Matterhorn 1985 Gucci Loafers

In late September of 1985 I traveled from Paris to Zermatt via Les Diablerets, my autumn refuge away from the nightlife at Le Balajo. Amazing to see the Matterhorn towering over the scenic village. The higher alpine meadows flowing with edelweiss. The gasthaus were demi-filled with elderly hikers and Swiss reservists on their yearly training exercises. Dinner was trout accompanied by a few Feldschlösschen beers. I bought a map of the mountain at a gift shop and set out on a short walk in the cool evening air perfumed by log fires. The Matterhorn shone in the moonglow. I needed to get closer and upon my return to the hotel and asked the concierge, if the Hornlihutte at 3260 meters was possible in one day.

"Go to sleep. Take the first Schwarzsee Cable Car. For there it's a two hour hike to the Hornlihutte. Not easy, but you look in good shape."

"Danke fur der Beratung." I had learned German in high school from Bruder Karl. The Bavarian chain smoker had failed me twice.

Tne next morning after a hardy Zmorge of buttered black bread with cheese and marmalade along with a strong Kaffi. After stopping to buy food, water, and chocolate for the hike I set out for the 8:30 tramway to Schwarzsee with tourists and hikers all geared out in better boots and backpacks than mine. I spoke with no one. The view of the mountains demanded all my attention. Swiss stone pine, larch, birch and willow filled the valley. These trees had survived countless winter storms. I had been reared in Maine with the White Mountains west of Portland Harbor. Mount Washington at 6,288 feet was visible ninety-four miles away from the Eastern Promenade. The Ice Age glacier had grounded thousands of feet in height from Agiochook.

The Alps had withstood the milleniae to dominate the sky. The Matterhorn dominated the chain with an awesome power over any flatlander or coaster Its sister mountains of Breithorn and Klein Matterhorn swarmed over the Zermatt Valley. The treeline gave way just before the arrival at Schwarzsee. As the tram approached its destination. I wished the ride had been at a slower pace. I deboarded at the station. The tourists snapped shots of the scenery and the hikers hauled on their daypacks and set off on the Hornliweg, distance 2.7 kilometers. I waited for a lull and began my hike. The alpine grass had been gnawed to the nub by goats. The Swiss have been pasturing in the Alps for thousands of years. Lonely Helvitians with the sheep and goat and cows. At this altitude the only sounds are cow beels, the wind, and my panting. After a short flatish stretch the trail reached Kapelle Maria zum Schnee by the Schwartzsee. The lakeside church has been the pilgrimage destination since the 18th century. Several hundred meters on the path climbed a very steep slope. At this altitude I was huffing and huffing, stopping very few minutes to regain my breath. The majestic watershed between Italy and Switzerland represented the uplift of the African tectonic plate.

In 1974 I had driven over the Milner Pass of Continental Divide. Height 12,183 feet.

Higher than the Hornlihutte, but this was the highest I had been since then.

The grass petered out into the gneiss strewn plains. Oxygen had thinned out and I was gasping for breath, until a narrow trail traverse a fall of scree. I struggled for footing, slipping and dangerously tottering, finally stopped upon seeing an older woman tramping down the path in Heidi attire and Gucci loafers. The smiling septuagenarian wished a good way and continued on her way, as if she were on a hunt for edelweiss flowers.

I was completely knackered. My heart was pumping, as if I were a victim extra in ALIEN. I gathered my breath. Not for a final push to the Hornlihutte, but to gaze out of the Alps with respect. I might have berated myself, saying that if that old lady can get to the hut, then I had to tough it out. Thankfully I had learned long ago that success in life sometimes is achieved not so much by failure, but by understanding that giving up is not failure and proving I was better than an old woman in Gucci loafers was no success at all.

I might be lucky on the descent through the meadows and find an edelweiss flower. Always lucky that.

Boston Corner, New York

In June 2022 I traveled north by train to Dover Plains. It was my first trip out of New York since my Yulemas liver transplant. Almost everyone of the train was old. I was old too. Michael picked me up at the station. He lived on the eastern slope of the Taconic Mountains. We had arranged to meet Ro Lohan a mutual friend and her husband Kevin, who lived just over the border from Massachusetts. I was familiar with the the Connecticut side having lived in Kent back in 1986. The countryside was much the same, except the the mountains rose to the east.

The couple greeted us with warmth. We hadn’t seen each other in a long time. Their house was on a quiet lane and had been restored from absolute ruin to the simple elegance of country life. Each room highlighted by their paintings. I favored Ro’s more figurative works than her long skein through pointillist chaos. She showed me the new work painted during her recent Paris residence combining the two opposite paths to achieve something special. I was impressed and said so. Ro like most everyone couldn’t take a compliment, feeling like a traitor to the long time she spent on her former pieces.

Michael and Kevin joined us for a walk to the end of the lane, which t-boned onto a long cornfield slanting up to the Taconics. Michael said that he lived on the other side.

“There are no roads crossing these mountains. Paths, yes. Steep ones too.” Michael was as old as us. The sculptor loved hiking through the Berkshires. I wanted to attempt one this visit, but felt too weak to suggest a trek.

“And there had never has been,” explained Kevin. If you look at a map, the western end of Massachusetts it’s not a straight line.”

“It isn’t,” I asked in disbelief and swiftly checked his statement. It was true. A small line deviated from the border.

“This area was impossible to govern with the influx of criminals, runaway slaves, debt felons, and all kinds of outlaws fleeing the law. Three railroads ran through the town They even had a hotel and promoters staged an illegal bare-knuckle fight bringing in over three thousand spectators.” He pointed to the plaque on the opposite side of the road. “This had been the center of the universe on that day. At least in this neck of the woods. Massachusetts ceded over the land to Duchess County and law was distributed to the populace by New York.

There was no lawlessness in sight. Just four old people. Back at their house we went to the pool. No one had yet swam in it.

I stripped naked to show them the peace symbol scar from my operation. They were impressed and I dove headfirst in the water. Cold, but survivable. They all laughed as did I.

Painting by Ro Lohan

Key West 1981

A few palm trees in sight Wavering in the Key West light. High noon on Key West Even in the shade The blinding brightness All horizons so close Key West.

No sailor fears the edge of the world I know no fear I stand on Key West. 95 miles from Cuba.

Swim out South from Straw Hat Beach A hundred yards. Still no fear Stop swimming My feet rest on sand. The sea chest-deep

My tread careful Not to awaken sea monsters Nor tread on a dead fish Nor the drowned bodies of coke pirates Nor sea monsters Are they there? Lurking beneath the waves Asleep beneath a azure sea.

America’s Godzilla A hundred feet of fire breathing monster. Waiting Awakening Burn Miami to ashes. Spare Key West The queers, The conchs, The snowbirds, Fishermen, Tourists, Drunks at Sloppy Joe's Bar and me. Saved from death From a monsters.

We are safe From Strange monsters at the end of US1. Forever asleep.

Buffalo Soldier - Bob Marley - Africa 2019

In March 2019 while trekking across the Masaai Plains with the Kili Initiative team, ten young adults from Kibera and East New York, I hiked alone to meeting them for a rock climbing exercise. The dust of Africa under my feet I heard a song on the wind and saw the team atop of rock. Singing. As I grew closer, I divine the Bob Marly song BUFFALO SOLDIER. and walked singing the chorus. They shouted the chorus back. Sheer happiness. The magic of Marley. I tried to scale the cliff at ten feet I slipped and crashed into the rocks. Scraps blood. No pain. Africa. Only freedom.

Buffalo Soldier, dreadlock Rasta
There was a Buffalo Soldier
In the heart of America
Stolen from Africa, brought to America
Fighting on arrival, fighting for survival

Lyrics by Bob Marley

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LfVjOdIHSW0

Ambroseli Safari 2019

Ambroseli Safari with 2019 Kili Initiative team. The previous evening at the hotel in Marangu I had eaten goat entrails stew, despite our commander Tim Challen's warning. I ignored his advice and paid the price. I was deathly ill and the next day we went on a safari to Ambroseli. We sighted lions, elephants, zebra, baboons, and giraffes, who are not hard to miss. All I wanted to see was a rest room, which was atop a hill in the plains. Safe from the wild beast, but not goat entrails stew.

On the climb my puking earned the nickname '000-aak'. Never again goat entrails stew.

Heaven and Hell 1999

Hell and Heaven are the same place. And it is also possible to die in the next world, for it has boundaries unlike this universe. Mysteries are not solve and the body can deteriorate over time, which flows in giant spirits in the blink of an eye. You can experience every second or miss thirty years at a go, losing all contact with the people you were last with. The world are fantastic, but crowded with decaying figures of people forgetting where they are and what they doing.

Nothingness is a constant threat. I traveled with my brother and sisters and you can exist at any age, although your mind holds the mentality of adulthood most of the time. Heaven comes when you forget everything you know and are able to be that child you were without knowing any better, but sooner or later the reality of where you are sinks in and you fades from everyone's consciousness, until you wake in your state of decay. There's food and you must eat it or else you'll waste away. It as everything materializes and dematerializes without any plans. There are no devils to torment you, just people and more people.

I made love to a woman who have shifted all over the age bracket, as if she were daydreaming about her life and I guess that was why we shift into different ages. Our bodies are represented by various stages of age and you can only maintain that appearance for short periods of time. Maybe this place was more purgatory than Heaven, and Hell was a place no one wanted to go, but to which you could escape, when you couldn't take purgatory any longer. Heaven. It seemed like no one went to Heaven, because time had not yet come to a halt. Nothing gets finished. Nothing really gets done.

Friends come in and out of view, but maybe before they met you, so you don't recognize each other. Purgatory is a strange kaleidoscope. No one wants to be there, but there are those who handle it better than others and there are also predators seeking out people to revenge events in the living world.

No one talked about God, but there must have been some haven for the moderately religious or that anyone religious goes to another purgatory or straight to heaven. There was little discussion other than about living and trying to replicate the world from before, but everything always falls apart or scares you so much that you want it all to end, though there is no suicide and every attempts to kill yourself other than to fade into oblivion like a decaying corpse.

Surprisingly the place doesn't smell, in fact the only senses you seem to have are sight, sound, and touch, though not enough to receive pleasure. Fear comes from the predators who can't really hurt you, but are convinced that they can make this hell for the waitees. In the end everyone forgets even about the end and only those fighting to remember what they were remain human instead of joining the temporary nothingness.

But none of this have any idea how to save this world or what the result will be at the judgment day. Maybe when you fade away you head back to this universe to lend your lifeforce to something else and the reason you fight is that you're frightened about the unknown, which is why you remain here in this coil.

Snow Beer, Benny Hill, Lhasa 1995

In 1995 Tim Challen a 20 year old Briton wandered the world bound for Tibet. Chengdu, China was the airport of departure to Lhasa. Arranging visas et al he explored the Szechuan capitol arriving at a riverside cafe with two young female Dutch travelers for an afternoon tea. Surrounded by hibiscus flowers calm reigned along the Jin River, until loud moans broke from an older man receiving a shoulder massage from an even older Chinese woman.

"Bloody Yank," he remarked to his companions. "Let's go see the pandas."

The next morning a minibus took his group to the airport. Tim boarded the plane and sat at a starboard window. The flight flew over the Himalayas and as the last passengers filled the plane, he became increasingly pleased with the prospect of his seating arrangement. Take-off was due and then the American from yesterday staggered down to aisle seeking his seat

"Please not here, please not here."

The American stopped and lookeda at Tim.

"I think you're in my seat "

Tim got up and politely exchanged places. The American said nothing. A small blessing and fell asleep before takeoff.

An hour later he woke and looked out the window

"Damn, the Himalayas. Take a look " The American rose from his seat and went to the restroom. Indeed damn. The mountain range to all horizons. After fifteen minutes, the American returned with two beers and sat by the window.

"I miss anything?" He asked handing Tim a can of Snow Beer.

"A hundred miles of Himalayas."

"Plenty more to come."

He turned on the in-flight TV.

"It's Benny Hill. You like him?"

Tim did indeed and like that

Beer, Benny Hill, and soon Lhasa they became friends forever. Chai yo.

Tashi delek.