or the black cow standing in the middle of the black road in the middle of the black night who is not impressed by my scooter whizzing toward her! It’s not generally such a great time to take pictures, but I was impressed by the shadows thrown up by the spotlight on the face of this old mill.

This stone underpass holding up an old railroad, now a rail-trail, was built by Italian laborers back in the day, I’m told. Anyway, it is bumpy under there and always seems to be wet, so it’s a good place to slow down.

Dirt roads are always appealing. Although this scooter is definitely not an off-road vehicle, anyplace with no traffic and summertime shade is hard to resist.

The corn is ready for harvest; summer is apparently over!

Colorado

'nuf said !

Garden of the Gods, Colorado

The view of Pike's Peak from Garden of the Gods

Colorado's Western Slope

Views from Cimarron Valley in southwest Colorado.

The drive across Blue Mesa, and in Lake City looking up.

Black Canyon

Over the River

The Su Su Run

A few photos from a ride to Tam Dao a couple weeks ago. Tam Dao, maybe two hours outside Hanoi, is on a mountain that was home to a French 'hill station' back in the day. Currently it is home to some tourist services, some waterfalls, and a lot of su su. That is chayote, and it is delicious - the leaves, the shoots, all of it. And Tam Dao is the place to go for it, it's got the brand all wrapped up, everybody in Hanoi knows where the best su su comes from. Most of the fields you see in these pictures are su su.

This last photo is from the road home, back down on the delta, among rice fields and some kind of beans, I guess, everything green!

Thiên đường Bảo Sơn

Pebbles

The Education of a British-Protected Child
Chinua Achebe
A collection of essays, speeches and thoughts from the author of Things Fall Apart, this book somehow reminds me of the rambling, memoir-esque conversations you have here when drinking sugar cane juice in the countryside and grandpa sits down to tell stories.
Igbo proverb: “He who will hold another down in the mud must stay in the mud to keep him down.”

Eat Pray Love
Elizabeth Gilbert
Not my favorite, had I noticed that this book came with the “Now a major motion picture” sticker I might not have bought it. Anyway, it is the story of a woman’s year-long sojourn through Italy, India and Indonesia. Actually, it is the story of the author, the travel aspect is backdrop, which I suppose is the way it happened. The story is well written and often funny, but the self-centeredness of it was hard for me to get past…

Active Liberty: Interpreting Our Democratic Constitution
Stephen Breyer
A dry but very accessible and concise presentation of Justice Breyer’s approach to the constitution.

Why School? Reclaiming Education for All of Us
Mike Rose
An impassioned defense of the ideals behind the American experiment with public education.

Granny D: You’re Never Too Old to Raise Little Hell
Doris Haddock/Dennis Burke
“Small towns make up for their lack of people by having everybody be more interesting.”
‘Granny D’ an eighty-nine year old lady from small town New England walks across the US to raise awareness about campaign finance reform. As you might expect from such an eighty-nine year old, the story is full of humor and common sense.
Regarding roadside attractions that only happen on two-lane highways: “A good deal of fun died with Eisenhower’s interstate highway program, which he copied from the Nazis.”
“What is the point of being in Arizona, I decided, if you cannot be a rodeo queen?”

The Poet-Barber

Hanoi has no shortage of places to get a haircut. In fact, the place involved really does seem irrelevant. This is because the barber often just carries or rolls the tools of the trade to his favorite spot on the sidewalk and sets up shop. Even at night when the sidewalks are empty you can see where the barbers hang out by the piles of hair swept off the curb. My old barber has disappeared, gone around the corner or somewhere without leaving a forwarding address, so I went to a new one the other day.

Sitting on a rickety wooden chair, with its own little awning in case of rain I guess, I look at the mirror hanging crookedly on the wall in front of me. In it, I watch all the passers-by walk behind me, amused to see how many of them do a double-take, stopping just to make sure it really is a foreigner (who has clearly gone far too long without a trim) getting done up at their local barber.

The barber, upon hearing the first hint of a Vietnamese word from me, suddenly pulls some papers out of his wooden tackle-box full of scissors and razors, saying "You should try to read this, can you read this?" It is poetry, his poetry, written in the implausibly neat, rounded script of someone who actually studied penmanship. Poems about spring, about Hanoi, about … Russian women!? After some pronunciation corrections and instruction on how to properly read metered poetry in Vietnamese, my barber is mostly satisfied with my recitation.

Eventually, he gets down to business and cuts the hair. It’s a fast haircut; he’s obviously had lots of practice at barbering, in between writing poetry. A neighbor and friend of the barber stops by to chat. He teaches at the local university, and keeps trying out what I gather is Vietnamese-accented German on me. Sadly, I have no skills in speaking German, so that conversation doesn’t go too far.

“I wish I could grow a beard,” the barber says. He is impressed with my beard (a sort of experiment that’s gone hand in hand with going too long without a haircut). He’s got the classic Asian look going on – smooth clean skin with half a dozen 3 inch long hairs sprouting out of a mole on his chin. He tells me my beard makes me look like somebody, and it takes me awhile to make out exactly who he is talking about.

Engels, Friedrich Engels, the co-father, along with Karl Marx, of Communist Theory. So, hmm, that’s interesting. In spite of living in Hanoi, I have no recollection of what the chins of the fathers of Communism looked like. I have since looked up pictures of Mr. Engels, and I can assure you with utmost sincerity that my beard looks nothing like that. It would take years in a cold climate to get me to that point!!

WAH!

Cây cổ

And, just for fun, shots of the old building half hidden behind the sparkly new pagoda with the shining horse in it. Somehow I liked this one more .. I guess peeling paint and crooked tiles put me at ease.

Over the River and through the Woods ...

The procession of rowboats proceeded, happily, one after another, to be swallowed underneath that wee mountain you see above. Passage through the wee mountain's nether regions involved a bit of ducking and a few solid wacks of oar-on-rock in narrow spots, but no further complications.

The rowboaters union rules specify "no dumping of tourists" - even the foreign ones...