Donald Tweet Columbus Day - 2018

From the Orange Messiah 2018

Christopher Columbus’s spirit of determination and adventure has provided inspiration to generations of Americans. On #ColumbusDay, we honor his remarkable accomplishments as a navigator, and celebrate his voyage into the unknown expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.

In truth Columbus voyaged west with the knowledge of Portugese and Basque fishermen, who harvested Cod from the Georges Bank off Newfoundland. The Vikings had also reached the Western Continent along with Irish monks. The Admiral of the Seven Oceans amazingly lost no one despite the Santa Maria running aground on Christmas Day 1492, although the thirty-nine sailors he left on Hispanola were massacred by the Caribs after tormenting the Arawaks surrounding their colony.

After that Columbus and the Spaniards treated the indigenous people as slaves without souls. He was no saint, then again neither is Donald Trump.

October 13, 1492

Four years ago I read THE FOUR VOYAGES by Cristoforo Colombo translated by JM Cohen.

A great read of exploration, but disquieting as the early entries predicted the extermination of the Arawaks or Tainos who inhabited the Caribbean and Central America. For centuries western historians guiltcaped the extinction by blaming the disappearance of the egalitarian agro-culture on Smallpox, when in fact the reason for this genocide was the spread of disease through rape and Spanish not bathing, plus the old scourges of slavery, and brutality. The invaders worked the First People so hard, that by 1514 the population of Hispaniola, which had been originally estimated by the Church at between several hundred thousand to over a million people in 1492, had been reduced to a mere 35,000 thirty years later. 99% of the people according to Wikipedia. At present time approximately 15,000 Arawaks or Taino lived in Guyana, with smaller numbers present in Venezuela, Suriname, and French Guiana, although today many islanders identify as Taíno and many more have Taíno descent, most notably in Puerto Rico, Cuba, and Dominica Their numbers are increasing, despite the countless attempts by the West to kill them off 100%.

The language lives on too.

Ayo.

FROM THE DIARY OF CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS

SATURDAY OCTOBER 13, 1492

As soon as it dawned, many of these people came to the beach—all young, as I have said, and all of good stature—very handsome people, with their hair not curly but straight and coarse, like horsehair; and all of them very wide in-the forehead and head, more so than any other race that I have seen so far. And their eyes are very handsome and not small; and none of them are black, but of the color of the Canary Islanders. Nor should anything else be expected since this island is on an east-west line with the island of Hierro in the Canaries. All alike have very straight legs and no belly but are very well formed.

They came to the ship with dugouts [canoes] that are made from the trunk of one tree, like a long boat, and all of one piece, and worked marvelously in the fashion of the land, and so big that in some of them 40 and 45 men came. And others smaller, down to some in which one man came alone. They row with a paddle like that of a baker and go marvelously. And if it capsizes on them then they throw themselves in the water, and they right and empty it with calabashes [hollowed out gourds] that they carry.

They brought balls of spun cotton and parrots and javelins and other little things that it would be tiresome to write down, and they gave everything for anything that was given to them. I was attentive and labored to find out if there was any gold; and I saw that some of them wore a little piece hung in a hole that they have in their noses. And by signs I was able to understand that, going to the south or rounding the island to the south, there was there a king who had large vessels of it and had very much gold. I strove to get them to go there and later saw that they had no intention of going. I decided to wait until the afternoon of the morrow and then depart for the southwest, for, as many of them showed me, they said there was land to the south and to the southwest and to the northwest and that these people from the northwest came to fight them many times.

And so I will go to the southwest to seek gold and precious stones. This island is quite big and very flat and with very green trees and much water and a very large lake in the middle and without any mountains; and all of it so green that it is a pleasure to look at. And these people are very gentle, and because of their desire to have some of our things, and believing that nothing will be given to them without their giving something, and not having anything, they take what they can and then throw themselves into the water to swim.

But everything they have they give for anything given to them, for they traded even pieces for pieces of bowls and broken glass cups, and I even saw 16 balls of cotton given for three Portuguese ceotis [copper coins], which is a Castilian blanca [a copper coin worth half of a maravedi]. And in them there was probably more than an arroba [around 24 pounds] of spun cotton.

This I had forbidden and I did not let anyone take any of it, except that I had ordered it all taken for Your Highnesses if it were in quantity. It grows here on this island, but because of the short rime I could not declare this for sure. And also the gold that they wear hung in their noses originates here; but in order not to lose time I want to go see if I can find the island of Cipango.

Now, since night had come, all the Indians went ashore in their dugouts.

Much later he ran into the Caribs. Who were cannibals.

A Gift From the New World

Young men in the 1960s were constantly warned about the dangers of drugs, rock n roll, and sex.

Sex not only led you to hell, but to Syphilis.

We had no idea what Syphilis was, how you got it, and what you did once you had it other than horrific tales of doctors shoving an umbrella needle up your penis. Fear was a credible prevention tool during those decades of ignorance, although not enough to keep us pure forever.

Before 1493 no one in Europe, Africa, or Asia had the Clap.

No one, until Columbus returned from his discovery of Haiti.

Of course the Native Americans claim that it was the Europeans who infected America not the other way around.

It’s a little like my first time getting a dose.

It was in Paris.

1984

I was faithful to my teenage girlfriend, Candia.

The jeune fille had an Italian lover. Their affair was supposedly over and I believed the 17 year-old. Men in their 30s can possess a soft heart for a young woman. She traveled to Italy for a photo shoot. We made love upon her return. A week later I went to the bathroom and experienced a burning sensation while passing water.

My trust had been rewarded with the clap.

“How could have I gotten this?”

"I don't know." Candia acted blameless. "Maybe it's something else."

We visited the the Palais Royal Red Cross clinic. They tested us for free. The results were positive for both of us. as we walked through the regal garden, I said, “You should tell your boyfriend.”

“He would not give me this. You must have gotten it off a toilet seat.”

“Toilet seat?” I didn’t get the clap from a toilet seat and broke up with Candida. We said nothing about her gift until she gave me the gift that keeps giving once again. I went to the Palais Royal and got another dose of medicine. Candia wanted to get back with me. I called her to say I was leaving for the States. I haven't had the clap since, but I can state without any doubt that Columbus did not get Syphilis off a toilet seat.

I doubted either the Caribs used sitting shitters and the Spanish of that era of exploration were even less elegant with their sanitary habits.

The returning members of his first expedition got the clap from sex.

Thank you, Columbus.

Without you we would have never had condoms.

HALFWAY AROUND THE WORLD by Peter Nolan Smith

Written Oct 12, 2021

Distances around the world have dramatically shrunk with the spread of jet transportation. Columbus' voyage to the New World lasted almost two months. That trip from the port of Palos in Spain to Plana Cays in the Bahamas would now take about twenty-hours with a train to Madrid, flights to Miami and Nassau followed by a small hop to Plana Cayes. A long day, but a fraction of the time Columbus' flotilla spent on the Great Atlantic.

My great-grandaunt Bert traveled to Asia on her father's clipper ship during the 1870s.

They traveled across the Atlantic around the Cape of Good Hope to traverse the Indian Ocean to Singapore and beyond.

"The voyage took eight months.

In 1960 my father drove us down to visit Aunt Bert. Her house in Falmouth Heights, Mass. was a memorial to her journeys. The stately nonagenarian greeted us at the door with her Polish nurse. I had never seen a man or woman that old, but her ancient eyes dashed with life. She invited us inside and waved for my older brother and me to explore the house. It was a young boy's delight.

Tobacco stained hookahs, scrimshawed whale teeth, blood-encrusted harpoons, bet swords, and African fetish masks adorned the hallways. My older brother and I put on wicked masks to duel with narwhal tusks. We were pirates on a rage.

"What do you think you're doing?" My mother was aghast at our liberties.

"Don't mind them." Aunt Bert waved a weathered hand in the air. "All boys go a little mad seeing these 'things'."

"But they might break something." My mother came from a good Irish family. Children were carved into adults with the smack of a belt. She eyed out a warning. I cringed to decipher its meaning.

"This harpoon was used by a Samoan to kill a whale for my eighth birthday. We were off the coast of India. If a whale couldn't break it, then your boys can't either." My great-grandaunt would have been my age in 1868. She had never had children. Her side of the family was old New England blood.

"And those masks come from headhunters in Papua New Guinea. Their tribe ate people. I don't think that cannibals care about your boys breaking them. Maybe they would have like to eat your heart more."

No one spoke like this in 1960 and Aunt Bert lifted the masks from our faces.

"Make your mother happy. Put down those things and come drink tea with me." Aunt Bert led us into the sitting room. Her nurse brought us tea and ginger snaps. She looked at us, as if she was calculating the measure of our worth.

"When I was your age, I sailed with my father on a whaling ship."

"You told us that they killed a whale for you."

"Off the coast of Madagascar. You know where that is?"

"East of Africa." Geography was my favorite subject.

"The boats chased the whale. The whale fought for his life. After he was killed, the boats towed the carcass to the ship. The crew cut off the blubber into Bible leaves and turned it into oil in pots. The entire ship smelled of whale fat, but the fire from the oil was beautiful. My brother and I could see our shadows on the deck. It was almost magic."

I had fallen under her spell and sipped at the tea.

The ornately carved table had been transported from Siam. The cups were Wedgewood. The silverware came from Mexico.

"Would you like one sugar or two?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Of course you want two spoonfuls. Young boys like things sweet."

"Thank you." My mother had raised us to be polite.

Aunt Bert noticed our staring at the table's carvings of naked women snaking up the legs to honor a dignified king. She smiled and caressed the wood. It was more alive than dead.

"My father bought this table in Thailand. It used to be called Siam. The women there were beautiful but had black teeth from chewing betel nut. The weather was hot, but they loved sweets too. Lovely cakes."

Her clawed hand pushed forward a plate of pastries.

My brother grabbed a cream puff and I chose an eclair.

My father came into the room with my mother and their conversation with Aunt Bert was lost thanks to the heavenly taste of the chocolate eclair.

The next time I saw Bert was at her 100th birthday. President Johnson sent a telegram. Her family surrounded her. She was sitting in a wheelchair. Her smile blessed the younger generations. She called over my older brother and me. We were almost hippies.

"The men in Borneo wore their hair long. They had tattoos too. Same as the whalers." Her head drifted on her neck, as if she might be dying and I asked, "Are you okay?"

"I'm a hundred years old. When I was six, my father gave me a watch for a birthday present. I have it somewhere." She obviously couldn't remember where and I gazed at the sun to the west and said, "It's almost four."

"That how the whalers told the time. By looking at the sun." She closed her eyes and mumbled out a song in a low voice, "I want to be an angel and with the angels stand, a crown upon my forehead and a harp in my hand."

I kissed her on the forehead.

She fell asleep in her chair.

We spent the rest of the afternoon with our cousins.

The last time we met was at a nursing home. She was close to death. Bert spoke our names with a gasp.

"I had a good life. I have seen many things. Things no one will ever see again." Her smile said what those were without her telling what. "You boys have a good life."

She died several days later. Her will left everything to the nurse. It seemed wrong that someone outside of the family should have the harpoons, but not fighting the wishes of the dead was considered good manners in Maine.

I often think about the curios from her house, especially when I travel to the Orient.

My last trip from Fort Greene in Brooklyn to Sri Racha on the Gulf of Siam was on the new Airbus 380.

JFK to Dubai on Emirates in fourteen hours.

Dubai to Bangkok another 6 hours and after clearing customs an hour drive to the small house overlooking the harbor.

The total travel time from door to door twenty-seven hours beat Aunt Bert's record along with the short voyage of Christopher Columbus, however the return trip was a marathon, thanks to an eight-hour lay-over in Dubai and a long queue at JFK.

The TSA treated everyone as a terrorist candidate. The government flunkies searched my bag for contraband, while an Arab patriarch with fourteen kids waltzed out of the customs terminal. Their bags towered over mine. None of them looked like Al-Qaeda, but the TSA weren't taking any chance with an American with a passport thick with immigration stamps.

"What were you doing out of the country?"

"Visiting my family in Thailand and drinking beer." I missed my son and daughter more than I was willing to tell anyone in a uniform.

"Sir, this isn't a joke." The TSA agent was too serious for my taste.

"I know that." I kept my answers to the point and soon exited into the terminal.

Taxi drivers waited outside the doors. I wanted to be on the plane taking off. Fenway and Angie were halfway around the world. I walked past the cabs.

The SkyTrain connected me to A train, which was a straight shot to Fulton Street.

36 hours from door to hour.

I entered my apartment exhausted by the trip and fell asleep within minutes, but woke up at 3am.

I bet Christopher Columbus had never suffered from jetlag and neither had my Aunt Bert, but then they traveled at a different rate of speed, as I would come Christmas.

36 hours to Thailand was nothing to me or Aunt Bert.

We were world travelers and circumnavigating the globe ran in our family.

October 10

In two days some of America will celebrate Columbus Day. Many will curse the Genoan navigator.

On October 10, 1492 the great navigator was two hundred miles from land.

In 1973 Vice President Agnew was deposed as Nixon's vice president for graft.

He once said, "An intellectual is a man who doesn't know how to park a bike."

Millions of my generation said, "Go fuck yourself."

Pseudo-intellectuals are not nattering nabobs of negativism and I celebrate Agnew's exile into non-existence every year.

Fuck the GOP.

ps Columbus' fleet had yet to sight land on October 10, 1492. The day meant nothing to his crew, but they all studied the west for a sign of land. Their Admiral had promised a gold coin to the first man to sight China. He reneged on that prmise and doomed the inhabitants to extermination.