1983 Journal


Any relation to reality of the writing herein

is purely intentional.

January 1st, 1983

Slept in: Ngarinaasuru, Malaita Solomon Islands

“The panoply of village sounds carpeted the audile like” an orchestra of maestros, roosters, unintelligible language, the familiar happy play of children and a bird population spurting out a low volume concert. Kelly and I, she being my steadfast companion, made love in the raised house on the water, and we were led to Ngarinaasuru, by Sali of the SSEC village next to the DA village from where we had come, ‘Ubuni greeted us in short order, on the vista-ed peak halfway up the mountain. We had left the world of the True God and stepped on the fringe of the land of Evil Ancestors. We waited for permissions, and spent the night with Ubuni as guard, after a day of seeing the Bush People of the East Kwaio, trading, eating the offered sweet potatoes (white), learning of tabus, the ‘Flower House,’ the sacred pigs, the sacrificing of same. We had not yet learned of the rotted skulls that adorned the tambu houses spread about in the bush. We made love in the dwelling with a pad or two to raise us off the dirt floor.

“My life, is too complicated Record keeping, errand running, it’s really mostly a waste of time. Why can’t I zoom all the time? Can life be a continuous high? Can I be different but be accepted? Can I be outlandish and be admired? Can I sustain that energy?

This is the mess that civilization has made of my mind!”

January 2nd, 1983

Ngarinaasuru, Malaita Solomon Islands

Write off David and Katie as friends, the Peace Corp couple with glazed eyes and a not so convincing line of implications that they didn’t believe in the Ancestors themselves (the “Philosophy of No Thank You” Being seemingly overemphasized and the “Philosophy of Bobness” being seemingly absent.) Vague, though present, were visions in dreams of unknown things that my extra-sensory perceptions were straining to capture. Old Ubuni, carrier of the bags in the Primitive Expedition in 1927, head of area council, and landowner, “greediest” man David ever saw, refused us entry to the bush, refused having his picture taken, and smiled his smile of a few awful teeth only when presented a gift, or when we bought his “custom” pieces. If this man is to become an ancestor, he will be evil in his all-powerful state. The fat lady, weaved next to us and slept with us in a non-tambu house in her cluster in the night. I “snuck” out and took pictures of the paradisial, moonlit, primitive South Pacific night. “I am trying to capture my impressions as a white man to the nakedness of women, and how essential this is to basic happiness. You don’t have to touch them…”

January 3rd, 1983

Ngarinaasuru, Malaita Solomon Islands

We are welcome to spend the day there, but if I won’t pay $60 to go to the bush by myself, and/or $100 or the hut I slept in last night for free, we will be asked to leave. We stay until late afternoon. Katie was misled into thinking I was about to break the tambu of going into her latrine and yelled out, “That’s tambu.” Kelly, without hesitation, retorted: “So why’d ya have to open your big mouth?” An argument ensued. Ubuni came out to shake my hand goodbye. (Of note, the father Ubuni had allowed his picture taken for three “Erik the Red” cigarettes. Also, the $60 I was to pay to go the bush was old Ubuni’s price for breaking the law that he had created about not allowing expatriates into the bush.)

We took a leisurely, decent, Kadmill Martin greeted us at the bottom. Reluctantly (first reaction), I accepted for refreshment, but we spent the night, I holding her so as to not make too much noise in this SSEC village. A drastic change took us from the bush to the village, the village still somehow realistically primitive, perhaps the fringe bordered on the savage.

January 4th, 1983

Ngarinaasuru, Malaita Solomon Islands

Eager to walk in the bush, I was led up the mountain, I suppose about twice as high as Ngarinaasuru. Without a pack, it was incredibly – much easier. We stopped near the bottom to wait to hear Kelly say she didn’t want to go on, and we (the boys I was accompanied by) stopped briefly when a rain shower came up because the young fellow cut off a huge (3 ½’ x 2′) tropical leaf as an umbrella for the Kwaio bag. I told him I didn’t need it, and I refused their offers for rest until we got to the top (When I suggested it.) Around noon, we went to the river and bathed a bit. In the afternoon I listened to Kadmill’s problems of struggle to gain entry into the white man’s world. In the evening, I borrowed a dugout canoe, and I paddled up the dark river, guiding away from the mangrove fringe, navigating by treetops on a night sky. Tonight we began hearing stories of decapitating rotting corpses. I asked Kadmill if he still believed in the ancestors, and he said that he doesn’t, but that sometimes he “can feel something.”

January 5th, 1983

Auki, Malaita Solomon Islands

We caught a free canoe ride of Atori and a land rover ride to Auki. James Ange came up to us at the market. Dinner of bonito and potatoes and bread and butter (supplied K and J) and tea were, followed by a night on the deck of Waiari, a yacht built and owned by David and Sandy, who sat up and talked with us, Sandy’s bare chest compelling Kelly to do the same (the ride from Sinalago was from Billy, who works on Guadalcanal but was from Sinalago. When we left, the SSEC villagers, and the fat lady came to the water’s edge as we motored away. In the bay (Lagoon), we spotted ‘Ubuni in a canoe; we saw him with the bag I had traded.) The whole business of the Kwaii will be in my memories for the rest of my life, I feel sure. The stories (the penalty for taking the skull of a tambu house is decapitation) are eerie. David said in one village, an epidemic claimed two brothers in the same day, and the people were wondering why the ancestors were mad at them.

January 6th, 1983

Auki, Malaita Solomon Islands

[Jan 5th cont.] Two women in that village have gone crazy. It takes 2 men, one on each arm, and a third on the stomach to hold one of them down. They try to bite the men. David says they are as if on ‘an acid trip’. We tried to pay on the boat but it pulled back in the harbor-maximum capacity. We must wait till tomorrow to leave. We find an excellent lunch place and fill up. We go and laze away the afternoon by a river. In the evening back to the restaurant and an invitation to sleep on the floor by Mr. Faulkner, owner, who startled us with stores of his 1950’s seismic expedition to the New Guinea highlands. His party came across two tribes that had never seen white people and who were still using stone-age implements. (The pineapples in the market here are perfectly sweet and cost as little as 10 cents. The people on Malaita I have found hospitable – it seems we could find lodging easily from new friends. On the river during the day, we found frogs that were scarcely the size of flies.) Still, images of the naked young girl with little hair below, brings out my most basic urges.

January 7th, 1983

Honiara, Guadalcanal Solomon Islands


We had breakfast at the place we slept (and woke up in the middle of the night, fearing the fears of imaginary attackers, watchers and unreal things as well as snakes, spiders and frogs!) Boarded on Compass Rose II, with artifacts, me with my one foot long staff of twisted Malaitian (top leaves) tobacco ($2), pineapples given by James and the ticket agent who had kicked us off yesterday, we bided our time, built a lean-to in the hot sun and leeward of the engine room ventilation stack.

Arriving about 6 pm, we come direct to Sugar Bear. The boat is a mess, Joe has pulled the engine apart. Al Toneli, our new guest for a month, introduces himself. Brad flew home Wednesday with no fanfare. The sailing schedule has been changed. Occasionally Kelly and I dissect one piece of the puzzle of David, Katie and the Kwaio. If the Peace Corps is a government-funded agency, I would very much like to read the reports submitted by David and Katie.


January 8th, 1983

Honiara, Guadalcanal Solomon Islands


Frankly, the highlight of today centered on the discovery that the medallions Kelly and I bought were prized items in Honiara. The medallion that I bought for $6 brought a trade offer of $185 in the form of a necklace of aged human teeth, perhaps a hundred or so (the price tag of $185 on it in the cabinet.) I traded the $10 medallion for about 80 bat teeth and a necklace with 74 large porpoise teeth and some gorgeous red shell money. Kelly traded her $10 medallion for a $55 necklace of small red shell money and 175 small porpoise teeth and a crocodile tooth necklace and a necklace of shell money and 6 human teeth, as well as other things. The man, Marion, in the store here, told us that such things (as our medallions), fetched $200 to certain individuals. I was totally amazed at the treasures we brought away from there. (Ngarinaasuru). It presents me with a new awareness that this part of the world is relatively untouched. I believe a lot of money can be made in this area.

January 9th, 1983

Honiara, Guadalcanal Solomon Islands


Sunday was a day for work, we are fixing the engine, really Joe and Al are doing the engine work. I am being the usual runabout. This I don’t mind particularly, because I am also usually able to runabout myself for mine own chores. Some asshole jumped onto the gunwale of the dingy, tipping it over and getting water in the fuel tank. We overhauled it, then I busted the mounting bracket while tightening it back on, which was a catastrophe in Boysie’s mind. When I went to bed, Kelly sucked me off and I came in her mouth for the first time. I comment: I am getting to the point that even when a day is slow, or if things go away, I still feel a general presence of happiness, convinced in my own bobness, glad to be on such an adventure. We sit in the mooring on the east side of the Honiara docks. My mind spins on the Kwaio.

January 10th, 1983

Honiara, Guadalcanal Solomon Islands


I sent letters and postcards today. I wrote frantically in the morning, culminating weeks of worrying, starting only to be halted midway. I attached a thank-you bud to the first of two letters to Clymer, and in the postcards that followed; I proudly painted the picture of naked women to be freely gazed at. Jettisoned by collective wave, comprised of all those on the way there, I ride a continuous wave of euphoria, pitted with the rush of work to be done. (I do not think, and this is sort of conclusive that I could live without adventure. I have simply got to arrange my life to include going to new places.) Writing those letters brought me closer to home, some parts of which I cherish, my friends and family. “At the conveniently planned shower, the dark ladies Yacht Club dressing area, K and I made do standing up. I follow K’s beautiful sarong here waving in the wave’s force, as Sugar Bear heads on, now 2 days later as I try vainly to capture the 10th.

January 11th, 1983

Honiara, Guadalcanal Solomon Islands

During the on going rhetorical conversation with myself, I have passed upon treasures, envisioned lonely stretches, and seen the dark side of the moon. Flaming aqua blue eyes of a by standing toad reflect for me, joyous, off the freshly positioned headlamps of the roaring motor scooter as she cuts the night. If now were the totality of my existence, I would not know that the warmth behind me was what I formerly knew to be Kelly, my steadfast companion. A clandestine rally to Binu on our last night in Guadalcanal finds us bombing closer to the yacht, a near dodge past a cow emerging from roadside bush. Quick pulling over to regain a left basket finds us toad gazing. The toads sit under fluorescents fishing for insects like a group of 50 year olds. We procure the beauteous red toned beads, a gift from Billy in Binu. I say to the toads as we leave, “You guys are bad news!” The engine was fixed today.

January 12th, 1983

Hove to West of Savo Island, Solomon Islands

Symbols have manifestations in reality. We are hoved-to. Symbols are reality. The beads of rain beading on the fiberglass ceiling. My important thought for the day that one of my optimal feelings is that of productive thought (See Orange book on Pacific Voyage). The rattle of the road of last night jarred my psychedelic, instinctive visions for New Wave Clubs and Kingdoms. We slept from 2:30 to 5:30, after a convenient Begging Solo Man brought us to the boat. I hustled today for a token of faith. We left Honiara, sailed north Savo, and, 6 miles off the (Russell) islands to our west, now we sleep hove to. Only I’m writing, not sleeping. Life is one euphoria after another, but I can’t always see it. I tried well to set up a friendship, trading system with Billy. The beautiful necklace he gives me, gives me faith. My goal is to come back with more money than when I left. No, my goal is to enjoy myself as much as possible. If I continued on through Asia and Africa, I will have visited the world’s basic countries – possibly see 60 countries.

January 13th, 1983

Renard Sound, Russell Islands, Soloman Islands

A jarring night leaves us restless; and it carried us, the current, several miles away from the Russell’s. Conveniently, I awoke when we anchored at what I did not know then to be Renard Sound. “I can come with you, okay?” “Sure, of course,” says the Saint and the motor purrs us to the waving children on the dock. Mermaids. This was the conclusion. There could be no doubt. It was a doubtful possibility, but we actually were looking in the same place at the same time as the fin popped up slowly, waved in the air, a tail fin, like an ARC’d trapezoid, 16″ at the tip, scaled, a light blue, speckled yellow or something to give it that effect. It slid back in the water. It came out about 1′ altogether at it’s highest point. Swimming before dinner, check the anchor… couldn’t sleep. Dove in the black phosphorus water, on the fringes of the light the small fish gleamed fluorescent, blueish purple, the flashlight upward as I reemerge, a surrealistic moment, then the night sky and water I see a snake and the light starts to leak.

January 14th, 1983

Mouth of Lagoon at Lingatu, Sunlight Channel, Russell Islands, Solomon Islands

Leisurely morning, swim. On the way around Mbanika Island, I carbuncled her, but good! Right, right before Hoi Island, a swim to check anchor, a dingy to shore. A climb up a coconut tree – what am I trying to prove? A brief conversation, tits in the background, a run through the coconut plantation into the cocoa orchards a return to S.B. with coconuts at my feet! I lay about the boat like a slug, until midnight when we depart, the heat penetrating, even on deck these islands seem tame, compared to the Kwaio – the coconut plantations owner’s flunkies in the 1st step toward Europeanism for the S.P. savages. Sad, when they let desire for superfluous wealth strip them of their dignity. If I have not changed, then why do I feel so different? Joe spreads his arms wide and says ‘It was this big’ as physical exclamation of description of the giant clam of the part of the lagoon I failed to explore.

January 15th, 1983

Mblisi Entrance, First Left Morovo Lagoon, New Georgia Islands, Soloman Islands.

From midnight morning January 15th we sailed all day, to bring us to 80′ granite cliffs with thick mats of green, woody, forest protruding out one after another – single, giant lobster claws laying in wait. Entering Mbili passage. Mt. Mariu to my left looks like a dark, Ecuadorian mountain at sea level. Slate-blue, green and a cloudy panorama are denominators of the scene. Mblisi entrance to Morovo Lagoon: I swim across shark-infested waters to land on shore. I place a staff on the beach with a coconut halve and coral for a head: “By virtue of this staff, I claim this island for… the Brothers, me, Tom, Gary and Jeff. Kelly breaks into the room just now, the other ½ of the milo and coffee set, the trendy set, on the boat. This reminds me of Norma: they call themselves the “trendies” in N.Y. – the “trendies” – that’s what I want to be – King of the Trednies, I having recently given up any hope for a normal life.

January 16th, 1983

Batuna, Vangunu Island (Morovo Lagoon), New Gedrgias, Soomon Islands

“If the plant could figure out a way to absorb carbon dioxide without using water, then our deserts would be rain forests, but the plant has never discovered that,” drones Boysie as I reflect on last night’s dive with Kelly, a surrealistic light show if ever there was one. The phosphorescence was so total that every movement of, say, a fin caused a luminescent green display. This morning, in the same channel, I spotted shark, with no fear – 3′ long and not interested in me. Al and I motored to a B-24 bomber that lay much as it had five minutes after it shattered to a stop on the raised forested coral reef near the water – a missed landing, Propellers and engines were scattered, #766 was momentarily and eternally disassembled circa 1944. A short cruise and an afternoon walk through and outside the Boring, Christian Timber Town of Batuna (Mbatuna) brought Kelly and I to a rain forest where we played doctor. “I believe in the power of the devil,” says B.C.T.T. Wife, fearing my Kwaio beads.

January 17th, 1983

Uipi, Island Paradise, Morovo, Soloman Island

Melanesian angels they make of headhunters, how unchristian of the missionaries not to leave at least a tribe or two on Vanunu Island for late day adventures like me. In the church, all the heavenly figures are suspiciously dark. From boringness to Paradise (Uipi) in one afternoon, the way navigated with my aid and a radio from the spreader. Sighted giant clams right off shore 3′ across. Shark 5′-7′ on my first try around ocean-influenced bend off cove. Thousands of fish. “The best diving in the world,” reckons Bob Lewis, who lives here. He-gottem-tanks. “Bronze weil-ers, they get nasty;” Bob calls sharks, learned “from a Gilbertese woman;” claims he’ll show us. He was totally Bob and his name was Bob… Lewis.

Tomorrow at 10 am he’ll be by the boat to pick me up for a dive to “the garden.” Let me see: a diver with Jacques Cousteau, 2 times diving around the world, on his 3rd time around the world stopped here, and said it was amongst the best driving (scenery) he had ever seen: ½ dozen sharks at once is normal, but Bob said he’s seen hundreds at once. Ivan, 36 Olympics in Berlin, came to spear, but they bounced off.

January 18th, 1983

Uipi (Uepi), Morovo Lagoon, Soloman Island

Twenty feet over my left shoulder, I exchange mutual glances with a 5 ½’ hammerhead at 45 feet. The giant clam spans four feet across, and I doubt I could get my arms around him even when he closed, like a vice, his monstrous shell. The chimerical kaleidoscope of distinct coral types and colors lives. It lives in “the Garden.” “The little one, ya know, about one foot long, he was a bronze whaler, the one you were fending off with your iron.” This was Bob. At 3:30 pm, Boysie decides the anchorage is dangerous, and as Bob pulls up for our afternoon dive, we set sail. 6 miles away, I hire a canoe and K and I returning a stormy dusk. Bob was “Half full of piss,” but agreed to do a night dive. We went off a pier to 90 feet. The sheer cliff of coral was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. An animal in a crevice shone in my flashlight, it flashed blue luminescent lightening on the border of its mountains while its spikes shone in a lower and upper arc, orange, and on the inside a cauldron of red-orange-yellow gleamed like a fire. A basket star with 75,000 suction cups, 3 across. The entire reef, a cliff vertical as far as I could see, shove predominantly red. Every rock was a universe of detail, of abundant life, all the polyps out.

January 19th, 1983

Blanche Channel at Sea, Below New Georgia, Solomon Islands.

I awoke in a mosquito net, a pretty white pattern that didn’t look like a mosquito net. At 10 am (of course by that time Kelly and I had already paid our morning respects to one another) Bob, I and the group went to a new spot. John had ear problems, so just Bob and I went down. Disappointed that he didn’t call the sharks and that we didn’t go off the ledge. The most fascinating sight to me was the stingray, looming monstrous, but probably only 3′ across – when we came near, off he undulated, like a flying saucer that was flexible. Had a beer, bought a carving, and off we went at 2 in a canoe to meet up with the yacht at Seghe. “Like clockwork,” I say. Shortly after we arrive, the yacht heads through Hele Bar and out to Blanche channel, which we traversed into the night.

A poem for the heavens that breathe water and air.

For the moon and the green.

A poem for those who can’t say anything seriously.

January 20th, 1983

Gizo, Ghizo Isalnd Western Solomans, Soloman Islands

Got to open up, got to be more Bob! I lie here hot and full. Up at 6 this morning to stand watch. “I want to commend you on a good watch. You’re really catching on: “Boysie in a rare moment of praise. Mt. Kolombangara towering, in perfect volcanic island form, we yacht into reef treacherous Ghizo in the early afternoon, me waking up as we pass into shelter. The air hot, the place calm, safe, and quite pretty. Bob is to call Ghizo “the asshole of the earth” (next night.) He is also, tomorrow night, going to agree to send me a noozoo-noozoo of large ebony if I’ll pay the price and freight. P.S. – Kelly tends to my needs, even bandaging my tropical sores, and of course, our spiritual relationship needs a fair amount of attention. We’re supposed to be here until Sunday. Talk of skipping the New Guinea mainland – do they, can they expect to keep me away? Joe says the good music is comprised of statements and answers, and he says that poetry is one cohesive thought. The native police here have a fetish about wearing helmets while you’re riding a motorbike at 10 m.p.h.: “Can you step into the station for a minute?” “Fucking bastards,” would say Bob. K and I love the way he talks (wonders K if they love the way we talk.)

January 21st, 1983

Gizo, Ghizo Island, Solomon Islands

A truly fantastic circumstance but what happens but Bob Lewis walks into the pier yard onto Sugar Bear to visit Al, Kelly and I, the returning and I’ll betcha happier ½ of the crew, returning from an excursion beginning 3 ½ hours early which saw us through shoals paddling with our fins, diving on the NE side of Nusatupi island, me driving our loyal dinghy over a coral head and breaking the shear pin, Al and I rigging a new one with a cotton pin, Sugar Bear heading for 2′ of water to save us, as they see us through binoculars paddling over the shoals (to avoid using the engine), only to start our engine and haul off to the 85′ work-of-beauty 1922 gaff-rigged schooner, to run out of gas, to ask for fuel, to be invited aboard, to return to empty Sugar Bear at 7:30 pm and to be talking when he appeared. Kennedy Island, also known as Pudding Island, where JFK swam ashore from PT109, is a tiny thing visible from where we all sit. Found a card getting into the dingy; said: “Yacht Sugar Bear, Boysie E. Day, owner and master.” (A mutiny should brew!) Joe called me “unconscious Shea,” said they should have a t-shirt printed. I should make them!

January 22nd, 1983

Cruising Soloman Sea North of Vella Lavella enroute Kieta

This is, by my own reckoning, the day I would least like to re-experience in the period since I began the trip, but in retrospect, it is a banner day. I stayed up last night until 3 am with the idea to sleep in, go diving, inquire into the dope on the 85′ yacht and spend the evening with Mr. Lewis, who claimed to us all he would bring 12 beers by. I wake up to find we’re leaving at 12; Boysie virtually orders me to work on the water system, which occupies me up to departure. Boiling, I try to explain to Boysie that when I get to a place, I like to take a look about, see things. His response is that “Maybe you’re not emotionally fit for yachting” (on his premise that you repair your way around the ocean), and “What you are is a tourist” (Said with the utmost disdain). [Diary, between you and me, I think yachting is for fun, not for suffering indignities. Personally, I do not think Boysie’s intelligence merits his arrogance.] He left early to save $40 extra fee for leaving Sunday as Joe pointed out, for this, he let us all down.) In my dark mood, the beckoning light of the truth warmed me – I felt boxed in, but I am free to leave. I revive with the resuscitation of a new future.

January 23rd, 1983

Kieta Harbour, Bouganville, Papua New Guinea

Though geographically a part of the Soloman chain, Bouganville is part of Papua New Guinea Politically – despite the geographical association with the Solomans, Bouganville projects a decidedly different atmosphere and nuances of terrain as we approach the island, with towering peaks and lush vegetation, in the Sunday dusk. All day we approached the steep slopes of Bouganville, first appearing through the natural ocean haze in the mourning. My mind was at peace today, with the determination to depart Sugar Bear, founded from the realization that only I stand betwixt myself and happiness, and in this case, with no hard feelings, and no guilt, I can depart and see this land, which lies circa the zenith of my adventurous dreams. Indonesia, Malaysia and to Bangkok has always seemed the most sensible route with which to sweep the South Pacific. We stay up late talking of plans. It is exciting. We consummate the evening.

January 24th, 1983

Kieta, Bouganville Paupa New Guinea

The four ladies to my front right, one with a babe, the girl to my right, the two men to my left, with a young boy, rattle off a language and I think they’re talking of me, for they look at me and laugh, I think good-naturedly. They laugh, and, in them. I see children, though grown, children of the worlds’ society; so clear they shine, they inspire me to a simple love for them. It almost makes me resentful of the destruction we wreak on their innocence, such as ‘well’ intentioned missionaries begin. Their fierceness is, admittedly, one of the manifestations of their innocence. (One of the first sights I see, within minutes of going ashore for customs, is two women slugging each other – one of them was the travel agent who was enroute to helping me get fares.) But my mind relents on white infiltrators with this philosophy: if you can, then nature allowed it – how can anything that nature allowed be bad?

Kelly and I discussion escape, and my determination grows to bid Sugar Bear farewell and to begin a more detailed look at this part of the world.

January 25th, 1983

Kieta, Bouganville Papua New Guinea

Thinking I’d go for a short cruise on the Honda after I had given a draft written to myself to the Bank of New South Wales in Arawa (for $1500, to be sent to Madang), I saw a sign saying: Panguna 15. Making the ride over the crest at 20 m.p.h., I come down and nearly lose it in a ditch when I first spot the huge dump trucks (wheels over 10 ft. high) of the BCL mine, the largest man made hole in existence: ultimately expected to measure 2.3 x 1.6 kilometers by 0.3. kilometers deep. I stand on the edge and contemplate the designed-by-Bechtel efficiency. I peg the speedometer on the return at >50 m.p.h (momentarily), at times kicking my feet out to catch the native’s attention. In the evening, K and I with Pat of Skookum (of Alameda), go to meet Roger the wanderer. Pat tells us of the Little Nambas and Big Nambas of Vanuatu whose tribal name denotes the size of their penis sheaths.

January 26th, 1983

Kieta, Bouganville Papua New Guinea

At 9 am, Kelly and I hitched to Panguna. PNG is the easiest place to get rides! The 2 and 5-year-old (PNG) lads in the cab of the truck hid, laughed and then moneyed in reaction to the faces and antics we put on in the truck bed. A short tour (Valentine told me too look for work at Ok Tedi on the mainland) was followed by a 2 kinda all-you-can-eat buffet (2nd class). On the truck back, I hear of dangers of travel in Irian Jaya (And Indonesia in general), but I remain determined to see for myself. A continual working out of the details takes place concerning our plans, which remain secret: Kelly will fly home from Kieta (To Japan). I will continue with the boat until Madang, where I will hop off and tour the mainland until rejoining her in port Moresby in, perhaps, eight weeks. Exhausted, I think, perhaps, from eating more than we’re used to, we are unconscious by midnight.

January 27th, 1983

Kieta, Bouganville Papua New Guinea

Kelly’s early morning phone call to Japan, and subsequent discovery that her money’s been sent, sets the wheels of our plan in motion. We hitch back to the mine, and we work out the time details over another long lunch. (As a tropical rain roars on the roofs.) A swim and shower in Panguna’s first-class facility preludes our visit to the mien hospital, where Kelly’s test shows negative, leaving us uncertain as to whether she’ll have to leave PNG. (If she can stay, she’ll get a letter to Rabaul, S.B.’S next port.) Back late, we see Roger in the evening, who agrees to let her stay on his boat till she departs. Back on S.B., I give Al (bound for USA, whose plane leaves at 11 am) my film, a carving and a letter to deliver to Clymer, a letter for Norma (including a request for my $500), and a letter to my Dad (asking for my W-2’s). Kelly and I were up till 2:30 am working out the final details, after which, we proceeded with heated demonstrations of mutual affection. After so many words, it was an excellent way to express the sincerity of what had been said.

January 28th, 1983

Sailing NE Coast of Bougainville Enroute to Rabaul

“Al, I feel compelled to leave a parting message: I will remember you as a model of gallantry and all the good things that friendship brings – Jeff” “Kelly, made sure Al gets this.”

Upon waking, K and I had resumed our pre-sleep activities of last night. Now, we kissed as Sugar Bear pulled me away from her, standing on the deck of Pat’s (and Gail’s) boat, Skookum; we had unloaded Al and Kelly’s luggage and their persons and the motor revved as it took orders to power us to Rabaul. “On Jan 31st, 5 minutes to midnight, I’ll sing a chorus of Habbadaday Shosho Shosho,” I yell. With arms folded, elbows raised (at least shoulder height!), heads held high, in godly exaltation, we salute each other into the imperceptible distance, each wearing half of the fathom of red Kwaio beads that Billy had given me (us) which, this morning, I had cut in two, and, placing a string around her neck, then mine, I said: “To bind our spirits together.” We sailed past the hull of a wrecked wood boat on Mabiri reef, the panorama of the marvelous B’ville peaks towering up to 10,171 feet.

January 29th, 1983

Sailing, Nearing New Ireland

Under the influence of much rest, no booze, no drugs and sparse diet, my mind becomes a breeding ground for vivid drams, surreal perception and psychedelic thoughts. The day goes by grey yet interesting. It begins with a glance at 6 am of the north coast of Buke Island. Occasionally, the rhythm of the motor is interrupted. Three times, Connie (a confused cook) feebly prepares a meal, which I eat politely. When I try to envision Kelly, it is almost as if she were sitting in front of me with her merry smile. I work on my backpack and, for the first time since ’79 when I bought it, get it adjusted correctly. Now, it’s great.

I awake just before midnight trying to recall a dream, which depicted this boat cruising on a lawn (breaking it to expose clear water) beside an enormous and exquisite slate – blue mansion in an intense, but soft sunset. When I try to remember the face or identity of the lady in white who wanted to know why we were there, my eyes water in this indescribable feeling (yearning?), which is almost frightful.

January 30th, 1983

Lamassa Island, Papua New Guinea (Near New Ireland)

Listening to Lone Rhino by Adrian Below, courtesy of my steadfast companion, whom I miss so much. I’m trying to save the puffer fish for a photo session in the morning, but I don’t think he’s going to make it. The tang died. They’re just so g.d. interesting: they’ve got these buck teeth that are ugly. The tang has a spike sticking out of the back of his head. (The puffer pushed out quite a few foot – lbs. when he blew up, futilely trying to break my grip.) These two unlucky fellows fell prey to my target practice. Maybe Neptune will send a shark after me to even the score. I too, am a potential victim in the ocean.

The school of porpoise was the best yet, they came to play the east side of Cape St. George. Huge, one was at least 8 ft., you could study their scars as they screamed just below the surface – you could hear their utterances. Today was a very cruisy day. Anchored now, the clouds partially obscuring the moon, it is tranquil. Now, with the headphones off, I hear only the gentle waves, the occasional easy creak of the boat, the sound my pen makes on the paper, my breathing, a jumping fish, night birds, crickets and the beeping of the flying foxes.

January 31st, 1983

Rabaul Harbour, New Britain Papua New Guinea

I feel like an innocent bystander, who is being sucked into a vacuum, which is New Guinea. It is my curiosity, which could be my Achilles heel. I just have this creepy feeling. I guess it’s natural when you’re in a country where it’s a big deal if you can walk around a place safely at night. Every time I ask a local about the Highlands, they warn me that it is very dangerous: you can get killed quite easily there from what I hear. Since the Australians pulled out of here, the system is deteriorating, and people are going back to tribes. Tribal religions are listed as the number one religion here. I awoke at 1:25 am Feb 1 to sing Hubbadahay Shosho ShoSho to Kelly, apologizing to her for being an hour and a half late. I went out on the dry, breezy, deck in exalted stance to perform the ceremony. I may die here, but my present frame of mind dictates that I will go to the high lands before I leave PNG.


Kelly says yeah, I have a theme for this book – and it is bobness 1/15/83. 10:37 pm

Write when you’re confident!

Jan. 29 – My better half is gone, but I push on to Bobness. The natural state of the human being is total Bobness.

The nature of the society is such that those on the inside view those on the outside as captives.

My favorite mood is one of ableness to concentrate on the productive activity of my choice, to make decisions efficiently, to be free from dwelling on myself, to see clearly and feel the joy of Truth, from which, I believe, no one need fear.

February 1st, 1983

Rabaul, New Britain Papua New Guinea

I got some news that I wanted today: there is a boat from here to Lae (on the mainland) for 27 Kina. Other general news is that it seems boat travel is cheap and available in these parts, making it more practical for me to fulfill my dreams. I continue filling my backpack to see how much it will take, and it seems to be doing admirably.

There are some refugees from Indonesian Irian Jaya here, who came across the border with machine guns in an outrigger with an outboard and ended up in Raboul on their way to Vanvato. The government is putting them up at the community hostel while the United Nations seeks political asylum for them. I’ll go see them tomorrow.

I think of the little girl who, when we had a chance to shower together, scrubbed me from head to toe, and I think, despite the subdued animosity of some of the remaining crew towards her, and the things they say that would make a man less deeply in affection waver, I think I can, with charity, get along with them until I go.

February 2nd, 1983

Rabaul, New Britain Papua New Guinea

Locking myself in the shower room, comfortable now, I entreaty K through telepathic means to hear me. Uncertain as to the strength of my transmitter, I concentrated harder, tense my muscles, squeeze my eyes shut tighter and maintain my fingertips against my temples. Before and after this, I am subject to a welling up of water in my eye sockets, the woe soul. Kelly, having received message through Christ O’Flaherty and Chris the travel agent, called me around 8 pm. How can I describe the epitome of the gushing of my heart as it gates unfastened let lose the rivers of affection that flow freely from me to her. How can I describe the miracle of her soothing words, at once beginning and completing the cure of the afflicted heart. How appropriate her appellation – Sweet Kelly. Freshly alive with thoughts of seeing her on Saturday or Sunday, I will fly on the wings of hope until the wings of man land me safely on the ground of Kieta.

February 3rd, 1983

Rabaul, New Britain Papua New Guinea


I sit in a room with three intense men, Seth, Louis and Fred. Worldly eyes of a world I don’t know, piercing eyes, sincere eyes. People who have killed, but they have loving eyes! Mine, are watering, but this isn’t funny – it is beautiful. It is the constitution of dreamers, a state founded on brotherly love, a dream to be fought for the death. I am piecing the puzzle together, bit by bit, earnestly trying to understand the plight of the dark men in front of me. I picked up a lot of it. I went to the yacht harbor, went on the dingy and sailed into fantasy: A nightmare. The dingy wasn’t there, so I went to the yacht club. A big (reasonably fat) girl came to me straight away – she bought me a drink and said since I couldn’t get on my boat, I could stay at a beach house with her. I said okay. It was fun until we got in bed and she didn’t want to. Then I realized my awful crime against my own image of a spiritual union with one I love so much.

February 4th, 1983

Rabaul, New Britain Papua New Guinea

Awakening from a nightmare, after few hours of rest, I dragged my way to the cockpit. Questions as to my plans for working on the boat prompted me: “Connie, Joe maybe you’d like to hear this: I guess it won’t be a surprise to you, from what I’ve heard – I’m resigning from the crew.”

Surprisingly, they were pretty nice to me – Boysie asked me to dinner. It made it almost pleasant to be with them again when they treated me as a friend and not as a crew (which was supposed to be the same thing in my mind). I told them that I would stay one day later than originally planned, so that I could do some work on Sugar Bear – I sort of owed them at least that much, and I wanted to leave with good feelings. It was sort of sad though. Right after I told them I was leaving, when they were all below, I sat up on the cockpit and I cried quietly. I cried for all the misunderstandings that would prevent them from knowing that I loved each of them.

February 5th, 1983

Rabaul, New Britain Papua New Guinea


Today was a busy day. The situation is, at this point, eating at me a bit, but I don’t, won’t, admit it. I would love to be able to paint a rosy picture of my outlook, but my education to the truth in this journal prevents that since there is a tinge of melancholy that pervades these days. The sun illuminates Rabaul, giving it a pleasant, summer air. I look forward to tomorrow, wondering if, after only a week, circumstances may have already changed between me and Kelly. I feel quite saddened that I had a nightmare, in which I touched another girl. For me, it is a recurring nightmare, but this time it is doubly awful because there was so much trust it oozed out of our friendship. How will I ever face the world, once knowing how wonderful it is to have that which is now lost. I left Sugar Bear at quarter past 4 am, Louis waiting in the dark.

February 6th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

The downtrodden traveler arrives at the Kieta Yacht Club. He had woken at 4 am, then escorted by Major Louis of the National Liberation Army of West Papua to the airport. He looked up and didn’t see any recognizable faces; then, an instant later; the moving force in blue, with dark glasses, jutted above the horizon of rail and tables, the shot of recognition pumping the blood in his veins. Kelly made her way to him, and the next minute was spent embracing, unconcerned about by-passers. After lunch, hours of touching and talking, out of the blue, just when lamenting they had no place to stay, and the hotels were outrageously priced, they were approached by an Australian expatriate worker who invited them to have a few joints in a fishing boat and to stay at his house with he and his woman. Late in the evening they three went to “the best restaurant in B’ville,” and enjoyed a Chinese feast. Almost in a coma from tiredness, beer, pot and food, the closing scene is his rediscovery of happiness in the arms of Kelly.

February 7th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

This day begins the beginning of a 3-day blur, which culminates in an evening of diving in murky water and smoking Bouganvillian marijuana in mammoth papers. The writer, now writing on the 9th of the month, is trying to recall this day but, having just come from the part above described, is claiming exemption from any mental footwork. Activities for Monday included going to Kieta to discover that the boat Moresby Chief was not accepting passengers to Moresby. Could mean an eventual move to Rabaul from here to 20K and on to Lae from there for 27K. Kelly and I went shopping. Had and early night of it, after the day of leisure. The end of the day finds out traveler getting the rest he needs, and, enjoying the comforts of home, the journeys ahead run teleplay in the middle of the night in his dreams. Buka north of here, is reputed to have the blackest people on earth.

February 8th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


Today Kelly reads from our new book: Papua New Guinea – A Travel Survival Book. In particular, the Trobriand Island section. This book tells of the Islands of Love, where young women are not only permitted to have sex – they are encouraged to! Stories included the part about how men wandering unawares may get gang-raped by the married women, who are allowed permissiveness during the yam feast. Kelly said she wouldn’t mind if we went there and some young girl chose me and I went off into the bush to fuck her… she said that she thought it’d be cute.

Glory, Kelly is so bob for saying that! How understanding. Supporting evidence of this bobness is her nonchalance in reaction to my incident with the girl in Rabaul. In fact, she says she thought the girl was cruel for not fucking me. Of note, I was invited, by a guy named Mark, friend of Boomtown’s (The Boomtown Rat = Bill) and Brownie’s (Brownie = Dave, the guy letting us stay at his place), to go scuba diving. He just showed up in the morning and we hit it off straight away. In the eve, Mark took me to Tom’s, a fellow driver. I actually was so blitzed by Tom’s hash-impregnated – B’ville pot, that I crashed, half sick, and didn’t wake up till 12 on Wednesday.

February 9th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


Each day is getting better since I arrived back in Kieta. I finished sewing a canvas camera pouch today. Went on a night dive with mark and Tom, followed by a smoke up at Boomtown’s while watching videos of new bands. Boomer’s hospitality was excellent – plenty of coffee’s, beers and smoke. Kelly and I are playing our respects to each other quite often now, what with time and a comfortable dwelling. Kelly tells me that Dave said it was okay for me to stay here when his 3-week leave starts Monday (we’ll see). Now, able to face Kelly again, with a free conscious and an over flowing, uninhibited heart, I am much more at ease and effective! I admitted to her the nightmare that occurred on the 3rd. Oh, sweet Kelly made the point that it was my problem, which it has been – she told me how Roger put the moves on her but she looked at him and said the first thing that came to her mind: “Eyukkkkk!” Then, dynamics before sleep.

February 10th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


I can’t shake this feeling it seems. I diagnose we can’t go to Iran Jaya direct because the ambassador was stabbed in Port Moresby recently, and Indonesia has cut off relations with PNG. Now, to go to I.J. we’d have to go to Jakarta. Besides, if we want to go to Indonesia, we have to go to Australia. This blows a beautiful itinerary and presents a more (perhaps too) expensive one. Kelly may not have to go to Japan, but we’re not sure. So many factors to consider. I know this: once again on the high trail of Adventure, worries drop away, replaced by freshness, newness, excitement, happiness, and concrete problems which have to be dealt with, and bring satisfaction once dealt with. We went diving today, which was quite nice, but a bit murky, and certainly not as good as Uipi Island. In the past on this trip, when bothered, I have alleviated discomfort through total dedication to the cause of making myself feel better. I proceed.

February 11th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


Bobneess: the ability to be able to think beyond one’s limitations. Godliness: the ability to be able to continually put bobness into action.

The essence of happiness suspends itself gracefully between and amongst each other like ether, absorbed by our bodies with motionless ecstasy and with each gentle touch, as we lay, her on top of me after vigorous exercise. My mind blasts off, at once, no longer bound by the gravity of my earthly existence, more by its own limitations. Freed, and able to soar, with confidence and exaltation, in my mind’s eye, to anyplace in or not in existence, free to roam the space of thought with command, to answer any question ethereal. I command the pinnacle, having risen through the hyper-void of logic, past the doubts, to regain the truth of my own godliness.

February 12th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


My impressions of life have been altered. So many stories of eating people and other disregards (or regards!) of human life have, I suppose, brought me closer to reality. After all, we are just meat and bones (though I can’t help feeling there’s something more to it than that: I identify with the concept of a soul.) I suppose one of the merits of Adventure is that it can broaden your awareness, but I suspect only if you can assimilate the experience. There is certainly a lot to take in Dave is being an excellent host; I feel at home here. The visitor’s flow in, and days are spent talking. We’ve got some leads on place to stay in Rabaul and Lae on Goroka. The Australians give us their impressions of the nationals. There’s quite a bit of prejudice here, I guess working both ways. One of the girls here awoke to find a local with the sheet lifted up, staring at her, on Thursday night!

February 13th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


Frankly, although this is great having a house here, I am anxious to get on with the trip; I am slowly getting prepared, sewing my camera bag and canteen holder, waterproofing my bags, etc., but, predominantly, I am living a life of decadence, and, for me, there is little happiness in this. I do enjoy sitting about, making love, smoking pot and sleeping in a soft bed – but I can do those things at home. It feels like a waste of time at times. Soon I will be out on the road to Adventure: to Rabaul, to Lae, to Goroka and on. After PNG, it will be Indonesia, and then Asia.

Tomorrow Kelly will find out if she’s pregnant or not – this is a waiting point, after which, I hope we’ll be able to take action. I’ll probably be on B’ville for ten more days. Kelly’s got a sore throat – when she’s out of it, it sometimes causes a slack – I sometimes miss her cheeriness.

February 14th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


Monday – Having this house all to ourselves. It’s free to stay here, and food isn’t too expensive. Dave and Sharon left on holiday this morning – a tribute to them, I say, a tribute to their hospitability! Oh, the sufferings we must endure here – (No worry about electricity consumption – the BCL mine pays for it) – refrigeration, lights, overhead fans in nearly every room, privacy, ice cubes, a washing machine and dryer, screen doors with locks, a stereo with a tape collection of hundreds of modern groups, bean bags, comfortable furniture, a bag of pot, beer in the fridge, double bed, and twin beds; my personal suffering is extended to include one young lady, initials K.S., who keeps close at night, plays Yachtzee with me, cooks excellent meals and snacks and generally roughhouses with me, defends herself with spirit at any transgression, amidst laughter or tears, runs around nude, and listens to my tangents on mathematics. I am crazy with grief.

February 15th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


Tuesday – Suffering now extended to include an invitation on Saturday night by Susan for authentic Thai cuisine and an invitation from the Boomtown Rat to watch an authentic surfing movie on video on Sunday night. But, when I think of the future, I can rest: humid, wet, primitive countryside, danger of robbery and murder, dirty and unsanitary and uncomfortable living conditions – what more could an Adventurer want! – Yesterday, Kelly went to the doctor’s who swore she wasn’t pregnant and told her to start taking the pill, which she did. If she starts to bleed then, she’s not… we’ll see… a few days ago Sharon told us about a tribe of women in the Sepik who are all lesbians – she said there are no men there. I asked who they reproduced and she said she thought there were a few special men there who did all the honors. I wonder if they’re accepting applications.

February 16th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Totally Bob Day. [I attribute any depressive tendencies to the haircut I gave myself last week! It looks dorky.] Spending the day in the air-conditioned bedroom. K and I string our necklaces from the Soloman’s, admiring what seems to grow dearer the miles. Immunized from cares, we delve into travel books. We read of Komodo monsters, 30-foot salt-water crocodiles, the land of scorching, volcanic, dry wasteland called Komodo Island, crawling with snakes. In South West Papua, thousands of flying foxes swarm the night skies, fireflies audit in the trees, the people still practice cannibalism in the hinterlands. The women cut up the body in pieces and roast it over the fire – one way to eat ‘long-pig.’

The sounds: 1) David Bryne singing “I Got My Eyes Wide Open.” 2) Crackling cellophane 3) Kelly 4) the air conditioner. The three clocks in front of me read 5:48:45, 12:01 and 11:40, the one to my left (the correct one) reads 11:02. The electric ceiling fan turns clockwise stirring space, making the Kelly Green curtains shuffle. Write of Reality, write inspired.

February 17th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


Godliness is next to Cleanliness. Another Bob day of relaxation and progress. Today I finished sewing all but the last pair of straps on my pack. I have sewed since we’ve been here; a camera bag with strap, a canteen holder, two straps and a third for the canteen, all molded to the pack, all with Velcro. K and I read about Irian Jaya and PNG. We wallow in comforts. Kelly sold her tape recorder to Tom, who came over tonight for a smoke out. Tom will trade his lighter fins for my heavier rocket fins. Relaxed, we gear up for future lands. I want to go to Buka up north, where the blackest people in the world live. Tom told us tonight that Idi Amin ate the liver and heart of an enemy and kept the head in his refrigerator. It is just another factor in a series influencing change in my mind about the state of man and civilization. A world figurehead – however infamous – a cannibal!

February 18th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


Splendor. I retract all previous statements which describe the situation here as anything but marvelous. When I can wake up in the morning and reach over and feel a true love, to make love, and to have nothing to do the rest of the day except what I care to, it sets the basis for one type of happiness. It is comfortable here, besides. We stopped in on a geologist we’d met that day at Arovo, who now invited us to go up north. Sunday, and next week, we’re to hike around in the South West of the island with him. He’s looking for natural sources of gravel for road sheeting. If, according to my theory, it is true that by copious amounts of food and good nutrition, one can revitalize the body to such an extent as to reduce aging, then I can look forward to very gradual surrender to Mother Nature. They say it is fantastic that so many languages are spoken here in PNG. But really, aren’t we really a world of individuals, each with our own internal dialect? Why do you think there’s so much miscommunication? My most difficult task is the gathering of pertinent information.

February 19th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Never before have I heard such a thing. The explosions of thunder are frightful. They rattle the windows of the house. How many times the force of an atom bomb I wonder. Every few seconds and continuous, now back dropped by the soothing sound of a tropical downpour heard from within the house. It sounds as if someone is trying to bomb us, as it is going to rip the house apart. Before dinner at Susan and Chris’, we went to Tom’s, where we saw our first bird of paradise skin with feathers and all. Instantly, it became clear why they are so renown. It is of exquisite beauty. I turn to Kelly and say, “We’ve got to get some of these back to the states.” The mind rolls on the subject. These things are valuable and fast growing more so. A fine dinner at Sa-Nan’s, backgammon with Chris, and more smoke, which is turning me into a vegetable, so I should stop. Write when you feel Awe.

February 20th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


Proxmire Pidgin, the hero of our story, spent the last 30 years of his life in self-inflicted martyrdom, in personal protest of a world he felt was injudicious in its use of resources and handling of people, an abomination in illogical misdirection of energies. His own philosophy was his downfall, for the world (he felt) so opposed it’s precepts, that he eventually abandoned his philosophy, in favor of fighting, a world so contrary. You see, Proximire’s philosophy, as our story opens, was simply: to have fun. To the young M. Pidgin, the world was one big playground; to him, the aim in life was to enjoy each day as much as possible, to have as much fun as possible. The time was the 1980’s, doting Reagan was President of his own USA, the world economy was trying to make a rebound. The place was Bougainville, an island of the former Republic of Papua New Guinea.

February 21st, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


Proxmire was unexpectedly woken by Bob at the door. “Got rained out yesterday. Going up today.” When ready, Pita Pukpuk and Proxmire got in the Toyota 4 wheel drive; with little James on Pita’s lap, Bob piloted them towards Wakunai.

As they hover above the potholes at 50 mph, Proxmire calculates comparisons of skin color of bypassing Bouganvillians with photos he’d seen of the Australian Aborigines. He is still skeptical that the darkest of the dark, Black Sambo, is really from Buka. While Bob tests the compactness of the soil on the new bride site, Mr. Pidgin loses all propriety with Ms. Pukpuk about a half mile up the river bed, amidst the romantic setting of bamboo patches 20 feet tall, on a comfortable igneous rock. Sitting in the construction shack with Gunther, Bob confirms news that “The new ports in Indonesia for entry have been opened up.” What a stroke of good fortune thinks M. P.P.

Thinking that the theme of this book to get down to basics, should be: I attempt to trip myself as much as possible through the gear, and write about it. I don’t mean with drugs (necessarily) but, in general, to perceive things in a fresh, creative way.

February 22nd, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Per schedule, Bob again alights on the doorstep of Dave Brown’s (presently in Adelaide) porch; this morning Pita and Proxy are ready, and once again they go off in the 4 WD. They motor out past the Panguna mine and to Sikovei. While Bob had a meeting with local landowner’s, P and P took a prolonged leisure in the nearby river. When done with jumping in the rapids and being hurried off downstream, they played a game in the sand on a 12×12 square board: the object being to get 5 of your own color rocks (white or dark) in a row or diagonal along the intersections of the squares. Beet red, Prox returns to Arawa in the late afternoon. In the evening, P and P have spaghetti. Proximire loses to Pita in Yahtzee and then in chess. On the bed upstairs, they read to each other of the Highlands, high lightning the interesting parts in pink. 3 joints and five albums later, they turn out the lights and consummate their friendship for the second time that evening.

It truly amazes me, that when I need direction or a general pick-me-up, I nearly always forget my real theme: to have fun today – as much fun as I can possibly have – to enjoy today as much as possible. Why, it’s the only thing that makes sense! (to me.)

February 23rd, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

5 am, the day is theirs. Up and to mark: Mr. P contemplates the possum for sale for 5 kina. A Dutch lady invites them to coffee. Mr. P takes a snapshot of the poor creature, with the little brown bug eyes, bald tail and foot attached by a string to the vendor’s bag. The Dutch lady says she’s seen him on sale a few times now, and she whisks them away to her house. On the walk back, they bump into Su-Nan, who gives them a lift home, and over a few smokes she tells them of her friend lying on the floor in the morning with ants crawling in his eyes, a victim of ‘smack O.D.’ she tells of her experiences in Thailand as a junkie, and as a citizen. And so goes the day. Throw in a Yahtzee game, dinner and a few games of chess, and that’s a full day. Proxmire is in a certain state of bliss: now he may be able to go direct from Papua New Guinea to Irian Jaya. Pita hears Prox reading verification of Kuro disease from PNG survival kit.

February 24th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


The narrator has Proxmire in his own words today: “With near planted firmly on the top bench over looking the Squash Court and the left side of my head faced by Pita’s pyramid of curly red hair, a marvel in itself, I fade off into the geometry of the scene. There must be a way of describing human motion by mathematical formulation. “Proxmire’s mind questions whether it is possible to describe a love making, experience in terms of geometrical equations, but decides that it’s probably too much work.” “Electro chemical equations dictate human reactions to stimuli (over the long run, not the individual case.)” Today P.P. persistently filleted Ms. Pukpuk. Other activities were to decide to jetsam enough stuff to bring his pack (all current worldly possessions) to 35 lbs. After the squash mash, Boomtown came over, and over a few beers, made Proxmire suspicious of his leering eyes at Ms. Pukpuk.

February 25th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


Suspicions were let known. Woe be to the one to infringe upon the halo of honor of Ms. Pukpuk but making up is a reward for the pain of a fight. Intoxicated, Proxmire made a flamboyant departure from consciousness last night, blathering at the feline of the house. Indignant, Ms. Pukpuk meted out wrath; today Mr. P called for her to “Cut it out!” “I’m cutting out,” was the reply. Proxmire stared thoughtfully at the table. Nearly a minute passed, when he raised his eyes and stated simply: “I’m going to miss you.” Whereupon, Pita threw herself into his arms and said, “I don’t want to go!” The final step in this chain reaction was an excursion to the playing field of the bedroom; what ensued, just short of wild. Overcoming the belief in manufactured evidence against one whom you care so much for is one manifestation of Bobbness. Accusations, in justifying retaliation directed toward the source of your hurt feelings must fade in the light of Bobbness.

February 26th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


So happy were the two, like puppies as “they say.” The early morning hour found them going to bed, alone in the house, over flowing with love. The sweet things of life. Prox: “I’m trying to get my bearing at this point. Where to go, how to get about, what to do about the perpetual vacuum – the financial reserves. I’m thinking of working at Ok Tedi, if I can get a job at Ok Tedi. I haven’t had so much R and R in years, if ever.”

The Ice House tape is rocking in the living room. Proxmire wonders if there’s anything to the rumor about earwigs getting in one ear and boring through the brain to exit the other. A small pain in his ear is recalling the story he saw about it on Night Gallery back in the Sates. Ms. Pukpuk recites what her medical book says about Tropical Ear. Puk putts around the kitchen, as Tom, who is dropped by, is invited to lunch. Tom says that the black Caribbean people were indigenous to the area (Jamaica, Haiti, etc.), where as P and P believe they were amongst those unfortunate populations dragged from Africa.

February 27th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

(As all good hosts) P and P were invited to dinner by Tom tonight. (Again), Tom said something which doesn’t seem quite right: namely, that there are about 150 individual birds of paradise left in existence. In respect for Tom of the local cognoscenti, P and P estimate 10,000 to 100,000 or above, but less than one million. The day’s primary activity was laying in bed reading The Foundation (& sequel) by Isaac Asimov. “I’m reviving the music of today courtesy of Brownie’s stereo and Sharon’s tape collection of hundreds of primarily rocks tapes.” At this point Prox is feeling the fires tinges of the urgency to get back on the road. “One thing though that I have concluded is that you can’t let things get you down when you’re traveling.” Proxmire is thinking often of his friends and family. “Half the stuff I do is for their approval – sometimes I wonder if that’s really true.” “I want to be really good at something in life, and I vow I’ll work for it, if I decide what it is!”

Last lines answer, I know: Music.

February 28th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


Puk and Prox have a conversation about whether or not the “Years fly by as you get older.” Prox is of the opinion that the more you do out of the ordinary, the slower things seem to go, because there are so many more things to recall of the past, the life being fuller. Puk holds that when you do a lot of neat stuff that time flies when you’re having a good time, and uses the long history of her traveling as personal testimony. ‘By the way, upon reference, the people of Haiti were imported, first from Dahomey and then the Congo. The people of Jamaica too, were of African heritage.’ ‘There is a certain balance between dreams and being practical, and the sum of these is survival.’ Prox concludes this as so after: Pita: ‘You really are a megalomaniac, aren’t you.’ Prox: ‘Don’t go saying that to anyone.’ (Pita and Prox smiling as she reaches across the table and they stick their faces together.) Prox, drawing back, grinning: ‘There really is a part of me that is. I think every man is like that a little bit.’ Pita: “Yeah, but you believe it!” Prox: ‘Well, that’s true. In me, it’s more pronounced. I’ve cultured it. Most men… well, there’s a certain balance between dreams and being practical, and the sum of these is survival.’

Later… Pita: “Its all that exalted stuff (mimicking Prox, arms folded aloft, head flung back with a godly smile). Maybe it’s not megalomania.’ Prox: ‘What is it then?’ Pita: ‘Well… when you’re great, and you know you’re great, how can you do anything but greatly be?’

Later… Prox: “This is a real down home music! It makes me lose the psychosis I gain by listening to that other stuff. That music’s psychotic!’ Pita nods her head. Prox: ‘That’s why I like it. It stimulates me.’ Staring at each other, Prox reaches across the table. ‘Aw…’ Pita: What? Prox: I just like looking at you; especially when you have that beautiful look on your face. Pita: What look? Prox: Simple, uh… Pita: What? The A-eyed look? (They stick their faces together.)

The Tail of Pita PukPuk and Proxmire Pidgin

(Sung to “Yankee Doodle Dandy.”

There’s a girl named Pita PukPuk, Pita PukPuk do or die;

She got married to a crocodile, down on the old river Fly,

The crocodile tried to eat her, Proxmire saved the day!

Now Pita swims safely in the river, while Prox holds the Crocs at bay!

March 1st,

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


“I stayed up and read the last pages of Foundation and Trilogy by Isaac Asimov, sent through a turbid déjà vu, the depths of me being pierced, the mystery that is myself not solved, but the outer thread broken, wondering if it can ever be unraveled. Perhaps there is a common feeling among men of a vague awareness of untapped powers within themselves. Also, not peculiar to me, but certainly one of my characteristics, is the quality of not seeing what is right before my eyes, the obvious, for a long time, and suddenly, the connection is made. Half jokingly, I have written of the pipe dream (yet real, deep down, secret) desire to be the most powerful man on earth, or at least famous rich, powerful, and an enigma. Shudders to the depth of my soul visited me, as I read of the Mule’s explanation of his coming to understand his powers. I certainly don’t have his powers, yet something struck this incredible, or nearly incredible, chord.” “The whole notion of my unusual power seems to have broken on me so slowly, in such sluggish steps. Even toward the end, I couldn’t believe it. To me, men’s minds are dials, with pointers that indicate the prevailing emotion. It is a poor picture, but how else can I explain it? Slowly, I learned that I could reach into those minds and turn the pointer to the spot I wished, that I could nail it there forever. And then it took even longer to realize that others couldn’t.” – The Mule. (from Asimov’s ‘The Foundation Trilogy’).

Yes, there are too many unexplained occurrences involving my mind and my experiences of life, beginning with this soft, inexplicable whispering that visited me while I was yet out of the crib (it brings tears to my eyes now to think of it – I’ve never been able to explain it – no one was around).

March 2nd, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


Up at 5 am, to the market , home, out to the mine, swimming, lunch, visit to Chris O’Flaherty at mine hospital, back to Arawa, shopping, to the library (the Fly River has the 23rd largest drainage basin in the world, the Sepik’s not even mentioned, La Paz is the second highest city in the world, the first, Llasa, in Tibet), home for dinner of the most delicious potatoes ever (baked with clean, perforated-by fork skins, till crusty; opened, baked a little more, then mixed inside with butter, pepper and salt; now halved; eat the halves, skin and all, with your fingers), letter writing and music to bed. (‘Pita gave me the best job!’)

Music! Let the laughter of life Be in our Souls, may the master of our heart be love! May we beckon the Paradise of Earth to fill our Senses – may the Magic of Life be ours. The sonnets and the songs of trees, the speed of the colors of the flowers. The world is my Love, with its bounty and beauty and forever lasting, elusive, yet obvious, wizardry.

March 3rd, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

‘Whereas the beginning of the day was characterized by no noticeable signs, the early afternoon showed near Positive proof that Pita was; after over three months of anticipation, not actually a mother-to-be – no baby crocodiles left to get poached in a cruel world! We went to Boomtown’s tonight. He played us a video of Australian Crawl, who seemed to be getting across just be being cool, stomping around; then he showed us a video of the Beatles, some old clips, but a lot of them done separately as solo artist in the last 5 years, each one of them a card, elaborately imaginative.’ Boom: ‘Well, those boys wrapped it up for this century.’ In one of the pictures of Boomtown’s, his children walk in the distance with their arms around each other. The barbecue smoke sends up a cloud. In the cloud, rises an evil genie, with baldhead and pointed ears, mouth directed at the children in a vicious snarl. Pita first noticed these figures. There were 2 distinct ones, actually 4 in all in the picture. Other spirits however in the trees over the unaware children.

March 4th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


Contrary to the limits of possibility, Pitas’ actually and definitely came, evidence shows, creating this atmosphere that ‘everything’s okay,’ meaning that she doesn’t have to go to Japan (PNG being a catholic nation, of sorts). Pita and I wonder at Providence, who has, wielding her subtle tricks, arranged us to be here, now, with a free and open road to the wild. I decidedly pilfered Seven Years in Tibet from the library, whereupon Pita said; ‘You bastard.’ I explained to her that I was only borrowing it until Monday, where upon I would return it. Since I don’t have a library card, I knew they would not let me cheek it out, since they would fear I would steal it. Since I know I am honest, it is justified to entrust myself with the book. I am merely bypassing the ‘red tape,’ thus making a more efficient use of my time and the library’s time. Pita had to retract her statement and agree to the good sense of this. Of course, I accepted the risk of getting caught.

March 5th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


Proxmire: “I spent a good deal of the day absorbed in Seven Years in Tibet. I feel ashamed at my meager adventurous in comparison to Henrig Harrer’s feats. To subdue my feelings of inadequacy (!), I cut through the back way and ran to the beach; down along the beach, I traversed river’s flowing in to the sea. A young black man, also on a running excursion, asked to run with me. I left him in the dust. Hundreds of yards ahead of me, I saw two other black fellows running, who I eventually passed up. One hour and fifteen minutes later, I breezed into home base. Slowly but surely, Pita and I are getting organized and ready to depart. We have set our departure date for March 16, when we will head on to Rabaul. I wrote to Tom H. and to my Mum tonight. Pita walloped me in chess, but I easily took the third game, in which I took the first move.

March 6th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


“I finished reading Seven Years In Tibet, which I found fascinating. Now I feel I know something of that part of the world, and, of course I long to go there.” The young child sat in the room alone with nothing to do. He was surrounded by his toys, and chairs and all the other objects that go up into making his parent’s nest. But the child, of course, did not feel alone. To him, everything was alive. No object was inanimate. Everything had a personality. So it was that he felt in communion with a book. It was a living entity, a unique personality that could communicate with him quite as well as a playmate, if not better. So it was with good intentions that his parent’s tried to rear him of his childish conceptions, and so grieved they were as he would have none of their thoughts, but talked to chairs and other objects. The child grew into a man, and believing all objects his friend, took great care to protect them, and fix them. So he came to have many nice things and became wealthy.

March 7th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


The mysteries of my mind unlock and gush out upon the table. There is a crystal prism, which glitters and emanates a seething glow. Thoughts on any matter seem clear. The truth seems evident: that all is well in the universe. There is no need to do anything beyond the barest nothingness. The power of sight is as much projection as it is reception. Immense beauty is everywhere. I recall a parable: that the child is with a monster, but doesn’t recognize it as such; but rather, since the monster outwardly shows comfort and friendliness, the child feels at ease and actually quite secure in the monster’s company. Then, the child’s human guardian points out to the child that he is in company with a monster, whereupon the child flees the monster, and lives in fear with the guardian.

You can make a monster out of anything, but if you’re one with the universe, you need fear nothing. Today we went to the store, played chess, etc – total leisure. Kelly: “What unknown monsters lurk in the attics of men’s souls?”

March 8th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


Pita and Proxmyre went to the Kieta Yacht Club. Sonya picked them up on their way, inquiring if they knew whether Max had left or not. Max was still there but was leaving Thursday for Kiriwina, Moresby and Indonesia. Dave the dentist was there, whom they had heard about. He invited them, along with Max, to dinner, and over dinner, they listened to this man who had been a dentist in Enga Province in the N. Guinea highlands for two years. Upon his departure, Dave hiked to the Sepik. He went to villages where a white man had not been seen for two or three years. He encouraged. Pita and Proxmyre to hike in the highlands, assuring them of minimal probabilities of being axed and/or eaten. He said that one doesn’t realize how different this place is until one goes home. Amanda, Dave’s dentist wife (both of them known by the local x-pats as the tooth fairies), grows impatient after one request and now insists in incisive whimpering: “Dave, where’s the coffee? I really want some coffee.” “Yes, dear.” Is Dave’s attitude!

On the walk home from Dave’s, they were talking about down a trek, and Pita said: As long as you don’t fuck things up by walking too fast!, whereupon Proxmyre’s dignity flared and silence ensued after he said: I am just on the verge of getting mad. Later Pita explained that what she meant to say was that she wished he could take her speed into account and moderate his.

March 9th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


Spurred on by Dave’s encouragement, Pita and Proxmyre begin a hike at 4:30 pm, as the first leg of training for what they propose to be a trek through the New Guinea highlands. They reached the river above the waterfall and took a rewarding dip in the cold water. On the return trip in the growing darkness, Pita’s glasses kept coming off, and she slipped and fell on her rump a few times, sprained her arm and was whimpering along. Upon reaching level ground she said: we’ll have to go back up there tomorrow! Proxmyre congratulated her on an excellent hike. “Is there any use attempting anything but the best? I mean, lesser goals are certainly useful (better than nothing), but what is the best thing to go for, something less than the best, or the best, or, does it depend on the situation; or, do we ourselves cause the situation? Where should effort be applied, if it all?” Proxmyre struggles mentally with this, and gradually the first inklings of his celebrate Satisfaction Function grow in his mind.

Artistic license is taken in saying “his celebrated satisfaction function.”

March 10th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea

Trouble starting things up for the day – but despite bodily resistance to continue training, in the form of sluggishness (and Proxmyre forgetting to say: Queen check, subsequent by taking Pita’s queen, whereon her temper flared), training continued again. Today they cut through some difficult passages, and returned along the river, Proxmyre catching himself with his hands when his feet slipped from under him. Pitas enthusiasm grew as the hike grew, and the evening grew. Brownie returned from Australia today. “I feel happy, you know. All seems well. And I’ve got this growing spirit inside me that says: Psyche Up, Go For It, I am totally on my road to self-fulfillment, and have crossed the first miles. Through all pain and happiness, I move towards godliness. Yesterday I wished to be inventor, creator, and I crossed through the invisible line of the day before to find that I am so today.”

March 11th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


“Bobness of bobness. The satisfaction Function dictates that it pays to make inquires when the energy expended will be low and the payoff is potentially high,” On a lark, Proxmyre stepped into the Wards Air Cargo Office. There, in a few minutes, a few salient occurrences: 1. Wards will carry their passports to Port Moresby and get a 2-month PNG visa extension 2. Then, an Indonesian visa will be obtained 3. The discovery that with an onward ticket, they can get a 48-hour transit visa to Jayapura that will allow them entry into Indonesia from the north. “A bob itinerary would be Kieta – Buka – Rabaul – Kimbe – Madang – Goroka – Mt. Hagen – Mendi – Wabag – walk to Sepik -Vanimo – Jayapura.” Black, yellow, red, orange, blue, magenta, green.

The days of the past stand like distinct colors seem. The mellow glow of memories ages beautifully. The blood in my veins has, through the alchemy of experience, transformed into ichors.

March 12th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


We walked in regular steps to the site above the waterfall, and it seemed a rapid ascent compared to Thursday’s. It’s a lovely lace. The river runs in sheets on granite, falls off overhangs, gushes down thin channels – a boulder hangs wedged above. We climb, wade and jump along down to the waterfall. I worked my way down to the ledge to take a photo, holding onto branches and roots. (I snapped a photo of Pita standing on the upper ledge with bare chest thrust out and a 3-picture panorama of the water flying off the ledge at my feet.) The ascent was trickery as I chose to scale the rocks opposite the side I took on the way down. Pita looked on. Below the water crashed around the rocks and tumbled to the gorge below. Foot jams, hand jams, I commit myself, and five minutes later rejoin Pita, who squeezes the life out of me. Looking down what I came up gives the impression of a vertical difficulty not resent in reality. On the return, dipping in the pools, I stop and hide beneath a sheet of water flowing over a ledge, sitting in the water, back against a wall. Pita takes my pictures my interpretation of the visual relaxes – undulating bolts of white silver create a spectacular prison before my eyes.

March 13th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


Why don’t I do it? It can’t be fear! The reason we give are ‘lame.’ I must look deeper than ‘fear.’ What is holding back a simple action? To be thought of at all, it must have some merit. But I don’t act upon it because it doesn’t have enough. Perhaps. What is the difference between levity and seriousness? I can’t accept that the idea I thought of doesn’t have enough merits. To receive you must invest yourself. There are no mistakes! But there are things missing, the solution always arrived at through a creative process.

A kiss that’s always there

Doesn’t kill the devil-may-care

A kiss as sweet as baby’s breath

A tongue as wet and warm as love

Breath more fragrant than any flower divine.

A description of these times would not be complete without an ode to Pitas joyful presence – and the injection of happiness her kisses bring.

Went by Dave’s (the dentist). His wife, Amanda, invited us to dinner Tuesday night before we leave. She was gracious. Kelly and I are happy. I’m very happy and content. Very blissful times.

March 14th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


To understand the subject clearly, focus must be accurate, speed of observation timely. It is no good to try to comprehend levity clearly through ponderousness. To capture detail, focus closely, adjust the sped of your observation in accordance with the subject’s illuminating. For the clear being, there is a time for pondering and a time for swiftness. Reality is the set of all P and C (permutations and combinations) of observations of all the p and c of the set of all perceptive forces over all possible time frames, over the set of all possible p and c of speeds of observation in all places and sets of places, non-reality (the unreal) being everything else. Pita and I went back into the Wards office. Liz, the manager, noticing I had put ‘financial analyst’ as my occupation, tried to set me up with a job as controller of a group of companies including Wards. Also, she called her husband at Panguna, and I set up an interview with a man, although he said it’s almost impossible to hire outside the CRA group. Anyway, it was sort of exciting to think of being a controller in Moresby. In a few days, I will probably be out on the seas of adventure. The stay in Arawa has been profitable and enjoyable.

March 15th, 1983

Arawa, Bougainville Papua New Guinea


This was ‘one of those days,’ when things seem to go awry, no matter how careful you seem to be – but I note that my spirits refuse to allow transgression and minor defeats to dampen their enthusiasm a particle – not even one particle!! It was a rainy day – god! How it rains in Arawa! Every day, I think, in the last months, it has rained. I went to Panguna and put in a job application rather, I gave the chap a resume, who said he would like to hire me, but his hands were tied. I went to Wards, where I was told that they wanted someone with experience as controller. Pita seemed to be in an agitated state. We made love and fell asleep in the middle of the day; when we awoke, we had less time than needed to finish cleaning up things for our departure. We weren’t getting on when we left to have dinner at Dave and Amanda’s. Things became cheerier, there were drinks, smoke and a delicious dinner of vichyssoise and seafood crepes. This was followed by Dave’s brilliant slide show of the Highlands. The colors and composition were captivating. In the middle, I asked if I could be excused for about 10 minutes to go to Tom’s to get my finds back as it was our last night and it was already 10:30 pm. Amanda said she’d give me a ride, they thought Tom lived in Loloho (about 15-20 minutes by car) instead of around the block as is the true case. Dave thought we were going home, and he went to bed. When we returned, Amanda finished showing the slides to a disappointed lot. Amanda gave me the pants she had made. P and I went home. Unfortunately, we bickered. We made love. Then she cried.

March 16th, 1983

On Koris enroute to Buka between Kieta and Buka, Papua New Guinea

Awaken by dawn light at 6:30 am, we thought we had missed the boat. We rushed and took a taxi to Kieta. The boat was till there (but we were ignorant of the fact it was the wrong boat). The captain said he wasn’t leaving till 6 pm, so we fortunately had the day to take care of things. We hitched back to Kieta (got a ride from an English fellow and enormous wife. He said something was sizable, and I wanted to say, ‘That’s quite a sizeable wife you’ve got there!’ Pita later told me she felt like saying ‘That’s an awfully fat wife you’ve got.’ I wish I would have said it – the most he could’ve done was to kick us out of the car!… but he was such a nice POM.)

We mailed her package. Then we fortunately ran into Dave at the bank. I explained about how there had been a misunderstanding – that Tom’s place was only a few blocks away and would’ve only been gone a few minutes. Dave was his usual friendly and enjoyable self. He showed us where to hike in the Highlands, and he gave us addresses for the mainland. It was a very friendly goodbye. Pita and I went to Brownie’s house. We made love. Asked her if she liked the particular way I was doing it. She got upset and said she didn’t like my eyes being closed. Shortly, she broke down a bit, and said. She was only trying to make me angry, and she didn’t know why she was so awful sometimes; we both said how much we loved making it with each other, and the tension ceased. We lay around, and now made it again, and I stopped trying to please her, but just was my natural passionate self. It was, as usual, marvelous! We got up and ate lunch. Then, we listened to Human League, Robert Palmer, and Culture Clubs’ ‘Do you really want to hurt me.’

Back in Kieta, we found out we were on the wrong boat. This boat wasn’t licensed to carry passengers, but it was only 12 kina to Rabaul (and our boat hadn’t shown up), so we paid it. We hoped we could get a refund in Rabaul on our other tickets. I snapped a photo as we left dusk-filled Kieta harbour, much as it looked when I saw it the evening we arrived on the Square Bar. Enjoyed the evening tremendously. We sat forward talking with Tim (from Scotland) and Jane (from New Zealand), who both worked on Tarawa in Kribati for the last two years. Tim told me of a book he saw in Honiara with a picture of roasting humans! Brown Men and Women by Edward Reeves printed in London 1898 has a picture of whole human bodies being roasted and others being dragged to the site with cannibals tending the fire and dragging up the new bodies. Tim also told us of the Nikira-n-roors, which is the name attached to the outcast Kiribati girls who have premarital sex. On the wedding night, the mother of the boy checks the sheet to make sure there is blood on it.

March 17th, 1983

On Koris enroute to Rabaul between Buka and Cape St. George, Papua New Guinea

I awake in pre-dawn on the hold covers under the canvas awning. On the cliff top, I see my first Buka village, awed by my imaginings that the buildings are grass huts and the unseen inhabitants are jet black. We dock. K and I have a few hours. We go up the road past the government station, get a few free coconuts and a lift back from a nice white fellow. He has his orderly take us to Solano Island. We tell the orderly he must return for us in 30 minutes (as the Koris is going to leave). Nearly an hour later, he drives the boat right by and waves but doesn’t get us. We can see the Koris in the distance getting ready to debark. The black orderly finally comes. As we near the wharf, the Koris pulls away, and we see the baggage on the dock. Luckily, they pulled back in and reloaded our baggage and ourselves. (The white fellow had said of the orderly ‘He gets paid about 20 kina a fort night,’ and then joked, ‘And at that, he’s overpaid!’)

Buka people were dark, but not as jet black as reputed – the district manager said the darkest people were on Buin. At one time, the island of Bougainville was called Buka, which, in Pidgin, means ‘jet black.’ The day is glorious. The sun beats down as the Koris pitches and rolls in the Soloman Sea, white water spraying on the deck. The day lulls away. P and I do some sewing and repairing and eat of the many snacks we brought along. In the late afternoon, we all (P and I, Jane and Tim) fall asleep on the afterdeck. P and I awake at 9:30 pm, have some supper, lay down and in a clandestine fashion, make lusty love on the afterdeck as soon as roving dark eyes appear to have slunk back into the shadows.

March 18th, 1983

Rabaul, New Britain Papua New Guinea

My first sight upon awakening on the upper after deck of the Koris was to look off to the right to the spectacular southern coast of New Ireland. The morning sun, having just illuminated the world, created shadows on the tiers of mountains, rising behind each other, one after another, morning mist creating a mystical air, while clouds of majestic view clung to valleys and completed the picturesqueness of the upper portion of the scene. I immediately grabbed my camera and took scene. I immediately grabbed my camera and took a 3-shot panorama on the vision, Cape St. George at the far left.

When Koris docked among the volcano rimmed peaks (in the bay, itself the center of an ancient super-crater). I hopped off and called Wayne Bradley at BP’s. Shortly, he came down and picked us up and, with his girlfriend Jackie and their dog Ebony, a cocker spaniel, brought us to their house. Pita and I went to get a refund on the tickets for the Koris. At the yacht club, I found the bag I’d requested Joe to take off the boat. I found he’d left my International Health Card, and there were two letters, one from my brother Mike and one from Pita from Arawa. Joe left a note wishing me the best of luck.

When we returned, Jackie and Wayne and I smoked a ‘j’. We were talking – Pita was in taking a shower. The house started to shake tremendously, and they immediately identified it as an earthquake. It was truly amazing. We went outside. The trees were saying, the car was rocking and the water tanks were swinging to and fro. I stood on the lawn in my bare feet. I could feel the entire earth move back and forth. Jackie later described it as if one was surfing; the ground moved the shock quite well. Otherwise, much destruction surely would have occurred. The quake lasted over a minute.

Jackie fixed us some lasagna. Then Pita and I went to the yacht Club. There, we talked with Tim and Jane. Also, we met Vilhelm (William), from Germany, who had been traveling for one and a half years. He emphasized his exclamations and acknowledgements of significant facts by emitting a small volume of air through pursed lips. The sound created was similar to a spitting sound. It could also be equated to the passing of wind through the mouth. It was amusing.

On the way home, a national was following us. I grabbed Pita’s arm and said “Oh, we’re on the wrong street.” Then I made a 180. As we passed the dark man, he said, “oh… man…say…” We walked on by; then, at a distance, I yelled at him to keep moving, as he had stopped where we left him on the dark street. He obviously had intentions to rob us or bother us in some way.

(Earthquake 7.9 on Richter scale – epicenter 200 km away on Nissan Island – largest earthquake in world in the last two years.)

March 19th, 1983

Rabaul, New Britain Papua New Guinea

We awoke at 4:30 am, and Wayne voluntarily awoke and, as previously discussed, drove us to the ocean side of the Gazelle Peninsula near the foot of the mother. The Mother is the largest volcano (extinct) surrounding Rabaul. It was dark, but we groped around, found a trail, got separated, joined each other and the trail again, and pushed on upwards. At a crossroads, I turned us to the right, incorrectly, I might add. (Actually, we had been dropped off at the wrong place and our first mistake was not to ask two nationals [that came along in the darkness] the correct way. Instead, thinking they might be dangerous, we avoided them). We went counter-clockwise around the mountain and after some time, took another wrong path, which pointed to the mountain top. Eventually, seeing we were going nowhere. I decided to forge directly towards the top. We ended up climbing extremely steep and overgrown muddy terrain, pushing aside spider webs and branches. Pita was getting upset. I climbed a tree and saw we were only fifty yards from the beginning of the grass, which covered the top rim of the mountain. I beat aside the growth with a stick, and we passed through. With Pita straggling behind, we climbed the summit, for a spectacular view. I took a panorama shot of 9 pictures of the hill before the summit. At the top we talked with a German couple, the man being a very amusing amateur photographer – they had been led to the top by some locals. He: “Okay, let’s get a shot now of the whole team!” I had climbed a tree and got a coconut on our hike. I had husked it with a stick and now we enjoyed it, along with another the German’s guides gave us.

When they left, now alone, Pita and I undressed in the sunlight. Standing up, we began to make it, and finished making love lying in the grass on the summit of the gods. On all sides stretched ocean and clouds and land, and Rabaul lay below us. Pita noted the whole bay looked like an ancient super – volcano, and in the evening we read that her hunch was true. At about 9 am, we descended and got split up. Pita, blistered toes and tired legs, got sore at me. She returned alone, leaving me searching for her at the trail bottom. A bit of an argument ensued when I got home. But the experience was awesome and as a sum, extremely rewarding.

In the afternoon, I saw Seth, Fred, and Louis of the National Liberation Army of West Papua; I arranged for a meeting Monday. Pita met them in the evening.


March 20th, 1983

Top of Mother Volcano near Rabaul, Papua New Guinea

The first part of the day was predominantly spent rummaging through our possessions giving away certain things and setting aside large quantities of things that we’d like to dispose of. Both of us presently have maybe 60 lbs of gear – far too much. In late afternoon, I decide I’d climb Mother again and camp there for the night. Pita was feeling low – so we talked – she’s thinking about her life and how to make the best use of he time. After we talked, she felt better. It was already almost dark – I was still going to climb. She wanted to come with me. We were out on the street hitchhiking by 8:30 pm. We got a ride and got dropped off at the base by the seashore about 9:30 pm.

We began to hike. The second village we stopped in, asked directions, had young man who led us more than halfway up the dark trail. When the trail emerged from the jungle into the steep grassy slopes, we all took a rest, and then the young man turned back. Pita and I labored to the top in another ½ hour, making total climbing time about 1 hour, with a ½ hour rest in the middle. When we were about to bed down for the night, the mountain began to shake. It was a sizeable earthquake. We were on the tiptop of the peak, and it felt like the mountain was made of jelly! It was scary! It lasted only about 20 seconds. A bit shaken up (ha!), we lay down and dazed off, awaiting sunrise.

March 21st, 1983

Rabaul, Papua New Guinea

Sunrise came, but we never saw much, because there was a pretty thick cloud cover on top. Occasionally, the clouds would break and Rabaul would appear below, or rose-colored clouds in the distance could be seen. We drank what we had of Milo, and we fooled around with a spider about 5 inches long from front leg to back. Long past sunrise, the clouds broke and we again enjoyed the powerful vista on all sides. At 9:26 we began our descent, which was a pleasant one. I let Pita take the lead, which works out better because I don’t go racing off. We’re able to talk and Pita’s happier – it’s more enjoyable for both of us to go together when hiking. Hallway down, we bumped into Tim (and his new friend Evan). And had been missing for awhile, (it turned out she got to the top first!) They were on their way up. Pita and I returned home.

We checked out boat fares to the Duke of York’s and to Kavieng. In the evening, I lost a game of snooker to Tim. Then Pita and I went and met with the general and the major of the revolutionary army of West Papua. They said the UN was being pressured to return them to Indonesia. There, they would be tired and executed for treason. It was a warm meeting. What plight they suffer!!! We parted cordially. Pita and I discussed their situation on the walk home. I got two letters from Gam, two from Mandy, one from Dad, Mike Taylor and a card from Eric Gunn today! When Pita and I got home, I could have sworn that the girl in the living room was the same that was in my bad “dream” of my first visit to Rabaul. She was with Dave, Wayne’s friend. But we avoided each other’s glance and presence, so I don’t know for sure one way or the other.

March 22nd, 1983

Rabaul, Papua New Guinea

We had a cup of coffee. Pita and I, shortly after 10 am, sat on the waterside and waited – the agreed upon signal that we wanted to speak with Seth. Half-hour later, Louis came and apologized for being so long he said Seth would come at 11 am. Pita and I went there and thought of questions to ask him. The general came, looking ordinary as usual in shorts and shirt and bare feet. It was a cordial meeting. The questions prompted him to send someone to get a copy of a book he had: The Rule of the Sword. This book he let me have ‘for one week.’ It had documentary information in it concerning the crisis of his people. I didn’t know when he lent it to me that it backed up, in reliable terms, virtually all of the claims he and his comrades had made. He stated that he could make no quotable statement of the plight of his people – he preferred that my article deal with his country but not with his own personal story. We shook hands warmly at 12:15 pm. Pita and I made rounds of the town, checking on fares and schedules of boats and conducting a general investigation of matters of our minds. We arranged to meet Tim and Jane in the morning to go to the Duke of York’s. In the evening, Wayne and Jackie entertained. We listened to Sherlock Holmes’s, The Speckled Band.

March 23rd, 1983

Molot, Duke of York Island’s North Soloman’s, Papua New Guinea

After a morning of shuffling back and forth around town and waiting for the boat to leave, Tim, Jane, Pita and I ate on the deck of a swarthy boat which plugged out of Rabaul and Blanche Bay to the Duke of York Islands in St. George’s Channel. I love the movement over the water. The boat is loaded with people, a water tank of galvanized steel on top, and cargo and bugs. The Duke of York’s appear low, populated fairly well, bugging the water between towering New Ireland and New Britain. The boat delays off shore of a village and then we round a peninsula, the locals yelling at the youngsters on an islet and others on a hill above, laughing rife from the boat and shore people. We miss the joke, but it’s still delightful. When we get to Molot, an old man with a foot recently missing all toes (bandaged lightly), agrees to let us stay – a young man brings us to a house of a European on leave; it is on stilts, and it has mosquito screen on all apertures. The gang made themselves at home. The rider I put in for coconuts was hauled immediately by a lad while I sat with the old man. We all slept fairly early. I read a lot of the book Seth gave me, and I grow nearer their cause all the time. Seth was mentioned and had a picture in the book.

March 24th, 1983

Rabaul, PNG

We got out of the village about 11:30 am; Pita and I had scouted ahead and found a copra boat going back to Rabaul. While waiting for the copra boat, I took a short skin-dive. I found a crown of thorns starfish, which I pulled out of he water with the intention of destroying, but soon forgot about it (he probably died anyway) because there was a cave on the water’s edge. Tim, Pita and I went into it, but it was small and there’s nothing much in it. The boat made one stop before going to Rabaul – at a nearby village. All the little boys clowning on the dock had blonde fizzy hair (generally, some Melanesian blondes are natural and some are bleached). Some were naked and others wore something. When I got onshore to go to the store, I held out my camera so they could touch it. They went into a frenzy until their Mums quieted them down in threatening tones. The sunset was spectacular on the ride back – deep crimsons and roses! We got back at a quarter of seven, after joking around and having a fun on top of the boat, amidst a scenery of the classic east side of Mother.

March 25th, 1983

Rabaul, PNG

Activity is the order of our stay here in Rabaul. Up and out! We were on the boat Goroka at 8 am. Tim and Jane came along shortly. We cruised to the west side of Metope, where we hopped to shore. One national took the four of us to the crater of Metapi (which erupted in 1942-2-4). We climbed into the crater. Some places, like where the sulfur gas steamed out in clouds, were hot. It was very interesting – the whole crater. Pita and I climbed into the small back crater (there’s 3 craters all inside a big cater) where there is a small cave. Inside it, the walls are covered with moist crystal material, white, but in some places yellow from sulfur or green from copper. Back on shore, we swam waiting for he Gorka. Lunched at Yacht Club – delicious. Pita and I got our passports back today we got a 25 day visa to Indonesia. Our 2-month extension request for PNG was denied – we only got a month. I’ll have to find a way around that! – At night P and I went to see the ridiculous: “From A Far Away Place.”

March 26th, 1983

Rabaul, PNG

My brain felt as if it was blocked when I went to bed tonight. It was day where, probably because I was inexplicably anxious and up-tight, that things seemed to go awry.

But let us not exaggerate, for the day still held much enjoyment and interest. We went to the “museum” near the New Guinea Club. The thing I found of greatest interest there were the drawings on the walls of a cylindrical room made by the Japanese – they depicted Rabaul and the Gazelle Peninsula area on geographic coordinates. The symbols were Japanese. Supposedly Admiral Yamamoto spent his last night in this bunker (the museum was in a bunker) before he flew to Bougainville over which he was shot down. Later – Pita and I took a look through some tunnels, which were maze-like. They were relatively uninteresting, though (certainly not like the ones we were to visit tomorrow!). I’ve felt like I should be writing about the West Papas – in the evening I decided to write. Just then, Wayne and Jackie came in. They were real drunk! After I ended up talking (mostly listening) with them, I started to eat dinner, but was so tired that I turned in.

March 27th, 1983

Rabaul, PNG

I set out at 8:15 am to climb the Vulcan. I went straight up the side and then to the opposite side of the cone – it as a nice view! A six-foot snake as thick as rope leaped away from the ride as I approached. I tried to continue on around but ended up cutting through brush. I headed down, making my own way without a rail. I saw a large grey and tan bat, and I saw a fat lizard. I went to the tunnel where there were barges, but it was boring. I returned at 11:30 am. Shortly after noon, Pita and Bill and Wayne and I drove out to the hills about the blue lagoon to tunnels, which hadn’t been visited in over 20 years. Amazing sights were beheld:

1) We found 8 bullets in the first cave – in their skulls. The cave was rife with bats, hanging over the place and flitting by us – sometimes they hit us.

2) A few caves later, as we entered a dark blue and red snake crawled into a hole in the sidewall. We reckon it was deadly poisonous. It was probably at least six feet long, as we saw only the thinning two feet of its end, obvious that the greater part was in the wall.

3) I was leading after that, in the same cave, I came up on a ghastly sight. Overhead was a hideous bright red creature with a multitude of legs about one inch long, with joints in them – they were shaped just like a spiders. Wayne says it is a special type of centipede and it’s deadly. It scurried around escaping our light. I never saw a picture or even knew of the existence of such an insect. It was incredible!

4) Outside, saw a huge pig – maybe 300 lbs.

5) Saw bat’s nests with baby bats and saw and held a bat egg (like a jelly bean!)

6) Saw a spider with perhaps 100 babies on it like a big ball. When touched, the babies were strewn out in a long strings of web, maybe 10 to a string

7) Saw a strange spider with hinged graspers 1″ and another 1″ after the joint; the locals didn’t recognize it

8) Held the mother spider 3″ long

9) Saw a tarantula.

The tarantula was in the first cave. It was quite big 3½-4″ long. Generally, the caves were well formed, and some were 100 feet long. There were hoards of bats. The bright red centipede was about 3″ long. We found bottles left from the Japanese since the war – one said “wakamoto” and also had Japanese characters on it. The caves were very authentic. I wondered if perhaps we hadn’t happened on unknown species of insect and or snakes. In the evening we saw Priest Wife with Sophia Loren, which was quite good. (Saw at the yacht club). We went in about 6-8 caves today. It was a blast.


March 28th, 1983

Rabaul, PNG

Last night, we saw Priest Wife with Sophia Loren and Marcello Mastroiani at the Yacht Club for free. It was quite good. Today, we took care of things. I visited the West Papuans. I arranged to take photos of them, under the condition that they would keep the negatives and I would get the photos (They insisted on paying for developing). I came back and I took photos (14) of each, with a backdrop of the revolutionary flag of West Papua. Afterwards, Seth began to draw up the structure of the FPM while Louis got us some soft drinks, bread and a fish for lunch. We discussed my questions for some time.

Afterwards, I went towards Air Cargo and called Gus Medona of the PNG migration office – what a bureaucrat! He flatly denied my request for an additional month several times, and he was, generally difficult. Finally, I lowered my politeness somewhat and told him I got the feeling he wasn’t trying to help us at all. After that, he told me to mail our passports back accompanied by new fees, a letter from the bank confirming the delay of my friends, new migration forms a letter of confirming travel plans from Air Nivgini, our passports, and mail it all to the US consular asking for his support.

Tim and Jane were at Wayne’s playing monopoly with Pita. Later I lost a game of snooker to Tim and then suggested we play for a Kina; I edged him out that game 34-20. At night, Wayne and Jackie told us about The Final Solution: a story of a living man who has finally (probably) solved the Jack the Ripper case! It involved, not one, but 3 men, and implicated the royal family! Later, wonderful love.

March 29th, 1983

On Cosmaris enroute to Kimbe, New Britain, PNG

A grand day. I traded my calculator for 28 kina and a small, simple calculator. I got the reapplication for our visas to Wards Air Cargo for shipment to the US embassy in Moresby. I collected the photos took yesterday of the West Popans. I gave a T-shirt to Seth and Louis and one from Pita to the young soldier who gave the gift of a necklace through me to her. I said goodbye and shook hands to all. I will miss them. Seth had told me that the boat wasn’t leaving until 4 pm so I tarried longer than I should have. I ran to Coastal to find the boat, at 12:50 pm ready to leave. I rushed to Wayne’s and we all hurriedly gathered our things – but the boat had already begun. Tim, Pita and I (were found Tim and he came with us) opted for the next Coastal boat which left at 3 pm enroute to Kimbe, less than ½ way to Lae. We tried to ride on the afterdeck, as we had on the Koris to Rabaul, but the captain ordered us down the main deck. (Where we were rained upon.)

At about 2 am, March 30, after I had made a survey of possible retribution, Tim and I spring into action – with a screwdriver, superglue and a pin. We removed the labels “Captain” and “Lavatory” (Held on by two screws). I used the pin to open the super glue. We super-glued the plaques and interchanged them, so that the lavatory was labeled “Captain” and the captain’s quarters labeled “Lavatory.” Pita, Tim and I thought it was quite funny and certainly fitting. We are a merry crew!

March 30th, 1983

On Kazi enroute to Lae, PNG

3 am at Sea:

A zephyr on my left cheek

A gay breeze on my right ear

My eyes are sheltered from

The electric light

By the brim of my hat

A fair head on my belly

A deft hand on her rear

My left hand on the breast of Kelly

Feels the warm comfort of her breathing

The swaying of the ship incites the feeling

I’m under the spell of full contentment,

However fleeting.

10 am: Pita tells me that the interchange of name labels looks beautiful, and, as such has not yet been noticed.

We arrived in Kimbe before noon. No sooner did we put our baggage on the dock than we could see, way out in the horizon, a shop coming to port. Indeed, it was the Kazi, not far behind. We transferred ships, and were off to Lae. As dusk set in, I stood on the top of the ship and studied the Northern shore of West New Britain, the water, and the sky. I had this nice feeling, even though it was somewhat poignant: I felt like ‘here I am – I’m in the heart of the place I want to see: relatively unexplored, south sea islands – it’s so beautiful – but it is fleeting. I am leaving each mile behind me, and I don’t know I’ll see them again. There’s Mt. Bola at 3819 feet!

March 31st, 1983

Lae, Morobe Province, PNG

9 am: My first view of the island of Niv Givi (New Guinea)!!! On the Kazi, I woke up a while ago to look out on the coast north of Finschafen – rifted fingers of light green jutting up from the sea.

7 pm: Pulling into the harbour at Lae. All day we have cruised along the Huon Peninsula, on the southern coast between Finschafen and Lae. I am awe-inspired by the coast with mountains spiraling to the clouds – here before me in the ‘impenetrable’ land of New Guinea, a land which thwarted would-be explorers and settlers until the most recent of times. It is no wonder – what with hostile natives, malaria, exceedingly difficult terrain and dense jungle! I feel so glad and so proud for fulfilling my dream to see New Guinea even if it meant leaving Sugar Bear early; Day’s end: We arrived; shortly after, Jane came. Then, this creepy Japanese guy let us stay at his house. We all had beer at the Yacht Club. Hank (the Japanese) tired to pick up on Pita and Jane – disgusting! Pita and I slept only a few feet from Tim and Jane. We couldn’t help ourselves and indulged in luscious love on the couch. I think Jane was awake. Part way through, Pita turned the light on with her foot!

April 1st, 1983

Ramu Sugar, Morobe Province, PNG

The hardwood floor of this little house is a beauty! Each slat looks like a different wood. Tints of orange, black, brown, tan! We’re in a two room dwelling with no furniture, on Ramu Sugar Co. property, located in a valley between two mountain ranges, about 80 km from Madang and 190 km from Lae. The ride out here… well, it was simply spectacular!! Gradually climbing up from Lae on the sea, the road passes striking gorged hills of light green. Then, mountains of the same terrific artistry appear, looking sculpted; they are bold, as if created with a masterful hand of a confident creator! In the valley, grasslands of the purest light green out distance my sight. Cars occasionally appear in clusters. We rode in the back of a flat bed truck with national people. The driver detoured to drop Tim and Jane off at the landslide some miles off towards Goroka, then back tracked to the Madang turn-ff. The driver let us stay here, while he stayed at a friend’s house. We left Tim and Jane high on a mountainside, lined with cars, trucks and Highland people waiting to get through the landslide to Goroka. The incredible scenery of today will always remain etched in my mind’s eye. The people today have been helpful in the extreme.

April 2nd, 1983

Siar Island, Near Madang, PNG

Saturday – At 6:10 am, Phillip and Rami knock on the door. “Just two minutes!” I eke out of my tired body through the cracked door. We let them in. Rami makes a present to me of a pig’s tusk which is hanging on the wall – I thought the green foil on it looked tacky (until later I realized it was the shell of a brilliant green beetle). I made them presents of shirts and books. Phillip talked about sending me bird of paradise feathers. They dropped us back out on the road. About 40 minutes past and a truck came by and they were going to Madang. Three times on the trip, we stopped, and our national driver and his men got out to help a white fellow (who gave them 30 kina) get his truck up the hill. The white fellow got out of he cab, and the black mean got in and freed the truck with relative ease. His friend told me the black driver used to drive the Highlands Highway before it was paved.

We arrived in Madang in the afternoon. The trees were full of bats hanging upside down like huge black oblong pears! It was broad daylight! There were literally thousands of bats! Some were flying around – they had wingspans of over 3 feet! I, got my best view of them from the graveyard next to the market! The crew of the bottle truck were incredibly nice. We said we wanted to go to Siar Island, outside of Madang. They took us there, talked with the sack of refreshments on arrival in Madang. We gave him a razor knife in return. When we tried to pay, they refused, but we forced 3 kina each on them (about the proper fare.) We got a dugout shuttle to the island. I took a snorkel. We had dinner by the water with four Europeans. (The proprietor here supplies rudimentary breakfast, dinner and lodging for 5 kina each.) We talked of the Indonesia, Tibet, Bhutan, China, etc.

April 3rd, 1983

Siar Island, Near Madang, PNG

Easer Sunday: Outside the cities, you are woken early by roosters or the early rising humans. A breakfast of fritters and coffee. Everyone left here this morning except for Pita and I (and a few locals over yonder). I went down on Pita. It’s been awhile since she had an orgasm, but she had two of them, one after the other, with my tongue at the helm – it was the first time I ever produced an orgasm with my tongue to my knowledge and recollection! This was a banner moment! And I remember how: I was thinking I was going to give her an ‘o’ – I licked from the bottom to the top – then I covered her clitoral area with my lips, and inside this warm enclosure, I worked my tongue in deliberate upward strokes on the clit directly every, say, 3 seconds. When she started gyrating, I tried to continue the direct contact, which was like trying to ride a bucking bronco! Later, I fucked her again, and she came a third time. (With my dick, I tried to keep hitting her clit with its base.) Then, I finished preparing my taxes and we went snorkeling.

We were heading into the beach when Pita saw an octopus! I kept it in its hole, jabbing it with a rock, and I sent Pita to get my gloves, knife and anything she could borrow – we wanted it for Easter dinner. 20 minutes later, she and a village woman with 2 spears returned. I speared it in the head and the woman jabbed its tentacles. It crawled out grasping the spears. Brown fluid filled the water. I hauled it back and took photos. From tentacle to tentacle it was around 5 feet long, and it weight 5-6 pounds. At dinner, it was tough (but they promised to pound the reset of it tomorrow). [It changed colors from white to brown in seconds on the beach!!]

April 4th, 1983

Siar Island, Near Madang PNG

The morning of April 1st (when we left Lae), before we left Hank’s house, I weight myself and all the bags I had: 112.5 kilos. I put all the bags down and stood on the scale in my shorts, a t-shirt and thongs: 67 kilos. That means all my baggage weighs 45.5 kilos or 100.1 pounds!!! It’s all that leftover stuff form the yacht. Slowly, I am getting rid of it! When I reach Indonesia, I hope to be down to 16 kilos of baggage, or about 35 lbs. Today, I wrote letters to Mandy Mike Taylor and Eric Gunn. I prepared a box for mailing tomorrow; and I then went snorkeling with Pita. We swam pretty much in the same area as yesterday, seeing the usual variety of minor interesting life. For dinner, we had rice, a bit of (tin) fish, tea, and finished the octopus. All the food tasted salty it’s prepared by Saimon’s wife. We had popcorn for dessert.

Tomorrow we’ll pick up our mail, mail things, go to the bank, the market, and see Madang. I’m trying to work out how to pay back Citibank – $90/month. I’m sending my tax returns in tomorrow. Being around the Europeans have (who left today) makes me realize that I don’t want to get only on “the circuit” – the line of cities that the Western Travelers visit. I want to make the rest of the trip as special as it’s beginning – the hike through to the Sepik world certainly be a boon to bobness.

April 5th, 1983

Siar Island, Near Madang, PNG

Our last day near Madang. We went to Madang by canoe this morning. The events were on the disappointing side. Most of all, there was no mail for either of us! I thought for sure there was mail – it was a disappointment after all my letters that some of my closest friend seem not to have written: Clymer, Cappa, Nomra. Oh, well, you never know what happened. We went to the bank, but still no news. I had them wire for information to my fund at home (cost K10). We went to the cemetery near the market and I snapped a few photos of the incredible bats. It’s worth coming to Madang just to see them! Last, we went to the Hotel Madang. On the way we took a walk around the Melanesian Explorer – a boat trip up the Sepik on this boat costs K138 a day! It was nice but…! We had a few drinks at the bar and I tried to call Norma, to no avail! The drifters (of Under the Boardwalk, UP on the Roof fame) came into the open looking unhappy. We caught a ride back to Saimon’s on Siar Island. I snorkeled around the island before dinner. I found and destroyed a crown of thorns starfish (No.2) and saw a fish gobble up a smaller one. At supper we met two VSO workers (Volunteer Service Overseas). We played a mammoth gin rummy game till midnight, which I won!

April 6th, 1983

Kundiawa, Chimbu Province, via Eastern Highlands Province, PNG

Saimon woke us at 7:45 am. We had a long way to go (Kainantu or father) and it was a late start. Phil and Steve (The USO workers) kept us talking at breakfast, and Saimon delayed in canoeing us to Madang, so we didn’t get there till after 10 am. The bus had already gone. We got a ride to Jumba market (a muddy hillside) at which the road led out of Madang. Half-discouraged, we sat there while we had no hope of catching a ride. But, as usual, by and by we found a truck going back to Ramu Sugu, which we happily bounded. At the Ubsiva junction, we stopped, and a Toyota 4WD raced by with Kundi… written on the door. I tried to hail them (realizing as they passed they were from Kundiawa, which is further than Kainantu and further than Goroka.)

Later, we caught up with them. P and I exchanged trucks, paid the driver K4 for the ride for Madang, and arranged to go with the Kundiawa trek for K5. Shortly after, down the road, we were delayed by a high river. In the river a 4 WD Datsun truck was half-submerged. After over an hour, they winched it out (destroying the bumper). Our truck dashed boldly to the other side, and on we drove into the night. The truck bounced, rain poured down, and it got cold as we sped to the Highlands. I had an argument with Pita; she told me she was sick of traveling with me and she was leaving me tomorrow. 3 am we arrived and we slept at the police station.

April 7th, 1983

Gera Village, Chimbu PNG

Woke at the police station, cleared out and had copious amounts of delicious coffee at the Kundiawa Hotel. We made our way to Ku Village about 5 miles east of Kundiawa on the Goroka road. We told the boys that we would like to hike around. We made sandwiches for all and we hiked to a cemetery and then up around the hillside with many boys. Looking down we saw Gera village below. They invited us to stay there for the night. We moved our baggage from Ku Village to Gera village. The people at Gera seemed mighty happy to see us. They welcomed us with open arms. As the day ended and night began we sat in a woman’s house and also, alternatively, in the man’s house. While it was still light, they grabbed a large male goat and proceeded to cut off his testicles! I grabbed my camera. They took a razor blade and slit the scrotum in a line. Then they popped out the veined testical and cut off the tendon connecting it to the bottom. The headmen of the village did the cutting while the others held the goat. They did this same to the right testicle when the left was completed, while the goat screamed in agony from time to time. When it was over the goat stumbled away in shock. The villagers were quite jovial about the whole thing.

In the woman’s house (no name yet) we had supper. It was fairly good, however, I was reluctantly relishing the tongue (animal unknown) on my plate. After supper there was a large gathering with us as the guests of honor in the men’s house. The minister (face painted) led a hymn for grace. Then, some village adults sang traditional songs, and some men played some simple melodies on some flutes. They recorded some songs on a cassette player, so we could, bring home the music. The gathering ended – it was strange! We went up to the hut we were to sleep in. A man about 30 came up and tried to convince us (as he had been convinced by the missionaries) that the symbols now being instituted by supermarkets for fast checking were in reality the EEC’s European Economic Communities introduction of 666 – or the coming of the anti-Christ.

April 8th, 1983

Gera Village, Chimbu, PNG

In he morning, awakening from the exhilarating yesterday. We woke and warmed ourselves by the fire in Jacob’s sister’s house. They wrapped up some Kav-Kav for us (sweet potatoes). Donning shoes, we began with an entourage of small boys and a few older ones (young teens) as guides to hike up the mountain in search of caves. They claimed (the young teenagers who spoke English) that they knew of caves where their ancestor’s skeletons resided. They led us up to a spring that they claimed would swallow up anything (Which their forebears believed contained spirits which pulled things down), but when we tried to throw sticks in it, nothing went down. We scoured the mountainside for the caves, and near the days’ end, nothing had yet turned up.

I grew to the opinion that they had changed their minds and didn’t want us to find their sacred ground; but as their efforts continued, their sincerity appeared, and I believed as they said, that they couldn’t find them. Finally, a bit weary, along came a young boy from another village that led us to the mouth of a cavern too dangerous to climb in – you could hear the flying foxes. The young man said there were no skeletons here, but did know where there were some but since they were too far to go to today, and we were leaving tomorrow, we had to forget it. Weary, we returned to Gera. There, we rested. I did some writing. Later, when it had grown dark, in response to an earlier request from me, we had quite an exchange session. We had a bundle of clothes, sheets, tobacco, etc. When they gave us a gift, we amply repaid the kindness with some greatly needed items. The head man, Gunuwa Kamane, presented us with some arrows which were quite nice – man arrows they were! He explained that without these arrows, we wouldn’t be in Gera, but some other place, as neighboring tribes would have driven them out. Even worse, they would kill him, his kin, and burn their village to the ground.

He presented me with an armband, and said that he passed on to me the things, which made him a great man. He said that we were members of the village. (He talked in Pigen, and a young friend translated what I couldn’t make out – [a lot actually].) It was very exciting time. The people looked so overjoyed and thankful – we had given them much. It seemed, however, that there were a few disappointed who felt they had been passed over. They young men, Jacob and Kiakamane, told us, before we went to bed, that the villagers wanted us to live there – they said that they want us (me) to run for government – and we would have the support of more than their own village. They said people would cry when we left.

April 9th, 1983

Keglsugl, Chimbu Province PNG

It was awkward leaving. Jacob wanted to come to climb Mt. Wilhelm with us, but he could tell that we thought it was a bad idea, and he shuffled back in the house as we left – I had to call him to shake his hand goodbye. We walked down the hill after and sit by the fire in Jacob’s sister’s house. Pita saw some of the females crying. The chief ran down to say goodbye. We asked if we could come back after climbing Mt. Wilhelm and he said yes. We caught a truck to town for 30t. We had some delicious coffee at the Kundiawa Hotel and then we switched to the Chimbu lodge to wait for Phil to come by as planned – which he did at 11 am. We had coffee at an Irish friend’s house of his (with Steve there as well) then we headed to Keglsugl, 9000 feet high in the largest mountain range in Papua New Guinea.

The ride up was truly fantastic. The gardening of these people was truly incredible! The massive and very steep hillsides, nay, mountainsides, had neat gardens very large indeed. It was almost an optical illusion, as if a level scene had been titled at sometimes, over 45 degrees!! In addition to the fantastic scenery, the human scenery was a spectacle. Along the road, we began to see men dressed in traditional ornamentation of feathers. We finally stopped and I asked one man if I could take a photo. He signaled yes, and then asked for money when I had snapped it – we gave him 70t and raced off from the crowd that had gathered immediately around the truck.

Onward, we saw a line of men on either side of the road, maybe 30 or 40 in each line, each one in spectacular dress. I feared to take a picture lest there be more problems. I snapped two quick photos as we sped by despite my fear! We arrived in Keglsugl without much delay. We had tea, in the headmaster’s house. I studied some math questions on Phil’s math pre-test for the GRE. Phil made an excellent spaghetti supper. We went down to watch a video of some BBC television shows at the headmaster’s house and spent the evening in this way. When we were done, we chatted for a while back at Phil’s and Steve’s and then went to sleep on some cushions on the floor. I am looking forward to tackling the mountain in the morning.

April 10th, 1983

Pindaunde Lakes, Chimbu Province, PNG

After a fairly leisurely morning, in which Pita announced that she wouldn’t come because of her blisters, Phil and I began to walk to the lakes – the first leg of the hike to the top of Mt. Wilhelm. We arrived at the lower lake at about 2 pm, after a 3-hour hike. The hike took us from his house at Keglsugl to the trail head, through muddy, log-covered tracks, to the alpine meadow with a rushing river in the distance, beyond the hill which it rushed down, to another hill, with more plummeting water, and finally to the university rest house on the shore of the lower lake. We were wet and a wee-bit weary when we arrived. (On the hike we met a man who had climbed it 15 years before. His wife who was with him, was the first woman ever to climb Wilhelm – 1 stEuropean perhaps.)

Phil started a fire. We chopped extra wood. We tried to warm ourselves near the cast-iron stove. Mostly, I let Phil warm up because he was heading back to his house. We ate some beans and had a few cups of coffee. Shortly before 4 pm, Phil walked over to the A-frame guest house, about 200-yards away to check on the hikers who had just come down from the summit. Cheerful as ever, he began his descent as I was walking over to the A-frame. To my surprise, at the A-frame, I met Elio and his girlfriend, Cindy. Pita and I had met Elio in Kieta. He has a yacht on which he’s traveling around the world. I invited them to the University house, where we all talked amidst the solitude while they dried their socks on the stove. They gave me direction from the lake, and, after exchanging pleasant conversation, they returned to the A-frame. I was alone in the University house. I said some prayers for Pita, my family and my friends. After talking with Elio (a Brazilian), I had decided to wake at midnight, eat, and begin my trek to the top. I drank another coffee, and, in the smoke-filled, solitary cabin, I lay down to rest at 8 pm. I couldn’t sleep, partly, from excitement, and partly from all the coffee! I ended up getting out of bed, after perhaps, one hour’s sleep total, and I counted the minutes till midnight, huddled against the stove.

The last few weeks, I have been going in an out of a private hell that only the wondrousness of the land I’m in has been able to nearly completely counteract: Pita seems not so affectionate, quite a bit more crabby and negative – when I try to make love to her she (the last few nights) rudely moves away from me or says she doesn’t want to do it. She’s touchy – if I bring it up or try to talk to her about it she gets irritable. The last three times I’ve done it, I’ve initiated it while she’s asleep! She seems so insensitive. Unfortunately, I’ve lost my temper on occasion, which cuts down communication even further. She hurts my feelings, it makes me sob, but I don’t know what to do about my sadness – I’ve experienced so much joy with her. My despondency and inability to break out of it makes a problem for me. I now plan to do or say nothing and hope that it blows over – but I find it hard to act happy when I feel despair. Luckily, as I’ve said, the excitement of Papua New Guinea keeps me essentially happy and reduces this problem to a detraction rather than an obsession.


April 11th, 1983

Keglsugl, Chimbu Province, PNG

At five minutes to midnight, the alarm I had set finally rang. I sprung up, ate the beans I had been tending during my “slumber,” fixed myself some coffee, dressed, and packed. At 12:31:30 am, I began the walk towards the upper lake. I soon got off the track and rediscovered it, then I trudged up the steep slope to the left of the upper lake. I didn’t want to rest until I reached the top! At about 3:15 am, after having briefly lost the trail a second time, I now found myself off the trail for a third time. It was solely because it was dark. I finally stopped to change batteries (as I was guiding myself with a flashlight), and finally, I forged my way straight up back to the trail, my 3rd delay costing me 40 minutes. At 4:30 am I was lost again, but this time, I decided to stop, eat and change clothes. I knew I was near the top, but where????? Weary, thirsty and cold, I found the trail after carefully backtracking and checking the markers. The 5th time I got off the track, the sun was just brightening the night sky. Finally able to see, I raced to get to the top before sunrise. I rounded a corner and saw the pink peak looming like an evil citadel! I clambered to the top, ignoring the directions, taking pictures, rock climbing off the trail and, at least, reached the top of Mt. Wilhelm, at 4509 meters (14,795 feet). Oh! What a sunrise I witnessed from the peak! I took many pictures of the fabulous, colorful, awesome scenery spreading out for hundreds of miles in each direction. In the distance all around were clouds with mountain ranges jutting above – but around me it was clear for miles!!!!

After almost 1½ hours on top, at 7:27 am I began to climb down. I had no water, and I was very thirsty. I went slowly, sometimes resting in the alpine sun, refreshing myself with spring water at last – alone in the quietude of the awesome, splendorous peaks I descended somewhat numbed. I stuck my head in the river flowing from the upper to the lower lake – ahhh!! What a beautiful day. I rested for 1½ hours at the house, and then forced myself at 1:30 pm to fly down to Keglsugl. I once despaired I had been lost, but I made it. Drenched from afternoon rain, I saw Pita waiting on the road. We hugged with joy and kissed tenderly. We went to the house where we made love and for the rest of the night I slept and she fed me!

April 12th, 1983

Kundiawa, Chimbu Province, PNG

After a restful sleep, I awoke. Phil, Steve, Pita and I had coffee. Pita and I got our things together. At 11:30 am, we got a ride down the hill from Phil. Fortunately (as seems to happen so much in this mysterious country), there happened to be a government truck there going to Kundiawa. We transferred our things, said farewell to Phil, and got a free lift to Kundiawa. I went to the Lutheran Mission and arranged to lay down our bags for the night. Then, Pita not wishing to go back to the village, I returned alone to Gera village, in order to keep our promise that we would return. I told the villagers that Pita was sick (well, she did develop a bit of a cold in Keglaugl), as they wondered why she hadn’t come. I gave away a few gifts, and I talked to Gunuwa, the headman as we ate a bowl of assorted Kai. We came to a sort of understanding that I would write and send him money and clothes and he would send me traditional artifacts. When I said goodbye, I made a final gift to Phillip’s mother (Phillip, in this case, being the mother of the man in Lae who originally told us to go to Gera). This, in turn, made another old woman jealous; this old woman refused my handshake goodbye! Joe, Kiakamane and Gunuwa walked me down to the road. Gunuwa walked only a short way, then saying “God Bless You!” he waved me into the distance (until we – Joe, Kiakamane and I rounded a corner out of sight.) Joe and Kiakamane told me of the wars between them and Ku, the village we were now walking through. They said it was traditional to chop up captured (dead) enemies, put their testicles in their mouths, burn them, etc.

At 6 pm, they turned back and I quickly caught a ride back to Kundiawa. In the evening. Pita and I had a coffee with the Lutheran pastor. When told him about the ridiculous story about the “666” hours pours that the United Pentecost minister had told the villager at Gera, he responded with a story of a national minister who recently chopped off his hand, proclaiming that within 3 hours God would heal it back like new – now he has no hand and is cursing the white people who brought religion. Before we slept, Pita and I got hot and heavy – and oh what wondrous sweetness can be found when you’re in love!

A catholic minister who gave me a ride today to Gera, told me that, originally, “666” had been a secret code developed by St. John for Christians in ancient Rome – it had been used to identify one another in a land in which they were outlawed!

April 13th, 1983

Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

Waking up on the floor of the office of the Lutheran Mission of Kundiawa to the knocking of our door from outside, we resume making love. Pita trims my mustache and cuts my fingernails and toenails. We proceed to the Chimbu Lodge for coffee (and sandwiches of our own making). I package up some things, and, after coffee, we send them to the USA, but find that we’ll have to cut our arrows to fit the mailbag. Back at the Lutheran Mission, I arrange for Pita to trade for the bilum in the pastor’s house, which she has coveted since spying it last night. Trade successful, we load our burdens and walk to the road, where (a vehicle which just got a traffic ticket) we are off to Mount Hagen on the first vehicle that comes by.

On the way, we notice more and more men wearing arse-grass. We stopped at a market where I bought two big corns for 10t each and a sugar cane for 10t (which the pastor introduced me to last night – the green Highlands sugar cane is delicious juicy and sweet.) On the way to Hagen, we reflect how much we have cut down on spending. Since arriving in Madang, we have spent 23 kina on transportation – to Madang, back to Kundiawa, to Keglsugl, to Kundiawa, to Hagen – each, and 20 kina for lodging each (4 nights at Sia Island). This had been our total expenditure for transport and dodging. We move along in the grey day through the flat plane, and we arrived at the YMCA in Hagen. We got off the PMV paid K3 and found a floor to stay the night with kitchen facilities for K1 at the YMCA.

Pita discovered that her camera was missing – we deduced without a reasonable doubt that the PMV driver and partner were the culprits. I went to the police station and they said to return in the morning when the phone line to Kundiawa would be restored since I could trace the van because they had received a ticket from the Kundiawa police.) Earlier, we had taken a walk around town, and it was obvious that this is a bad place from the standpoint of danger. Pita felt ill, and I let her sleep as the YMCA basketball provided tournament sounds as a background as I sat at the desk in the large, bleak, well-lit room and wrote.

Note to April 10th. I have altered my actions in response to this problem, and things are super-great again (i) I have stopped complaining – period! (ii) I am flattering.

April 14th, 1983

Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

As Pita and I lay huddled on the corner floor of the large meeting room that was our room for the night, Rod, the American director of the Hagen YMCA came in the far door, excused himself, and exited. We rustled ourselves for coffee, and Rod came round to the Y kitchen and chatted. He invited us to stay at the house he was watching. Gratefully, we accepted. He brought us down to the house and, leaving the direction of the Y to his replacement, he took us around town. At the outdoor coffee shop, we laughed as we stooped our head to match the level of the curious nationals who continually came by and stooped to look between the split in the fence, observing us as if we, in the coffee shop, were zoo animals.

We sent to the West Pac bank, where an efficacious Dave Burnoughs, announced that my money had finally arrived – 1248.35 kina, now worth 1504 US dollars to me. Happily, we went to the market, which had copious variety of vegetables and fruits in 10 toya bunches – it is delightful to spend less than two dollars and come home with loads of goods. We also went to Steamships and did some shopping for meats and packaged goods. When we got home, laden with fine foods from here and abroad, we demolished 3 pots of Proxmire – made popcorn, then some Pita-made hamburgers.

Later, I recorded as best I could, the subjects of my, photos of the last 2 weeks while listening to Rod’s tales of youthful mischief and more recent tales of punching and beating up the corrupt PNG policemen and Moonies. When Pita and I retuned, close to 1 am, Rod lent us two soft, clean pillows, which further amplified the lovemaking pleasure at the end of the day. I am happy. It is a simple life, with simple pleasures. I’ve got events to look forward to, but, I have no heart-aches, no nagging ambitions, and (aside from sleeping two in a bed made for one) I don’t toss and turn at night from self-made nightmares.

April 15th, 1983

Mount Hagen, Western Highlands PNG

In the morning, I enjoyed some French toast, smothered with fresh Highlands bee honey. While Pita prepared a stew loaded with fresh chuck roast and a horn-of-plenty-full of vegetables, from yesterday’s market. I went off to attend to business. I exchanged money back into dollars and bought $1000 worth of Amex traveler’s checks. I mailed off my documentation of the West Papuan rebels story (registered). I sent (insured for $300) the 10 traditional arrows that had been given to us at Gera. I walked to the market and bought a new load of veggies upon the request Pita. I also went to the bakery, where I found a beautiful loaf of fresh-baked bread and a crème filled apple turnover for 53t and 35t respectively.

In the evening, Rod, Pita and I enjoyed the stew. Rod went off to drink beer at the Pioneer Club, and I lay down to read The Incredible Voyage by Tristan Jones. I finished it about 1 am, the time Rod came home. I’m really glad that I read it. I learned a lot form that book. One striking thing is his disposal of all the pen-pushing bureaucrats in the world that rob the free world of their hard-earned money (gotten through taxes, and who cause endless anguish for simple, honest folk trying to be free. I learned a lot about persistence towards a goal and about geography. Also, I shared the same awe about Bolivia as Tristan, though by far, he had gotten to know the land much better than I. After I finished the Incredible Voyage, during which I had cried tears of sympathy and empathy, I read a short mystery story, and I turned off the light. Awaiting the darkness was my love so true.

Note: In the Incredible Voyage, Tristan is telling the story of the creation of man, according to the Guarani Indians. From two clumps of mud, Tupan molded two men. They were Pita, who was bronze or red (and Morti who was white.)

April 16th, 1983

Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

This is one of those times when we find a place that’s comfortable, and we can relax, cook, eat to our heart’s content! Today I found out that the passports have returned and have been extended until May 31st, which is superb. One-hitch – Wards Air Cargo has decided to bill us more than they promised they would – but we wont’ pay! We’ll fight it!! Yes!

This morning, Rod picked up two video films - Poltergeist and Heaven Can Wait. We watched them this evening while eating popcorn and a dinner of chicken curry prepared by Pita herself. Pita and I took a walk in the late afternoon. In Mt. Hagen, many bushmen walk the streets wearing arse-grass. In the back, they literally wear bush grass (on a wide belt around their waists) covering their rears. In the front, they hang a group of strings made up of any of a verity of materials unless they’re wearing shirts or something to keep them warm, they rest of their body is uncovered. They often have thick, muscular abdomens and legs and (ugly) tufts of black, sparse hair on their legs. One man I saw looked like he just walked out of the Stone Age – he was sort of hunched over and sort of loped along one of the main streets in front of 20th century stores.

Rod told us that an American was robbed today. Later, tonight, there was a double axe murder between two national men – they were apparently fighting over 14 kina and some cigarettes – the apparent booty gleaned from the American! So, the day, passed, uneventful, but pleasant, pleasant, pleasant! Pita and I are planning to travel from here to Mendi, Tari (when the Highlands Highway ends)), perhaps Lake Kotubo, and Lake Kopiago. Possibly, we may make the circle around to Wabag-and in either case, we’ll return to Mt. Hagen, where we will leave some of our possessions to lighten our load. I think of my loan payments and how Mom reacted when she read my request to make them for me. Maybe she didn’t mind, maybe she was appalled. (Maybe she never got the letter). But I am backing it, giving her my tax return.

If you can’t understand something, look what’s come before it and after it.

April 17th, 1983

Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

Another day to pass in relative luxury. It lazes away. I read “Stories They Wouldn’t Let Me Do On TV – Alfred Hitchcock,” an old book, and I finish it. Some of the stories are so-so, one almost dumb, and some rather scary. Pita and I go for a brief walk around town after making love (after which she cried!). We go to Wamp-Nga’s supermarket. I ask her (For the 10th time) why she was crying and she says “Because you used to make love to me for ½ hour on the boat – and now…” (I had been inside her only about 5 minutes today, after foreplay.) We have a pleasant conversation on sex. She says that not coming makes her feel inadequate as a woman. She says she’s afraid I am getting bored with her. I state that I just don’t hold back. (I told her that I come sooner because she excites me more now – “Sure” she says!) I can prolong it, if I (she) wants me to… In the evening we watch the movies again. We decide we’ll wait until Tuesday to leave.

April 18th, 1983

Mountain Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

(Note: Before we left the house, we made love a long time and Pita came.)

Another luxury day. We got out passports back (stamped until May 31st for PNG!), free of charge (I guess my arguments got through.) I got a letter to the Chief Mgr. of West Pacific Bank, asking for my exchange loss back (2/3rds of it). At the Bank of South Pacific, the tellers were dress in traditional dress! The girls were topless. They had on bird of paradise feathers, cassowary feathers, cuscus (possum) skins, beads, grass, etc! I took some pictures of them. Pita was edgy. She stormed off from the police station (where we went after the market, trying to get some action on her stolen camera) – I asked if she was going to do some shopping – she said ‘no’ and left.

ISO I shopped, but when I got home, I found she had shopped too, and we had double groceries. I also sent a letter to the US embassy asking for information of a visa for Brunei, and I sent her mail from Moresby. When I got home, Pita said she was super-sorry, and she was fixing up a spaghetti dinner. We watched Omen II and the Blues Brothers (which we rented in the chemist shop (and we ate spaghetti, popcorn, crème buns and Milo.


April 19th, 1983

Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

We were supposed to leave today, but we were disorganized, and we were so late getting started, that we decided to wait until tomorrow. Made love in the afternoon, Pita came twice! (It seems heavy and persistent tongue action on the clit readies her, while making love finishes his lovely task!) We took two films out –Papillion and the Disappearance. Papillion was super great – but we failed to get part III, so we’ll have to see the ending when (and if!) we return. The Disappearance was intensely boring – one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen (- Papillion, one of the best!).

I have begun to read Frankenstein – a highly elegant horror story! In the course of this relaxed evening, we made a large bowl of superb popcorn – I mention it because it was, covered with butter, such a memorable dish! Before the popcorn, for dinner and, for me, during the first movie, we enjoyed another batch of spaghetti. In the movie Papillion, there was a line of Dega’s (Dustin Hoffman) which impress me: A temptation resisted is a true measure of character. (Something like that.)

April 20th, 1983

Mendi, Southern Highlands, PNG

By 10:30 am or so, we were on the road to Mendi, ready to hitchhike. For 25t each, we got a short lift to the Wabag – Mendi junction, from where we immediately caught the first of five free rides which eventually brought us to Mendi by about 3:30 pm in the afternoon. Mendi is a beautiful natural setting, in a relatively small valley; on one side, a steep cliff, (limestone?); covered with green, rises from the 5500 valley floor. We were dropped off (in the back of a barred police can) at the Hotel Mendi. Pita stayed in the lounge, while I set out to find us a place to stay. I used a name that Dave Eaton (the dentist in Arawa) had given us – Dr. Ed Struvee at the hospital here. A hospital orderly gave me direction to his house, nearby. He said it was all right to throw down our bags. I went for Pita and the luggage, and we returned. He stayed in the living room, talking to us until almost 10:30 pm. He is avid bushwalker, full of information on this country, which he loves so much. He suggested hiking from Kopiago to Strickland to Oksapamin, Telefomin and the headwaters of the Sepik and down!!

April 21st, 1983

Wagi, Wara Waiki, Southern Highlands, PNG

Today began an adventurous week. Pita and I woke up, and we left Ed’s house with the idea to use the information that he had given us for a hike through the Highlands bush to Lake Kutubu, inaccessible by road. To our good fortune, we met the young man, who had given us a ride almost to Mendi yesterday, in a store just before our departure. He was driving out to Nipa, which is the road we needed to take to get to the Nemlir Road. Unfortunately, under the guidance of some national men, he let us off on the wrong road. After a delay, we got ourselves to the fork in the Nembir Road where the old road begins to Wara Waiki.

On our own, we walked in rain and mist for a few hours. The road ended, and a trail began. We sloshed through mud, till we came to a village above Wara Waiki (a large river). Village youngsters led us to the water. We crossed abridge as darkness settled in. (The bridge was made entirely of natural materials.) It was dark as we climbed the opposite hill. We thought ourselves lost. We found a man sleeping in a pig house, who led us to the aid post kitchen hut. We bedded down there. In the middle of the night, men appeared at the door. Thinking they were hostile. I would not let them in, even after one said he was Tom Kundin, the medic at the aid post.

April 22nd, 1983

Wagi, Wara Waiki, Southern Highlands, PNG

In the morning, I opened the door. Shortly, Tom Kundin, the aid post medic came in. We exchanged apologies, (Me for not letting him in, and he for scaring us in the middle of the night). He spoke English and tried to help us negotiate for guides to Lake Kutubu, but to no avail. We could not make a deal with the village young men, who being intimidated by the older men, would not take us for the amount we wanted to pay. Tom moved us to his small abode, where we had lunch. Later, we had a big trading session – we gave clothes for kina shells. Tom talked to his helpers, who informed me that we would leave for Lake Kutabu at 6 am tomorrow. The night sky shone light. In the river ravine below, boys hunted frogs in groups with burning torches.

April 23rd, 1983

Poril, Southern Highlands Bush, PNG

At 6:45 am we were awoken, and by 7:15 am or so, Angol, Mul and Tom left with P and I for the bush. We climbed directly up a mountain in our 3rd hour. On we went, and at 3:15 pm, after 8 hours, we reached a hut, in which lived a man and his 3 wives. The hut was small. We had a few edible sprouts and potatoes, and against my intuition, set off at about 4 pm for a village 2 hours off. Shortly, Tom and Angol set off ahead, saying they’d get a fire ready. One of the wives came with P and I and Mul. She had with her 2 children, one wrapped in her bilum, hanging on her head. About 1 hour before dark, we left the trail and hiked along a river. It got dark and rained heavily. As good as lost, the 6 of us tramped and stumbled along the river. I was carrying the young boy. Finally, we heard our cries returned and Angol, cutting through the bush, led us to a hut off the river.

April 24th, 1983

Lom, Southern Highlands Bush, PNG

We awoke in the hut, the 8 of us, which we had luckily found the previous night. We were dragged out, and Tom told us we’d stay the morning and hike in the afternoon. Indeed, we were lost, but not too far form the main trail. The men built a mumu (cooking in leaves surrounded by hot rocks) and cooked wild pandannus, ferns and legumes they had found. At 11 am; we hiked and the women returned home. In an hour we were on the right trail, and standing before the beautiful Waga river and cut through a limestone gorge. I went swimming and diving off the rocks that formed the vertical walls, which enclosed the river. What a gorgeous place!!! We climbed the hill, and then walked on and on in a flat teak rainforest. At 4 pm, we arrived at another uninhabited bush hut, where we ate and bedded down for the night. In this place, there was a little structure, which marked a grave – it was like an open-air hut the shape of a coffin. I had carried my pack all day to the dislike of Pita and our paid guides.

April 25th, 1983

Tubage, vicinity of Lake Kutubu, Southern Highlands, PNG

I awoke at 5 am and roused the gang. At 6 am, we began to hike. After 2 hours, we arrived at a village with children with distended stomachs. Tom bid us farewell here. Angol, Mul, P and I trucked on while a village boy headed on to summon the next village and procure another boy to help him bring us to Kutubu as Angol and Mul would turn back. After 1 hour 35 minutes, we reached the medical post. I was charged one kina for taking a picture of a tree kangaroo fighting a dog. We paid Angol and Mul 10 kina each and bid farewell. Two new guides came on with 3 others on their way to the Lake. After crossing a large river, we came on flat ground. After an easy walk, we got to Tubago, a lake village. There we were invited to spend the night. I went swimming in the Tubago river. We ate lots of bananas and mandarin oranges at 3 cents, which was good. The village architecture was fascinating.

April 26th, 1983

Fimanga, Southern Highlands, PNG

After a mosquito – ridden, night in the men’s (Long-haus) house, we awoke, ate, and went to the lake. Ayamena – a polite villager, and two friends, boarded a canoe with us and paddled us to Inv____, the mission station. You might think a mission station would be full of good will and Christian charity, but here it was (and not only here!) decidedly opposite. Unable to get a reasonable rate, I negotiated with Ayamena that for an additional 5 kina, we could get a canoe ride to Kesege, on the lake’s southwest tip. I helped to paddle, and paddled hardest of all the last 45 minutes. We got to Kesege at 2 pm.

At 2:40 pm, after a swim and some refreshment, we started to walk on the road to Fimaga. We were told it was a 2 or 3-hour walk, but you’d have to run to make it in 2 or 3 hours! Luckily, in the midst of a torrential downpour, we got a lift into Fimaga, where the driver, Robbie the most erudite PNG man we’ve met yet let us stay at his house.

I counted 80 totally different types (Families) of plant growth (trees, plants, fungus) on the trail to Kutubu. Ed says that in his garden alone, there may be 250-300 different species.

April 27th, 1983

Mendi, Southern Highlands, PNG

In the morning, Robbie talked to the OIC (Officer in Charge) at Fimaga, who agreed we could get on the government charter for free. A few hours later, at 10 am or so, we heard the chartered Tal Air 10 seater fly in, I ran to the air strip, talked to the expatriate pilot, and in 10 minutes we were packed and on the plane, where upon she perfunctorily performed liftoff. We had a stop in Arovo (or Orobu). P and I looked at the uninhabited rainforest, typical of what we’d been hiking through, from the air for the first time.

We arrived safely and thankfully in Mendi. We went shopping, and then went to Ed’s (the doctor’s) house. He didn’t answer (through the hospital nurse said he was home), so we made lunch in his garden and dried our clothes. An extremely loud thunderbolt near the house awoke him, and, upon hearing his footsteps in the house, we knocked and he let us in. He was as cordial as before. We smoked pot from his plants. When he was called away to deliver a baby, Pita and I made beautiful love.

April 28th, 1983

Mount Hagen, Western Highlands PNG

We packed everything up in the morning, did the usual business of store and bank. We stood at the bus stop the government vehicle rolled by and stopped. I told him to take us as far as he was going. He left 10 nationals also seeking rides in the dust. Friendly of him, as he drove us out of the Hagen road, way beyond where he said he was taking us. I had taken some mushrooms that Ed had given me and now I could feel them illuminating the day. Shortly, some other government man in a comfortable big rover stopped. He brought us all the way to Hagen. We stopped in to see Rod at the YMCA who gave us the house keys.

I started feeling a bit ill (but I don’t think it was the shrooms. I found a letter from mom, a postcard from Donna, a telegram from Dad (saying “Stay out of the Highlands”) and a letter from Mandy (telling me about her modeling progress – she’s beautiful), which I had forwarded from Moresby. I went to bed and started theWerewolf of Paris.

When we went into Westpac Bank, the accountant gave me K13.29 – this was my reward for having written to the Director of thanks and requesting the unjustified exchange loss.

April 29th, 1983

Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

I was pretty sick today, all day, so I won’t claim it was the greatest day. But, really, Kelly (Pita) was a sweetheart, and did a lot to make me comfortable. She’s running around, doing laundry, cooking, etc. I readWerewolf of Paris (1934 by Guy Endore) almost the whole day. The book really fascinates me, partly because it was its basis in public records. We got Star Wars and the Deer Hunter at the video shop today, and tonight we watched the latter, but stopped the former in the beginning and retired, too tired to watch it. Last night, we finished watching the second half of Papillion (a great movie). Also today (and I’m afraid to write this, I procured (ahemm!) some Kodachrome film, so that I can take beautiful pictures, and maybe rewrite an article to accompany them. 20 rolls – 36 exposures. Free.

April 30th, 1983

Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

I felt somewhat better today. We watched Star Wars this morning. I can understand why people loved the film – it’s great. I finished reading the Werewolf of Paris. That’s a really great book. I like in the end when they reprint the exhumed body report of Bertrand Calbret, where they find a dog instead of a body!! Things are really nice concerning our hike to Teleformin in the respect that before we hiked to Kutubu, Kelly (Pita) and I were both sort of apprehensive about her ability – but after we had reached Pimaga, she started talking about the next hike like she had decided it was on. We were supposed to be at Ed’s tonight, but we’re just not ready, and I want to relax and rest so I’ll be strong and ready for our grand exit from PNG. (I hope it’s successful.) Note: The San Mig beer here tastes great.

May 1st, 1983

Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

9 pm. This is a notable moment, as I have been gone from home for exactly half a year. We sailed from Point San Pablo Yacht Club at 9 pm, Nov 1 st, 1982. Pita and I have been together almost the whole time (except for the 9 days I was away in Rabaul). The longest I’ve ever been away from home before (from the USA, that is) was when I went to South America, when I was away about six months. I would say I will be gone from the USA about a year more, but I can’t say for sure, as my plans are fluid.

The city of Mt. Hagen, where we’re presently having a rest stop, is actually located some miles from Mount Hagen, the mountain. This city is located in the floor of a valley, which is fairly large. In it’s virgin state, the area was probably beautiful but it is in no way an area of spectacular beauty that characterizes much of this country. – Today we re-watched Star Wars and the Deer Hunter and prepared things to go home.

May 2nd, 1983

Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

Taking care of business, mailing packages, thinking of all the details that will effect our departure from PNG smoothly. Living in luxury and enjoying it fully.

Tonight we watched The French Connection, then Boys from Brazil, and finally Let’s Scare Jessica To Death. I had always maintained that the last (Let’s Scare…) was the scariest movie I ever saw, but I found it terribly slow, now viewing it years later (the last time I saw it was with Marty Friedman and Jim Romeo at the Millbrae theatre after watching my brother Marc play football in San Jose, when we walked in as everyone was excited, thus seeing the movie for free). The French Connection wasn’t near as good as the book, Boys From Brazil was excellent, just fantastic!!! Kelly and I are starting to make love a lot now that we have a bed and a little privacy. When I make love a few times a day, it excites me so that it makes me want it more and more. I really love feeling lusty and having it satisfied in the arms of loving woman. I enjoy being virile!!

May 3rd, 1983

Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

Tonight we stayed up late. We began the evening watching The Hot Rock, a Robert Redford movie about stealing a diamond. It was pretty good. The next film was The Boston Strangler. It was also quite watchable. It was late when we flipped on The Man Who Would Be King, but tired as I was, it was still good watching (and I’d seen it once before). These days here in Hagen are quite nice. I had a beautiful dinner of lamb chops, fried potatoes and onions and corn. Kelly fixes it up right good! While we’re watching the videos, we eat huge piles of popcorn smothered with butter. I am indulging myself quite a bit while we’re here in preparation for the privations I am about to put myself through this month – many days on our way to Oksapmin, Telefomin, etc. will be spent in hard physical exercise and few amenities. I’m enjoying while I can. P.S. – Rod is an excellent host.

May 4th, 1983

Mount Hagen, Western Highlands, PNG

We had intended to leave Mt. Hagen today, but it became obvious that it would be better to stay. We mailed packages to both Vanimo and to the US and Japan. I spent most of the evening writing about the Lake Katubu trip in my journal. I finished writing in the last page available in the journal (which contains my thoughts all through the sailboat part of the journey) and determined to mail it off to the USA tomorrow – hopefully it won’t get lost – it is a very important document to me – it is practically a book!

For dinner I enjoyed lamb again, which is very cheap. A good-sized lamb chop is only about 60t – it comes from New Zealand where lamb is plentiful. I went to the map service today to find the quickest way to Mt. Giluive and it seemed apparent that we should go along the wold Wabag-Mendi road to Tumbul and ask the folks there to guide. On this point, it should be noted that I was wrong, but didn’t know till afterwards. By going to a village from the Mendi side, some ways from Malgi which we reached under the advice of the Tambul people, we could have, according to Ed Struvee, have reached the base of the mountain 4 hours and the top in another 2. As it was, by going to Tambul, we never reached the top of Mt. Giluive! Of course we enjoyed our buttery popcorn again tonight.

May 5th, 1983

Malgi Village, Near Tambul, Western Highlands, PNG

I went in the morning to town, bought a mosquito net and returned the keys to Rod. At about 11 am, Kelly and I left Mt. Hagen. We got a free ride to where the Wabag road branches off to Tambul. In a few minutes, another ride took us into Tambul, situated in a valley. A man arranged for a guide named Yopai to take us up Giluive. We paid 1.50 to take a truck out to a village name Malgi, where we spent the evening and night in the house of a young man named David. The evening was filled with negotiations and discussion about what we would pay, how many men we would bring and how far it was to the top of Mt. Giluive. In Pidgin English, there is no way to say “how many Kilometers is it?” – the people can’t say, and because they don’t have watches, they often disagree on times. Also, there were different interpretations of Mt. Giluive – some meant its peak and others it slopes. We were given estimates from 3 to 12 hours to get to its top. We slept on a cushion on the dirt floor. Before we went to bed, we had arranged for Yopai to take us for K8, a blanket and a pair of pants, and for his nephew, Laka, to come along for K4. As it turned out, it was lower to K6 and K2, and that for only one day’s hiking. I wish I didn’t need a guide.

May 6th, 1983

Malgi Village, Near Tambul, Western Highlands, PNG

What a day! (Don’t take that to mean great!) We woke early and began to hike at 7:15 am, me, Kelly, Laka and Yopai. Kelly was irritating me, and when she said she did it “Cause it’s fun!” I threatened to leave, but was convinced to go on. We started at about 2600 meters and hiked through the bush to the grassland to about 3600 meters. I carried my pack much of the way. When we got a bit into the high grassland, Yopai said we’d hike for 2 hours and then comeback and build a house on the edge – from this ensued a discussion which brought to light the claim of Yopai’s that he thought we had a tent, and that without it, we could not make it to Giluive, since it was a 15 hour trip from there to Giluive’s top. This culminated a series of contradictory stories. I was going to go on alone, but Kelly wanted me to forget it, and I didn’t want to go up so bad, so we all turned back and went to the village again. David let us in, and his family came in from Mt. Hagen in the night. He gave us his ‘room’ to sleep in. Even though I was a bit disappointed, I still enjoyed the walk, as usual.

May 7th, 1983

Mendi, Southern Highlands, PNG

Woken in the morning after another fairly restless insect-ridden night. Unloaded our bags from David’s tunnel-like, grass-mosaic designed room, drank a cup of coffee in a room filled with his family (Mom, Pop, etc.) and others, and walked to Tambul (2½ hours). Just before reaching Tambul, I took a dip in ice-cold water – a good way to start the day.

Once in Tambul, we waited a few hours until we finally got a ride, passing our time munching corn and sugar cane from the market. Said bye to David, boarded truck and got a ride to Togoba, where the road splits from Hagen to Mendi/Wabag. Caught another ride to Kaupena, and shortly thereafter another a bit beyond Ialibu. There, we waited on the grassland at 6,000 feet eating chocolate till after 5 pm when a government vehicle gave us a fast ride to arrive in the dark in Mendi. Ed wasn’t home so we ate some cheese sandwiches on his porch until we were tired, whence we slept. He came home about midnight and we got inside, had hot Milo, smoked a joint. Kelly and I made vivid, warm love and then got up and prepared a meal of hot cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.

May 8th, 1983

Mendi, Southern Highlands, PNG

Ed got up and announced he was going bush walking, so I wasted no time at all in getting ready. I popped 3 mushrooms he gave me, had a quick breakfast, and we head out from Mendi Valley. The shrooms had no effect really, but there was no need for artificial stimulation, what with the wonderful scenery – over on our left is an extinct volcano ‘about 200,000 years old,’ says Ed. He points out the mountain ranges and folds, approximate ages, how the Pacific plate colliding with the Australian plate has caused the upheaval of New Guinea.

We go over a ridge, smoke a j, and head down to a river, passing prehistoric tree ferns. On the river, we eat lunch and Ed goes off to take pictures and gather orchards for his garden. He brings back all the specimens he finds – little clusters of orchards smaller than the tip of my finger. As I sit on a rock, his dog, Boots, contemplates how to get to us, falls in the river, and gives up. I go off to shoot pictures of orchards with my tripod. We smoke a bomber on the return trip. The mist and clouds painting Mendi up beautifully. The shrooms never really took effect. Evening, Kelly’s welling pussy brings joy.

May 9th, 1983

Tari, Southern Highlands, PNG

Ed wakes up and K and I follow suit. He pays us for the maps we brought to him less the $ (Or K, I should write) for the bilas we got from him (Bilas: native jewelry). We withdrew K160 each, went food shopping, Kelly bought a pack, and we got out to the Nipa junction on the Hagen – Mendi road. (Before we left Ed’s, we had a cordial goodbye – we exchanged sincere thanks – I rigged up a light for his plants, I gave him some addresses – Jeff Clymer’s, Kevin Hickey’s and Norma’s and Mom’s).

While waiting for a free lift, I traded some bilum string and a sheet for a nice kina shell. We caught a ride on the back of a truck, which was going all the way to Tari! The ride lasted from 3 pm to 7:30 pm. The brisk, ice-cold, refreshing air was ever-present as we passed by the road we had taken to the Nembi turnoff (on our way to Kutubu), passed Nipa, through gorgeous stretches of 8,000 foot savannahs with groves of sparse tree-ferns, passed the Tari gap at 8,824 feet. The driver let us stay at his SDA mission. Hot shower, dinner and a bed. (Fresh soup and passion fruit jam.)

May 10th, 1983

Koroba, Southern Highlands, PNG

What a trippy day! I’ve seen more and been more impressed today than any other day yet in PNG. We woke at the Nissho place and had a high healthy breakfast. The Nissho men were flying to Kiunga – we went to the airport – once in town, we began seeing the fabulous Hule men with their amazingly imaginative wigs and colorings. In the market, one man wanted K10 for a picture, so instead, I snapped 4 surreptitious shots by pointing the camera, unobtrusively snapping the pictures with my thumb. We caught a ride to Koroba in a government vehicle. It was raining when we got there, and a whole herd of wigmen were at the district mangers office to get out of the rain. To my surprise, they were very much into having their picture taken – it followed that we had a super film – taking session with a crowd of wigmen.

Later, after being offered accommodation, we were brought to a place that had artifacts for sale – it was a burn hut with a gathering of bush people – two old men adorned themselves in bilas and put on a mock fight – wore a wig. In the evening, our host presented me with a dagger (bone of cassowary) and he gave me a traditional hornbill ornament that they wear on their backs. Lastly, he gave me a stone axe head that he found while digging in the garden.

May 11th, 1983

Koroba, Southern Highlands, PNG

This place is great. The people are far-out; it makes me feel like I’m in the Haight Ashbury in the 60s for some reason. Today, I had an incredible stroke of luck. We went down to the place where we’d gone yesterday – the bush hut where the guy sells stuff. Well, he pulls out a piece of bamboo, and withdraws from it a matching set of bird of paradise feathers. After minutes of apprehension, I asked him how much he wanted. He said K10. I bought them immediately. (Kelly wanted one, and is a bit perturbed I didn’t give her one.) In the evening, Kelly and I started talking about writing. We developed a theme for Pita Pukpuk and Proxmire Pidgin – the Adventures of. There are few rides out of here. Tomorrow, we’re going to give it a serious try – Again, today, many people allowed their pictures to be taken. In the evening, 2 men dressed in awesome attire and paint came to visit our host and us.

May 12th, 1983

Lake Kopiago, Southern Highlands, PNG

Awesomeness. Before we left this morning, Mrs. And Mr. Kulu gave us a necklace each, and gave me an armband. I carefully packed away my bird of paradise feathers. The feathers are stored in a bamboo that looks old and uninteresting and we got on the road. We soon got a ride to the junction 5 miles off where the road goes to Kopiago. Thursday’s, they have a market there. Along ambled an old, small man with 4 sugar cane sticks. He freely offered one. In return, I gave him a small amulet that Mom had given me from Costa Rica. He had no other bilas on, and when others tried to touch it, he chased them away with the sugar cane.

At the market, I bought a string bag for K4. The whole day, only one truck came from Kopiago and one, too full to take us, went there. We were quite an attraction – always, there was a crowd around us. They laughed when I played their flute, they have these awesome-sounding traditional flutes – I bought one the other day for 30t and when I smoked their bruis, bruis is their local tobacco – it makes me feel dizzy and good.

At 4:30 pm, the government truck that came from Kopiago, picked us up on their return. As we rode along the winding, narrow track, a wave of joy passed over me – full of visions of the land awaiting us beyond this, the final road in present day New Guinea. We stood for 4½ hours in the truck bed, exhilarated by the cold air and involved in an animated conversation with a local. We slept at OICS’s house. OIC means Officer in Charge. In each government station, there is an officer in charge.

P.S. – We found out that there is going to be a sing-sing on Saturday in Kopiago. There are going to be people from Kopiago, Oksapmin and Telefomin. We may be able to walk with them.

P.P.S. – New route to Vanimo: Telefomin, to Green River, to Amanop, to Amonda, To Baywani, then by road to Vanimo.

May 13th, 1983

Lake Kopiago, Southern Highlands, PNG

(When I get rich, I will have to travel to sunny weather always.) Stupendous day. This place is gorgeous. It was hot and sunny today. The color green is all its moods dwells here. The magic of the sky, as she performs her dusk miracles was ours to behold on our walk back home form the Lutheran mission where we gave our boxes to some folks we met to mail for us. K and I had awesome sex. I made her come with my mouth after I had and we did it again too. Dinner with the OIC and his wife was huge bowl of greens and fresh cow meat, with rice and potatoes. I gorged.

There is going to be a sing-sing tomorrow. People are coming form Oksapmin and Telefomin. Just now I heard some men singing outside. I feel injected with lightheartedness and waves of joy pass over me. Saw some birds of paradise feathers 2 skins for K8 today in the market. Got Telefomin and Stolle maps at the post office as arranged. The country we’re to hike through looks gorgeous. My life is a dream – a beautiful high, a scintillating sky.

May 14th, 1983

Lake Kopiago, Southern Highlands, PNG

Sing-Sing: Today, I happily viewed my first sing-sing, and it was totally awesome. It started about 10 am. There were three groups from the area: the Hewas, who were dressed in long hats and feathers: some wore long string hats and others wore these huge headdresses with 1000’s of feathers. There were only 10 or so, as the Hewas are a relatively small clan – they danced almost continuously. The Hulis were amazing – they had spectacular wigs of possum hair, copious bird of paradise feathers and splendid paint on their faces, sometimes black, sometimes they had blue beards. They were 30 upward of the fellows; they got in a circle and danced around with drums counterclockwise, hopping up and down. The other Huli group was too awesome. Their faces were painted bright red and yellow; they had grease on their backs again, spectacular wigs. I was running all over the grounds snapping pictures.

I saw about 2½ – 3 hours of the festival. I bought some beautiful bird of paradise feathers – 2 kina for 2 birds!! On days like today, it’s hard to write everything on one page. Pius Pape, our host arranged for 4 fellows to come with us tomorrow toward Oksapmin. I arranged to pay 8 kina per day in total for their services. We had another good meal on Pius’ table.

May 15th, 1983 (1)

Yokona, Southern Highlands, PNG

We left Kopiago at about 7:30 am today. I thoroughly enjoyed the hike which ended in Yokona, some distance away, at about 5:30 pm. We had a couple of spectacular scenes present themselves: off in the distance, the walls of the Strickland gorge, a rich light grass green against the deep green of the fest and the vertical walls of black and white limestone (granite?) cliffs. We got farther than we’d expected and it was easier than we (I) expected, of new sights: a young cassowary, 2 baby cassowaries.

Today before we left, I exchanged gifts with Pius – I gave him a necklace from the Soloman’s and he gave me a Bob stone axe head. I can hardly believe I got such beautiful feathers yesterday for only 2 kina. We just bought about 20 ears of corn, 6 potatoes, about 30 medium to small tomatoes (and one 7″ papaya) and 4 feet of sugar cane for K1.10. We munch out, devouring corn, potatoes, beans, hot dogs, milo, tomatoes until we’re stuffed. We use our mosquito net for the first time.

May 16th, 1983 (2)

Gava, West Sepik, PNG

STIRCKLAND: Wow! The scenery I saw today may be the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. Up at 6:30, we were on the road shortly after 7 am. In short notice, we were out in the grassland of the spectacular Strickland gorge, the grassland, from a distance looking like a well-kept, gorgeous field, carpets the mountain sides as the plunge for miles wound down to the Strickland river. In various spots, one may find limestone cliffs or dark green rain forests clinging to the ravines and mountainsides. The blue sky, the drifting clouds, the ridges of rubble and green interspersed, the grass polka-doted with trees, all add to the natural wonder. One is reminded that this area is untouched, virgin, there are no roads connecting this area with the rest of PNG. We reached the river before 11, climbed up the enormous grass slope on the other side, then through rain forest and up a new-cliff, through a splendid valley, up a ridge, then into the valley nowhere Gava rests on the opposite slope, now we are in a village house.

May 17th, 1983 (3)

Tekin, West Sepik, PNG

Tonight, I get to sleep in a bed with sheets and a blanket, but first: Morning, and we mixed last night’s rice and powdered milk and made mush, and had coffee for breakfast. At 8:30, we hiked. Soon, we were climbing the ridge that separates Gavea from Oksapmin. Up, up, up, then down, down, down into the bowl-like valley of Oksapmin. We were beside the airstrip and vegetable market ½ hour past noon. Our guides tried to get us to pay each of them what we had arranged to pay totally, K20, but the OIC’s 2nd man heard our story, we paid K20, and caught one of the 2 vehicles here, the Baptist tractor, to Tekin. We had lunch in the wagon bed. The Baptist couple Ian and Carol were hospitable. They charged us each K2. We had hot milo, dinner, more milo and showers and beds. We looked at maps and decided I’d walk to Telefomin and Frieda River, Kelly would stay here and fly to Frieda to meet me. We made warm succulent love before sleeping. Saw our first penis gourds today.

May 18th, 1983 (4)

Tekap, West Sepik, PNG

In accordance with decisions made last night, I left for Telefomin today, but not until I had –

1) Slept late (10:15 am),

2) Eaten to my hearts content

3) Argued and made up with Kelly, culminating with me telling her “I love you so much and she responding in kind to me – the first time we ever exchanged these vows of sweetness.

I further delayed 15 minutes in order to enjoy a hot Milo and chocolate cupcakes, courtesy of Carol. I bade Carol and Ian goodbye, and Kelly and I walked down the road together for a while, beginning at 4:10 pm. She walked with me ½ hour or so and we stopped and shared a very sweet goodbye, again saying “I love you.” She waved me into the distance and I walked to Divanap, where “Master Lawrence” lives. Marshall and Helen Lawrence invited me to dinner – I had lamb chops, and chocolate pudding with whipped crème for dessert!! Marshall has the distinction of the first man to master the Oksapmin language.

After dinner, he walked me to the Tekap market area, where he conversed in Oksapmin and procured a place for me to stay – I slept in a room with a fir and penis gourds on the wall.

May 19th, 1983 (5)

Wava, West Sepik, PNG

4 pm. I am going to sleep here tonight out of necessity, though it’s not a bad place – if I could only communicate!! It became apparent last night that it would be quicker to walk straight to the Freida River form here rather than go to Telefomin, which would be out of the way. This morning in the Tekap market, I could not find a man to take me to Duranmip, which is about ½ way to Frieda River Station, my destination; but they found a young man who would take me to Fitiwapa, a few hours away, where I could ask for a man. I walked for 3½ hours and arrived at this place. I emphasize that I went through real bush track, narrow, winding, virtually straight up and down. I was carrying the big pack and was tired when I got here. I paid the boy 40t an hour, or 1.50 and he left. No one here speaks English, and I have had little luck in making headway for a guide to Duranmin. But I’ve got a room with a fire, and I’ll just sit tight until tomorrow. Met Tilot who says he’ll take me.

May 20th, 1983 (6)

Mahosha, West Sepik, PNG

(1 minute away from the Ogona River) I saw a bird of paradise today – a red one – but it didn’t have its plumes yet. It flew back and forth to a tree one time.

(The fact that the place I’m at even has a name is surprising.) Definitely, there have been few days I’ve ever excited myself as much as today. At 7am, Tilot, two other boys and I left Wapa and started north. Not too much later, we passed the hill above Wapa and were looking out across a fog-streaked valley. Way in the distance was a mountain, Mt. Govi. Fortunately, the day was spent predominately going downhill. (I never talked about money with Tilot, so I ended up carrying my pack and he took the little daypack. Mine weighs about 40lbs.) My knees feel raw from all the abuse. I slip on logs a lot – it’s a wonder I haven’t hurt myself.

I saw an amazing electric blue beetle today. I took two color slides of it! But the day’s toils were so well rewarded that I feel ecstatically content! The last ½ hour – of the hike (which ended at 3:40 pm) was spent along the Ogona River, a pool-profuse moving body of drinking water. Makosa, a minute away, is a mere overhead canopy of bush material bordered by a stream. I refreshed myself in the river. The two boys we were with found 6 large (about 4″ long eggs.) After my cabbage soup, we feasted on these delicacies, including friend embryo. I’m writing this in my mosquito net by candlelight.

May 21st, 1983 (7)

Wapubuta (near Okoma River), West Sepik, PNG

Writing by dim candlelight inside a strange museum of a house! We have arrived, but none were here to greet us – Tilot explains that their Wantok have gone off to plant sago. (I am curious – when I removed the plank of the door, there was a vine growing on it. All over the house are jawbones of animals [pigs, cuscus], spears, bows, pig tails, bone daggers, old bags of clothes.) Thus, the men that were supposed to guide me aren’t here. It has been suggested that my friends here walk me to the Fu River and I should walk the 12 miles upriver to Duranmin! I have my reservations!! Tilot said one of the boys said he knows the way by bush track. As I go to sleep, I don’t know about tomorrow.

Today, we awoke in Makosha, left at 8 am without breakfast, and walked down (north) the Ogona River. I was dragging – I was still worn out from yesterday! We cut through bush to the Okoma River, had lunch on the river, and then hiked to a house in a garden where we supped on sweet potatoes. We left and walked a bit to Wapubunta’s only other house but no one is to be seen at all. This is both weird and wonderful. I pulled a boo-boo today. In the morning, I cracked the back of the camera before unwinding the film! But I immediately shut it back up again! It’s possible I haven’t exposed the film – I hope only a few frames! I took an awesome shot of a red and blue butterfly today sitting, as if posing on a rock in the sun.

May 22nd, 1983 (8)

Sheaville, very near Fu River (on bank), West Sepik, PNG

As I lay me down to sleep this night, I am under the spell of full contentment. (Near the foremost of reasons is a well-nourished stomach.) When I awoke, the 3 “guides” were sleeping. After some debate among themselves, they said they’d take me to Duranmin if I paid them – I whittled it down to paying K6 to Tilot and K2.50 for each of the others, or K11 for the whole trip.

We walked (begin: 8:25 am) down to the Bi River, where it meets the Ok Oma. They tried crossing it, but I was the only one to make it. Then, I had to walk on the opposite side of the river. Finally, I crossed back over, and we walked on. They found a hybrid, but it had recently died. I snapped a photo.

Eventually, after noon, I ascertained that they were afraid of the river, so I convinced them to go back and cross it where I had. We joined hands and made it easily. Then, the work began. We went straight up a mountainside, then along it, then down, finally coming to the FU River. (The 2 younger boys found another 5 giant eggs near the crest of the ridge.) They were going to build a shelter, but I looked at the map and convinced them there should be a shelter upriver. There was one about ½ km away! (Which I named after myself, as no one knew the name). I made soup with rice, we had kau-kau, and we cooked all the eggs with some lamb curry. It was delicious – I’m delightfully full. It’s raining. I’m in my mosquito net!

May 23rd, 1983 (9)

Duranmin, West Sepik, PNG

I’m now laying down in a nice hut. It’s very late. Today, we woke up at 6 am, ate cereal and coffee, and kav-kav, and began to walk at 7:25 am. Again, I crossed the river and they turned back, so I had to go it alone on my side for a while. Eventually, we saw smoke on my side of the river. A man had built a fire. He beckoned my “guides” come across, which they did. The man informed us that we were close to Duranmin. We walked along the river, often cutting up into the bush, often going up steep slopes. We found a papaya tree and ate a not-ripe-enough “paw-paw.” We reached a place where there was a village on the other side at about 1:15 pm. The people beckoned us over. They gave us banunnas, kav-kav and a ripe papaya. Another ½ hours walk brought us to the Duranmin airstrip. It’s a really pretty place here. George, a national, set me up in this place. We called Tekin on the radio, and I spoke to Ian because Kelly had gone to the Lawrence’s. My “guides” are talking about flying back because it’s a long way and they’re scared to cross the river. It was a great hike.

May 24th, 1983 (10)

Duranmin, West Sepik, PNG

4 pm. Postscript to hike: The reader (be it myself must forgive me for not being better at relating the meaningful occurrences on my hikes. It must suffice to relate that I thoroughly enjoyed beating my brains out on the trail. After awhile, it no longer seems like work. I felt like I was off “camping with the boys.” I saw plenty of beautiful butterflies – some are a brilliant luminous blue that catches the eye as the circle (note: one just flew past my feet.) The rivers, many, and virgin. Evidence of life – fresh bird eggs. Orchards, too many to count, purple, red and yellow, orange. The simple pleasures refresh my heart. – I slept late today – after 9 am.

I had a delightful breakfast of granose, bananas and sugar and a rich cup of powdered coffee. I meticulously tended to the many scratches on my legs and hands, trying toward off the ubiquitous tropical sore. At 2:30 pm, I talked to Kelly in Tekin by radio. To my surprise, she wants to fly here and finish the hike with me! She’s supposed to arrive in late morning, and the plan is to hike tomorrow afternoon, in hopes of reaching Wabia tomorrow. I read a lot from my Pidgin English teacher today, though too late, this progress is good. I wrote to my Grandma. Simple day.

May 25th, 1983 (11)

Duranmin, West Sepik, PNG

The rain sounds like comfort to me waiting for my day to start, wrapped in down, heavenly morning. The drip, drip excites a premature exit from my wraps, a drip, drip of water between the broken thatch of the roof. Supplying my body with copious amounts of rich coffee, my hand yields an account of the previous days adventures, as I pass the morning. And Kelly fly’s to Druranmin in early afternoon, a picture of red pigin grass across the airstrip amidst brown bodies amidst green mountains. We talk and share experiences, drink hot drinks, exchange lingering kisses and soft words, which flow from love’s wellspring of truth – the heart. Before dark, a walk along the banks and undressing, a dip in refreshing water. A glass wing butterfly poses for a picture. Over a good dinner, the laughter lingers on. The lantern light vanishes and sounds of ecstasy based in passion can be heard without the walls of these lovers in the moonlight.

May 26th, 1983 (12)

Fumanabid, West Sepik, PNG

We leave among well-wishes, I take Tilot’s address (look at their glum faces), and at 8:30 am, our new companions and stragglers follow us on the road. The breakfast of Granose and papaya and coffee really stoked me up, and like champions we assailed the riverbed. Kelly had been assured by me to carry her own pack until someone offered to help, and as I predicted, assistance was granted, I, still carrying my 50 lb. (Kelly brought the rest of my possessions) pack. We left the Fu River and went uphill, Kelly telling me how much she likes the rain forest. And in short order, 3½ hours of walk, Kelly, Atemik (Hereafter referred to as Atomic), Waning (Hereafter referred to as Warning), and I came to Fumanobip, which we stopped at, though only 12 noon, because we were too late to reach the next houses. We stayed in a big raised house on a ridge, from which we had a good view. I will always remember Fumanabip as a pig-shit-ridden, waterless village of poor sight choice and design but a wonderful day, fair, then a night of rain.

May 27th, 1983 (13)

Kutbama, West Sepik, PNG

I am so tired. It is so wonderful to stop here in this haven. My knees are painful, I have almost no energy, my hands are sore from scratches and thorns, my side is bruised and my shoulders are getting raw! Ah, for the love of the hike. It was 11 hours from start to finish today, start being at 7:40 am and arrival on this side of heaven at 6:40 pm. And we didn’t really stop much. Here, in this garden house, there are trees with scores of giant papayas, banana trees, a pristine crashing brook, and only us four. The best company a tired man could have! Kelly and Atomic and Warning. We went up and down today, and then we spent the middle of the day plodding up a colossal ridge of forest. Then it began to rain, as we descended the Wabia side. My joints ached. An egg finally revived me. I sang songs from musicals. Atomic and Warning laughed as I commented on how the Fumanabips live in pig shit! I rate my tiredness as one of the ten most tired days of my life.

May 28th, 1983 (14)

Wabia, West Sepik, PNG (Shangri-La)

Now, I am in Shangri-La. We awoke (as we do) groggy-eyed, barely able to move, and then in minutes, feeling like a million bucks, sensing the transition from utter fatigue to refreshed. My favorite morning of hot coffee, milo, cereal, relaxed preparation for the day by a fire. I take a photo of Kutbama with a background of running fog and green peaks. After I remove a thorn from Atomic’s foot, we leave at 9:50 am, cross a naturally made bridge above a gusting tumult, come to look upon fair Wabia above. We cross a bridge high up on rocky walls over the river, which joins many to become the Frieda, and soon our journey to Wabia is done.

Away miles looms Mt. Ava, at times vertical, beautiful, impressive. Wabia is on a hill surrounded by mountains. Diverted river becomes a sculpted Waterway providing the ideal washing area, eventually flowing under the outhouse and away from the village. We’re given a sunny room. Kelly prompts me to ask for a chicken and Warning grabs bow and arrow. Soon, the whole village is running after a hen, shooting specially made arrows, throwing rocks. I help feather and cut the still-living creature. The night sky was tremendous – both mist and sparkling, the moon with a bow.

May 29th, 1983 (15)

Wabia, West Sepik, PNG

Rest, rest, glorious rest. I babied myself today. Of course, I had to. My feet are developing a case of jungle rot from being exposed to wet shoes constantly. I laid down a good part of the day. I tried to keep my feet dry. I wrote in my notebooks, trying to catch up with events as they happen, as I want a body of literature from which I can write an article or a story. Some guys came in our room today and just stared. It’s really incredible. (When I was gone, Atomic and Warning came in with nonchalance as Kelly sat bare breasted. Later, they and another lad came in and, while I was sitting there, this boy gaped at Kelly’s breasts. Another time, she was in her underwear.) Finally, these guys say they were going to take us to Frieda Base Camp, which is our next to last hiking destination. At night, Kelly and I bickered over kitchen soup, which eaten turned into a wrestling match, which finally turned into a raucous tender, passionate, overwhelming lovemaking time.

May 30th, 1983 (16)


Lost in the woods, near Unamo, West Sepik, PNG

It is to be noted that he slightest misstep or event can result in the most odd sequence of events, some of extreme pleasure and some of pain. So many little things, which, had they been taken care of, would have saved us from this night of peril. The morning held us in leisure, and a hearty breakfast, until 8:30 am when we set off. Kelly’s extreme bitter tears soon came in a result from her having to carry her bag a ways, while I, confident that help would be offered by one of our 3 companions (ages approximately 30, 25, 10), showed no sympathy, and rashly.

Finally, making good time we had lunch at a rock overhang a ways passed Mt. Ava. One fellow had Kelly’s great bag with most of our food and her bilums, while I carried my 50 lb. pack and Kelly, her daypack. They let us go ahead because Kelly was slow. Way out in front, I made a wrong turn at a stream, and they followed my tracks to find me on the big river 1 hour 15 minutes later. We walked along the river till 4 pm when we declined to spend the night in a river hut. Our guides took off for Unamo so fast, we never saw them again.

May 31st, 1983 (17)


River hut, near Ok Milak River, West Sepik, PNG

To continue last night’s saga: We followed a trail, K and I, which seemed to be the right one, up, up, north, towards Unamo. We never saw our guides nor a trace of them, through they should have waited. Finally, at 7 pm, dark and raining it was, and we decided to rest. We tried sleeping. Tempers flared, hungry, uncomfortable, wet through the night. In bits we had our sleep. We cursed our guides who had stranded us and taken our food pack. We debated what to do.

In the morning, I scouted around for a little over an hour; I thought it best that we go back to Wapia. My feet are rotting away, and the wet clothes make my pack, I’ll bet, 60 lbs. We struggle, hungry and nearly sleepless, for 2¾ hours, arriving at the hut near the river, which we could have slept in last night, but for a desire to push on to Unamo, the “halfway” point. Now, we plan to spend the night here, make a fire, dry our clothes out, eat and sleep a dreamless sleep.

June 1st, 1983 (18)


Waia, West Sepik, PNG

[It is very very wonderful to be alive.] (near midnight) We woke in the shelter near the water and made love in the comfort of a down bag, rain pouring just out of reach, us in a mosquito net. We had hot honey water, some peanut butter, and a bite or two of coned beef. We proceeded at 8:45 am. Recognizing several broken logs, etc. we made our way upriver. At 10:20 am, I was starting to get spooked as we hadn’t found the rock on the river where Kelly had tended to a wound. But we soon came across a crushed shelter I recognized, somehow we’d bypassed the river route, and were surely on our way. We came to the stream, then a long unsure climb to the lunch rock! Finding this put us about 4 hours away and definitely on route!!

We had cheese and hot honey water and chocolate and sat by a fire I’d started with tree resin. At 12:45 pm we left. We rounded a mountain, down, up, down, and up to the final landmark, a shelter on a hill!!! We arrived at 3:15 pm, had a rest and headed on at 3:45 pm. We felt we were getting close. At 5:30 pm, we came to Wabia. Tonight, I went to talk to them, and they brought us coffee, sugar and milk. They sympathize.

June 2nd, 1983 (19)

Wabia, West Sepik, PNG

A drowsy, uneventful day. It is good to be alive – that is for sure. We kaikai the various vegetables that are given to us. We offer to buy a chicken, but no one seems to want to part with one. A man named Kanknoe, the bother-in-law of Waneng, offers to walk to Unamo with me on Saturday, and Frieda on Sunday. I am afraid that my feet will not hold up with only 2 day’s rest. I’d like to wait until Sunday if I could. Kelly and I are dying for some meat and other “waitskin” food. We make a list of all the items in the missing green pack, and it is disheartening to think we may lose all of it, but I still have hope. My feet are really a mess of jungle rot and infections. I spend the day resting, reading the Pidgin book, talking to the Wabians about our situation. In the evening they make what we dubbed “bush pizza” – this meal topped with red pandannus sauce – its rather bland. The fireflies light the sky of the Wabian night.

June 3rd, 1983 (20)

Wabia, West Sepik, PNG

Gee, I wonder what the folks back home are doing!! There’s Mom and Pop and Gram and my Bros, and Sister, etc on my family (Uncles, Aunts, Cousins), friends Jeff, Gary, Tom, Mike, Drew, Kevin, Tim, Vinnie, Sven, Eric, girls Norma, Mandy (& all the others I forget presently). I think of music, America, cars, planes, TV. Kelly and I think of food. We discuss Italy’s wonderful kai – spaghetti, salami, ETC! Now, France. San Francisco: Tucca’s delicatessen – my mind’s eye roves across the counters: sourdough, fogaccio, raviolis, cheese! Then, every day’s favorites: Fenton’s Creamery and banana splits. Mom’s thin pancakes with hot real maple syrup! (A McDonald’s Big Mac). Roast beef with parboiled potatoes and gravy! Salami! Cottage cheese strudel! Fresh turkey sandwiches with real mayonnaise! Artichoke heart omelets!! Mrs. Fields chocolate chip cookies!!!!! We are killing each other softly!! We are starved for these luxuries! We must wait here another day in Wabia. Good news!!! A man coming from Unamo says another Wabian has found our pack there and is bringing it!! I mend my shoes! The Wabians are kind, they bring us food.

June 4th, 1983 (21)

Wabia, West Sepik, PNG

The birds are singing, but we do not hear. The sun shines, but clouds obscure its brilliance. The clouds bring rain, the earth must yield its first, but harvest is yet to come. I awake, and I while hour after hour mending my shoes. I think of tomorrow, when I will go onward – blessedly onward, ah!, to finish what one sets to do, what can be more blessed!! The fire boils in Kelly to go too, and I, at first reluctant, finally submit, after hours of discussion, heated arguments, she wills her way back to the wild. I hear, but I cannot understand.

Atemik, wild eyes, laughing, keeps me good company with the mild lantern man, my duplex neighbor. I hear sounds, I understand. To my feet, I now see Kelly’s green pack, on the back of a sweating man who found the pack and brought it back – we gave him K10 reward. Everything is intact. Supper, I pass to sleep. I awake, boil back at Kelly! I pray. We lay down, we hold, we tighten, and we love each other, always sweet. We snack, and we sleep. The birds shall sing, and we shall hear, the sun will shine, and we shall bask. The earth will yield, and we shall feast on the Harvest.

June 5th, 1983 (22)

Wesibil, West Sepik, PNG

Bobness of bobness, miracles of miracles. “Today, Kelly was the greatest walker, chimes Kelly to prompt my writing hand into action. Amidst friendly goodbyes, we left Wabia at 8:10 am. We retraced our steps of Monday and Wednesday, only this time, in a cheery mood, Kelly and I rattling, chattering about any subject we happed upon; around one mountain, then passing Mt. Ava, thrusting glory to the sky; a most remarkable caterpillar alighted on my arm – I snapped 4 photos of its magnificence!! We descend. Ah, the picture – perfect waterfall, I brave the H2O onslaught while Kelly snaps.

Past Coffee Rock past Water Hut (oh! I slip and so nearly break my head!!), we stop. Where 5 days ago, nothing, we come to an amazing “bridge” – 30 meters of bamboo rope. It spans the “Frieda.” One strand. I ham it up, crossing, hanging on. Kelly snaps. Not only this. A new bush house has been erected. Kelly reminds me of our long-ago now, to stop at 3-4 pm at the latest (it’s 3 pm.) We make camp on the river. A wash. A hot milk coffee. The guides excellent company. We are oh-so-happy, goody day, Sunday.

June 6th, 1983 (23)

Inayetaman, West Sepik, PNG

Awaking in the river shelter which was built within the last five days, we retraced our steps on the road to Unamo – surprisingly, we had correctly followed the trail one week ago – past the place we’d slept, past where I’d turned back. Another 1¼ hours and we’d been in Unamo, had we followed a tricky river crossing. Unamo has a lovely view. We continued down, having lunch and waiting for the rain to stop at a shelter near the Henumai River.

At 2:30 pm, we left, crossed the Henumai, through the bush, then along a river (behainin wara!) to a shelter, where we camped at half past four. It was intriguing to hypothesize on our previous mis-adventure, now knowing the real route. It was rewarding to go further than we’d gone before. We are down to our last bit of food. I ate only part of my half of a taro for dinner, saving the rest for tomorrow. We have 2 soups left, having 2 for dinner. Kankoni and Roti found a pandannus, and, along with a taco and some plant from the bush, made a mumu. Very tired from little sleep last night, I passed a dream filled night. There are many beautiful sights in the bush. The answer to end “My unceasing self-torture,” is “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it.” My mind is fruitful!

June 7th, 1983 (24)

Frieda Base Camp (!), West Sedik, PNG

[Forward: My thoughts are many. My mind is turned on, now I feel my creative juices flowing. I feel the world is there to grab, it can all be mine. So many answers, there still is time!! Spiritual – Missing Link – “Success” – becomes philosopher king an ultimate, the PK Factor. My mind reels! The world is wide open. Politics the discipline. Now it is complete. Note that I am dead tired from hiking while writing this.]

Awoke at 4:30 am, wanting to get an early start!! Hiking at 6:50 am. Came upon the beautiful Ok Binai! Climbed a hill and had our last remaining 2 soups for lunch, along with a chunk of taro. Had arrived at this bush hut at 11:30 am, now at 1:15 pm, we set off for the last remaining hours to Top Camp! We arrived at about 3 pm. This is a mirage of everything we create! Invited to coffee in the mess hall, we snack on copious coffee, cookies, crackers, apples, cheese, juice and peanut butter!!! We are lead to our rooms!! Beds!! Hot showers!! Writing tables!! The helicopter comes and goes. The people seem surprised to see us arrive by foot!! Too good to be true, dinner and a movie. Dinner: BBQ steak, 2 sausages, onions, green pepper, tomato, Fries, rice, bread and butter, gray with onions, cold beer, ice cream, cookies, coffee, milo, hard boiled eggs. We sleep.

June 8th, 1983 (25)

Frieda Base Camp (!), West Sepik, PNG

Breakfast: Poached egg, sausage, spaghetti, 2 bowls of sweet granola, peaches and milk, toast, butter, orange juice, coffee. Free!!!

8:15 am: In helicopter, next to pilot, we go to the clouds, terrific views, I go on 2 separate trips to drop off field geologists.

10:00 am: (Morning tea:) Many saltines with butter, chocolate cookies and coffee.

12 pm Lunch: 2 pork chops, rice, tomato, cheese, red papaya, onion, peas, carrots, beer (80t), juice, cabbage. After this, I’m really full!!

Kelly and I made love in the after, a torrent of pleasure! I was too full to show up for afternoon tea, but by dinner, I was hungry! We walked in the rain to the mess. Being late arrivals, we salvaged what we could. I had 3 pieces of chicken, some greens, cabbage and tomato salad, and a bit of sauce. For dessert, I had canned pears with chocolate and strawberry topping. After dinner, we sat down and watched “Oh God! (Book 2)” which I really enjoyed. [Interspersed in the day’s activities were numerous games of gin rummy.] Before we went back to sleep I noticed that my ankles and feet were very swollen – most likely caused by the poisons generated by the numerous sores on my legs and feet. And so passes a day of luxury replete, here in Top Camp.

June 9th, 1983 (26)

Frieda Base Camp (!), West Sepik, PNG

Today, I determined to attend promptly all 5 eating occasions of the day. Breakfast was an egg omelet, sausage, spaghetti, granola, peaches, milk, toast, coffee. Morning tea: juice, coffee, saltines with butter and cookies. Lunch: A huge plate of spaghetti with cheese, juice. Afternoon tea: juice, coffee, saltines with butter, cookies. Dinner: Roast beef (!!), mushrooms, potatoes, pumpkin with onions, rice, salad, ice cream with chocolate toping for dessert! (Honorable mention: dinner’s aperitif of beer and peanuts; post movie snack of hot milo and cookies.) A full day of eating, no? Day interspersed with games of gin rummy.

I took another helicopter ride today. I talked with a man who says he’ll bring me to Ok Esai tomorrow, where I can catch a raft to Frieda Strip. My legs are somewhat better today, as I began taking Ampilillin last night, and the orderly dressed my sores today. I am excited with the prospect of completing the journey by food. I feel confident that once I start walking, my feet will stop hurting, I’ll forget about them. The swelling’s gone down. The move tonight was “Torn Curtain.” It was pretty good.

June 10th, 1983 (27)

Ok Esai, West Sepik, PNG

After a pleasant morning, I met Alok on the hill at 8 am, kissed Kelly goodbye, and set off. Up, down, up, down, up brukin maunten, now, i go daun, daun daun, come up long wara, bihainen lik lik wara, nav wara I go daun, come up het long Esai, nav bihainin wara I go go go. And so, after 7 hours, we turned a corner. My eye beheld what I immediately recognized as a tent of Frieda Base Camp, i.e., one of the field tents. Arriving at 3 pm, I waited till 3:45 pm when Ian came up with his men. Ian and I talked. He gave me some antibiotic powder, thank God!, as my sores are bad. He left his pillow for me.

At 5 pm, Bill came by in the helicopter and picked up Ian. I went for a bath in the river, I wrote. I fixed some rice risotto and coffee. In the late afternoon, Alok and the Tall Man, Sam, went to Ok Esai village to inquire about rafts. As I go to sleep, the plan is that Sam will take me to the Frieda in the morning, he’ll build a raft and we’ll float to the Strip. I slept in a bed with a mosquito net. What luxury!

June 11th, 1983 (28)

Frieda River Strip, East Sepik, PNG

“I wish every day could bring such excitement.” Had rice, corn and sugar with coffee for breakfast. The tall man walked me to the large Ok Esai village. There, a woman brought me a huge, ripe papaya. We walked some more, the tall man, his son and I, reaching the bikpela wara Frieda!! My walking is finished! I am ecstatic. I am told to wait while he goes off to build a raft. I stay in the shelter of what looks like a raft with a canopy and fireplace. I wait perhaps 2 hours. It must be noon. He comes back; we have papaya and coffee. Now we go to the raft! I am again ecstatic when I see the well-crafted vessel of logs, about 10’x 8′. It reminds me of Tom Sawyer.

We start down the river, through places with fast water. We pass beauty again and again. I get a good look at 2 hornbills in the open. After about 2 hours we arrive at the strip. Kelly is here; we go to look at the raft. A partial eclipse of the sun yields a strange light. We decide to take it down the river. We are given our cottage. Hot showers. Even better than Base Camp!!! I’m really happy. Delicious chicken dinner then “Goldfinger!”

June 12th, 1983 (29)

Frieda, River Strip, East Sepik, PNG

We breakfasted on plain omelets and sausages. [We enjoyed a lunch of ham and delicious rice. I went down for a cold beer, but someone had removed them. I noticed that the ice cream was abundant, so I helped myself to two huge bowls one with chocolate topping one with strawberry.] After breakfast, we went (with Roy) down to look at the progress Sam had made with the raft. He’d erected poles, but no real roof. At 10:15 am, Roy drove Kelly and I the 13 kilometers north to the end of the road. The barge which brought supplies, the Copper Queen, brought them this far upriver; from there, the supplies were trucked to the airstrip.

Later in the afternoon, when it as apparent that nothing more was to be done on the raft by Sam, since he’d gone already, we checked with Roy if it would be alright to finish it in the morning, and bring it to Calginas in the afternoon tomorrow (the end of the road), walk back, and spend one more night. He said it was okay. K and I made really nice love in the afternoon. She slept till the movie at 5 pm – Frieda Top Camp sent down “Oh God” (Book II), so we watched it again. It’s real good. After, dinner of steak with (more) ice cream for dessert. The river is roughest between here and Calginas, that’s our excuse, but I really wanted to stay one more day!

June 13th, 1983 (30)

Frieda River Strip, East Sepik, PNG

As planned, we moved he raft from the Strip to the end of the road, Calginas. We breakfasted on pork chops, beans and hard-boiled egg, toast with butter. We took two ham sandwiches along. First, we cut off the old canopy from a beached flat boat. Then, we took this to the raft and finished our roof. In moods of the utmost enthusiasm, we boarded and shoved off. We had to pass many tree trunks and branches. A few times there was some disagreement as to method. It took us 3 or 3½ hours, but we arrived safely. Unfortunately, I forgot my shoes and thus had to walk back the 13 kilometers without them. At one point, a 5-foot snake jumped out of my way.

We got back just before 3 pm and snacked on scones with butter, coffee and orange drink and apples!! We went to our room. I wrote. I took a hot shower. I grasped a beautiful butterfly in my hands and was about to snap a picture when she struggled away. We dined on chicken with a desert of ice cream. After dinner, we watched “Hustle,” a movie with Burt Reynolds and Catherine Denuere – it was well, say, okay, but not too great. We both are of a frame of mind that we can’t wait to get back on the raft, though we will miss the (relative) absolute luxury we’ve enjoyed at Frieda Copper’s camps.

June 14th, 1983 (31)

Lover’s Sumptuary, Frieda River’s right bank, East Sepik, PNG

We breakfasted, then chose all the groceries we wished to by (about K20 worth). We went back to our room and packed. We made love (I kissed her onto the bed.) We brought our baggage down to the mess hall. We enjoyed scones with butter and jam with orange drink and coffee for morning tea. We went to pay for the groceries, but Kaius, the camp manager, said it was free! I gave him a letter for PNG immigration and one to the postmaster Vanimo. I gave a letter to the MAF pilot asking for a bilium and penis gourds from Ian and Carol at Lekin Drew and Jeff flew down from Top Camp enroute to someplace. Drew was pleasant and seemed impressed we were leaving on a raft. We said bye to Roy, our gracious host.

We caught a lift to Calginas on the truck, loaded up our raft, tried to Christen her the SS Pukpuk with a curry bottle, but it wouldn’t break. We left. We negotiated many trees with effort and luck. The rough parts of the river are exciting! The first village we came across was raunchy and we decided to go on. We couldn’t find the “island,” village, so continued on till dark. We couldn’t see, so we parked on the nearest bank. We set up the mosquito net on deck, lay down, talked, told stories finally making love on this curious vessel in an unlikely place. For all the lacking comfort, it was curiously wonderful night.

June 15th, 1983 (32)

Hornbillville, house dilapidated on left bank Frieda River, East Sepik, PNG

Morning breaks. Even though the sleep felt good, maybe it wasn’t enough, as we’re both edgy. The S.S. Pukpuk is sitting 25′ from the water! During the night the river level dropped! We (I) inched the raft back into the water using our pole as a fulcrum. Phew! Then we bathed. As Kelly predicted (and me silently), a village was spotted 10 minutes downriver! We could have slept in a house with a fire. But we both agreed it was a good night at Lover’s Sumptuary. We stopped in the village, but no one was home. I snooped around, but found nothing of interest. So we continued on.

Some men were in their canoes. One sold us a bunch of bananas for 60t (But K gave him 40t more). Other villagers on the way had no coconuts for sale. (At 11:30 am) We were told we’d make it to Enioch in 4 or 5 hours, but at 20m, we saw a dilapidated house on the river, and decided to stop for the day and night. The shores were really muddy. At dusk, thousands of bats flew across the river over our heads. The floor of the shelter was rotten in places. Lots of mosquitoes. We (I) had to drive (nude) in the river upstream to catch the water, then float too the house. I was going to call this place Mosquito Massacre because we killed so many but decided on Hornbillville because of all the hornbills in nearby trees.

June 16th, 1983 (33)

Enioch (Frieda Copper’s Petrol Dump, left shore), Sepik River, East Sepik, PNG [Iniok]

A dive in the river to fetch water, a few hot cups of coffee. We watch, counting at least 14 hornbills in the trees surrounding our dilapidated residence. They fly away in two groups. Too bad I don’t have a zoom lens! We pull the S.S. Pukpuk away form the yucky Hornbillville Yacht Club. Down the Frieda we go.

The bird life is spectacular; hornbills are abundant, always flying in twos; cockatoos – there are many. We see parrots of green and red and blue flapping along the shore. We begin to see white crane-type birds with graceful long legs. We talk to a bypassing motorized canoe (the first we’ve seen) who say Inioch is only an hour away. We wind down river. The river becomes wide and the banks lined with pampus grass becomes flat. The water seems still – we lose speed. Finally, at one bend I notice the water flowing to the right and recognize it’s the Sepik! Here the Sepik is only perhaps twice as big as the Frieda. We turn right (!) and flow along. At Enioch village, less than an hour away, we find no coconuts or bananas, but we buy sak-sak. The Copper Queen pulls by us. We row across to Frieda Copper’s petrol dump and tie up to the Copper Queen. The S.S. Pukpuk is ½ way in the water. We’re sun bleached. No one seems to help. We spend the night.

June 17th, 1983 (34)

Tauri, on Sepik River, East Sepik, PNG

All in all, a delightful day. Kelly awakes “As enthusiastic this morning as I wasn’t last night.” To my disbelief, we actually (I) got some guys to work on the S.S. Pukpuk. They chopped up a very big log and placed it, in 3 pieces, underneath her, which buoyed her up. The floor was well lashed, and they built a sturdier shelter for rain and sun protection. We started downriver at 11:30 am or so. We were toying with the idea of going at night downriver. As we headed towards a group of logs and branches I proclaimed that we should experiment to ascertain what would happen at night if we couldn’t see by letting the raft go thither at will. This resulted in us crashing into the logs whose branches nearly tore our roof off. We repaired things almost like new in short order. We became more cautious thereafter. We flowed along the expansive river at 1 knot (or maybe 2), big sky, a new beauty for me to discover, enjoying our improved raft. We got to Tauri at about 4:30 pm. The villagers weren’t exactly helpful, but they did give us a little house to sleep in. (Their houses are huge, like 80 feet x 50 feet. We ate peanut butter with tea, made love to drums and wild voices.

June 18th, 1983 (35)

Oum 2, East Sepik, PNG

6:30 pm. Dusk encloses us here at Father Austin’s house. He is absent, and we’re renting this room for K2/night. I am fatigued. Sleeping on hard wood floors, steering the huge raft SS Pukpuk in the sun all day, fighting to get every coconut or banana or room or any assistance from the Sepik people is draining. We’ve found a large canoe we can buy here for K22 with 2 paddles, and they’re going to build an outrigger for it. The raft is too slow – we’ve got to paddle like mad to move her a few feet. The expanses of river flat lands, the big cloudy sky, the pampas grass, the white crane-type bird, the pleasure of doing something different, all these are not slim rewards for the effort. It is wonderful by trying. We will go to Oum I tomorrow to get supplies while someone builds an outrigger. Oum I is ½ hour by canoe up this estuary river off the Sepik. Because of the floods earlier this year, people are reluctant to sell bananas. We dine on corned beef and rice, which in my present circumstance, tastes scrumptious and later, at bedtime, we dived on each other, which was delectable, even though made in a bed where my ankles hang over the end.

June 19th, 1983 (36)


Oum 2, East Sepik, PNG

I feel full of emotion. Many feelings run through me, at times in many directions. I seek only the emancipation of my bobness from the depths within me, and I feel my inner strength will always be with me when I need it. I feel the strength of conviction for the path I’m on and a certainty that I will prevail in my dreams through to reality, through the barrier, the skin, the film that separates what is a dream and what is real, from conception to fruition.

Out here, my loves seem so far away; I dream of music and I dream of women. I see home and my Grandma whom I wish I could hug. I see employment and familiar faces, the lifestyle I’ve known. The strength that I feel is that strength that comes when you are so far away, and you yearn for home, and the strength comes to you and reminds you how lucky you are to be here, and reveals to you that for all the hardship, you can summon joy, and the path moves steadily towards dreams and home.

I write by the light of a jar with wick and kerosene at the table in the room. Today, we bought groceries at OUM 1, and we decided to take the raft further down river. We get edgy with each other in the heat and mosquito-ridden mud lands, but we’ll stick together through thick and thin. I climbed a 25-foot coconut tree today and brought down 4 coconuts in a bilum.

June 20th, 1983 (37)

Kubkain, East Sepik, PNG [Kubkain]

A wonderful day. Kelly and I both agree that when we are on the raft, we are content, if only we never had to stop in the villages; on the raft, we can be nude, do our toilet whenever we like, eat whenever we like, swim, etc. On the raft there are no mosquitoes; we have our canopy for shade. We can relax, talk, enjoy the scenery: the wide lake-like Sepik seems barely to move, always one shore has tall grasses and pampus rushes and the other always forested. It is peaceful, usually sunny. There is just enough need for paddling to make it exciting (today I ran us into the trees and our roof broke again)!

The clouds look like trade wind clouds-dotting the panoramic sky. There is usually a small range of distant hazy mountains to break up the flatland. The air is peaceful, calm. Silence is broken only by the calls of a choir of different birds and ducks, or by the buzzing of an occasional fly. Today, we left Oum 2. It was bad scene – the people are liars and thieves. We enjoyed the river all day, ate well. In late afternoon, 9 canoes full of men pulled alongside; they were friendly – they gave us fish! And sak-sak. They brought us to their village – Kubkain. But I wish night would not come – no villagers – only to ride in the raft.

When we left Oum 2, the house’s bordering on the river occupants had told us they’d hold 5 coconuts of ours 2 days ago. Now they claimed they didn’t know anything. Plus they stole another onboard. Minutes previously another boy who we’d paid to clean 10 coconuts, 4 of which he’d cracked and promised to replace (where upon K gave him a cigarette), refused, laughing, to do anything. At the river houses, I was really Td-off. I spoke my mind. They finally got 3 coconuts out of a tree. Our raft was stuck in the mud. I asked for help. They refused. They watched while K, I and 2 boys pushed and pulled it in. Also, the men in Oum 2 tried to sell us a cracked canoe. Further, they told us it was 2 weeks to Ambunti when it’s only five days, but said it was 4-5 days by canoe – we think they were only trying to sell us a canoe. We are tired of this. The villages are dirty and mosquito-ridden. We’d prefer if we could just stay on the raft, night and day.

June 21st, 1983 (38)

[Yessan] riding on the Sepik River between Saugap and Tasan on the S.S. Pukpuk, East Sepik, PNG

(Sleeping on the hard floor, mosquito’s inside out net, villages here are a drag; we argued in the middle of the night, going toilet is a hassle, but:) The first hour today we were fighting off the mosquito’s that joined us in Kubkain. At about 12 we passed the April River on our right signifying noticeable progress toward Ambunti! We tore the roof down and fixed it stronger than before with mostly bush materials. Our handiwork provides an event more comfortable conveyance than ever. It is happiness, it is so lovely here on the water.

Evening begins to set, but we remain on the water; we decide to chance a night ride – the moon is already out, maybe she’ll guide our way. We don’t want to leave our paradise on the raft. The still evening panorama, the water reflecting a broad sky, as peaceful as heaven, it is absorbing, the river is beveled glass. A godly palate of soft hues paints incredible peace. Straight downriver is the silhouettes of mountains with pink clouds above. I am awesomized, happy and at peace. In happiness, I feel no unsatisfied needs. I feel full and content… at sunset, the sound of the swarming mosquitoes is like an electric razor! The moon illuminates beautifully. We could not ask for a better night. As we float along, we heat a can of steak and onions on our kerosene jar lamp and have dinner with rice. At 9 pm, we pass the Wogasu River. At 10, I sleep till 12.

June 22nd, 1983 (39)

Ambunti, East Sepik, PNG

Kelly keeps watch until 12:10 am on huge straight-aways. I awake. We have a snack of tuna fish and crackers. During the night, we’ve watched thunderstorms pass 10 miles away, lightening like atomic blasts, but none touch us; scattered thin clouds accompany the stars and the ¾ moon.

Yesterday, just before dusk, we yelled obscenities and funny sounds at a wonderful echo off the left bank. Now, we listen to the banks for trees, and occasionally steer out into open water. 1 am, 2 am. The moon is still high. We continue talking through the night. It’s very pleasant. At about 3 am, the moon, going down is obscured by clouds. Kelly lays back for a rest. I lay back. I notice we’re suddenly close to a reed shore, so I grab my paddle. In doing so, I make a noise, which apparently startles a crocodile on the nearby bank. A huge thrashing sound begins, lasting, maybe 2 seconds. It is dark. The water thrashes so violently! I am certain it is a croc! At first, I am afraid it’s coming at me.We still had about 12 more hours of drifting to get to Ambunti. Then I realize it was afraid. We pass on unharmed. We notice water speed increasing. A log which would have devastated us is near the center of the river. We pass just to the right. The dark shores make noises. Kelly says one is following us. We must be getting woozy! 4 am, 5 am. 5:45 am, false dawn. It is getting lighter. We have a snack of coffee, milo and a Big Sister Cherry Roll. It is now light.

At 8 am, we drift up to Iasan 2. They offer to motor us to Ambunti for K25, but we’ll only have K20 left. We drift till 2 pm. Then we pass Iasan 1. Soon, 2 motorized canoes come by. We hail them down, ask for a ride. The driver of one canoe says, “You’re most welcome to come aboard.” We toss our bags from the SS Pukpuk into the canoe. As we speed away, cool air now on our faces, I shoot a photo of our abandoned vessel. In an hour and a half or so, we a pass Pracanorui, Ianbun and arrive in Ambunti – the end of our Trek!! Since (huge Village) we can’t afford it, the mission people (Neil) invite us to stay for free in a room and for dinner too. We sleep in the most comfortable of beds.

Day 39 to Ambunti –

We were watching the clock now. We knew that full dawn came about 6:15 a.m., so we were expecting lightness sooner. We were both in good humor and fairly wide-awake. At about 5:25 a.m., we experienced what Tristan Jones called “false dawn,” that is, the first light. We suddenly began to see clearly what was minutes before invisible. We felt some rejoicement that we had successfully endured the night. We watched as the sun lighted the sky – there was crimson in the clouds, but I wasn’t sure if the adage, “Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning,” was appropriate or not. I took out my camera as I had at the last dusk, and I took only 1 shot, while I looked at birds, which flew in every direction greeting the morning light.

With the treacheries of the night behind us, we began to think about the coming day and what our situation was.

Kelly swore she wasn’t tried, which I found amazing. We began wondering how much we’d travelled in the dark, and made idle speculations on the worst and best possible outcomes of our travel.

Before long, we were on a lengthy straight away, and I corroborated this evidence on the map, and I thought it resembled a long straight away on the map, which would put us close to Ambunti. Though we’d never visibly verified seeing Saugap at all since we left Kubkain yesterday morning, we assumed (correctly) that we must have already passed it during the night. We soon saw some canoers, who provided us with no idea of where we were in our fleeting interview, but who pointed out a village downriver.

We floated up to Yessan 2 at about 8 a.m. We weren’t sure whether it was or if we wanted to stop there. When we found out that we’d come to Yessan 2, we were disappointed. The captain’s helper on the Copper Queen had given us the following order: Kubkain, Saugap, Yessan, Moiyo, Praconouri, Yanbun, Ambunti. The folks at Yessan were friendly, and I tried my best to behave myself so as to keep it that way. They husked some of our coconuts for us, allowed me to boil some rice and sold us two tiny bunches of bananas for 40t. They felt bad for us and said that if we paid for petrol they would let us use their motor canoe for nothing and take us to Ambunti. At first, they needed 5 gallons of fuel, but later it grew to 6 or 7 or 8 gallons – perhaps they had reassessed fuel consumption as being higher to account for the increase their imaginations had rendered in the weight of the coin in our pockets. The trip would cost us about K20 – K25, which would leave us with about K20 in Ambunti. Kelly was trying to eradicate (in vain) the mosquito problem on our raft, while I discussed this matter in a shelter nearby but out of sight of Kelly. I went down to talk to Kelly about it, and although she was excited at the prospect of being in Ambunti in hours, when I said that I would rather stay on the raft, she was ready to forge on.

I went back up to talk with the fellows. I told those under the shelter that we’d decided not to take the motor canoe and that we were going to leave, they insisted that I wait – that perhaps they’d be able to secure a free canoe. One man gave me a banana leaf wrapped around 4 fresh eggs – a generous gift. A woman caught a catfish. When she pulled it out and brought it up and put it on the table, it sat there making rather loud noises. It was strange – it sounded like it was crying for mercy. I finally said I’d wait on the raft. I returned Kelly urged me to eat, so I had some steak and onions over rice, which tasted great but made me tired.

Some men came over to the raft and I apologized for changing my mind about the canoe (they’d expended effort searching for the petrol). They said it was all right. As a last minute gesture, one of the men on shore offered to give us a canoe! That made us feel very happy, but we said that although we appreciated it, we’d just continue on our own raft. As we were pulled away by the current, children ran along the shore. I let out a whoop and they responded. I screamed and whooped a few times, and to me it sounded unenergetic and I figured I was tired. The whooping from shore seemed of an inferior sort, and I was thinking that the Highlanders had it all over the Sepiks when it came to whooping.

Well, thought I, here we are on the water again. The weather was gloomy, overcast. The river looked ugly, grey and scummy. The mosquitoes were still flying around our raft. I was in dire need of rest. It was about 10.30 a.m. Kelly claimed she wasn’t tired (remarkable); so I tried to sleep a bit in the brightness. It was hot, but that didn’t keep me awake. It was the mosquitoes! They wouldn’t leave me alone. I tried wrapping myself up in the mosquito net, but that was sort of hot! After awhile, I managed to drowse off a little. Kelly woke me once to declare that some men were following us in a canoe. She figured they had their eyes on her and referred to them as bastards. At about 12 noon, I got up. It wasn’t much use to sleep. We were both fatigued. I felt a bit crummy but not too bad. Kelly remarked that she was afraid that we were going into another round water.

A canoe with three men in it and an outboard motor that was not running rowed up to us. As they approached, Kelly mentioned that she though they’d been following us. When they go closer, we recognised them as Yessan 2 men. They informed us that we indeed were in a large “round water” and that they had come floating down river with us so that they could help us by this spot. I held on to their canoe, and they paddled us into the mainstream. Observing the round water, it became apparent that we might have possibly been stuck there for over an hour trying to escape its clutches. My fear was that we would get caught in a “round water” that we could not escape. The canoers stayed with us a ways.

The communication between us was lacking, but I thought they said there was another round water down river, and that they would row ahead, meet us down-river, help us through the problem and return from there to Yessan 2 through a short-cut canal (being incorrect in my understanding however as they rowed off and we never heard from them again). Kelly and I welcomed their departure as it permitted us freedom, which soon manifested itself by removal of clothing and dipping in the water – a sure refreshment. We drifted on. A motor canoe sped by, and although I tried waving it down, it sped by without slowing down. The mosquitoes kept at us, and we had a few provoked words between us, but just for the heat, nothing serious. I helmed while Kelly lay down for a short bit. We came up to a turn, beyond which was a village, which we bypassed.

Down-river a bit was another, more well kept village. Coming towards us in the distance was a woman in a canoe. I watched her approach from a distance as minutes past. Kelly and I commenting on the house on a hillside that looked like a white person’s dwelling. The woman in the canoe pulled up to us as we neared the village and we floated by the village talking to her. The first thing I noticed about her was her large full tits. They were beautiful, and I found myself attracted to them. (After all the tabular breasts of PNG women that lay flat and empty to their bellies, this woman was a happy sight.) She had carvings for sale – carvings of soapstone made to look lie they were old. I said I wasn’t interested and passed them to Kelly who handed them back. We asked for vegetables or fruits, and this woman called out to the village informing any potential sellers. This woman took her leave of us.

Kelly and I floated on in the hot sun, which had made its appearance from behind the clouds. (The house at Yessan 1, the village we’d just passed, was owned by the two women who we’d heard of the whole way since Tekin – i.e., Divanap – I can’t remember their names now.)

A motor canoe turned the corner by Yessan 1 and was heading toward us. I was going to try to hitch a ride when Kelly asked me what I was doing. I thought she was pointing it out to me that it was futile, and so I started sitting down instead of waving down the motor canoe. I told her that I had planned to hail the canoe. She said it was worth a try. So as the canoe sped by, I waved and stuck out my thumb in the hitchhike position. Another canoe sped around the point the first canoe made a U-turn, and to my surprise the driver brought it up to our raft. I yelled out: “Where are you going?” He yelled back: “Ambunti.” “Can we come with you?” “You are most certainly welcome aboard!”

There was one other young man beside the driver in the canoe. Kelly and I immediately began loading our things into their canoe. I doubt there has ever been a vessel that has been as faithful as the SS Pukpuk that has been abandoned as quickly. The canoe men said they’d like the raft canvas, so we removed it and gave it to them. We left the SS Pukpuk a few hundred yards downriver from Yessan 1, baggage-less, roof-less and abandoned). As we sped away, I shot a parting photograph of our faithful vessel. She looked alone and it was almost sad. She became a floating particle in the distance, and we wondered what would become of her. (Perhaps she’d reach Ambunti in about 12 hours.)

We arrived in Ambunti in less than two hours. On the way, we saw treacherous water – whirlpools, round waters – near Yanbun, which turned out to be a huge village. We came up to Ambunti, in a pleasant setting with a backdrop of green mountains. We stepped ashore. We’d reach civilization.

We brought our baggage to the mission HQ, to inquire about a room. A young lady approached us, and before we could say anything, she immediately ran down the list of prices of accommodation and meals. The only thing we could afford was the last item – a hard floor and a good roof for K3. We went down to the store and Kelly had an orange, and I had a beer and we split (I ate) a package of coconut kina cookies. When we returned to mission HQ, we sought out the lady to show us to our hard floor. We asked an older lady where it was. She looked around for the young lady, couldn’t find her, and came back to us and asked if we wanted to come to dinner. I asked her “how much.” She told us it was free, that she was inviting us. We walked outside and bumped into her husband who also asked us to dinner. He said to be there at 6:30 p.m. He asked where we were from. I said, “California,” and he asked what part. I said, “San Francisco,” and he showed some surprise. I asked where he was from, and he said, “Palo Alto.” (Which is only about 30 miles away.) I.e., it’s a small world.

We asked where the “passenger house” was and he said we could sleep in a room we had. We were shown to the room. In side was a double bed with a mosquito net. In an adjacent room was a toilet and shower. He asked us to write our names and address (we posed as married) on a card, and he left us to get ready for dinner. Kelly and I showered and dressed for dinner. We were ecstatic to have a nice bed to sleep in. We showed up for dinner on time. We talked, met their son, ate dinner and dessert, and retired to the couch after dinner. After a short chat, we went to the bedroom. We lay down and slept amongst the deepest dreams of our lives.

June 23rd, 1983

Ambunti, East Sepik, PNG

We awake at 10:30 or 11 am. We fix a simple breakfast in our room of cereal. At 1 pm, I go out to inquire about canoes. Finally, I find a man who says he’s driving one tomorrow to Pagive. He agrees to let us come for K2 each. Kelly sleeps much while I’m gone. I came back. We look at a map of the world and discuss plans. Late in the afternoon, we take a walk to a store to buy a deck of cards. We return and have a dinner with Neil and Jan again. We eat spaghetti. For dessert, we enjoy homemade apple pie. They talk to us about God and try to convince us to read the bible.

Later, we talk about the seeming fact that there are virtually no peoples on earth who have not now been contacted in some way (or affected) by civilization. Kelly and I go back to our room and enjoy many games of gin rummy. We also review money spent and owing to each other, we sleep. All in all, it is a very nice day. We’re happy. We make love. We are glad that the mission people prove their belief, letting us stay in a K10 room for free. (Neil says the goal of a Christian is “perfect behavior.”)

We weren’t really in a rush to leave. We woke up at 11 a.m., and I went out to look for a canoe (motor) to Pagwi (which connects by road to Wewak, a costal center – whereas no roads lead out from Ambunti, only river and air travel from there), but by this time no more canoes were going there, so we were “forced” to stay another day. I went to the store, bought an orange drink (out of beer) and went back and shared it with Kelly, who was napping when I came in. Neil invited us to dinner, and said that normally they charge for all this, but “under the circumstances” (since we were short on money and come so far) it was all right. Neil is a real Christian.

Kelly and I bought a pack of cards. We had been craving cards for so long, there had been so many idle moments to pass away on our Trek, for which I reminded her that it was her idea to send the cards on to Vanimo to conserve on weight – but we really should have brought them. We played a few quick hands of Gin rummy before dinner.

Over dinner, Neil brought up Christianity, “Well, since we are of missionaries” (SIL – Summer Institute of Linguistics). We told them our backgrounds: me, Roman Catholic, Kelly, Presbyterian, but neither of us practice anymore. Neil described his place with the Lord. He said astonished at the thought of controlling his own life, “Well, I couldn’t even imagine making my own decisions – I let the Lord make my decisions. Making your own, well, that invites Satan to take over.”

I asked Neil if the fact that we weren’t Christians diminished his liking for us. He answered indirectly, saying he felt grief, commiserating grief, for us. He said that Christians looked after one another, that they had a brotherhood. His wife, Jan, put in that “We couldn’t treat everyone like that.” Them she went into some fanatical interpretation of reality depicting the Lord’s intervention in their mundane daily task. I think the Lord could care less. Besides, Jan looked like she hadn’t dicked in about ten years. Poor thing.

Later, we talked about how things were when they first came here in 1960. At that time, there were restricted areas where cannibals were not yet subdued. Often, villagers would be imprisoned for cannibalism. Jan and Neil reckoned that even at that time nearly ever tribe had been contacted.

Neil was saying that they just recently started working with a tribe that was remote and devoid of Western goods – they had no kerosene, no mosquito nets – it was pretty miserable out there.

I reflect now on that conversation: the first white men came into the interior of New Guinea when: in the 20’s, the 30’s. So by the 60’s, Western men had already contacted most places. Neil said that about 1965 a woman anthropologist was there to discover “untouched” tribes, but found none. The New Guinea that we expected was long gone in one sense – the people all had awareness of Western Culture, and most had some small degree of goods – steel axes, lanterns. But still were the rough bush tracks through difficult country (although they are probably now more well – travelled). The wantok system manifesting close ties among villagers was ever present. The houses were still made usually entirely of bush material. The people relied on their gardens for food. Perhaps now two major things have altered since Western intervention: i) less tribal fighting and ii) more plentiful food supplies because of the introduction of steel (axes).

I am left with one central impression: that primitive isn’t so primitive – the men who lived here before whites came were intelligent naturalists – they can build a bush house in two days that will stand for years. They can build a bridge of rope across a 100-foot wide body of water in a day – this is made of canta or bush rope. (Modern tools enable them to finish these tasks more quickly.) In most senses, thus, I feel that this land is very much in the same state as in the 1800’s. But I missed the nudity, the fearfulness of the people and undoubtedly the wreaking poverty that must have existed then.

The land is rapidly changing. The people are losing their culture in a trade for what we have, little realizing that they are destroying a priceless tradition.

Without going as deeply into the bush as we did, it is doubtful we could have gotten an ‘adequate’ idea of what the heritage of New Guinea is.

Kelly and I enjoyed another night in the double bed, and in the morning, we caught a motor canoe to Pagwi and a truck to Wewak and civilization.


June 24th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

A lot happened today, and we traveled a long way. First thing in the morning, we made love. Then I took photos for Neil of his crocodile tables. We boarded a 40 HP grant dugout canoe racing away from Ambunti, we reached Pagui in about 1½ hours! Shortly, we were on a truck to Wewak. However, in Mapick (a bit less than ½ way), the driver demanded money; when I thought he’d said, “I want to help you for nothing,” he’d actually said, “I can’t…” I hopped off, but Kelly stayed in the truck for a K5 ride to Wewak. Shortly after, I got a series of 2 rides, which dropped me off at the provincial headquarters in Wewak.

I procured the assistance of Joe, the Information Department headman. He drove me in a new 4 Wheel Drive Toyota to TNT air Cargo to get our passports. There, we met Kelly. Joe drove us both to the customs office, where it became evident that we’d be delayed at least a week due to visa extensions. We made it clear to Joe that we couldn’t afford to stay in hotels. Joe made arrangements for us to stay in a room at a Theatre Company’s place, which is affiliated with the Information Department. We got a room with a double mattress on the floor. There’s a command kitchen, shower room. The people here hit it off with us well. Their rock band played at a dance. We went. Elias, the information Department No. 2 man said that he and Joe would take care of our passports if only I would teach the band members some things, since I am “an expert in the field.” He called me this because I’m from California and I mentioned I used to have a band! We’re really set up! I drank beer at the dance and then caught the Raun Isi (Theatre company name) truck back and slept.

June 25th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Morning: Slept in while the gang went off to perform a play, Kelly went to get up and found a guitar and started playing it – trying to figure out songs that I know that I can teach the guys in the band. I feel like I’m obligated to help – but it’s a most welcome task. I am very excited to be able to play the guitar and to think about putting music together! I know a lot of those old rock songs – the kind they do – and I should be able to help them in a lot of areas. It makes me realize that I know quite a bit more than I thought. Kelly came back before noon. We ate (she shopped for groceries.) In late afternoon we walked to the Wewak Yacht Club. We were bought a few drinks, but it was a weird scene, and there are no boats going outside PNG. At night, we all went to the 20t movie: 2 old classics. The Slaughter Trail and the Marx Brothers Night at the Opera. The Slaughter Trailstarring Virginia Grey and Don McLevy (1948?) and the Marx Brother’s A Night at the Opera! That was a real classic! It was funny. So much happened. Bam Bam scene after scene (1935!)

June 26th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Today was all around a beautiful day. After morning coffee, Nick asked me a few questions about music. Soon, we were in the practice room, looking over his sound system. Other band members came in. We were in there till 12 pm (noon). After, we all got in the van and headed to the beach at Cape Wom. What a gorgeous place Wewak is! [Yesterday, at the Yacht Club, we met a local who said that during August, it becomes a surfer’s paradise, but not to tell anyone because he’d rather ride the waves by himself. Matter of fact, we bumped into this fellow again today at the beach and asked if he knew where we could get some pot he said he’d check it out.]

I went snorkeling. It was real good to be back in the ocean! K and I took a walk along the shore and talked sitting on a sand-blown white log hanging over the surf. In the evening, we all went in the Raun Isi truck to the Gramut Theatre. We saw Khartoum (Charleton Heston), which was okay but a bit boring; and we saw Barquero, which was stupid and boring. Arriving back, we fell right asleep. Wewa is incredible for it’s combination of development, obscurity and beauty – what a place for vacations!

P.S. – the Marx Brothers move last night was really great!

June 27th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Another pleasant day in Wewak again I must remark on what a beautiful place it is. I can buy a real milkshake for 50t, a hamburger patty for 30t, fudge sickles (paddle pops) 26t. K and I went to the bank; we each bought a shirt and shorts. We attended to our visas today as best as possible: we filled out green forms, paid the K10 PNG fee, we called the Indonesian embassy and found out we must completely renew our visas – but there are no forms in Wewak. We made no moves on sending the passports, just compiled a lot of info. Joe at information is being very helpful – he let us call Moresby 3 times. We also talked with the acting postmaster here, and he’s having all our mail brought from Vanimo.

After a day of taking care of this virtual Cornucopia of chores, we sat on the beautiful beach at 5 pm, and we smoked the joint which the fellow we’d met at the Yacht club (and bumped into yesterday and today at BP’s where he gave it to us) gave us this morning in a store. It was grade ‘C’ but affected us. We went back to Raun Ini, had delicious lamb chops rice, butter and tea. We went to bed early, made hot love a long time, talked, lay in the dark.

June 28th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

The days are very hot. Beautiful. Happy to be here. We went to Joe’s office first thing in the morning (with our plan of action). We called the Indonesian embassy and had them send us applications with a promise that they’d process us quickly when they received our passports etc. We asked Joe if it was alright to stay here, and he said he didn’t mind. We went to the post office and mailed our passports to PNG migration and asked them to forward them to the Indonesian embassy. We stopped at Tang Mao’s and had chocolate milkshakes and snacks. We got back to Raun Isi. We snacked on popcorn and ice coffee.

At 3 pm, I went in to listen to those guys practice. I listened till they were finished (5 pm), then I picked up the guitar and started playing till dinner (7 pm), showing Nick how to play “She’s a Woman.” After dinner, we played and played. I was surprised how good my voice felt. It makes me real psyched up. I’m a musician, I really am. I must apply myself. I feel rediscovered confidence. I can do it! I love to sing.

P.S. Kelly made a delicious chicken curry with chicken, green beans, onions and papaya over rice.

Philosophy: A few nights ago, I came to the conclusion that I can become more effective if I make an effort to simplify. I.e., simplify the way I explain things, think of the simplest solution. Look for the simple. It is not always best to be elaborate. I think sometimes I waste time being intricate.

June 29th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

A leisurely morning. French toast for breakfast, leftover curry sandwiches for lunch. On the way to town, we saw an amazing sight at the market: smoked bats!! They looked utterly awesome!! These flying foxes had bodies about 6″ high, their under feet were curled up and their wing bone was chopped off and sticking out on either side. Their necks were thicker than their gory faces with burnt out eyes and grimaced teeth, “A grimace straight from hell,” says K. (I hope to get a picture of some on Saturday at the market.) We attended to going to town. Our packages didn’t yet come from Vanimo. I took a short snorkel on the beach near town, but it wasn’t so hot. Kelly fixed up some spaghetti for dinner – I’m very lucky when she cooks a lot! Over dinner she startled me by telling me she went to school in SF with Charlotte Leve, Anton’s daughter – the high priest of the occult in SF. It reminded me of when Clymer, Cappa and I went up to look for his house after seeing “Witchcraft ’70.”

Again tonight Kelly and I made love twice. I really love it. I’m happy. Thinking of music. I’m noting that the 2ndtime Kelly and I were doing it tonight, she said to wait (because she wanted to come) and I replied that maybe I couldn’t (because it felt so good) and she said to think of something else (to get my mind off how good it felt.) So I just humped her without feeling (sort of and meanwhile, she was going, crazy. I was acting callous, then she had an orgasm. Then I got back into it and came too. It was just interesting watching her go crazy when I wasn’t.

June 30th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Another day passes. Nothing spectacular. We went out to a beach behind Moen Barracks beyond the airport. It was deserted and lovely. Two uniformed men asked us to leave, saying the beach was off limits to the public – one of them was tapping a sheathed knife in his hand. Tonight, Kelly told me that Nick and Larry told her (when they were talking in the kitchen) that a man was beaten and his woman raped and murdered on that beach. They also said that there is a ghost on that beach – many people have seen a man in a bright red neckerchief waving from the rocks sometimes only one person in a group can see him. Nick was also talking tonight about hired sorcerers around here that inject something in people. These folks are superstitious here.

We enjoyed our usual milkshake in town. Still no packages. I make a note here: a way to increase effectiveness is to see tasks through to completion. Thinking about taking a one-day excursion to Angoram. It’s been cloudy here lately. Kelly and I have laughs.

Small note. Trying to sleep tonight, I experience a sort of disassociation with reality, however, it was slight. It was a neurotic sort of lift. It was not unpleasant. I mention it because it is the first time I felt this way in so long. I wonder if it was caused by the richness and laziness of my lifestyle of the past week, maybe rugged living breeds a healthier mind.

July 1st, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Quite a good day. To oblige Kelly, I accompanied her to the market in the morning. As my reward, we found some dead flying foxes for sale, so I was able to take some photos. These 2, unlike those a few days ago, were uncooked. We were amazed by their size and appearance. The body was a full foot long and 12 inches in girth with a very fox like fur of brown. Holding their wings out stretched made them fully five feet wide. Their faces looked hellish, tongues hanging out through sharp teeth. Their black hands folded up under them. At a central point in each wing was a black hooked appendage. Amazing creatures. They make me doubt evolution. However could they have evolved?

We made love after the market, covering all our windows with mats and tarps. It was luscious. Kelly had an orgasm. We picked up our packages from the post office – I sold the fishhooks for K5. Discussion: There is a fruit here they call a sour sop “salsa!” Kelly knows them from Spain as “chrimoyas.” I tried my first one last night. They are uncommonly delicious and unique. We should market them in the United States – people should be able to enjoy them!

July 2nd, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik PNG

For breakfast, I was welcomed to this day by French toast and soft margarine and strawberry jam with coffee and chirimoya. What a repast! Chirimoyas are the fruit of the gods! We caught a lift to town. At the post office, I finally got my letters – about 15 altogether! Much good news, a bit of it was embarrassing. Since I didn’t get a letter from Norma, I decided that I’d call her collect. She readily accepted the charges. I could tell she was glad to hear from me, and I was very glad to speak with her. She said she was lonely for a man! I felt sorry for her; and when asked I had to admit I’d been having sex. She said she still loved me and I told her I loved her. She said she was as almost finished with her thesis. She said she’d bought a gun. I forgot to ask her about the money, but she reminded me that she’d deposited it ($500). She said to call her again (in September). The conversation made me feel good. My mom said she’d be glad to handle my loan till I return – Thanks Mom! What a relief! Curry for dinner – saw “The Robe” with Richard Burton.

July 3rd, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Today Kelly and I made love three times. It is nice to have a place to do it. (By the way, when Kelly and I were on the raft to Kubkain, I told her about my keeping records of our lovemaking. Of course, she was interested to see, so I showed it to her. Now a couple of weeks later, she seems quite accustomed to the idea.) Tonight after supper, I took the guitar to our room, and I reveled in playing songs hat Tom and I had written years ago. I really love those songs. I sincerely believe that we had a lot of talent – we certainly put ourselves into it. Success is always just around the corner.

July 4th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Today, I have no tall tales to tell, no exciting news. Briefly, I spent the day working for myself – wrote 2 hours on the Trek: Kopiago to Ambunti, I packaged up things to mail, and I sorted through various possessions. The only special thing I can say for today is that I am in a far off land and that feels good. So, I devote the rest of the page to a discussion. Tonight, before I went to bed, one of the fellows with Raun Isi, Larry, stopped and talked with me outside by the kitchen. He told me to beware of the Sungumas. The Sungumas are men of the Sepik who inject people with potions at night. They “throw lime on your door” and this draws you outside to them. Or sometimes, “They talk to a stone and throw it at you, and you’ll come to them.” Once they inject you, you will die unless you are given a traditional medicine to drink. A person who is injected may be told by the Sunguma when he/she will die, but the injected victim is compelled by magic to say nothing to anyone. The only way to detect a victim is by their insensitivity to pinpricks. Both Nick and Larry swear they saw a local victim with these symptoms.

July 5th, 1983

Wewak, Esst Sepik, PNG

I can easily feel very ashamed at how ordinary my life becomes when we stay in one place. I want to do great things, but my progress seems so slow. I have been working like a clerk for myself, getting packages ready and mailing things. I mailed a penis gourd to Cappa and a package with a gourd, a PNG t-shirt and one bird of paradise tail to myself. I also mailed the beautiful red bird of paradise in a disguised parcel, and I just hope it makes it through. Last, I sent the 3 parrot pelts home in a parcel. We saw Ian and Carol from Tekin today. They’re supposed to pick us up tomorrow morning to go on an outing. (I also saw a guy from Kubkain that let us stay at his house there, Stanly.)

Basically, I am preparing for Indonesia – it must be a terribly exciting country: Bali, Borneo, the Spice Islands, Sumatra, Java and Irian Jaya! I started looking at the introduction to a condensed version of Gibbon’s “The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.” I am continually amazed at how many renowned people victim with the symptoms. I’ve never heard of – like Gibbon.

July 6th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Keep my fingers crossed, knock on wood, etc, for today I mailed off the nine rolls of Kodachrome to Kodak’s Japan processing center to be forwarded to Kelly’s place: the nine rolls covering the trek from Kopiago to Ambunti! Trek ’83, I shall call it. I sure hope the film makes its circuit safely to its final destination – my home, 708 Vermont. I am getting pretty much re-organized from the aftermath of Trek ’83. I’m getting ready to head off to Indonesia. Packages sent, clothes given away will lighten my load to a reasonable load. If I have more time till the passports are returned, I would like to go to Angoram, I’d like to work on my music while I have a chance, and I’d like to go diving/snorkeling often. Kelly’s cooking often and it’s really great for me.

Since yesterday, I’ve had a cold: the night before I got it, I said, “I haven’t had a cold in 4 years!” We met a guy from Virginia today who invited us to Bo’s, another Americans, house – Bo is supposed to have diving equipment, but I have not yet weaseled my way into a scuba dive. Kelly and I have been having a lot of sex.

July 7th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

We bumped into Ian and Carol from Tekin this morning at the market, and they invited us to go “somewhere” at 2 pm tomorrow. They took the clothes for Tilot, Hapom and Teleng from me to deliver them (for the guys who helped me get to Duranmin), which means that I’ve gotten rid of all my parcels and my possessions are as few as they’ve been since I left the boat, which is good from a backpacking standpoint.

In the afternoon I went snorkeling on the Oceanside of Wewak hill, but there’s no really super spots here, which isn’t surprising, since the only superb spot I’ve been to was Uipi Island in the Soloman’s. Nothing exciting to report. Perhaps I should call a meeting on Theory Action Group to inspire me to organize, to set my mind upon tasks (and complete them). I have a desire to write an article, or in some way culminate and document the trek through New Guinea’s interior.

July 8th, 1983

House on road near Angoram, East Sepik, PNG

Kelly was aggravating me, so I split to go diving. On my way, I bumped into Louie, who drove me to his place where we sat before the ocean and got thoroughly stoned on his pot. He was going to Angoram. We drove back to get Kelly and we got her stoned and had a quick lunch. Already, I’d probably smoked too much because this pot is really strong. We left a message for Ian and Carol who were coming to get us at 2 pm. We drove around with Louie and didn’t get moving until 4 pm, when we got on the road to Angoram. More bongs and beer and I was wasted. (I found myself gawking at this strange people from USA.) We got to Angoram where a group of tourists awaited along with Louie’s boss, a Yugoslavian A-hole, named Sava. It turned out to be boring. We had to wait for Sava all evening and then in the end, we had to sleep at his house ½ hour back toward Wewak. It was one of those situations that occurs from letting yourself be dependant on others.

July 9th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

We caught an early ride back to Wewak with the tourist group from the States. They are weird. It is like the strangest sight I’ve seen in New Guinea – fat white balding men with loud, pushy wives; it is almost more than I can hear!! We got back about 10:30 am and went to town, went shopping, Louie gave us a small stash; then we went home and slept the rest of the afternoon. In the evening, we got a ride to the movies and enjoyedBlade Runner and Any Which Way You Can. Some scenes in the former were tremendously weird (like when he shot Pris, the leisure model replicant). The later was entertaining, as usual for Clint.

Well, diary, you must know me well. I have completed an adventure, and I am idling days away looking for another. K and I are both getting exited about going to Indonesia. It’s like me, that need to fulfill goals.

July 10th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Spent the greater portion of today at Oceanside, and indeed it is lovely. Today was a day of sun. Kelly and I walked to the beach, stopping off to pick up two coconuts at the market. She walked along the beach to the Windjammer Hotel. I snorkeled for an hour among the half-destroyed reef way off shore. It is fun to be in the water. I found a large edible mussel and a small scallop. I walked also to the Windjammer. Kelly and I played cards in the shade of a coconut tree. She called Hokaido, her legal husband in Japan, and though he didn’t have the money, he said he’d borrow $1000 and (send) give it to her by wire. Kelly and I smoked in the girl’s bathroom. Then I went snorkeling again at a new spot. Later we walked back most of the way to Raun Isi. A stony and enjoyable day. Time passes quickly. There are so many things I should and could be doing – music,

writing, adventuring – but I feel unmotivated.

July 11th, 1983

Wewak, East Sedik, PNG

Enjoyed a hazy, stony day. The pot we got from Louie is incredibly good. I stayed stoned all day on a series of 3 hits of leaves (not buds) in Kelly’s pipe. I wish we had more. I did a lot of writing about our trek and finished with the story to Ambunti. We went to Joe’s office and called Michael Osae at PNG immigration, but he’d forgotten to expedite our passports, but said he’d mail them today. Thus, it looks like about 2 more weeks until we’re out of here. I just hope I use my time wisely. Kelly and I screw each other quite a bit, and her company makes this a pleasant stay in Wewak. The sun went away today. I wonder: is there any scientific evidence to support this: that Sunday’s have sun more frequently than other days! I suppose not, but it seems so to me.

Note: If I devoted myself to any task, I would be it’s master – or is this my youth speaking?

July 12th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Day stony, but not stony enough! I reflect on my life, and I think it’s fine, but not fine enough. I want psychedelic visions my whole life through. I want zinging inspiration but can’t get the ball rolling. Shall I lock myself up in a studio for a year? I want to be an entertainer. Am I too far behind, or is it I just think too complicated. Maybe my real solution is to surround myself with excellent musicians and sound technicians and get them psyched up to work for me. I feel I have zero talent but I want to reach to the stars. I want to be different and I want to have fun. Where to start? I’ve never really been on the road, but it’s got to be a matter of hard work. This is an excerpt from the diary of a frustrated entertainer.

Today I did errands and went snorkeling out on the point by the Windjammer. I was a bit stoned during the day. Wrote Mom and Mandy.

July 13th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

We contacted PNG immigration again today. I was told (despite what he said he’d mail our passports off on Monday) by Michael Osae that they would take weeks more “to finalize” our applications. A-hole. I told him we couldn’t stay here indefinitely. Joe, whose office we’re calling from, called back, and we got a Mr. Haro on the phone, who called back. The message was that they would forward our passports to the Indonesian Embassy without a visa extension and, when we left PNG through Yavimo, we should go to customs there, who will be pre-notified to process us. Good! I want to get to Indonesia.

Kelly and I went to the beach by the Windjammer Motel and we passed the afternoon away under the shade of the coconut tree and alternately roasting in the intense sun. My ear is bothering me with a slight infection and I am getting over my 1st cold in what seems like years. I wonder if I can develop Theory Action Group to the point where it really works – that an idea I had in Arawa.

July 14th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

A day well spent, entirely at the beach. On our way in the morning, we picked up a couple of coconuts at the market. When thirsty alternating between the shade of the one shade-giving coconut tree on the beach at the Windjammer and the blue surf in the sun, we crack open the back of these intensely delicious giant coconuts. The milk therein is very sweet, nutty, smooth, tasting pleasantly of coconut (some coconuts have mere water inside). At the beach, we can play cards read (I read about Indonesian history and society) or swim or miscellaneous things – I sewed a rude leather sheath for the (great) coconut knife Kelly found. A simple day, sunny and beautiful.

Note this: that Wuvulu Island is not as far way as we were told by Craig, a Peace Corp guy. The reefs are supposed to be alive and teeming with life, I would like to go there if it’s fairly convenient. Things in Raun Isi, where we’re staying are really cool. A place where I like everybody and feel they like me too.

July 15th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

28th Birthday. I remember a vow I made to myself that I would try my fantastic goals (Lazy Man’s Way to Riches) until my 28th birthday when I would relinquish them if not realized, and settle down to making myself respectable with hard work. However, I relinquished the systematic pursuit of them at 24, and I feel the promise to myself was a vague attempt at ordering my life (or giving myself a chance to be free, if I was afraid to be) and not very valid now. There is such a need for time (or money!) to fulfill my numerable dreams, time that I don’t have. Perhaps it would be good to look conservatively at my future and plan, but I definitely shy away from or promise to buckle down and relinquish big dreams (even if I promised it to myself). The future is a mystery.

Today, I nicked a bottle of vodka and Kelly and I went to the beach, and I got drunk. Louie and a friend, John, met us there. They told us about the paradise like “Hermit and Maron Islands” near Manus. Louie talked about dealing smoke. I got a bit sick. Kelly escorted me home and put me to bed. We made a sour sop and vodka drink on the beach which was delicious. You put the inside of the sour sop in a bilum and squeeze out the juice (one coconut’s full from one sour sop) then add vodka, or, if you like, vodka and coconut juice. Tremendously delicious, with ice. The sour sop doesn’t sound very good, but it’s the most delicious tasting fruit I ever had. It is not a durian and not a custard apple – it is grown around Wewak – I’ve never seen them elsewhere. Someone should pack the juice, concentrated, and ship it to the USA for sale to bars and also general use!!

July 16th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Today was Nick’s birthday, so there was a celebration of sorts. I was hung-over from yesterday, but gradually, as I drank more beer (8), I sustained full relief. Saiyo, the director of Raun Raun (Theater of Gorka), directed a Goroka-style mumu which was unique to my experience, and I recorded it by camera. I listened to Larry and Nick telling me about how, for example, five 13-14 year old girls will line up outside your room at the lodge in the Trobriando or Kimwina Islands, and you just pick the one you like – “Just give her a cigarette!” Naturally, I’m all fired up to go there, as they swear it is true and that the Trobs are not developed that it will take “10 to 20 years more,” according to an authority of PNG: They claim that the women of these “Samarai” people are well-known and feared throughout PNG as witches capable of turning into flying foxes and visiting distant relatives. I also heard stories about lime mixed with a spirit field type of ginger, which when tossed in the air by the possessed user, unlocks doors and renders the female inhabitants unaware of subsequent violations. Looked at an awesome book called Body Decorations.


July 17th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

The activities of today were to go to the beach and there write letters. We play some cards and I have a few beers (2). The sun is out. Nice day. Simple. Last night I laid awake and thought hard about what causes events to occur: I tested my conclusion:

1) Momentum (of the subject) and

2) CHANCE (defined in this case as the influence of the infinite [therefore unpredictable] momentums of the entities in the environment.

I will try to prove that by contradiction, but not on this page. Tonight I told this Theory to Kelly and she said Desire causes things to happen. Although this statement seems pertinent only to beings, I conclude that desire occurs due to forces inside and outside the subject, these forces having momentum bearing on the subject. (The subject in this case defined as the entity to which the event occurred.) However When I examine the momentum Theory for truthfulness, each example seems to plainly reinforce the statement itself and repercussions of its truth seem abounding and plentiful. However obvious or simplistic this Momentum Theory may seem, it has struck a nerve in my thinking about my life and how this insight might be useful. I’m really excited.

July 18th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Today I was starting to feel a little bored, or maybe down because we’re here doing the same stuff and we can’t leave because we don’t have our passports. We went to the beach, which is really lovely. I thought how wonderful our situation is – that I shouldn’t be bored – I just am not getting enough out of myself. I wrote letters to Mike Taylor and Mike Shea and to Sally (cousin). Kelly and I played blind tag in the surf. Really nice. Kelly made a delicious chicken tomato spaghetti when we got home.

I thought about my Momentum Theory – my problem is that I don’t have enough momentum going towards the areas I need fulfillment. At about 9 pm, I started doing my guitar scales which, even after 3 days, are getting easier. I told Kelly that I was going to write a song a day till we left here. I wrote down my feelings about the Migration Department! In the interim, I played as much of a song I made last year - Drop Out – Kelly thought the words are good. It is now 1 am, and I just finished writing Everyone is Welcome to Come or Go.

July 19th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

I woke up tired from getting too little sleep and consequently I dragged a bit all day. We called the Indonesian embassy, and our passports are on their way; Kelly is worried about not having any money, and it makes me worry too a little, but it’s mostly a drag seeing her worried. I saw Louie at the Windjammer today, and he’s supposed to be scoring tomorrow which would be nice.

Today, after years of an occasional thought that I’d like to make my own clothes, I bought some material and I designed a pattern from paper of a shirt I will make. If I do have to say so myself, the shirt looks sort of awesome! I played my song today for Kelly and she said it made her feel “high.” She encouraged me to do something with music, and that makes me feel god. My ears are bothering me, which is a drag, and lately, I haven’t been feeling too well generally (physically). I am looking forward to seeing Indonesia. Gitti.

July 20th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

“All good things take time,” but this is ridiculous! However, today all travel problems cleared and it is clear “sailing” for Indonesia next week. Our passports were at the post office. We went to the bank, and, on a fluke, Kelly discovered that Hokaido had sent her money – but we’d not been alerted because Kelly didn’t receive a telegram as she’d requested. Equipped with passport and money, we’re free to move at will! The boat for Vanimo leaves on Tuesday and arrives there Wednesday. The flight out of Vanimo to Jayapura leaves Wed at Noon.

I would like to take the road or take a boat across rather than fly, but we’ll have to see. Now I’m just trying to figure the most efficient way to obtain funds in my (U.S.) money market fund. Went to see the World According to Garp and Black Belt Jones tonight. I liked both movies. I ran a bit today. I’m as happy as I can be with tropical ear, which sort of clouds the day with an irritant.

July 21st, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Again, my tropical ear sort of bothers me throughout the day, but I still can’t really complain because I still appreciate the beauty of my surroundings and the loveliness that underlies this time in my life. We brought our plane tickets Vanimo to Jayapura to Biak, just in case we need them. Kelly received K1137.94 today in her bankbook! This is really super-great, because we should have $500 or more extra when she goes home. I can write her a money market check for that and anything else I owe her, and she can cash it back in Japan. We saw Louie at the Windjammer – we mixed up some sour sop juice and “sold” the mix to the manager there for about 550 ml of Smirnoff Vodka!!! (About K10 there in Wewak.)

In the evening, K and I went to see The Jerk and The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, both of which I liked (I’ve seen the Jerk before.) On the way home, I estimated that “if there were a road to the moon,” a man could walk there in 3 years!! (Note: I miscalculated) The moon is pretty close!! 4mph x 6 hours a day = 24 m/day – times 10,000 = 240,000 miles – I made a mistake!! It would be more like 30 years!!

July 22nd, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

We were supposed to be at Eerols’s house by 11 am this morning to meet Louie, so we could all go to Angoram on the Raun Isi truck. But K and I delayed, going to the wharf to confirm that the boat will come in on Tuesday and leave the same day for Vanimo. Then we went to Provincial HQ and retrieved our K10.00 application (for Visa) fee. It was nearly noon when we got there. Louie was gone. We went in the house to wait for him. I heard some footsteps coming up the steps and as a joke said, “Louie is a dickhead,” in a singsong fashion. But it wasn’t Louie! Louie’s uncle, Ben, the owner of the house, came in with his son, Fabian. But Ben was friendly. (He was with Louie the first day we met him at the yacht club.) I talked with him about crossing the border from Wuton [Wutung] to Jayapura. He gave me the names of a few people that we can contact. He said that they go shopping in Jayapura – that they motor their canoes direct across the water into Jayapura. We went back to Raun Isi, then we went to the beach, then home for a leisurely evening. When we went to bed, we made love that felt “perfect.”

July 23rd, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

Went to the Windjammer today (again). Laying in the sand on a hot day is our most consistent pastime here. Before we left we had some of Windjammer’s divine. We headed home early, leaving Louie in the water near a 14-year-old beauty, who pranced around, her lengthy thighs and just-pubescent budding breasts catch my fancy. On the way, Louie’s cousin, Errol, picked ups up and asked us if we wanted a smoke! We made a U-turn on the beach road and raced towards his house, picking up Louie walking along the way. At the house, we each had 3 big bongs of famed Goroka Gold!! It was really fantastic! It sells for only $240 = K200 around here! I said I’d pay him $500 per pound delivered to the USA! We left the house to go to the Kaindi 20t theater, Louie, K and I.

On the way we stopped at a man’s house who had pinball machines to play. As stoned as I was, I really got into it. We continued on. After having to backtrack to get a bag that I left in a truck on the way, we arrived at Kaindi late only to discover that they cancelled the movie tonight. We went back to our place, made a fire, and ate. I fell asleep.

July 24th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

[A long lovemaking, Kelly got off, part of.] A leisurely morning, then off to the beach. At the Windjammer, I drank a few beers and wrote about our experiences in Tari and Koroba, amongst our finest in Papua New Guinea. Kelly and I played cards awhile and then went swimming, showered and talked to Louie, Larry, Bill and the 2 pseudo intellectuals we met the other day (a guy from Canada and a girl from the States – but they’ve traveled in China for 3 months and worked there a year!) We returned home by 4 pm. Since there’s still no gas, I went out back and started a fire from a small burning ember (thanks to my bush experience!) and Kelly and I fixed some dinner – I roasted a piece of chicken!

We walked to the show early, at 10 to 7 pm, and arrived early. The 1st movie was Woody Allen’s “A Midsummer Night’s Sex Comedy” which we both thought was great (Sex relieves tension and love causes it!). The next film was Tom Horn with Steve McQueen and Linda Evans. S. McQueen is such a great actor! [“Now, Geronimo; there’s a man so great that you’d (Gentleman Jim Corbett) have to stand on your mother’s shoulder to kiss his ass!”] My ear is getting better and, correspondingly, life is more enjoyable.

July 25th, 1983

Wewak, East Sepik, PNG

10:36 am. Our last full day in Wewak! Yipeee! Hopefully, by the end of the week, we’ll be successfully on our way to Biak by boat after having successfully entered Indonesia by water! This is one of my most tricky obstacles to my guest to travel around the world by land and sea!! Let us be honest, at this moment in my life, I have never been so free, and I should enjoy it to its fullest!! We went to the beach at the Windjammer as usual. We saw Errol there, who invited us to his house. We smoked a few bongs. After 2 I was high as a kite but a “forced” 3rd did me in. Louie came in. Kelly, Louie and I went to Raun Isi. We (K and I) had bought a case of beer, and we passed them around. Louie played the guitar and wanted to jam with Nick. For me it was kind of a drag because I had sort of hoped that I’d be able to spend some time with Nick the last night before we left – sort of say goodbye, drink a few beers with the gang. I ended up going to bed. I fucked Kelly on our last night here.

July 26th, 1983

Enroute to Vanimo by boat, West Sepik province, PNG

We got up about 5 am. I wrote a bunch of “courtesy letters;” that is, letters to people who were good to us during our stay here. We packed up our things. At about 10:30 am, we said goodbye to our friends at Rau nisi. Raymond, the driver, drove us to town. Then he took us to the wharf. The boat finally departed at about 4 pm. (Aside: I lost my sailor’s cap a few days ago and I left Wewak without it. I loved that cap!) The scenery was nice. I jotted off letters to Kevin Hickey, Dr. Harrell and Boysie and Connie. Kelly and I found a secluded bunk on the lower deck, and we made lusty love. We were lying there afterwards – we had a blanket secluding the only view of the bunk. I saw a black hand come up, and it grabbed towards Kelly’s leg, hitting mine. I reached up and grabbed the hand. It tore itself away. I looked and saw a light blue terry cloth shirt on a man who was fleeing. I made a complaint to the captain, for it turned out (by the description) to be one of his crew. The rest of the night went smoothly. I took out my 5 th ice-cold beer from the freezer.

July 27th, 1983

Jayapura, Irian Jaya, Indonesia, Exit Papua New Guinea

Woke before the sun rose, the boat swaying riding waves, the moon high, the sky of false dawn. We arrived in Vanimo at 8:15 am. We went to the customs. They would not allow me to cross the border at Wuton – they wouldn’t stamp my passport except at the airport. (I suppose if I pulled enough shenanigans I’d be able to wing it!) The plane flight was awesome – the water and coastline was awful pretty. We arrived in the airport in Sentani outside of Jayapura. A German girl named Elizabeth accompanied us into Jayapura. What filth! The PNGers are much, much cleaner! We looked for a losemen, but they were expensive. A man named Palem invited us to his house, where I am, now! We lucked out again! We ate at street side restaurants. In the evening we took a walk through the market (Pasar). Everything is new! It is so entirely different from Papua New Guinea even though it’s the same land. My baggage weighs 55 lbs. Now (25kg), 45 lbs. less than when we left. I’m going to try to drop 5 lbs. here in Jayapura and another 10 lbs. by Sept. 1st .

Note: Before we left Vanimo today, I ordered a small bilum like Kelly’s and a seed necklace to be sent to my house at 165. Lake Dr. K5.25. I also bought and sent an Oksapmin bilum to sister Donna. At the post Office was the prettiest girl in PNG I’ve seen – why did it have to be ½ hour before I left?? We paid K8 for the boat to Vanimo.

July 28th, 1983

Jayapura, Irian Jaya, Indonesia

We went down to a ship today and found out it is going to Jakarta on Monday. We can get a cabin and food for about $120 each. It’s an 8-day trip there.

Dairy, I feel a dilemma coming on. Here it is: I’m in Irian Jaya right now. I could go to Babien Valley, but if I go for 2 weeks, I’ll have at most 23 days to leave the country. Assuming I caught a boat to U. Pandang, I’d have only 9 days to leave the country from there and that’s if there was a boat leaving the day I got back from the interior. If I got to Jakarta now on Monday, We’ll arrive Aug. 9th, I’ll still have 27 days left (Kelly will have about 16 days to get to Singapore. This is based on a 25-day visa and 15-day extension, but add 5 days even because Imigrasi said it was 45 days max. Well, I could also leave here island hopping but the boats looked so raunchy. If I got to Jakarta, I can see the ruins in Joygya, maybe Bali, and Sumatra before going to Singapore, then come back. It might be my best bet. We walked around the market tonight which was a trip – the fish merchants amaze me, expertly slicing their skip jack tunas by lantern light.

July 29th, 1983

Jayapura, Irian Jaya, Indonesia

Briefly, today we went to Imigrasi and got a letter for the captain’s satisfaction. We cashed travelers checks for the boat trip. We ate. I tired to mail my fucking package, but you need to get it searched first and today was too late. We met up with Elizabeth, had ice coffee together, then Kelly went to the house and Elizabeth and I went to the ship. The captain showed us the 2nd Officer’s cabin. I must admit it looks pretty nice. Elizabeth and I checked out the other boats and they were filthy. We walked around. I went home at 3:30 pm. Kelly and I did it. In the evening we went out, ate, then Kelly split. I walked around. Some feminine black lady gave me her address. I got a ride home. K and I did it before sleeping.

Diary, I feel different since we got here. I don’t like this place much. I find myself lusting terribly after all the girls. I suppose I’m surrounded by decent looking women for the fist time in a long time. I feel bad about Kelly because I don’t feel as excited as her about her coming back. I want to love other women in Europe for example.

July 30th, 1983

Jayapura, Irian Jaya, Indonesia

Note: I am really thirsting after other women’s bodies! I can’t wait to fuck someone else beside Kelly!

Diary, I’m confused a bit as I’ve explained. Today, I found out that I can go to Wamena for Rp 28,000, that I can get a police permit to go there. What a drag that there was no info anywhere that we’d be able to get a police permit in Jaya! We were told we’d have to go to Jakarta to get one. Had we known, we could have done over hiking in Irian, damn bureaucracy!! I mailed a package today, which was nonsense – forms, office hopping.

Tonight I began to sew the shirt I designed. If I do say so myself, so far it looks awesome. Jayapura is a stink hole! It’s a fucking crime that the land has been invaded by Indonesia. It’s really sickening. Diary, I don’t know if I should take the boat to Jakarta or not. I made it with Kelly this morning – she’s lying beside me sleeping now and I think I’ll turn off the light and attack her!! I had a delicious sidewalk fried crust containing eggs, onions, etc.

July 31st, 1983

On board Rezeki in 2nd officer’s cabin with Kelly (Jane Java) in Jayapura Harbour, Irian Jaya, Indonesia

[Afternoon:] I woke up this morning and I tried to decide what to do. I looked at the maps of the world. There are so many places that I want to see. I don’t have a lot of money. It occurred to me that to go to Jakarta may be a wise idea. I was considering something like this:

Sept. Oct. – Malaysia, Thailand, Burma, Nepal;

Nov. Dec. – India, Pakistan;

Jan Feb Mar – Greece, Yugoslavia, Turkey, Egypt; April-Sep 84 – Morocco, Tunisia and Europe and then home.

[11:59 pm:] This has turned out to be the best day I’ve had yet in Indonesia. Right now. I am writing at the desk in the 2nd officers cabin on the Regehi, a ship that shall be sailing for Jakarta tomorrow. I’ve got a reading light, a fan blowing, a couch, running water, 2 port hole windows looking out on the front of the ship (I’m just below the bridge.) I feel very happy with the resolve to go to Java!! Guess what, if you look on the next to last line of yesterday’s entry, you’ll see a little face that Kelly drew when she read the awful things I’ve been writing! The little shit read my thoughts! I feel free. I feel happy. Waiting to set sail.

August 1st, 1983

On Rezeki North of Irian Jaya

Long 138E LAT 2S

Other than the fact that I am coming down with another cold (caught from Jane Java) I, Karl E. Mantan, have had a most bob day! I write this at day’s end in the wee hours of the morning in the cabin of the 2nd officer who’s rented it to Kelly and I for Rp. 100,000 (plus 65,000 Rp each for the ride and we get food served to our room 3 times daily). We are at sea, having “sailed” at 12 noon. We are still cruising along the north coast of New Guinea.

K and I awoke this morning on the ship. She rebuffed me twice for sex because she was upset from having read my diary. I packed my bags and headed out the door when she stopped me tenderly. We made passionate love on the couch. When we finished, we looked out our porthole to see the ship turning around in the harbor. Later we made love again. It’s lovely on the water!! I read The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire for a while, wrote ½ notebook on the TREK and sewed the shirt I’m making for about 3 hours. This ship is awesome! In a week. I should be on Java.

August 2nd, 1983

On Rezeki Norht of Irian Jaya, Indonesia

Long 134E Lat O Equator

I awoke in a state of ill-health, when the cold travels up your throat to your sinuses creating scratchy discomfort, which I export will develop into the more comfortable clogged sinuses by tomorrow. Ugh! I hate to be sick! I spent a great part of my day sewing my “royal” shirt, but the colors of the Shea “family coat of arms” are perhaps a bit too bright for present-day fashions – I have done an excellent stitching job but late at night while trimming the excess material my scissors slightly cut the shirt!! I wonder if I did it on purpose? Anyway, I should attempt to do a 2nd shirt, perhaps in purple, or in brown and black with a gold symbol. At night, I went outside to pray “to my personal god” for five minutes; I contemplated for ½ hour my life, and questioned whether my ‘momentum’ for achievement in one area has not been stifled because of other interests: should I concentrate on only one thing if I hope to be a smashing success in anything during my lifetime? Later, I climbed to the deck above the bridge and laid down on a tarp for a rest. It reminds me of falling asleep in the closet at Minorca Way.

August 3rd, 1983

On Rezeki in the Moluccas, Indonesia

Long 130E Lat 2S

Diary, if you’ll pardon my complaint, between my ears and this 2nd cold, the last month and a half had been tainted with a thin film of sickness. It is generally a bring-down to be sick. I feel better today than yesterday. The most time-consuming activity on the day was writing in my notebook and at night ultimately completing my notes on the adventures between Mendi and Ambunti. Now I feel left with the arduous task of condensing the 8 notebooks into a concise and readable history. Besides a period in the afternoon when I sat out on the bow deck with Kelly and drank a beer, my activities were isolated to my cabin.

Diary, I consider myself a drastic failure and a man without direction. I reflect on my past, try to ascertain the reason for the non-attainment of my goals/dreams and consider how I should manage my future. I can state my overriding desire to maximize my sensations of awe, wonder, bounded freedom and communion with the godly things that life has to offer.

August 4th, 1983

On Rezeki in Moluccas, Indonesia

Long 127E Lat 3S

4 pm. I’ve been sitting against the gunwale of the extreme bow of the Rezeki for the last hour reading Gibbon’s The Decline and Fall of the Roan Empire (D8F -RE), listening to the winds howling across the deck as we pound the sea. Earlier today we noticed an unusually archaic-looking sailing vessel pass close by, another in the distance, and later another passing by. Alone up here I feel once again – and for the first time on this cruise, the awesome, contenting solitude of the sea that I cherish 10:30 pm – Kelly and I just spent over an hour laying down on the very bow of this ship; the winds are high, the seas are choppy and they fluoresce. With her head on my stomach, I lay against the gunwale and sipped warm grog (San Miguel Pilsner). My mind filled with good thoughts and answers. A group called i) Roby Shields. I feel confidence that I can achieve my outrageous goals. Fact: I have to lead myself, force myself if necessary to work, to combat my inherent laziness. Answer: (How do I gain momentum in the desired direction?) Force myself to act. Long range goals. Quarterly goals and quarterly (1p and) goal review.

August 5th, 1983

On Rezeki in the Banda Sea, Indonesia

Long 123E Lat 6S

If I ever take another cruise like this, I am going to stock up on good food, and I’ll probably sleep on deck. Also, I’d prefer a boat trip of a few days at sea, then stopping in port and then continuing after a couple of days, rather than so many days at once. An ocean liner lacks the excitement, solitude and freedom that sail offers. Today, I endeavored to begin outlining the story of our trek through PNG. I wrote out the “chapter” headings with a brief description of each “chapter’s” most salient points. Today, we had a lot of wind, the sea was choppy. It’s really great! The wind is cooling and refreshing. Both Kelly and I are a bit put down by our colds, which fact diary, I hate to report; but I am compelled to present an honest report of my experiences. This boat trip is sort of boring! If we had better food, it would be a lot more fun! – p.s. – and pot!!

August 6th, 1983

On Rezeki below SE Celebes, Indonesia

Long 118E Lat 6S

Today began writing the story that I outlined yesterday. The most notable event of the day was our passing Celebes and Salajar Islands at 2 pm through a small (7 miles) channel. Only ½ mile (or ¾) to our left, just off Salajar was a rock island, Pulav Debril of Pulav Karong, which, a mile (perhaps) in diameter, looked tremendously awesome. Rock cliffs on the east shore plunged vertically into a crashing equivocal blue ocean. This island had an aura about it. I imagined ships landing there 400 years ago with spices, or people shipwrecking against the rocks. This sight makes me want to return here. Other than this, I spend a day, which feels confined by the boat. It is hot today. Unlike yesterdays there is no breeze to speak of. My cold persists. I feel ashamed because I feel listless and not up to the tasks I set out for myself before we left on this trip. I think of home and I feel remorse that –

i) I may never have a musical career

ii) Mandy will probably have forgotten about me by the time I come home

iii) Eric Gunn won’t want to drum for me.

August 7th, 1983

On Rezeki in Java Sea, Indonesia

Long 113E Lat 6S

I won our tournament in gin rummy today – 11 games to 8. As we draw nearer to Jakarta and Southeast Asia, my spirits are up and rising again. After all, it is pretty fascinating to think that I’ll soon be on Java. The activity today was mostly sewing, and at the end of the day, I had completed my shirt except for a small amount of stitching and attacking the pull string. Kelly and I made love twice today, and it was just spectacular especially the first time, when she came too! I like it when she moves from the bottom and I don’t move so much but help her motion with my arm around her back. We went and stood on the bow at sunset. “Yellow and black molten,” Kelly’s description of the sea. When we first went outside, the sea looked sliver blue and unreal. At night, our room filled with guests: Chief Cook, House Boy (the Komodo Dragon), Flat Face (the girl getting married to a guy from Sri Lanka and 2 others. I think of home, what I’ve left behind that may be gone when I return and I ponder the spirit of Adventure.

August 8th, 1983

On Rezeki in Java Sea, Indonesia

Long 108E Lat 6S

[P.S. to yesterday – last night Kelly put a penis gourd over her nose (after everyone left). It was hilarious.] Our last full day on the Rezeki passed without event. I finished my shirt today and all in all it is bob, but I’ll probably be too embarrassed to wear it around! I was really tired and fell asleep very early tonight, sleeping straight through till morning – about 13 hours. As we near Java, I feel more excited about my future prospects. It is a big world and I am passing into more “civilized” (I emphasize the quotes!) areas. There are so many sights ahead of me, and I relinquished myself to the spirit of Adventure.

Specifically: Don’t worry about going home! I cast my fate into the wind and continue in the attitude that I will get home when I do and for now, I am an adventurer. I face the reality that I have not a care or a task in the world to hinder my wanderlust! An awe-inspiring sunset – red, purple sphere of light, the orb descends into the haze.

August 9th, 1983

Jakarta, Java, Indonesia

Spent the morning wondering when we’d get off the ship. As we neared Java throngs of sailboats crowded the waters – not nice new boats but rude vessels more like canoes! When we reached the harbor, we anchored in the midst of perhaps 50 ocean going ships! I have never seen so many vessels in one port. We had to wait until l2 pm to go into the dock. K and I had a lover’s quarrel as in the middle of doing it, she got up to look out as we went in. Caught a ride to a losemen full of travelers trying to be cool. We went out and found a big trade show and went in. By 8 pm the fair grounds were crawling with people. It was really interesting. We saw ivory tusks carved in minute detail by the Balinese, plus other Balinese carvings – life size, painted papaya and bananas trees of wood. This place is pretty interesting. What a shock after being in the boondocks for 9 months! I feel both intimidated and intrigued by the lights, crowds and music of the 20thcentury.

August 10th, 1983

Train Enroute to Yogyakarta from Jakarta, Java, Indonesia

By virtue of so many new sights, an interesting day. We got out early. Diary, K and I aren’t getting along too good (though not too bad.) She’s not being that responsive in the morning. I turned off. We went to the Japanese Embassy and she threatened to leave, which was all right by me. Then she changed her mind and got a one-month re-entry permit extension so she doesn’t have to be home till 27th Sept, which is nice.

I changed money and they gave me an extra 5,000 Rp. I tired calling Mom but there was no answer. I checked out the boat fares to Singapore and it amounts to about $30. I had split from the Embassy, and we met back at the hostel at 12 noon. We cruised around more in the afternoon, down the crowded, busy, dirty and interesting narrow streets and wide boulevards of Jakarta. At 6:15 pm, we caught the 2nd class train to Yogyakarta which ran on all night. As we left Jakarta we intrigued ourselves, looking out at the huddled, lit congregations of shanty houses and throngs of people in the night. I read a lot of Gibbon tonight – the Decline of Rome is an incredible story.

Other sights: Looking at silk in Jakarta… so beautiful, riding in the 3 wheeler Beja’s in Jakarta for 300rp. Great haircut for 700rp. Thinking of many thoughts which for my level of profoundness and bordering on profound. Reading TDAFOFRE (Gibbon) makes me reflect on society. I tried to defend a point about sex and many pressures leveled against them. I am presently in a state of extreme lust for young girls. How I wish my lusts could be satisfied repeatedly!!

August 11th, 1983

Yogyakarta, Java, Indonesia

Consider: to travel like a pauper-only, say, 10 lbs of stuff.

A rather strange yet interesting day. The train pulled into the station before 6 am and K found a house to stay in – great bed, cool quiet room for Rp 2000, great deal. I wanted terrifically to do it, but she bluntly declined; I was real tired, so I left her at a nearby coffee shop and went back and slept all day till near 4 pm. She was sleeping, so I went out for a long walk. In order to evade the numerous German tourists and to have fun my walk took me through back alleys. It was really nice and people smiled and seemed surprised to see me.

Later, when it was dark, I had a beer and a beef satay. I was minding my own business when I must have stumbled upon the “taxi” girls, because all these fairly cute girls were rubbing my arm and asking me to Bom-Bom. For 3,000 Rp, I took one in a room. I took a bath and cruised around the streets. I got home and read. Now Kelly’s by my side, we’re ignoring each other. Thinking a lot about life.

August 12th, 1983

Yogyakarta, Java, Indonesia

We talked first thing in the morning and then Kelly threw herself in my receptive arms. This led to exquisite lovemaking, and I felt relieved and proud to find it so superior to the taxi girl of last night. But it seems I am temporarily cured of my lust for other women through last nights experience – for I realized how easy and cheap it is to fuck other women but how precious and grand it is to find love. Without the nagging anxiety to experience another woman, I found myself ever so much attentive an appreciative of Kelly’s true merit as a lover and a spiritual entity of exquisite design.

We went out at 3 pm and walked around. At night we went to a batik store and I got a farout batik t-shirt, and we bought some other clothes. Diary, again I must express that sickness (I have diarrhea) are still most uncommonly plaguing me of late. I read of the atrocities of the Fall of Rome. I find spiritual fortitude from last night – now the self-posed question of What Do I Want?:

1) To be Mentally Healthy Specify: Wake up and feel refreshed, have plans for the day, pursue my activities (in a relaxed, energetic manner) that easily hold my interest and that I find satisfying. Get along well with others without conflict. Feel happy and enthusiastic about my activities. Feel the company of friends as enjoyable and rewarding, contentment and satisfaction with life.

2) To be physically healthy i.e. not sick, fit for exercise.


August 13th, 1983

Yogyakarta, Java, Indonesia [Borobudur]

(2 am Aug 14) A memorable day beginning with making love upon awakening; we caught an efficient succession of busses and horse drawn cart to Borobudur, which Bill Dalton claims is “The largest ancient monument in the Southern hemisphere” (I guess Machu Picchu doesn’t count – it was a “City”, and the Lines of Nayca which extend for miles must be classified under 2-lane entities, not monuments) and he states, “No nation or group of men could possibly build it today” (If they can build the Trans America pyramid, they could so!) and “It dwarfs the cathedrals of Europe” (most assuredly he’s forgotten about St. Peter’s Basilca or maybe he’s never been to Europe). However, the relieves in stone are fantastic displays of history showing sailing ships, elephants, carriage, daily life and entertainment of 1100 years ago. It was really fantastic. We took slow walks through the corridors. A becak ride, a bevio and a bus took us back to Yogya. We slept till evening and then took a walk in town. My state of mind is characterized by calm contentment and happiness. I am amazed by Kelly’s wonderfulness – she’s a companion from Heaven.

August 14th, 1983

In Selo Walking enroute to Munt Merapi, Java, Indonesia

Kelly sent Telex today to inform Mom we arrived in Singapore. K and I slept late. We went out because I had to find a pair of socks for the walkup Mt. Merapi. It took along time because I couldn’t find cotton socks. I just had time to go back home and grab my things and head up to Chirstoff’s hostel by 1 pm. I ate at the local Nasi campur stand and then we walked to catch a bus I kissed K goodbye and then Christoff and I hopped on the local bus to the bus terminal, then another bus to Kartosuro, then another to Boyolali and 2 more to Selo. We ate in Selo and found a house to stay in for 250 RP. Each.

We went to bed at 7 pm and slept until 11:30 pm, when we got our things together and headed out the door into the brisk air of the clear mountain night at 11:55 pm. After having seen Merapi closer and closer during our successive bus rides here, I was very excited to climb it. There was smoke visible by day. The night sky was abundantly filled with stars. We walked up the long dirt road towards the mountain and climbed the trail, resting infrequently. We trudged and climbed the last 500 meters through the volcanic rubble and up rocks, arriving at the summit at 4:20 am.

August 16th, 1983

Yogyakarta, Java Indonesia

We looked for lava. There was a wall of red among the blackness, which made a peculiar sound. We each took a number of photos of these fumaroles. Then I endeavored to get closer, walking down into the eerie depression. Christoff followed. Inside the “fumes” I beheld this spectacular sight. The fire gushed out of the rock as if it was gas burner, glowing ever so eerily against the starlit blue sky. Christoff likened it to “Looking into the devil’s cooking pot.” After a series of photo amidst heat and sulfurous gas. The ground beneath my feet turned into a blue flame and I jumped away and the ground where I’d stood began gushing fire. We climbed up and viewed the spectacular sunrise.

After eating, taking pictures of the volcano field landscape, we were leaving when an American geologist and French photographer came up. We stayed up for another 3 hours as the American explained the volcano to us. He pointed out the incredibly awesome dome! I climbed down and watched as the dome pushed boulders down a 2-mile chasm! I saw a boulder 10 feet in diameter hurling down, bouncing!! I sat there for an hour watching a near constant stream of boulders being pushed by the rising dome into the 2-mile chute! I was mesmerized. It was truly one of the most awesome things I’ve ever seen! The dome itself was few hundred meters across, a rivaled pile of grey mud and rock. It took us only 2 hours to climb down (I ran a lot!) We made our way back to Yogya. In the evening, Kelly and I bought our tickets for a bus leaving for Bali tomorrow.

An anecdote: On the bus from Selo, I watched Chirstoff and the busman talking. Christoph asked how much it cost. The busman said 150 Rp. Christoph (thinking he’d said 250 Rp) suggested he pay 200! The busman immediately agreed and Chrsitoph sat there with a look of triumph on his face! I told Christoph that it was only 150Rp but he wouldn’t believe me until the busman admitted it!

Note: I spent approx $1800 in PNG in 6 mo. 3 days and about $600 while on the sailboat.

August 17th, 1983

On bus on Java enroute to Bali, Indonesia

K and I made love one in the morning and once again before we left in the afternoon on the bus to Bali. We boarded the bus at abut 4 pm. (We tried to go see the Kraton, but the palace itself was closed). The bus ride was nice. They served bottled tea, had video Indonesian movies! We passed through Solo and Mediun and into the night. I cleared off the back seat and laid down and thought about how to lighten my baggage, going through each item I have in my mind. At 2:30 am we got to the edge of Java and waited for the ferry to Bali. During the ferry trip dawn came.

August 18th, 1983


Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

We were driving down the road the morning of the 18th when I though that the driver was proceeding precariously by the motorists and people gathered by roadside for Independence Day Festivities. Less than a minute after the front of the bus, witnessed a bloody and horrible spectacle. A teenage boy was swerving slowly on his bicycle in the middle of the road. As the driver honked, the boy turned his bike to the left and the collision was inevitable. The bus, going 40mph, hit him square on while the horrified spectators look on. I thought that we ran over him and said, “That guy is Dead!” but the bus had hurled him forward; the windshield was cracked and shattered where it had hit his head, the helpers on the bus gathered his body clumsily and brought him on the bus and we drove to a nearby hospital. I followed them in and witnessed gross incompetence.

The attendant was only an orderly who listened to the bus driver trying to expedite his guilt, while the boy lay on his table gasping for air, blood coming from his ear. The orderly left and a middle-aged nurse came in and swabbed blood form his ear, while breathing was becoming more difficult! I told them that they must tilt his head back to allow the windpipe to open, as obviously blood was clogging it! But they examined blood on his pillow and removed the pillowcase. I felt like I was going to get sick! I urged them to clear his breathing but they did nothing!! The breathing subsided and the orderly returned and placed an IV needle in the arm of a dead boy! There was no pulse I left and told Kelly and when I returned I asked the orderly if he was still alive. The man, who was taping the needle on said yes. I felt for a pulse and said I think he’s dead!! The orderly felt it and said you’re right, I tired to close his eyes but the hard lids came back. No one cared. Later, the bus driver was jovial. We were dropped of in Denpasar.

K and I went to Imagrasi and renewed our visas for 21,500Rp. We continued to Kuta Beach and tiredly tried to find a losman in the afternoon. In the evening we tripped around, ate. I was disappointed to discover that they’ve outlawed magic mushroom omelets here. Later, K went home and I waited till 12 am to talk with a drug dealer who said to meet him at 10 pm tomorrow night to buy some pot/hash. (We bumped into a guy we met on the plane to Jayapura. Since then, he’s been to Ambon (dirty) and Sulawesi, where he found the people oppressive.

August 19th, 1983

Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

Last night we were told to go to the Bombay Rock to inquire about pot tonight. We slept late. I had about 3 cups of coffee and I wrote an excellent introduction to my condensed notes, the TREK, for PNG, which I want to present to my grandmother. We had arrived at 10 pm as agreed, but the guy wasn’t there. We sat on a street corner and humored the crowd, saying things like “are you a hungry tiger” to a girl who pulls her head out of her ass momentarily unable to resist her curiosity to see who said it, or any variety of animisms, produced from our mouths. I asked some guy if he wanted “Meester, to buy my Seester;” and instead he walked us down to the beach to smoke a joint. Later he tried to sell us $2 worth of pot for $30. Instead we went to the Bombay Rock and the owner sold us some grade A hash for $10. We went home and got stoned and made the most incredible love.

August 20th, 1983

Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

We woke up at 9:30 am, talked to the travelers next door, got stoned and bombed on a bemo to Denpasar. Some French girl wanted us to come with her to a Balinese cremation, but I don’t have a camera with me, so we go get our passports from Imigrasi, no gratzie, for taking our 21,5000 rupees. We took a bemo out to the harbor. There were 9 yachts anchored in the water. It didn’t look promising. Two notes up, one said $350 to Darwin on a Indonesian sail craft. The other was from a guy like me who is looking for a boat. Went back to the losemen, got it on, and then slept. I got up and went out to eat at 10 pm; Kelly slept because she didn’t go to sleep last night. Later, I cam back and we went out to Bombay Rock. We went to Dogie’s to get a hamburger, I complained about the meat, they hit me and threw me out, called the police. The punks. Met Kelly back at the losemen. She made me feel better.

P.S. – one guy barely scratched me that’s all.

August 21st, 1983

Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

In the morning, walking late, I spent until early afternoon trying to write The Trek. I wrote 16 pages on the first day and I felt it was uninteresting. I estimated that if I wrote as many pages each of the 39 days of the trek, there would be 600 pages to write, which is ridiculous considering there is not that much interesting to write about. So I think maybe 2 pages daily or about 80 totally to describe the trek would be sufficient. I will attack this tomorrow.

Thereafter, the day went so quickly. K and I went to the beach, where I was delighted to see so many topless girls – it makes me delight in the joy of nature. On our walk back in the sunset, we met Joe. We smoked some pipe loads and went to his place where we ate Padang style. He’s got a cute 17-year-old ex-girlfriend – she’s Indonesian. K and I went to bed early: 10:30 pm.

August 22nd, 1983

Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

P.S. To yesterday when I had my first massage on the beach. Two women for Rp 1000 for ½ hour, but it weren’t so hot. I tried to write in another style today, but again I feel uninterested by what I read back. I still haven’t struck on the right method of recounting my tale! If indeed there be one to tell! Tonight we walked on the beach and smoked a spiked cigarette! Later, I smoked and smoked while Kelly slept. I was just too stoned altogether, and I wrote some in my tale, but it was mostly undirected. Later we went by Bombay Rock, but the guy with the stuff had just left. So it was late before I fell asleep. I feel so listless, it is starting to worry me. Life seems presently uneventful, one could almost say boring. I wish I was a surfer here with a wad of money, a plane ticket home, a good stack and 2 foxy girlfriends! Paradise!

August 23rd, 1983

Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

A leisurely morning (I am a mess because I have nothing to do!) Smoking, drinking coffee and trying to write a confounded report to my grandmother! Eventually, I, the vegetable of Kuta Beach, rouse myself and alone I got to Sanin Beach to get an American Express office list, but the agent there doesn’t have one. I got to UBUD, and eventually I walked to a nearby “monkey forest” where a huddle of men want your autograph and donation. I tell them I’ll pay them on my way out. At a temple, a woman, surely for religious reasons only, screams that I must not enter the temple without a sash, but she has some for rent!! I find some monkeys in a rice field and sit among them and take their pictures! I sneak out of the forest. I take buses back to Kuta. I have a delicious meal of spring roll and fish. I listen to a gamelan orchestra, which is mystifying. At 4:30 am K and I make love.

August 24th, 1983

Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

Shrooms! The first two days here, I wanted to leave, but now that we’re finding out how to get what we want and where to eat, finding friends, now, I say, I don’t want to leave at all! What a party place! The girls on the beach are so nice! In the evening K and I happened to be walking by the Midnight Oil, a place where Joe said we could get mushies. The place was closed but the tour place adjacent to it was selling spiked fruit juice under the counter! I bought a small and drank some. It came on at the end of a big fish dinner! We walked to the beach. K and I made it. Later, went to the beach again. I stared at the moon and clouds and surf and it seemed evident to me, in light of what Socrates said, that there is a god. Late, we had a conversation with a strange but well traveled man who works for the State Department, USA.






August 25th, 1983

Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

What a nice day! Did it in the morning, a very leisurely morning. Joe came by and said he wanted to do shrooms with me again. Kelly and I had a great American Breakfast at the Pub. I went down the beach and observed all the tits – I really love all the topless girls! Later, Joe and I went down to Midnight Oil and brought some mushroom fruit juices and consumed them. Even though today’s was lager (rp 2500), I didn’t get as stoned, but I felt so bitchin’! I felt so free, unworried and easy! We (I) went to eat at the Gemini, then took a bemo to Legion because Kelly wanted to eat at a place there. I walked around with my sarong on and sandals and some necklaces from the Solomons; under my sarong and at the beach, I wear only my blue underwear/swim trunks. I saw 3 really cute girls here tonight. This place is crawling with chicks! Kelly says she wants me to fuck some if I can, because I deserve it! We had Arrock and Coke for 400 Rp (for 2). This girl Wendy had a unique face, beautiful eyes and mouth. Even though her boyfriend was there and Kelly standing right there, I almost kissed her as I sat next to her. I feel bob. Joe scored some hash for us.

August 26th, 1983

Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

Bobbest of bobs. Besides a generally nice day of eating, going to the beach, being pounded by the waves, smoking excellent hash, I had an interesting interlude as follows: After dinner our 2nd dinner, K and I were walking along and noticed the foxy German girl, whom was among the 3 girls I mentioned yesterday as attracting me in these girl-filled streets. K said I should pick up on her, and we walked back to the hostel. K knew I wanted to, and encouraged me. I walked back to where the German girl was standing. I went to a tape shop. She came in and her male, German friend left. I asked her to come for a juice with me. We took a walk to the beach. I kissed her. (Her name: Ricarrda.) I felt her big luscious tits and ran my hands along her tight pants where her cunt lips showed through. My goal was to fuck her, but I didn’t. We made out for ½ hour or more. We held hands as we walked back to her hostel. She smelled good all over. When I got back to the hostel, Kelly was waiting with only a t-shirt on. I told her about it; we made love twice; it was fantastic!

August 27th, 1983

Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

Let today be characterized as the first time in my life that I had a full-on hallucination! Yikes! Well, also, say this: that I pounded pavement for Riccarda, that German girl. It is like this: I kept going by her place and she wasn’t there at 2:30 to take mushrooms with me, so I went and took most of them myself, giving Kelly a bit. K and I smoked some hash and then I began marveling at the walls of the room, so colorful, the after-sight being the (often orange-ish blue) impression of sight left when you stare at alight bulb, resembling stars. We went to the beach to watch the sunset. At sunset, I took a swim. There were some clouds shooting lightening a few miles off, and I thought a line of it came down towards me and I thought I felt the shock! We I came out of the water, though I saw a flash of light in mid-air off to my left about 50 feet away on the beach, and again I thought I felt a shock. Later at night still no trace of Riccarda. I saw her finally in a bar but while I was thinking how to handle it, she left and I didn’t see where she went. She has a terrific body.

August 28th, 1983

Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

Well, diary, it is like this. Kelly and I spotted Riccarda on the beach today. I got her address in Germany and I told her I’d come by her hostel at 6:30 pm. She was seen holding hands with the guy she was walking with, a German fellow. I thought that either Riccarda would not be there in the evening, or if she was, that she would’ve been with friends. Thus, I took Kelly with me. We were walking in the alley of her losemen at 7:10 pm, when she walked by! Kelly excused herself and I walked Riccarda down to where she was going to have dinner with her friends. She was alone. She leaned on me and was cheerful. [Note this, that when we had met her, Kelly and I where holding hands: mistake?] I grabbed her butt, I kissed her, but she was in a hurry to dinner. It didn’t really hit me until later that she’d been waiting for me alone; she told me Hans had already left. I told her to come by the Arak/Tuak place but she never showed. Later K and I swung by her place. K split and I went in. She was ready for bed. We talked. Then, later, I pressed her against the wall and felt her up. She said she’d spend time with me on Tuesday but I pressed and she shut the door on me.

August 29th, 1983

Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

I rented a paddleboard today, but I returned it for another, which I’ll use tomorrow, since the first one I got wasn’t so hot. However, it is always fun to play in the surf and sun here, among the topless girls. I really love Kuta beach. The food is so cheap, and clothes here are nice and fashionable in a European sense. As we are adequately supplied, we enjoy frequent smokes.

In the morning Kelly fixes coffee for me and buys cakes for Rp 100 from a woman who comes by the Losemen. Kelly is forever rinsing out, washing and drying clothes. Every day, the sun is out in force. After dinner at the Padang-Style Restaurant (where you buy pre-cooked, delicious Indonesian food and hot rice), we went to the Tropicana where I got a fresh baked small apple pie and ice cream for 650 rupees. I’ve been reading Parliament of A Thousand Tribes – good book! I left a note of apology to Ricarrda and guess the matter is closed. In the middle of the night I awoke to envious flashes of light in the room. I didn’t think you get flash backs from mushrooms, so I got up and checked and it was only a sputtering fluorescent bulb outside in the seating area of the Loseman.

August 30th, 1983

Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

Tonight I was in a state of exhaustion, as I spent 4 hours or so riding a body board today in the Kuta/Legian Surf. I had a great deal of fun; I rode many, many waves. I got pummeled a lot as well, which no doubt contributed to my exercise. I went out once in the morning and came back to the beach in the afternoon for two more bouts in the surf. As usual, the sun was out in force today, and the topless girls abound as well. K and I, of course, smoked copiously (in reality 10 or 15 hits a day is plenty to keep my high).

In the evening, I traded/paid cash for (Rp 400) a purple scarf with gold tinsel in it. We ate dinner at the night market, which was cheap and good: (wheat noodles with shrimp and veggies 500 rp). We came back and crashed. We’re probably going to leave tomorrow so we can see Bromo before we depart form Jakarta on Monday. I’ll miss this place. It’s one of the best places to vacation in the world!

August 31st, 1983

Enroute to Probolingo, in Bus, on Java, Indonesia

Today was our last day on Kuta beach. I’m going to miss it terribly! This has got to be one of the best vacation spots in the world! Besides a great surf, sun, beautiful beach, cheap and delicious food, cheap and pleasant accommodations, there is also the standard Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll – also, the clothes make shopping fun.

Today, I traded in my jean shorts on a bob pair of swim trunks. (We each had a massage in our room.) I rented a surfboard. K and I went to the beach. I got up on my knees several times and once at the end of the wave, I stood up for a moment. Well, at least I tried surfing. I think I’ll be doing more in the future if I get a chance: it’s a whole new way to enjoy the ocean! We left the beach about 3 and got our bags together. We caught a pre-arranged bemo to Denpasar and then the bus to the west tip of Bali. We smoked while waiting for the ferry. We took the ferry trip again, and finally rolled into Probolingoo at 2:45 am. Rom Probolinggo, we caught a bus to Ngadisari. It became cold as the elevation increased. Finished Parliament of a Thousand Tribes.

September 1st, 1983

Cemoro Lawang, Java, Indonesia [Mt. Bromo]

We got to Ngadisari at about 6 am. It was cold! We got the first in a series of copi susus, put some warm stuff on, donned our baggage and walked 3 km up the hill to Cemoro Lawang. I took a bunch of pictures of the tremendous crater antique. Inside the old crater is housed Mt. Bromo and Mt. Batok – the latter a perfect volcanic cone – the former a still – sizzling crater. We got a room and slept until 4. We had some eats and set of to Mt. Bromo in early dusk. Coming home across the vast volcanic plain were 2 ponies, 2 riders and 2 cloaked Javanese Indians running after them as fast as their little feet would carry them. I ran up the cement steps to the crater’s edge as daylight fell away into the purple and pink lines that rested along a skyline of peaks. Picture- perfect cone, quite large, Bromo descends to a bed of fumaroles, glowing hot red.

We smoked under a blanket, then I took a bunch of photos. Here was a path of flaming eerie blue off to the left and a green dot in the fumaroles. We thought about walking the rim, but chickened out. Brisk walk back. I took a photo of a cloaked Kelly with a flashlight under her chin against the night sky and Mt. Batok. She looked incredible like a being from another age, and mystical. Sort of Indian.

September 2nd, 1983

Enroute to Jakarta, On Train from Surbaya, Java, Indonesia

We woke up in the cold room, one of those mornings with the down bag and 2 blankets keeping us toasty warm and in no disposition to get up! We got up at 8:30 and had copi susus at the raunchy warung. We had a smoke, then descended the road, marveling at the Peru like morning and the New Guinea – like cultivation carpeting steep slopes. The cobblestone path runs directly down to Ngadisari. I busted my thong and walked down barefoot. We stopped to eat and then began a bus ride to Probolinggo. We raced away as soon as we got there on an uncomfortable 2½ hour ride to Surabaya. Once there, we caught a train to Jakarta. This morning I finished Candied [the last time I read it was senior year in High School). We slept a lot on the train. People are lying in the aisles sleeping, between the sets on the floor sleeping, in their seats sleeping, and the tea boys and food women ply the aisles. I lay on the floor on my swiss army mat, my head under our seat.

September 3rd, 1983

Jakarta, Java, Indonesia

Tonight we bought a dessert on the street that was super-delicious: a Martabak Manis Special, at Bandung Asli 99, on Jin Agus Salim, (Lecat and Gurih) made of Butter Wysman, Kacang, Coklat, Wijen, Keju, Telur dan Sasu! We met some people form Canada who couldn’t describe their (wonderful) experience in Bali, and it makes me think, since they were so keyed up (!), that one shouldn’t take their experiences too seriously! Temper with humor. I met the French Photographer in a losemen today – the guy who was on top of Mt. Merapi. He’s just been to Krakatoa, and now he’s writing and article about it. The room we got for 5500 rupees is great – it is large with a huge bed a couch, a fan, and a veranda. We still have enough yam left to keep us stoned all day usually. Kelly stopped taking (ran out of) the pill last month, so when we fucked today, I pulled out when I came. I wrote a letter to Gam and one to Gray tonight. Diary, that dessert we had, the Martabak, was one of the most delicious things I ever tasted. I stayed up late.

September 4th, 1983

Jakarta, Java, Indonesia

Today I wrote letters to Mandy and Eric Gunn. Diary, I admit that it’s probably a passing thing, but I’m thinking of home which seems far way, and I’m missing the things which I could have. Though true that the focal point of my goals is to enjoy life to the fullest, how to achieve that is perhaps subject to debate. To see new places and things is certainly a thrill, but the in-between times of staying in hot hotels in filth-ridden cities is, or could become, a drag. I really need to assess my life and set a direction for myself. No diary, the thrill of traveling hasn’t left me, but I seek to be off the beaten path, and my financial situation is getting confining.

As today was Sunday, the city was much more quiet than usual today. It was really nice as we roamed the peaceful streets. We looked at a butterfly collection at the President Hotel. We looked for the Martabak stand but wasn’t there tonight. We’re really hooked!!

September 5th, 1983

Enroute to Tanjung Pinang, aboard Km. Tampoma’s, Indonesia

8:30 pm: Kelly and I have got our place staked out on one of the upper decks of this huge ship, Tampomas. The ship is still sitting in the harbor. It was supposed to leave at 6 pm. Had we known it was going to be so late we could have stayed in town until the Martabak place opened. We both were really looking forward to buying some Martabaks. They are embarrassingly delicious! I got letters, which were forwarded from Sulawewsi. 2 letters from Gam, 2 postcards from Mom, and an article from my Sister on Sikkim. My Mom isn’t coming to Singapore. That’s disappointment! The ship finally got underway at about 9 pm. It didn’t take me long to fall into a deep sleep from which I didn’t awake until morning. It’s too bad my Mom isn’t showing up. I had been hoping to be able to talk with her and fortify communication between myself and home.

September 6th, 1983


Enroute to Tanjung Panang aboard Km. Tampondas

I had a good sleep last night. I awoke to the clamor of the crowd around me, people eating, the occasional radio, mother’s tending to their babies needs. The sun got hot. Later it began to rain. I took a tour of the boat, and I came to a spot where all the Westerner’s were hanging out, a blocked off patch of clean, shaded deck. A New Zealand guy (a Kiwi) named Hugh came over and talked to me. He told me about the Russian fighter that shot down a Korean 747. He suggested K and I move ourselves to this patch of deck. K and I got our stuff and moved, now much more content (being away from the crowded filth). There was a longhair man, a Spaniard, who I talked to. He’s been traveling for 27 years!

The Spaniard claims he has seen every country. He has not been to Papua New Guinea, I found out. He says he lived 10 years in France. He is strange looking, but so charming, that his face becomes a nice vision. He gesticulates, his face becomes animated when he explains. He answers questions fully and sincerely. He says that he’s recently been refused entry to Australia because the diplomat at the consulate thought he was crazy because of his long hair! He even brought a letter of recommendation of good character from the Spanish Embassy, and, subsequently, a letter from a doctor as to his normality. He’s been to Australia before though. He said it’s the first time in 27 years (that is, ever) that he’s been refused entry to a country.

In short, diary, my talks with this man have re-inspired me to travel. It is his life. He was the most interesting person I’ve talked to recently. His manner was warm, humorous and fatherly. He told me not to smoke ganja while trekking. Bring 2kg dried fruit and 1kg. cheese. Go alone without a guide, watch the trail. No need to bring other food. Houses along the way. Bring 2 pairs socks and pants and shoes, 1 pullover and a cap and a mat and a sleeping bag. Also essential – 2 knee braces – those elastic kind!! Rest 3-4 days at Nayi Bayar to acclimate. Walk 10-11 hours a day – No more!! The Spaniard loved the places he went to. He said, “It as fantastic, magnifique, for me!”

He supports himself through his artwork. He gave me all the particulars about trekking in Nepal to Base Camp and he even went to the first of 8 stations between Base Camp and the peek of Everest! I awoke in the middle of the night with diarrhea and vomiting! Yuk.

September 7th, 1983


The morning would have been, well, fun, perhaps, if I hadn’t been so fucking sick! The boat (ship) anchored at 7 am. A ferry came to transport us to Tanjing Pinang at 9 am. I said goodbye to the Spaniard. While we were waiting for the ferry to depart (the ferry was pulled up against the ship), garbage was thrown and poured out onto the deck of the ferry from a porthole of the ship! Kelly, I, Hugh, Gary Nil and the guy from Wales and his girl from Canada, marveled and joked about the inconsideration and filth of Indonesia!! At Tanjung Pinang, Kelly and I were accompanied by Trimando, our Indonesian friend met on the ship. We caught the “express” ferry to Singapore.

While waiting for the ferry in a prison cage-like area I was urged by the immigration officials to put on my shirt. In my reluctantly complying antagonizing way, I said I would, but I asked them why. One official got angry because I asked them why. The others took varying expressions. I asked why again. One official tried to appeal to my intelligence by explaining: “If you have shirt off, people will look at you and see you!” This, I said, was pretty ok. The official who had gotten angry tried to intimidate me by threatening: “If you don’t have your shirt on, I might call you a nudist! How would you like that?” I replied that I thought nudity was fantastic! I was told finally that it was against Indonesia custom to be without a shirt. As I donned my shirt, I related to them how confusing it seemed to me that it is impolite not to wear a shirt, yet as a regular matter I had seen Indonesians drop their trousers in full sight of a man squat and defecate in a small river which I assume, is used to irrigate crops and possibly as drinking water! They were happy that I put on my shirt, which relived them of a moral duty to force me to wear it through coercion.

Tri found us a place to stay for $12 (US 5.58) At night we toured the town with Tri. Singapore is one of the most beautiful cities in the world!! I was totally amazed at the cleanliness (littering in Singapore is punishable by a $500 fine and, if not payable, by 6 months in prison!) and the gorgeous tall buildings, each of unique design. It is wondrous like being home!

September 8th, 1983


Though feeling quite ill myself, went to town to begin checking things out. In short order, we occasioned upon Hugh, who accompanied us for the remainder of the day. We changed money, went to Istana on Orchard. St., the expensive distinct; there, we went to McDonalds hamburgers! It was great to eat there, but my stomach not in such good shape, it was disastrous for my well being. We walked among the shops, and my marvel at Singapore on first sight was upheld by these subsequent experiences. Every possible service and luxury seems existent in Singapore. In the evening, K and I now back at the oppressively unkempt “Mama’s,” Tri came by. We repaid him for money lent and spent on us, but Tri would not accept about $530 – ($14.50) of it, which we rightfully owed him. The night found me miserable oppressed by the germs breeding and belching in my stomach. I finally stuck my finger down my throat.

September 9th, 1983


(12:30 am Sat) Mr. International reporting here in Singapore. I feel like I am on the gateway to the Orient. First off, I note my sickness has all but disappeared. I ate only an apple tonight and drank 3 cups of tea today. Starving out the germs seems to be working as I feel human again.

Good news: I called Norma today and she agreed to send me $500 and I’m to mail her a check for $500! This is super important for me, since I am now financially in a position to go through to Nepal and India! I am totally psyched up for trekking! Otherwise, it was a fair day even considering I didn’t eat and I had a bad time of it this morning (physically). I got the notion that Proxmyre is supposed to represent modern society and Pita , the primitiveness of the human race! We’re planning on finding a new place to stay tomorrow. “Mama’s” is sort of a hole!

September 10th, 1983


Jurong Bird Park. This bird park is supposed to be the world’s largest. K, Hu and I got out there in the afternoon. The primer sight was the old cassowary from Ceram! He had a horn on the top of his head 8″ long, 4″ wide at the base and 7″ high! It was a horn, which resembled the horn of a rhinoceros in material. The flowing skin of its neck was incredibly gorgeous ultra-blue with red. The large body was covered with black feathers. Its feet where 3-toed and massive. It stood about 5′ high. It tired to ram us from the other side of the fence, letting out a war snort! It faced away from us, turned and twisted its neck until its head peaked out from between its legs, hoping to clandestinely recognizance our behavior!

The other “cherishable” sight was the red-tailed birds of paradise! The key birds (2) were only photographable through wire. For me, it was a long awaited consummation of a desire to see one in flight. The Red-tailed bird had 3-foot long spiraling trails on either side. For me, it was consummately beautiful. Also, flamingos, eagles, turacos, ostriches, vultures, hornbills, the wonderful corned pigeon of New Guinea, owls, penguins, peacock, parrots and a 22 hectare walk-in aviary, plus much more. Duck and rice dinner for $1.20 and ¾ L tiger beer – U$ 1.50!

September 11th, 1983


Today I didn’t feel so great. Needing the rest, I lay on the dormitory floor on my mattress, reading, talking. The day passed away, as they do, so quickly. In the evening, I led Kelly and Noel to Shakey’s pizza parlor because I wanted to eat pizza and it suited their fancy as well. Even the pictures of the pizza in the menu looked awful, let alone the actual pizza. When it came to our table we were disappointed, though it was fun making jokes about how bad it was.

Noel was good company. We had a beer before we went home. Back on the dorm floor, K scooted her rear over to me. We were both really enjoying it till some guy got up to go to the toilet. Then K said it sort of hurt. I finished in short order.

Diary, from Singapore, its Asia. Psyche up! The Himalayas! Everest! There’s so many who have climbed there before, but that fact won’t detract from the awesomeness of the mountains. I want to trek alone.

September 12th, 1983


Feeling ill still so I was talked into going to the doctor’s. There’s a clinic around the corner where you can see a doc and get mediation all for S$4 (less than U$ 2); it’s government run. So I went there. The lady doctor gave me medicine. She checked my ear too and said there’s a discharge and gave me some drops. Apparently, my ear has been infected for months! After I took some medicine, I felt great. K and I went uptown and I scarfed out a Wendy’s hamburger! It was, for me, delicious. I got in an argument at a Minolta shop and I called the police when the guy threatened me (In a reaction to what happened in Bali). At night we looked at camera lenses. I got some solid info but must do more shopping. K went to bed early. I went out to get a pre-bed time meal. Stupid me! I got (greasy, fatty) chicken and (Fatty) rice and soup and a beer! I went home and went to bed on my mattress on the dorm floor next to Kelly. When I awoke in the night, I thought about how the medicine I had taken had some morphine in it – and I’d had alcohol. I was frightened. (Later I found out there’s very little morphine.)

September 13th, 1983


Worst Day of the Year: I awoke maybe at 2 am feeling so nauseous that I was compelled to stick my finger down my throat; gruel came up in a lump, and on repeated attempts slid up my throat, sometimes getting caught halfway. I went back to bed, but I had to get up to “get nauseous” again. “I felt so weak! I thought I might die!” After 3 visits to the toilet I was thirsty and hot. There was nowhere to go. It was dark. The fridge was locked. But the freezer with ice water, open. I drank many glasses – a mistake! Suddenly I was on the toilet. Clear water flowed out my rear. Then I began vomiting columns of cold water! I finally went out to find 7up. I walked to the food marts and a place was open. I had nearly 2 7 up’s and some hot tea. I walked home, but before I could get in, I vomited it all up on the ground! I finally woke K, who, reluctantly, got up, it now being dawn and got me the orange juice I carried even though she thought it was bad for me. My temperature dropped from 100.7 to 99.2 in 30 minutes after drinking the OJ K made by hand. I went back to the doctor’s. She insisted I go to the hospital but it was a minimum of S$160 a day so I refused. Kelly was an excellent nursemaid to me all day. I was in pain all day. I had severe cramps, and I was very weak. I finally fell asleep at about 10:30 pm. I’ve lost a lot of fluids.

September 14th, 1983


A deep sleep. I thanked the heavens when I gained wakefulness in the dark morning of the dormitory; I felt no pain. I drank some OJ and the cramps started again, but I felt on the whole, recovering today. Kelly took expert care of me. If it weren’t for her, I would have had to go to the hospital. We changed to a private room this afternoon (one floor down) for S$22. K went to the clinic and discussed my condition with the doctor, who seemed pleased with my progress. I read Newsweek a lot today. I had cramps often during the day. After I began sobbing, thinking how cruel people are to one another, or how wonderful some deed was, but the underlying reason was that I was thankful to be alive and getting well. Whether or not I was in the danger zone of death I can’t say, but I didn’t think it, and the reaction on my mind was the same. I fell asleep at 11:30. I had such a deep sleep!

Before I awoke I had an awesome dream. It is too detailed here, but the visionary power of the content shook me to my bones. The end of the dream was when Sid (I gave names to all the characters upon awakening. Sid, Frank, Wendy and Chara. It was vivid) began to hum being high on the huge kiwi-like marijuana pods, and the doors to my old room began to come off their hinges, the frames came lose, over again. We threw him out the window and my Mom came in. I awoke. When I awoke I felt in total contact with my subconscious. I had a drink of juice and I laid back on my bed in the dark. A bead of the liquid came out of the side of my mouth and slithered down my cheek. I thought how ordinary we would normally view this, yet how incredibly powerful and awesome is such a thing – illusions of atoms in an explosion, the momentary rush of huge masses of liquid race across the surface of a unique, giant being. Worlds turn in the glimpse; it’s scintillatingly intriguing!”

In reflection, I wish my powers of perception could always be so acute! It’s like what they say it’s like for a Papua New Guinean to discuss “advanced” philosophical concepts with his limited Melanesian vocabulary – I can’t find the words to express what a part of me senses. Kelly: “The doors to perception – open the right doors.” When I woke up in the morning, I really wondered if maybe the Papua New Guineans who believed the dream state is as real as the waking state weren’t right. It’s more than real sometimes. I was thinking of basing Proxmire on my dreams!

Today my cramps had gone and by the night. As part of my plan (which I vowed Tues morning that I stay in bed for 3 whole days even if I felt like getting up), I spent the whole day lounging about in the room, reading and copying the TIM manual. The dream of the morning spent me thinking about how I can reach and record my dream world.

September 16th, 1983


Today I was well again, though I took it easy on what I ate, for I don’t want to chance a relapse. We went uptown (where the nice places are, around Orchid Road and Scotts Road.) At the American Express office we found out that neither of us have received our funds yet. We have to deal with this now – we may have to extend our stay here to wait for our money. Most likely, Kelly will fly from here. I applied for a visa to Thailand today. We met a lady shopkeeper who told us 3 good places to eat. We went to one and had Roast Pork Noodles (Rice Noodles – Hofan) Soup – it was like Grandma’s home cooking if Grandma was Chinese! Only S$3! In the evening I went through my possessions. With the things I’m giving Kelly to take back for me, I’ll be down to perhaps 40 lbs., 15 lbs. less then when we got here. I found out today where I can get some semi-pro recording gear here, and it could be much cheaper than from the states. I weighed myself today. 63.5kg or 139.7 lbs. At my lowest point Tuesday morning, I was probably down to 135 lbs!

September 17th, 1983


I am enjoying a little Davidoff cigar from Cuba. I am really happy because I am well, because I have so many wondrous adventures behind me and so many unknown ones ahead. There is so much to do it makes me want to put myself in high gear and go for the gusto. (I feel like starting to “Silent Treatments” regularly and plan my ass off and attack my future aggressively and sensibly.) Being well makes me feel exhilarated because I feel the power to act, to move and to eat everything I want!! I can only pray and work hard to eke my genius out of me. We enjoyed a Pepper Steak dinner and the Emerald Steak House. The house wine was good. For lunch we returned today to the place around the side of the Tropicana for Roast Pork Noodles (Hfun) Soup – superb for S$3.00. The day was beautifully sunny and hot. We walked among tree-lined avenues. We stopped at the National Museum, and I noted that Negritos live in Malaysia’s hills. We went to he Van Kleef Aquarium. We liked the 13′ crocodile, the piranhas we admired, and we pondered the stonefish. My list keeps getting longer of all the things I want to do in Singapore. We found a swimming pool.

September 18th, 1983


Diary, lately I’ve been transcribing the relations for entry into countries from the TIM manual. I’m almost done. It is quite interesting to be able to now find out in a few seconds whether or not I need a visa and other pertinent info for everyplace on earth. Conclusions I’ve drawn:

i) Iran may be my only overland obstacle from India to Europe or Africa.

ii) Traveling through the Gold Coast of Africa may be made particularly consular rep. in each adjacent country. Psych-up!!!

We didn’t wake up till noon today. We went out to the National museum. I was very impressed by the Chinese ceramics – from 3000 B.C. to the 18 th century, including Ming period, Sung period, the beautiful post-Ming works. Also impressive were the silk clothes from Cambodia. After, we went uptown. An asshole in one camera shop told us to check out the Minolta showroom on the 6th floor. He lied, it wasn’t there. We went back an asked again and he told us “6th floor” again. I got angry and he smirked and laughed while I complained to his boss. Wishing to wipe the smile from his face, I told him to his face: “I spit in your eye and your mothers a whore!” “What?” “Your mothers’ a whore.” The smile vanished and he was real mad. I put on a plastic smile as we left! I read in a book on Nepal trekking that most treks are undertaken in Oct to April to avoid the monsoon, so I don’t have to rush!

September 19th, 1983


Note: A month or so ago I was writing what I really wanted, and in order of importance I listed –

i) To be mentally healthy and

ii) To be physically healthy.

Now after being deathly sick I realize that I can’t be mentally healthy unless I’m physical healthy! So, I now place physical health as no. 1, numero uno, for that is the basis of mental health. And in tribute of that today I ate very much – this is all part of a delightful effort to gain 10 lbs! I called Norma again. She said she couldn’t send the funds to an Amex Card, so Stan is going to send it tomorrow. Kelly was denied an extension to stay in Singapore, but another girl here went to Malaysia and back tonight and got 2 more weeks. Kelly got $550 in money orders from her Mom today, but we can’t cash anywhere!

Will is the power to set your momentum in a desired direction but chance may direct your momentum. What causes events?

1) Momentum (of subject)

2) Chance (momentum of all entities in an environment – we call it chance because it is so complicated, no one can determine the outcome).

Christians would explain that God granted men Will, which separates them from Animals. Kelly says: Desire causes momentum.


September 20th, 1983


“I want to be in a state of Idealing” – I coin this word and I give it the definition: that state in which things flow mentally manifesting your ideas and dreams into reality. I wrote that in Wewak.

My lecture for tonight is quality. That is, it is much better to associate with quality stores, buy quality things and converse with quality people. Let’s face it: if you make wise decisions, it is possible to be on the quality road. If you allow yourself to be debased by the unscrupulous, you lose. If you are wise and carefully choose your path, you can enjoy better things. Careful shopping is important – be thorough. Don’t waste a second on your precious life in the company of the impolite. A day to solve dilemmas and enjoying eating.

K went to the American Embassy. She called her folks who’ll wire their money to the Embassy. I found out that Citibank has offices all over, including Africa, to which, in the future, I can have money sent. I went to Immigration and got a special pass which says that I can stay till 30 Sept, if I leave on a particular flight, etc. (Which is my own BS story) but I’ll “change my mind” and go by land. We had a scrumptious steak dinner, Hagen Daas ice-cream dessert. I feel great!! Steak was so good, it is fairly incredible and it was only 4.88 USD! The Emerald Steak house serves the best steak! Also, we had a glass of house wine, which is delicious.

For breakfast, we ate down the street a few doors: yesterday for example, we had (all together) 3 soft boiled eggs, 3 orders of cheese toast and 4 cups of milk coffee for USD $1.95! Is that incredible? (And it tastes delicious) no wonder we breakfasted there again today. For lunch, we returned for the 4th time around the back of the Tropicana and had Roast Pork Hofun (Rice Noodles) say for $1.50USD, and the previous times we had the same dish but in soup form for $1.41 UDSD. This dish is really delicious. I am so enjoying eating!

September 21st, 1983


[I repeat:] Since I got sick, I realized that my mental well-being is totally dependent on my physical well-being, more so than vice versa. So I have now placed as prime priority my physical well being above every other single consideration in life. Eat well, make sure my body is strong and fortified.

Today I felt really run down, probably due to a lack of sleep, as we have been waking “early” every morning in order to take care of business. I called Norma today to make sure that the money has been sent. She assured me the money had been sent, but not until “this morning,” i.e. Tuesday – morning San Francisco time. Well, at least it was finally sent. I went and got a cholera shot today. I did not revive until this evening when, on the spur of the moment, we went out and caught a bus to the Paramount theatre, some miles away. I ate some delicious. Lim Sum – inside the white dough, there was roast pork, chicken, egg and sauce. Before the show, we walked into a Chinese medicine shop. They had some strange medicines, among them: Rhinoceros horn, sea horses, antelope horn (reduces fever), herbs that cost S$1000 per ounce, ginseng, a large black “mushroom” that Kelly says helps cure cancer, dried tiger penis, flying foxes, etc.

At 9:30 pm, we saw An Officer and a Gentlemen. We both loved it and found it inspiring. I cried my eyes out during different parts of the movie. It was real good. Caught a bus back to our door.

September 22nd, 1983


What a difference now that I have received my money! With reasonable assurance (Still waiting for Kelly to receive her money) that my travel plans will go into effect, I am exalted! Here I go to Malaysia, Thailand, Burma, India and Nepal!!! Tonight we went to see Flashdance, which we both thoroughly enjoyed. I loved the scene where she danced to the song Maniac. Again, I cried through the movie – I felt personal about her desire to “make it” in the arts. I felt inspired when we left.

In the morning, I went to American Express and I found out that my money had arrived. I was relieved. Then I went to the Indian embassy and applied for my visa. I’m to pick up the passport tomorrow. (You see, yesterday. I went there but since I didn’t have money to prove “sufficient fund,” I was turned away. Today I showed him my money and my application was accepted.) Of course, today, for lunch we again went to the Quick Lunch around back of the Tropicana for roast pork hofun soup. Yum. I’ve gained 3.5 kg since last week. From 63.5kg to 67kg.

September 23rd, 1983


In the morning, while I was eating breakfast, an Australian bloke introduced himself. I mention it because we may travel together to Chiang Rai in Thailand. I’d rather go with another guy than alone since it’s dangerous there. There’s even a warning at the American Embassy, which says that gangs of bandits inhabit the area – drug traffickers. This guys name is Paul. I went to get my passport at the India embassy – they gave me triple entry for 90 days total. After, Kelly, Paul and I had lunch at Quick Lunch/Tropicana and then Paul and I caught the 164 out to the Sembawan Marina. We had a couple of beers and later talked to a few of the yachters. I didn’t find out about any yachts going to India or Africa but they suggest trying Phuket in Thailand or Galle in Sri Lanka in January. They suggested that I could find lots of yachts in Spain/Mediterranean for an Atlantic crossing. We went to see the very boring Max Dugan Returns. After, Kelly called her Mother and found out that instead of sending money to the Embassy, she sent it to American Express!!

September 24th, 1983


I plan to leave Singapore on Tuesday morning. This morning, I called American Express and confirmed that K’s money has arrived, though we can’t pick it up till Monday. K is planning on flying to Tokyo on Monday night, 10:35 pm. I will miss her very, very much. I’ve grown quite attached to the sweet little thing! We never fight anymore, especially, i.e., since we’re living comfortable. Well, I’ll be on my own in 72 hours. The plan is for her to wire USD $1000 – to me in Bangkok.

Today was a lazy day. We lay about. After 5 we caught the bus out to the Paramount and saw “Mausoleum” which was pretty scary for a grade B film. The bus we caught on the way back dropped us off in front of another theater, and since the movie Fighting Back was about to begin, we hopped off and saw it – I wanted to see it. We were recorded because it was a fine movie. We really enjoyed it. When I am “alone,” I will try to meditate on my position in the universe and to solidify the concept of my cause and energize my direction.

September 25th, 1983


We ate breakfast downstairs – 35 cents for each soft boiled egg, 40 cents for coffee and 50 cents for cheese toast. Btu those prices are in Singapore dollars, and a sing dollar is worth less than half a US dollar – that means it’s only USD $0.17 for an egg! And the foods delicious. We got back to the room and made it and K came. Before I entered, I rubbed her clit with my fingers and put saliva there (as I’d seen “Napa woman” do).

We went to the 2:30 pm ‘Matinee’ of Apocalypse Now, which we both enjoyed more than the fist time we’d seen it… “Horror and moral terror must become your friends… if not – they will be your enemies”… “It is our judgment that causes us to fail” Yikes!! After the show, we went to the wine shop in Shot’s Center, and we brought a 150 L bottle of French wine, 2 kinds of pate and some Brie cheese and bread. We retuned to our room and finished the above – mentioned groceries completely – it was a marvelous feast. Each item was delicious! Before we slept we had an intimate bout of lovemaking. Lately I have been “Trying” not to hold back from coming and the more I practice letting go, I seem to last longer and longer!! Good.

Note: A the heading of every day’s entry, the place mentioned (e.g.) Singapore, is the spot I was in at 12am midnight.

September 26th, 1983

Monday (9)

12 midnight in: Singapore

Today Kelly and I went up, got her money, bought her plane ticket. We spent the day shopping. She bought perfume, books, shampoo, underwear. I bought underwear, swim trunks, picked up my sleeping bag at the dry cleaners, a UV filer, lens paper, batteries.

We went to the noodles place again for lunch – great as usual. [Note: We changed her ticket for tonight on JAL till tomorrow morning.] We ate steak (I had two dinners) at the Emerald Steak House. Then we walked to Movenpick for desert and she had toffee (and I cheesecake and 2 cappuccinos.) We were both in admiration of he quality! It was super. We went home and to our room. Kelly packed and I too. She took a shower. When we went to bed, we made great love. I went down on her while lying on my back. She was on top of me sucking me off. She says it’s easier for her to do it in that position and from the way it felt it must be true. I licked her clit over and again, sliding my tongue, licking her crotch from heel to toe. I tasted the change and the sure-signal Kwim signaled her orgasm. The taste as it oozed from her again was sexy and distinct.

I lay on top of her and crumbled on her when it was through, truthfully saying how good it was, how strong my orgasm was – slightly bodily in that it waved tingling over to my stomach, chest and thighs.

Later, we found out that the clock was broken, so Kelly, put up notes outside for people to wake us early.

September 27th, 1983

Enroute to Kuala Lumpur on train, Malaysia

Tuesday (8)

We woke up when a guy knocked on our door real early but went back to sleep. Next thing, K and I are lying bare-assed naked and a guy opens the door to wake us. It was dark. K flew for her clothes. So the day began, early. K was getting ready and then came back to bed. I started putting over on her and she said “We’d be late.” Then she changed her mind. While we’re fucking, she got tears in her eyes and denied it. Since we needed to get going I came sooner than otherwise.

We went down to breakfast – the dish: 2 soft boiled eggs, 2 coffee milks and cheese toast. We caught a taxi to the airport. “Yuk, we’re getting close!” She said and I thought. After she checked in, we sat down and we talked, my arm around her, she close, her hand on my shoulder. I said, “And I never never ever want you to doubt the way I feel about you, or that I like you or that I want to see you again.” This made her happy and she said, “I’m happy.” (And lately when I pop in an encouragement, she tells me how sweet I am (or nice or good). We chatted, went through “instructions” and moaned and laughed. With 4 minutes to go, we got up. These being no secluded spot immediately, available, we walked to the “passenger’s only” entrance and threw our arms around each other and sealed our lips together. Through either side of the glass barrier we waved, blew kisses and stood in exalted god-like stance until she had finished her sprite-danced exit from my vision from behind a grey granite wall. Then her hand shot out in a final wave.

I went to the observation tower where they had a “Swensen’s” Ice Cream parlor. I had a banana split and put it aside temporarily to walk to the glass overlooking the airstrip. I watched her JAL 727 (or was it a 707!) taxi at the end of a line of other planes. I love watching the 747 take off – it is amazing such a bird can fly!! I watched her plane take off, it’s wheels lift off the ground, and sail upward until it was lost in Singapore, haze, clouds and distance. She’ll be in Japan within 5 hours most probably. Boy, I’ll miss her. Strength.

I finished my banana split, and I caught a bus back to Bencoolen on which I read Kelly’s gift: Another Roadside Attraction, which I started reading over the banana split (and I swallowed ever bite.)

I went home, rested and went out to shop, finally buying a 28mm Sigma a 80-200mm Vivatar, 2 UV filters, 1 rubber hood and a case for the zoom for less than 142 USD. Got home, Paul and I went out to Emerald Steak House, then home, grab the bags, catch a bus, catch the train (note: the Singapore Immigration), find our sleepers, below which – as we each have an upper bunk across from each other – are 4 chattering short, young and tight jeaned Singapore girls. Yum! We talk – ask them if they have boyfriends – no – though their 24-years old, they have to think first about work and later about men – Paul and I had a laugh about this magazine Passion – a hair fashion magazine: “The snood is SO easy – in just a few minutes a BOB or layered style can be achieved and if you don’t have enough hair to create the full-body look, you can insert a piece of false hair.” (!)

On another page the script ran, “The boy achieved these curls by…” One hairstyle depicted looks like mine when I get out of bed after a good night’s rest!

Those girls where turning me on something fierce. Paul and I were agreeing how fine it would be! We played cards with them and joked and got a few non-answers. They gave us some “apple/pears” (From Japan only) and some sweet biscuits. When the party broke up, everyone in their bunk, the girl under Paul’s bunk kept staring at me. Hell, by now they’d hardly talk to us – except the friendly one who spoke English – Paul and I had been talking about what a waste it was to have 4 such young clubbables and not to have them – all four at once, please – cave men would risk their life over these girls – they’d have to fight off a train full of people, but they’d take them by force. What have we become?? We kept shutting her curtain, but the girl would open her curtain and stare at me, almost as if she was angry with me. If I thought her stare was meant to be inviting, believe me I would have gone to join her. But no.

Everyone asleep I looked in on the friendly one, but I hadn’t enough sign (if any) from her and I didn’t take the chance.

I went to my bunk and sorted through my things. Late, I slept. I awoke, deadly horny. I pulled back my mattress and looked at the girl below me through the holes in the bunk board and rolled around a bit, I admit.

September 28th , 1983

In George-town, Penang, Malaysia (8.2)


We woke up, climbed out of our sleepers and got off the rain in Kuala Lumpur. Originally we were going to stay for one night, but we changed our minds and caught the 9:15 am train and were off for Butterworth. Paul claimed that some girl was tonguing the air and licking her lips to him but said she wouldn’t talk to him when he met her in another car. We rode along the west side of Malaysia’s central mountain range. It looked interesting. I suppose that not too far away are hill people, and I wonder if they still use 6′ long blowguns. The train is hot but light and airy enough. We lost my tickets and find it after a hassle with the ticket man. Paul loses his and the ticket man hassles him and then produces it from his pocket. We get off the train and catch the ferry to Penang Island, then catch a trishaw to a place the Wan Hai Hotel on Love Lane.

We get a room, rest, shower and go out at night to the Eden Steak House. We both have Penang Whole Sole, which was delicious, and banana splits afterwards. We stared hard and long at the waitresses whose dresses slit up their thigh. We got back to the hotel. We were planning to take Paul out to the red-light, but we fell fast asleep – Paul on the bed and I slept on a cot which was surprisingly comfortable. Paul told me about the banks he’d robbed! Paul told me, on the way back from dinner, that he robbed 2 banks in Australia with a gun!!! One time, the 1st time, he took $7000 and the 2nd time, he got only $500. He used a sawed off .22 rifle. He said he’d never do it again – too much risk, too little return. He hid in the trunk of a car the first time, and they didn’t find him, though they looked around the car. The second time, he ran through the streets of Sydney and passed the money to a friend in a business suit under the toilet stalls in a public toilet. What sort of a guy am I traveling with? He’s pretty funny though and we get along quite well.

Note, diary, I miss little Pita a lot. It was really fun to be with her and to travel with her. Our communications times are supposed to be the first moment of every month – i.e., 12am, on GMT.

September 29th, 1983

Georgetown Penang, Malaysia

Thursday (7.2)

We woke late (10 am), had watery boiled eggs for breakfast, walked around, Paul bought some shirts, looked at girls, went to the Eden for lunch – both had steak sandwiches for (Malaysia dollars) 3.75. We caught a bus out to the beach. On our way off the beach, we went swimming at a hotel swimming pool, but got kicked out as a result of not being guests. We taxied back to Georgetown. We showered and headed to the movies. I’ve wanted to see the Amityville Horror for a long time. I thought it was pretty good, but not great.

Later, we were sitting outside the show checking the girls out when Paul noticed a rat. It ran in a pit. I walked to it and it ran out the other as fast as it could but Paul was standing in its way. It tried to side-step him but he kicked it! It flew like a field-goal-kicked football 33 feet! And came crashing down in the ornamented brick floor of a fountain-like area where people sat around talking outside the cinema. Paul and I laughed at it and so did others. It was alive, but I think it eventually kicked off, and some little kid, I think, carried it away. A man asked us what we wanted and Paul said “Girls.” The man left than came back and said he’d show him where if Paul would buy him a beer. We went to the (of all names) Ah Chew Hotel. (Ahhhhh-chooo!) and played pinball and checked out the sluts. Later, we went to have Sole again at the Eden. Then Paul “the Rat” and I went back to the Ah Choo and played pinball. We talked to one butt-ugly whore who would laugh and scold good naturedly when I asked embarrassing questions like if they enjoy it, if they have boyfriends for example.

Paul and I went back to the hotel after midnight. We planned to leave on the 6:40 am train from Butterworth tomorrow. The hotel guy said he’d wake us at 5:00 am. I got my things ready for our early departure, and went into a deep sleep.

Good night, Kelly!

September 30th, 1983

On boat en route from Surat Thani on the mainland to Koh Samui (Samui Island), Thailand.


Paul woke up at 5:40 am and he woke me up. We caught a trishaw to the ferry, crossed the channel, brought our tickets for the train to Hat Yai in Thailand, ate a quick breakfast and left.

The train ride was fun and long. We talked with a Dutch guy and girl. After sitting next to the Dutch girl for a while, I dearly wanted to fuck her, and I think she’d have liked to. They told me about walking in Thailand, and it was interesting. We got to the border before noon. We had to leave the train, have our passports stamped twice. When we re-boarded, so did about 20 soldiers. Two sat in our car with their rifles. Apparently, this train is often attacked by “guerillas” that pillage the goods of the passengers.

The rich greens of the landscape (rice fields light green, forests deep green) impressed me. The (granite?) outcroppings of rock made me have respect for the landscape. [We got off in Hat Yai at 12 noon. We cashed some money, had a bite to eat. At lunch, I talked with a guy who’s going to Nairobi, Kenya from Bombay – it’s supposed to be cheap! We got on the 1:40 pm train to Bangkok; we were going only as far as Surat Thani. It was from Hat Yai to Surat Thani where the scenery really opened up.] We got off the train in Surat Thani in the dark. We were hassled by some guys who wanted to give us a taxi ride. They said that there were no buses until morning. (This reminds me of the guys today in Hat Yai who said the banks were closed and we’d have to use a moneychanger – but we walked down the street to see for ourselves and sure enough the bank was open.) We got a ride on a bus to the ferry site. We bought our tickets to Koh Samui for 50B (Baht), then went out to eat. I had a great dish for 10B (the exchange rate? 22.7B = 1 USD) of rice, chicken and tomatoes. Back on the boat an oh-so-pokeable Thai girl tried to convince us to come to a bungalow on Koh-Samui, run by her family.

She said they’d put us in a free taxi so we could see it – and if we didn’t like it we didn’t have to pay for the taxi. I said we’d take a look.

The ferry left. This girl, Sue, was ever so charming, and I wanted to fucker her. Of course, Paul and I saw through the disguise immediately her job was to get us out to the bungalows. Some woman was on my mattress on the main floor where everyone slept – no. 28. I had the excuse, so when everyone slept, I laid down next to Sue in the aft “cabin” floor-two monks were on the other side of the room, her girlfriend on her right and a guy friend on the right of her girlfriend. I, on the left, stroke her hair and kissed her ear lightly. I was hoping she was awake and enjoyed it, but I suppose she was asleep. For she acted surprised when she woke up and said “You can go to sleep now,” when I tried to turn her chin towards mine with my hand. I turned away from her and grabbed her ass firmly with my hand. At first touch, I recognized it as one of those near-perfect asses. My hand explored her ass and crotch through her jeans for 15 minutes until she squirmed and gave my hand a few harmless karate chops. I went to bed no. 28 and allayed next to the girl who was on my mattress. She scooted over in inches as I, by stages, reasserted my territory. I fell asleep.

Diary, I miss that damn cute Pita Pukpuk with that P.Puk pyramid of bright red hair and those glasses.

October 1st, 1983

Koh Samui, Thailand

(8.3) Saturday

5:30 am We woke up when we got to Koh Samui. Sue was friendly, didn’t seem upset about my ass-grabbing. We got into the taxi and got a ride to the Bon-Phut Bungalows. The first thing I noticed was the barbed wire, which surrounded the place. Sue showed us a bungalow and said goodnight. Paul and I watched the sunrise. Then we went over to have a morning snack. We left our barbed-wire enclosed area, over the upside down beer bottle row, to the restaurant area. Sue’s sister, Boon, came out to talk with us. I bought a 50B pack of Thai heads – about ¼ oz., maybe a bit less (5 gms) for 2.20! The same pot in the USA would sell for $50 (or more.) Paul, fool that he is, bought a 100B pack of smack. He snorted two lines, laid down, puked a number of times, looked sick, and has been out of it ever since. Diary, it seems to me that people who use smack are foolish.

I smoked some of my black Thai heads in a cigarette and I am very pleased to have such good, cheap smoke.

Paul and I jogged up the beach and swam out to a sailboat. Two Australian fellows invited us on board, and we talked while they worked on the engine. Gary told me that a boat he’d crewed on in 1978 was sold to two Australian men who died in a Cambodian torture chamber (having signed confessions that they were spies)! Also, they noted that on an offshore island, they recently encountered a boat with 28 Vietnamese refugees, they said that they’d been attacked by “pirates” (Malaysian?) and the pirates had left everything on board except for 14 young girls (who will never be heard from again).

We shared a pair of Thai cigarettes (ganja). I swam ashore. I looked at Mama’s hostel and had a drink “Coffee Shake” and saw her food. I decided to move down this end of the beach. I went back to Boon’s, go my possessions together and walked down the beach. I ran the last hundred yards backwards, reaching the volleyball net. I ran past a laughing girl from Luxembourg. I stopped for a chat with her as she was a Black Jack dealer in a casino, we played black jack until it was dark. We went to my room (which I’ve yet to describe) and she rolled a joint for me while I put my things way. We had dinner with her friends, a guy from Luxembourg and a guy from Switzerland. They all share one room. After dinner, I was sleepy, so I returned to my room and plopped out for the night.

I have an A-shaped room on stilts whose front door looks out to the water, to the coconut trees, boats and other islands. I really like it. It is made of wood. It’s got electric light.

Diary, I miss Kelly quite a bit. I hope we travel together again. I hope in the future that she still likes me. What a great girl Kelly is.

P.S. – I forgot to contract her telepathically at 8am this morning (12am GMT).

October 2nd, 1983

Harpster’s Rules


1. Two things you can always rely on in a woman:

a) C_______ b) M_____ I______.

2. Two things you can’t do to a woman:

a. B______ h____.

b. M____ a f____ o___ H____.

3. F______ will get you EVERYWHERE so start t______!

4. Be C_______ and C_______.

Jacks’ plain common sense rules are valuable advice I think. Rule number 3 is perhaps the best rule of all, for it is perhaps the key to all friendships, let alone being the door opener with women.

Today Paul woke me up knocking on my door. I awoke, we ran and sprinted down the beach, then 30 pushups, then jog back, then swim to the raft moored 70 yards offshore, then 30 pushups, lay in sun swim back, then breakfast of a fruit pancake, orange juice, mixed shake – delicious.

Most of the day I wrote. I talked with George (Isabella’s friend from Switzerland) after breakfast. We discussed the mushrooms he took last night – very powerful they were. He brought out a tape set with two sets of headphones, and I listened to music out of a Walkman, then he gave the headphones to Isabella. I wrote. George and Lucian (Isabella’s friend from Luxembourg) went windsurfing, but they kept getting pummeled by the wind.

Once, Isabella brought out almost an entire plate of fried rice with crab, which she said she couldn’t finish. It was delicious.

In the afternoon, I began a conversation with John, the Aussie who’s staying on the sailboat. We started passing joints back and forth in the restaurant. By dinnertime, George, Lucian, Isabella, John Gary and Steve (Steve owns half the boat with Gary) and I were sitting there passing joints. I bought a quantity of mushrooms. I popped one small mushroom top. I felt fully perceptive but it seemed no one else understood me, I couldn’t get them to explain themselves. (Also, I mention Isabella shared her dishes of fruit with me; one plate, it seemed I ate more of it than her!) After a time, I reflected that when Isabella and I were alone last night, I felt I could communicate with her, so I now desired to speak with her alone so that I could feel in touch with reality again.

Eventually, I was walking to my cabin when I spied Isabella lounging under the stars in a hammock. I didn’t say anything, but she called out, so I went over. We talked, and although often she didn’t understand, we had a desire to communicate – thus, I was able to explain myself to her, and most often, afterwards communication was achieved.

I told her that she must remind me to –

i) Exercise

ii) Write and

iii) Think. (Exercise so I can climb the mountains, write so I can organize my thoughts and plan and record, think because thinking is the well-spring of the Future). She’s going to be here a week, I discovered.

Diary, it was all sincere, I assure you, but I flattered her to make her feel good because I liked her and wanted to insure that I could be with her again. I could almost “see” that I was flattering myself into bed with her. It was so logical how it works and gave me a real “feeling” for Harpster’s words: Flattery will get you everywhere, so start talking! Flattery is encouraging and comforting and fun to listen to.

I said my mouth is dry and then would you like to taste it? Yes. (Preluded by me saying [she’s 20] about how beautiful the skin of young girls is, telling her how much I liked being with her. I told her that her bikini was ‘intriguing,’ because I could see it suspended above her tummy by her hips as she lay there, but I couldn’t see what was inside) when I kissed her, I told her that her mouth was wet and moist and warm. I felt her vagina, and it felt small and delicate and good and I exclaimed. I told her I wanted to lick it and she concurred.

We got up and went to my room, where soon I ran my tongue up her vagina, and it felt so wonderful. I licked her for a while and I turned around so she could suck my dick, which she did. I lay on top of her and I got it in after explaining that I don’t usually last long the first time, but it gets longer and longer. I had turned her on her stomach and from the rear I felt her little vagina as I stroked and came inside her after a short time. We did it again from the front and it lasted a little longer. Then later we did it a third time and it was so-so. But the forth time from the front was the best of all. I concentrated on the reality of it all – the creature letting me put it in her and enjoy her.

We fell asleep. I remember waking and it was just before dawn.

Well, dairy, this is the 30th chick I’ve poked (non-prostitutes). I am very happy, it happened so easy, so nice, it was warm and pleasant.

I must say, I felt relaxed with her, I like her as a person. My idea from the moment I met her was that I wasn’t going to try to get in her pants. I didn’t seek her company, but I was friendly and neutral. I was simply friendly and later, flattering. I knew when I had won over – I remember thinking: I’m in a good situation now.

Also, note, I was thinking tonight: What do I really want: Well right now expertise, as how to do this with every girl would be what I wanted.

October 3rd, 1983

Koh Samui, Thailand


Paul came by about 9 am to wake me up. Isabella had already left the room. The next five hours were spent eating, smoking pot, swimming, taking 2 photos, and talking with the sail boaters and the 3 from Europe and others. Paul and I finally left to explore some of the island. We walked down the main road and, occasionally, I would run a little and do some pushups. I bought a pineapple and cut it with the lady’s old knife. We walked to Chaweng Beach, which was much, much nicer than Bo-Phut Beach where I’m staying. The beach is wider and whiter, the water’s clear. I talked with a girl and standing there, I realized an attack of diarrhea was affecting me. I found a toilet and, sure enough, it was diarrhea (I wonder if I got it from the lady’s knife? Anyway, I hope it goes away soon. I don’t want to have another ordeal like in Singapore!)

We walked about, I checked out the prices, which were the same as Bo Phut Beach and the “Peace Bungalow” where I am staying. We caught a taxi (truck) back and I took some medicine. I mention that I took some mushroom tops this morning and –

i) I felt really great until I got sick and

ii) I wonder if the mushrooms made me sick.

For dinner, I watched the Europeans eat roast prawns and I had a few myself and they were delicious. It was incredible how many prawns they got for 65 Baht! We passed joints. I gave Isabella some of my mushrooms on request and she took more than I advised and got too stoned!! I went out to speak with her and after a confusing conversation (I was feeling under the weather and unhappy about it.) I said I wanted to sleep with her, so we went to my cabin. I fucked her and it was the best yet, but I wish I’d last longer because I’m coming after only 5 minutes or so.

Paul came by late, the door was open, he snapped a nude photo of us while we slept. Later, I was awake because Isabella kept moaning and tossing in bed because she was too stoned. Finally, I fucked her again, trying to prolong it, and succeeding though perhaps lessening the passion. After, we lay awake and heard a deep growl. I tried to convince myself it was a dog, but when the dog barked, I realized that it must be a much bigger animal! I really think it must be a bobcat or a panther. It sounded big and was so ominous I refused to go outside.

Oct. 4th, 1983

Koh Samui, Thailand


Mid-day (7.2)

Diary, I am trying to convalesce today. Meanwhile, while I lay in my bungalow, I want to collect my thoughts and organize my future actions if possible (in a never-ending process). I am 29 years of age. If my life span was 40 years longer (as average), I can do many things if my health stays good. I speculate on being a recording artist but doubt my ability to buckle down and master the trade. I’m traveling now. At $10/day average, I have enough funds for about 140 days, about 4 months of traveling. Oct, Nov, Dec, Jan. If I can borrow $2000, I can travel another 6 or 7 months, i.e. until July or August. One way or another, I should seek funds. I will plan an arrival date of Aug. 10th, 1984 in S.F.

Neither schedule is very helpful. I can see that the future is subject to many “ifs,” and I will have to play it by ear. But it does mean to me that I have little time to see a lot of places.

I want to get to North Africa and Scandinavia and Greece and Spain.

Well, it is helpful to write it out. Signing off!

This evening, I learned some things talking to the European group (Lucian, Manfred, George and Isabelle), mostly Manfred about Europe: why West (free) Berlin is in the middle of W. Germany. South Tyrol, formerly Austria, is in Italy, about the 4th language of Switzerland, about taking boats down the Danube and Rhine rivers! It makes me very psyched up to see Europe! I was saying how I’m thinking about flying directly there. (Of course, I’d like to go direct to Nepal first.) My first opposition to this idea is that it is winter in Europe until the spring comes. I want so much to see Europe again.

I wanted to convalesce today, so I stayed in bed and on my floor, resting, writing. Isabelle spent a couple of hours sitting on my doorstep, talking and sitting. Paul came by and said that I was a lucky bastard last night as he walked back (he came up and found the door open with us laying in the dark without clothes. He snapped photo to be funny, but I put my foot in the foreground as his flash clicked.) George and Manfred came by on their way to/from the beach. Manfred told me about a drug “stechapfel” which kept him stoned for 3 days! He was very afraid. He said if I haven’t seen Zurich, I haven’t seen Switzerland.

I probably shouldn’t have, but I ate Prawns and BBQ chicken. I went to my cabin after dinner and I slept.

I hadn’t seen Isabelle for a while as she’d left the table, and I didn’t see her or look for her. I just crawled on my mattress and slept. So I didn’t fuck her today, tough in retrospect. I wish I would have.

Goodnight, sweet Kelly.


October 5th, 1983

Koh Samui, Thailand Wed.


As I said, Isabelle didn’t sleep with me last night.

Paul came up the beach and woke me up. We decided to run/walk to town. We alternated, running 1 kilometer and walking the next. We walked 9 km and ran 8 km. It was only difficult because we were in direct sunlight and it was damn hot! We caught a taxi back to the Beach Bungalow.

I ate a big dinner, being fed up with my diet trying to combat diarrhea. I felt bored with the conversation and Isabelle had left the table. I looked in her room, but only found Lucian sleeping. I found Isabelle by herself by the beach, studying her roulette numbers by the light of Manfred’s cabin. I snuck up behind her and startled her. I beat around the bush until she came to my room. I must be weak from diarrhea and marijuana for I wasn’t my usual dynamic self in the sack. Finally fucked her once, and later, a second time. We fell asleep.

October 6th, 1983

Koh Samui, Thailand


It’s about 9 pm and diary, I feel depressed because I’ve got the shits, the runs. Yuk! All this seafood and the mushrooms, and I am too sick to really enjoy it. I haven’t smoked since this morning because it is making me too tired. I feel like a loser when I’m not in control of myself. I like to feel I am making progress towards some end, but though grass is good for socializing, I feel less prone to action. Anyway, I don’t have much choice but to go on a strict diet, as I am out of medicine. I am depressed because I wanted to workout while I was here. I wanted to get ready for the Himalayas and instead, I am getting weaker! It is so hard to stick to a diet when you see such good food around. (Maybe I should extend my stay here, or shorten it?)

Paul and I shared the rental on a bike today (a Honda) and rode around the island. I was feeling pretty weak.

In the morning, I laid with Isabelle and put it in and came immediately (Yuk!) I asked her if she’d come back tonight and she said yes. She’s been coming by this evening spending time with me, laying around and, since I’m sick, she’s been getting food and juice for me. I’ve decided to go on a strict diet of porridge and juices and plain toast – every time I start eating what I like, I get sick, so now I’m determined to do what’s good for me. Also, I think I’ll lay off the pot for a few days. (Sometimes I’ve noted pot worked as an aphrodisiac, at other times I’ve experience it kill sex drive outright.)

Isabelle got me a second orange juice. It was a real lousy night. We lay around, not doing much. Looking in her face upside down, I beheld an opposition of striking beauty – face on, she doesn’t appear above average, but it was uncanny how beautiful she looked – I studied her face and the integrity of this vision stood.

At 11 pm, the lights go out. We lay there. I dozed off. I awoke. We fucked. It was exciting. Afterwards, I wasn’t tired. We talked. It was real warm, nice. I put up the mosquito net.

October 7th, 1983

Koh Samui

Friday, Morning.

We lay in bed. I kept popping rods and consequently wanted to fuck. I told her to turn over – I wanted her from the back, but she gave me a strange look and it turned me off. She got dressed and left. She just delivered an orange juice to me. It is a beautiful morning here. There is supposed to be a water buffalo fight today here!!

Note: However bluntly I may have described it, the morning was stupendously nice. A breeze blowing in, sun outside, lying next to her. I was just disappointed we didn’t poke. I wish she’d go down on me.

The story goes: Went to bank in town to cash travelers checks. Waited for water buffalo fight and ended up being late. Didn’t see it but they’ve got another one going tomorrow. We played black jack after dinner (porridge for the 4th time today). We played (Gary, Isabelle, Paul, Manfred and I to start) for hours. I won about 110 baht. After the game, Isabelle came to my cabin. Without much ado, I removed our underwear and we poked our brains out for a few minutes. Then later, again, we poked when she started kissing. After, we laid with our heads near the door, peering out into the clear starlet sky. I lay there and though, just reflections, on how things generally are, mishmash but clear strong thoughts. Fell asleep like this.

A bob night. Yes.

Note: Tonight, Isabelle told me that between the ages of 14 and 16 she was a mainlining heroin-addict!

October 8th, 1983

Saturday (10)

“I wish I was on a more-heavily-populated-with-spunky-Thai-girls-carriage,” commented Paul the night we took the train from Singapore.

Today was the water buffalo fight. It was one of the most exciting things I’ve ever seen, but it was also a rare fight. Before they lift the curtain between the two bulls, the trainers smear their bodies with a variety of ornaments. They touch the bulls asses to agitate them. The curtain is withdrawn at 4:30 pm. The trainers begin to lead the animals together. One boy unhappily gets in the way and the bull butts him with his head and horns, rears his neck and tosses the boy in the air, who flies like a sack of potatoes and hits with a thud on the ground. The crowed gasps. People run into the pen to get the boy out of the arena.

Meanwhile the bulls trot around aggressively making us unsure if they will go after someone else. The buffalos left the main pen and faced off in the dirt mounds of the outer arena, which was an acre or two, which was fenced off. Finally, the beasts rammed heads and the crowed went crazy. The beasts struggled with their horns and then they backed off. For a full ½ hour they made their way to the other side of the arena, butting heads just when you weren’t expecting it. Then they worked their way back. I dodged up to them to snap pictures, but I often was too late to catch them in the act of butting because it came so suddenly. Boys climbed trees around the buffalo and others warned the boys to be careful. The crowed gave the breasts plenty of room. The buffalos would come towards the crowed and scare the hell out of us. It was like a Spanish soccer match. The crowed was in pandemonium.

Finally, one of the buffaloes suddenly turned and ran and the other followed on its tail, both at top speed. The crowed yelled in jubilation. It was really fun and quite exciting.

I ate a big dinner late at night, I went to Isabelle’s. I brought her to my pad and we fucked on the mattress. It was in my opinion, by far the best sex yet. Totally relaxed. We went down on each other before we did it.

October 9th, 1983

Koh Samui, Thailand


Swim when I awoke.

Look! I can hardly remember the day. I’m writing this Monday at 12:30.

(In fact, I usually make my entries the day after.) But I can tell you this: the day passed quickly. Sitting around talking till the buffalo fight. I left at 3. The beasts were gallant. Draped with red, head soon to flow with red, and horns of gold. They faced each other, the screaming crowed, sky overcast with luminous clouds. Once the fight began it never stopped until one turned and ran just like yesterday. I’m running around with my 35 double mm and a telephoto lens, a zoom variety and a tripod. Pictures of them facing off heads turned to either side, eyes flaring red. Then they hit. They wrestled with their horns into the first stages of a flip, and back to their heads in the dirt. The horns tip in the eye of one, behind it the force of a modern dinosaur, they come close to the rain; we are in the arena, many of us, closing in on the action. [Action the on in closing x x x]. Photos in which the heads filled the frame, eye straining a red glow. Back off and then crunch together again. It was action packed. I snapped the frames at awkward angles that will probably work well. No “probrem” (says Baboon) with a tripod. I ran out the gate after them. Took a pair of headshots (blood dripping proud) of one bull when they were leading him back up the road.

I went to the Jupiter with George and Gary. Even standing on a sailboat is nice! Swam back. For dinner, fried noodles with butter and garlic – a white, thin, flat noodle. Salad and sweet and sour crab. Beer too. Paul, Isabelle and I played cards, but we played only a quarter-hour and stopped. I found Isabelle on the beach but she saw me sneaking up to the water’s edge. I went to my room, she came by a bit later. I took off her black underwear. I could have fucked her all night, but I only changed it up on top of her for ½ hours, then we lay back (changed it up is supposed to be indirect reference to copulating in varying hand arm leg and ass position while doing it.) I asked (when I got back on her) if she wanted me to stop doing it and she said just for 2 minutes.

1. Get away from the Tourists.

2. Travel alone.

3. And they love the King – be Royal.

I was hurt and lay on my stomach on the bed. She corrected me so expertly on my legs and rear then, grabbing my cock from behind. She gave me a bj and I tongued her pussy which was delicious and of wet, 20 year-old pussy texture. I worked it into her vagina from behind. I laid on her back, felt her nice-sized, velvety-nippled breasts (which I’d been sucking and licking previous) with one hand (I love how [a] well-chested girls’ chest (just below the collar bone) grows when you rub it upwards, the tit tissue is so massive! I fucked her holding her pussy and clit in the other hand. I fucked her so good. Culminating the previous ½ hours worth of excitement, I burst in her deeply. I laid on my back and she took my cock in her mouth twice and I had my hand on her vagina, my arm extending towards her pussy, gently flicking the back of my index finger up her crack and touch the clit with my fingernail. She rhymed to my movements and her pussy had the feel of Kwim but I couldn’t tell for sure if she orgasmed.

October 10th, 1983

Koh Samui


In the early morning, I woke up. Isabelle’s bottom was against me and I grew rock hard. As I was pushing it in, she rolled to the other side. At 6 am I awoke and went outside and said goodbye to George, who was leaving. I went back to the room. Isabelle was worried when I told her George had given me the key to their room because Lucian had not yet come home. She went to check. Then she came back, walking with only her shirt on and her little black panties which she’d left with. We went to eat breakfast. Lucian returned. Wanna, a girl from North Carolina, came and talked to Isabelle and I. Isabelle went to the beach and then I saw her going into my cabin. I excused myself from Wanda: “There’s a burglar in my bungalow.” I lay down with Isabelle, we talked and joked. I wanted to fuck but time seemed too pressing so I didn’t go for it. She asked for my address. I’d already gotten hers. Exchange of sweet kisses. When the taxi left, I went with them to the road. I told them I’d follow them to town running laughter. I smacked Isabelle on the lips and patted her back, hopped out and ran after the truck barefooted for ¾ km. Goodbye.

Back at Mama’s. I spent some time talking with Wanda. She offered to share a bungalow with me, but later acted disinterested. Perhaps staring at my growing dick under my swim trunks had given her the idea and later she’d cooled down. I was getting hard looking at her. She shifted her sarong and I saw the side of her pubic triangle – I bulged!

At 5 pm I ran about 7km down to the Big Buddha, then 60 pushups, then ran back. I ate dinner – delicious (prawns with vegetables). I decided to go to Phuket in the morning and I made preparations. Smoked a joint before sleep.

October 11th, 1983


12:30 pm.

I am not proud of myself and yet, I can’t blame myself. It happened like this: I promptly awoke and I was on the ferry at 7 am. For some reasons, I thought of my red head necklace and noticed it was missing. The boat was just casting off the lines, I could have jumped off, but a bit numb, I hesitated and soon was heading away from Koh Samui. I thought about going back to find it, but the backtrack seemed uninviting. I even got on the bus in Surat Thani to Phuket. Finally, I decided I should go back to look for my necklace. This mistake is costing me 170 baht (about $7.50) and 8 hours, but even if I don’t find my necklace, at last. I will be sure that I didn’t leave it behind unnecessarily. (I lost 60B fare to Phuket!)

It was a bad stroke of luck to find my necklace missing seconds before departure. Otherwise I’d be happily on my way to Phuket. I could have lost something else and not been worried about it, but even though I have more heads at home, and Kelly has heads, I would like to wear my heads on my trip. I really love them and I hope I can find them again. Maybe this whole thing was fate!

7:55 pm I back tracked, took a bus back, caught the ferry again to Koh Samui Island. Saw Mama again, dropped my pack, searched the sand from the toilet to my steps, looked in the bungalow, no necklace, I looked under the bungalow and there was my necklace in the sand! Happily, I put it on my neck like it was a lost child “Where have you been?” I was amazed I found them it made coming back worthwhile.

The Thai girl who fell in love with Lucian came to see me and said that she’d gone to Surat Thani with Lucian and Isabelle and that Isabelle told her to tell me she gives me a big kiss (and to be sure to tell me that)! I felt most happy, really.

The girl who made me food last night said she’d pick out my food again tonight. I bought a bag of ganja and I got in a conversation with Mark of Toronto who told me to go to a place called Charelle? In north Pakistan where you smoke hash by a fire in snow sheltered tents. He says of his travels that the major observation derived was to really, always stay free. The girl brought me a meal of prawns and vegetables and fried noodles. It was spectacular. The girl is a really good cook! I love her!

Well, no worldwide revelations, but one important determination: to get to Nepal ASAP as Mark from Toronto said the good season lasted Oct. Nov and Dec getting cold every day. Today’s the 11th. So tomorrow, it’s up and out of here. I spent $10 on food and booze since I got back to Mama’s today and Mama gave me a free room for the night.

I got my beads back and I’m glad, really.

Tonight I told Wanda that I thought she was full of shit. (Before I’d told her I was 22.) I insulted her because she said, “You (I) act so young.” I swear I wasn’t even trying to pick the bitch up.

I’m glad that Isabelle sent me that small message of love. Thoughtfulness like that means a lot to me.

I think of Kelly, no I haven’t forgotten you. Lover, mother, girl, friend, daughter, sister, friend, Kelly, pyramid-top, the red bomber, 4 eyes, tiger teeth, super love. How could I ever forget you making me boil with rage on bushwalks or making love to me on the morning of the day we knew our fate would be determined: life/possible death, licking my mouth with your tongue. Talking whenever I wanted to your head resting comfortably on my chest. An ode to you, Sweet Pita.

As for me, Joe Samui, I am heading out of here mañana, ‘tout suite’ to Bangkok. Later I’ll determine either to drop or go to: Burma, 7 days and Chung Mai, 7 days, which would still get me to Kat on Nov. 1.

Sweet Pita, I have been trying to collect my thoughts together, but the only plans I can conceive of are to: fill my life with the ever-increasing sense of intrigue and adventure. Plan the fantastic and don’t be late. Move on.

Finished reading Another Roadside Attraction, and although the style is a bit dated, it’s a document, it’s great.

I will have to do a problem solving on where to go.

October 12th, 1983

10:45 am

Coffee Shop – Surat Thani

I thought last night and this morning that it was Fate that I should go back to find my beads, discover that I should go to Nepal ASAP, so get on the boat this morning for Surat Thani (again!) and meet Maggie and Trix, whom I fell in love with immediately! To me, they looked so wholesomely beautiful, both Swiss. Trix is 23 and Maggie is 22. They’ve been traveling together for 10 months from Sri Lanka to Bali. Trix has a clear complexion and white teeth and baby plump arms and cheeks. Maggie looks intriguing, beguiling, mystifying. I looked in her eyes and I saw a person so beautiful. My first impression was so strong and I really love them both. They sat near me on the upper deck of the ferry, which we shared pretty much by ourselves except for a sleeping German and 2 Thai men and a Thai girl all aft of us. This boat sped away and they lit up a joint. They both have pink shirts on. (I want to write a song about them.)

The wind was warm and strong. Beautiful steep shored islands jutted out of the green water in the morning sun. We laughed and laughed and talked and had some of my Mekong Whiskey (one of the best whiskies in Asta for $3.50 a fifth? (750ml). We smoked another joint. We sat close and laid down, changed positions and kept talking then resting for awhile. I could smell one scent from each of them. A baby smell – like the sweetest smell nature ever provided for the nose of man! The sweetest essence of a baby. It was wonderful. I can see in my mind’s eye, Maggie’s face and nose – with a silver pin in it with a little orange stone in it – her left nostril is pierced like in India (they spent 3 months there). Her teeth white and fairy straight with some plaque and in between her teeth, even a patch of hair under her chin in one spot (!) and a rough complexion, but emanating a Mona Lisa beauty and eyes and mouth and hair to attract my attention and deserve my love. And Trix, well, I could just bite her. Maggie’s hair was tangled and free and diary, I would love to be able to watch this hair at long stretches. Trix has the brightest smile and they both carry the most basic admirable and feminine graces of the European women. O la la.

I told them that if they gave me their phone numbers, then I could call them if I came to Zurich I could call them. Maggie got a piece of paper and wrote the phone numbers of their parent’s houses, and said and wrote “You are welcome always in Switzerland” the boat left the big ocean and into a canal bordered by boats and houses it went. Ah the breeze.

We got off and got a taxi and when I had to get off and leave them suddenly (my destination Bangkok, theirs Penang) they moaned and I reach for Trix and kissed her on the check and she welcomed it and kissed me on the other cheek and of course it was reciprocated.

Maggie and I enthusiastically kissed twice too, all 4 being full of feeling and jubilation. We said goodbye and they said “See you” and I “Yes I hope to see you.” Smiling and laughing all of us (I blew them a kiss and got 2 back) they drove off. When they were 15 feet away from me they simultaneously whistled using 2 fingers each, a loud whistle and strong. (They had also hummed Blowin’ In the Wind together – and other songs – in a female unison while we laid back on the boats’ top in the ocean in the breeze and sunshine – I said “I love the wind” and Maggie said, “I love the wind, the ocean, sunshine, and you,” It struck me as beautifully poetic and happy and pertinent.

It made me feel so good. It wasn’t like she was saying it to me but it shot straight to my heart. I felt like I could look at them, look right through them and see beautiful souls, and feel so destined to fall in love with them. When I was thinking of asking for their address, the words from Tom Robin’s filled me with happiness: Amanda – You can be as free and happy as you want to be, because you’ve got nothing to lose and nothing to gain!

[Note: Quoted directly it goes: “Nothing to lose, and nothing to gain. Nothing to lose and nothing to gain. A man can be as free and happy as he wants to be because there’s nothing to lose and nothing to gain.”] I felt it was fate they would give me their address (I only asked for their phone numbers) – like that was why I ended up on this boat.

I feel fated to fall in love with both of them.

Girls – God, do I ever love them. Nothing makes me happier than friendly, open girls.

It was magic.

[Two girls, Maggie and Trix, gave me a green ellipsoid with white opaque fruit in it. I ate the fruit and came under their spell.]

I tried to catch a bus at 10:30 but it was too full. I sat in a coffee shop and went through all my possessions, did some sewing and writing. The woman and 2 girls working there kept coming around to look and try to communicate with me. One girl spoke a little English. I learned some Thai:

Cheung Maw law: I drink whiskey.

After hours and 3 coffees and some eggs, I went to the train station and caught the 4:21 pm train to Bangkok. I put my bags above me and dozed off and on in my seat until 4 am the next morning. Goodnight, Trix and Maggie – goodnight Isabelle – goodnight wonder girl Pita.

October 13th, 1983

5 am nearing Bangkok

I woke up about an hour ago.

My bags are still above my head, okay. I went to the bathroom and took a drag on a cigarette. This must be good stuff, I’m stoned out just fine on one hit!

I’ve just been sitting her reviewing this journal and making notes, interesting.

Got off the train at 5 am. It took me till 9 am to find a room, and I couldn’t find the Sawatdee guesthouse. By 12 noon, I was ready to go out. In succession, I discovered:

a) Kelly had sent my money, and it had arrived.

b) I can fly to Kathmandu (3 days in Bangladesh, 5 days in Burma) for $200, arriving Oct 7th in Kathmandu.

c) I received a letter from Gam, but I couldn’t pick it up because I wasn’t carrying ID.

I got home when it got dark. Talked with people, took a late night walk in the rain. Sipping a little whiskey smoking a bit of MJ, I glided through today. Mostly pleasant, a good first day in Bangkok.


October 14th, 1983

Enroute to Chiang Mai

By bus, Thailand:

I attended to business all morning. I picked up letter’s from Gam (She says when I want to borrow money, just provide the details of where I want it sent!) a letter from Taylor (telling me how bob I am – it makes me feel good. Why is it that Taylor is the only one of my best friends with whom I can keep a correspondence going?) and a postcard letter and flat package. In the flat package were photos of our trek in New Guinea. From the American Express Mail window, I went to the Wang Lee Bank. There I received $800 in traveler’s checks and $264 worth of Baht.

The girl who had helped me (and to who I talked yesterday): I was admiring her Siamese beauty, and I pushed a note across her desk before I left “I think you’re one of the prettiest girls I’ve seen in Thailand.” I bet she read it (and smiled) and I grabbed it from her hand, joking that I didn’t want her to show all her friends at the bank. She said she wanted to keep it, so I took it back and signed it: USA boy. She was really flattered. I told her: “If I have something nice to say, I like to say it. If I’m thinking something good, I like to make someone feel good by saying it.” It made us both a bit high.

While I’d been waiting for the checks I’d looked at some of the photos – I’d passed them around – some of them – to show the girl and her female coworkers – I was really pleased with what I saw. They were not all perfect by any means, but I really love the pictures and I am happy!

After the bank I went to the travel agent – Educational Travel Center. The man who confirmed by bookings yesterday was out (he’d said the ticket was $200). The woman there asked what price I was quoted. I said $195. The man came in and I said I though he’d said $195. He wanted 4580B ($200 @ 22.9) – (I’d gotten 22.96 at the bank). I said to make it 4500B and he said okay. But when I asked if he was making money he said yes, but not so much, so I gave him 30B more and he seemed happy. I got a receipt for the ticket (I’ll pick it up when I get back from Chiang Mai.)

I brought the receipt to the Burmese Embassy and I’m going to pick up my passport (w/ Burma Visa) also when I come back.

Next I went to the G.P.O post office because Kelly had written to SEA Tours that she’d sent a package. I’d gotten a letter and postcard from her. I had to wait till 1 pm to get the package. I read the letters and she seemed happy but sad to be away from me and from traveling. I tried to call her, but there was no answer. I got the package, long john bottom (yellow), the Kelly Hansen to – the thick red wool socks, a shutter release cable. A battery for my calculator and another nice pair of socks. I wrote a quick note right on the spot. Basically I thanked her and expressed my amazement at her efficiency in handling everything she said she would, and I told her she had a special place in my heart and I loved her and I hoped she’d meet up with me again. (Dear Sweet Pita, you lilt pyramid top, I love you deep in my heart! ß that’s not from the letter, I’m just saying it now.)

It began to rain buckets. I dashed into a bus. It was 1:30 pm. Glad to be out of the rain, I discovered that I was on a bus that was not really taking me home. It took me 2 fucking hours to make it home. 3 busses later. I even talked in the wrong language. I was getting upset!

The man at the hostel was really nice about letting my check out so late. He said there was a bus at 7, 9 and 10 pm, so I didn’t have to worry about missing the 3:45 or 6 train. I got my things together, talked to poor Rachel (from Israel) in our room – she’s waiting forever for money. I went down the street, ate, and I went to the Sawatdee Guesthouse (finally found it). A woman there had just come back from a Chiang Mai trek, and she loved it. She said to bring my camera. I left a note for Paul. I returned to my hotel, got my camera and lenses and I caught a bus to the bus station. I read In Cold Blood (which I borrowed from my hotel) while waiting for the 10 pm bus. I went to the bathroom and smoked a bit of Koh Samui cigarette and boarded the bus. I could not find my book! I ran back to look for it twice but could find it nowhere. I gave up. But a man who’d seen me looking for it came on the bus and said he’d put it away – I’d left it on the table! He got it for me.

The bus was dark. Only the 2 reading lights above my seat weren’t working (the others were), so I sat back and slept on and off all night. The hits of the MJ cigarette allow me to sleep anywhere! I’m on my way to Chiang Mai. Hooray!

October 15th, 1983 (10)

Trekking in Northern Thailand

A banner day!
We changed buses in early morning, rode for an hour and arrived at Chiang Mai. I had fried eggs and 2 coffees and by then I was finished, the café owner (dirt floor) had found a man to take me to the Mee Guest House. As I was trishawed about the quiet streets of this side of town, passing the shop or two here and there and people about, I produced a Koh Samui cigarette and smoked it as I was regally carted around (a trishaw is bicycled powered). A lovely morning. I arrived at the Mee and no sooner did I enquire when the treks left than a boy from Belgium, Lode, said: “Right now.” I left some of my unnecessary things behind me, and in 15 minutes we were headed out of town on a taxi 7 of us and a female guide from the hotel!!

Once out of town, Lode and I rode on top of the bus. We passed some Mekong whiskey back and forth. He told me he had lived in Africa (Nigeria, Zaire, Kenya and Burundi) for 18 years. We were both looking forward to the next few days. We stopped in a town Lode brought some Mekong whisky. We continued to ride on top of the truck. We had to get down because we passed through a police checkpoint, but later we rode again on top. As the wind blustered past us with a roar, we intermittently exchanged facts – him about Africa and me about PNG.

After a time, the taxi pulled over – we got out and along with Sa-O, our Thai girl guide, and 2 German couples (and a 9 year old boy), we started off walking. Lode and I walked much more quickly then the rest of the group – we reached the first village before the others. There was a provisions store there; I bought some candy and 6 eggs and some noodles, in case I didn’t have enough to eat. We ate lunch at a village house. We smelled something that could have been opium coming from the cigarettes. After lunch, we continued walking up a road that can accommodate motorcycles and maybe even a 4WD.

Lode and stopped occasionally to wait for the group and we smoked some of one of my marijuana cigarettes which got me stoned, but he said it didn’t affect him. The walk was very enjoyable. In late afternoon we stopped at a place that sold cokes, and the whole party rested and had some refreshments. The last leg of the walk brought us to another dirty village. We were shown a nice house of rattan to sleep in. We all rested. Some went down for bathing in the rover. While it was still light outside, I sat up on the porch of a family; a man painted a cigarette with opium, and Lode and I smoked it, but it had no effect. We ate a dinner prepared by Sa-O, which was quite good except for the fact that on the first bite, I bit into a pepper. Yuk! After inner, Sa-O came down to tell us that the men were smoking opium. Lode and I went up to check it out.

We entered the room where women lay on the floor with small hard pillows under their heads and their hands busy over two identical sets of apparatus – a small lamp made from the top half of a coke bottle, a pipe, a thin skewer of iron like a large needle, a small metal mixing receptacle, a few packs of headache powder. They crushed up the brittle black burn off of already-smoked opium, mixed it with the headache powder and some fresh gooey opium. They heated this concoction making it into a solid ball. Heating this ball on the end of the metal skewer, they eventually shaped it into a long tube of opium about 3/8″ in diameter and 7″ long. This hardened. They broke off a piece ½” long from this and put it on the end of the metal skewer and softened it over the flame. Then they put the pointed end of the skewer in the hole of the pipe and ran it through, thus depositing a small mound of opium on the end of the pipe, and withdrawing the skewer, left a hole in the middle of the mound of opium. Both pipes were similar – they both consisted of two parts – an 8″ long ½” diameter wooden piece – over the end of this one man had a larger metal cylinder with a hole in it and the other had a ceramic piece, shaped like a vase with a hole in it, and the top of the vase fit over the wooden tube.

The smoker lay down and put the end of the pipe over the flame. The opium began to bubble and the smoker inhaled the sweet smoke. We watched them smoke a few pipe loads and then were called upon to smoke ourselves. The taste of the smoke was the best part – it was sweet and unique. Lode and I took pictures – he with his flash and, since I had no flash, I put my camera upon a pillow and set the self-timer. It was marvelous, the feeling of intrigue in the room. After all, you hear of forbidden stories of opium eaters and illegal opium dens your whole life. Now, sitting down with them, you try it yourself, and find it quite enjoyable! I smoked 12 pipes and Lode smoke 10. A mild euphoria overtook us and we also became drowsy. When we stood up to go, we could not walk. It was as if we were excessively drunk physically and yet mentally, I swear we were clear, for we had maintained a flowing conversation on rational subjects the whole time we were smoking (It was really wonderful). Even as we made it back to our cabin, we laughed at our physical incompetence! But we were cognizant of our rational mental status, and exclaimed so.

We made more coming into the cabin, but none of the Germans said anything. I passed Lode some of my candies. I felt all right and immediately passed into sleep.

October 16th, 1983

Village, northern Thailand Sun.

We awoke and every one wanted to see what state we were in. As soon as I had a cup of coffee, I felt great, and in fast, as the day proved, we were, as ever, immensely superior in agility and stamina to the rest of our party. Apparently, this was an inspection for Gammar and Mariana (his giant-breasted girlfriend) to try opium this night, as if they were waiting to see the results of our intrigue of last night. It should be mentioned that the village men claimed that smoking opium enabled them to do their day’s work – it made them strong, while those who didn’t smoke were weak and unfit for the hard day in the field – but I don’t believe this literally.

We ate breakfast and rested, and at 11 am we left. It had rained last night, and the rails were slippery. Lode and I charged way in front of the group. The trail was leading back to “town,” i.e. the village where we’d bought cokes the evening before. Lode and I headed back to town and ended up at the same spot as yesterday evening. We had 2 cokes and smoked some of my ganja. Lode said he really got stoned (unlike yesterday). I also got stoned – it is such good pot! It really make things fun.

Sa-O came looking for us, and found us sitting there. We were informed that we’d taken the wrong trail (if my writing is shaky, it’s because I’m on a train.) We followed her back and set off once again with our group. We went over a hill and down. Lode and I galloped like madmen down a tilled piece of ground. I ran down the trails, as is one of my favorite ways to descent trails. We were on a well defined bush trails the whole way, though smaller than yesterdays’. We would wait at rest shelters and at forks in the road for the others. We arrived ahead of them in one village and rested, took off our shoes and socks. In 15 minutes we heard their voices. (In truth, sometimes we would leave them, walk for 5 minutes, with them waiting behind us, and then wait for 10 minutes, which means we were walking 3 times as fast as they.) It turned out that this was the village we were to sleep in. By now, Lode had brought my attention to the young boy, who was constantly crying and carrying on. In this instance, we heard him scream. He came into the village being carried by his father, the elder German.

When I saw the German girl, Mariana, going down for a bath in the water, I followed her for a bath, remembering that Lode said he’d seen her huge tits yesterday when she bathed in the river. And so I took my bath watching her (and the wife of the elder German) running around in her panties and nothing else. What full tits. Not stretch marks. It was really wonderful!

During dinner, we were harassed by a village man who wanted to smoke opium with us. Young pretty girls watched us. After dinner, we went to smoke, and we asked Sa-O if we could have one of the girls, but she asked and the answer was no. Gammar came to smoke with us and he interrupted the air of intrigue with his stupid questions and naïve observations, which seemed to plague the poor man. After 10 pipes, Lode went to sleep, but I spoke with Gammar about his future with Mariana, and I ended up smoking 22 pipe loads! (It sounded like Mariana was hard to handle, and I didn’t envy Gammar, even though she had nice tits, for he seemed too pussy-whipped.) He is so naïve, it was funny – and I told him. I thought so. Like he mentioned how he, wanted to travel but he couldn’t because of his girlfriend and that her aunt bought them some furniture so he’d probably have to marry her!

I thought Lode had gone to pick up his girlfriend which is one of the reasons I stayed talking, but I found his earnestness reason enough; I like talking to sincere people.

I kept asking for one more pipe load, then we finally called it a night. Gammar went into the hut. I stood outside and I had a piss. I stood there in the darkness in an opiated stupor and felt the dreaminess.

When I went inside, Lode spoke to me. He had been trying to sleep, but couldn’t, so we smoked some ganja and we slept just fine. He’d not been trying to put the moves on Mariana.

All in all, a very fine day. I felt elated, strong, well-exercised and content.

October 17th, 1983

Chiang Mai, Thailand Monday

When I woke up, I felt as if I hadn’t had enough sleep. Breakfast was being served. I gave Sa-O my remaining 2 eggs and she had them boiled.

We had until 11 am to rest. After I’d eaten, Lode and I were sleeping and the German brat was tromping around the room. Mariana and Lode had collectively told him 30 times to go outside, but he continued to ignore them, so I picked him up and put them outside myself – and when the parents returned, I explained to them why I did it.

The walk began with me and Lode catching up, passing, then walking ahead of the others. We were some ways ahead and we detoured to a bush house off the road to wait. We smoked the roach leftover from last night while waiting, which got us really stoned. When the party came up the road, Sa-O thought we’d gotten lost again, which we hadn’t. She told our one porter to keep up with us as we continued ahead. I was aggravated by him following and I didn’t like the surveillance. Also, I should mention that before we left the village in the morning, I bought 50B worth of opium – about 4 grams. ($2.20). I intended to mail it to Clymer, but as the walk progressed, I grew thoughtful as to the desirability of this course of action.

In an effort to retaliate against this unwanted surveillance, I went off into the bush a few times. I bought a slingshot from a boy for 8B.

We reached the main road. In short order, a taxi picked us up. We (Lode, Gammar and I) sat on top, and I hid the opium and Marianna in a bag on top of the truck. The police checkpoint was unmanned as we passed it. Later, when we got near Chiang Mai, a roadblock was up ahead. Seeing this (now I had “the stuff” in my pocket) I stuffed the evidence into an opening in a plastic roll-up window, though in my haste it was left visible.

The police stopped the taxi because it was overloaded. I sweated it out, and we passed after a 10-minute stop.

We arrived at the Mee Guest House, and I retrieved my cargo from its hiding place. I noticed a sign in the Mec G.H. restaurant warning that the place is regularly raided by the police. In our room, I, gathered together all the roaches I’d been saving, and I cut them up along with the contents of the last joint, and from this rolled 2 pin joints. Lode and I smoked one of them and got deliriously stoned. We were both paranoid as hell, but neither of us said anything.

Lode tells me that when I came down the hall, my thongs were setting up a racket, and as he lay on the bed, he imagined the sounds were hundreds of soldiers coming to take him away.

In truth, the sign said that many guest were serving “long jail terms” due to the raids at the guesthouse. Very possibly people had been arrested in our very room. The bad karma hung over he room like a shroud.

I had put the opium in a letter addressed to Dr. J Clymer PHD General Delivery, Daily City, California and hidden it outside by a junk pile. The last remaining joint I had also hidden.

I mentioned my paranoia, and Lode and I began to exchange thoughts, which were focused on the one thing -fear of being busted! (What a bummer to spend the next 10 or 20 years in jail over a small amount of opium!!) Note: I would have mailed off the opium if the post office had not already closed.

We decided to get away from the hotel and so I collected our illegal paraphernalia and we walked across a footbridge across the big river. I took the opium from the envelope and I flung it in the river.

We had dinner and returned to our hostel. We sat outside and I smoked the last joint, it made me “deliriously stoned.” I quite enjoyed it.

We returned to our room, evidence destroyed. Lode fell asleep. I stayed up and read “in Cold Blood” until I was too tired. I turned out the light and fell immediately asleep.

October 18th, 1983

The bed was “harder than some concrete that I’ve slept on,” but anyway I slept in till about 9 am. I began to have the runs yesterday on leaving the village and one of my first acts today was to visit the toilet. I felt a bit disappointed that I’d smoked up and destroyed all the drugs yesterday but c’est la vie. (By the way, Lode speaks Swahili, Flemish, French, German and English!)

We rented a motorbike and went to Wat Do: Suthep, a temple over looking Chiang Mai. It was a tourist trap like all that I’ve seen since New Guinea! At 2:45 pm we were on the train to Bangkok. We have been writing and reading. Also, we’ve been doing our best to finish off the bottle 750ml of Mekong Whisky which we bought just before departure – 48B (Just over $2.00 US)!

Diary, I think of Kelly. Her letters had a sense of longing to be with me. In truth overriding any criticisms I could possibly imagine of our time together, I have a longing to be with her. I only wish I could talk with her and reaffirm our love. The liquor of love has never delivered a more potent effect than our love, which was borne upon the waves (of mankind’s biggest ocean, out there in the tremulous blue, in the boggling vastness). Oh, sweet Kelly, can you hear me – there is no reason to be sad if it’s longing that is making you so. Believe me, I wish you were here right now. I wish that I could hold you tight.

At 9 pm or so, some men sat down next to us, we could no longer stretch out. Consequently, I searched in other cars and found one extra seat. We changed cars. I stretched out of the extra seat and fell asleep and remained so (pretty much) until 3 am.

October 19th, 1983

Rangoon, Burma

Went to the hostel first thing in the morning and looked after my things. I went and got my passport, then my plane ticket and I found out that my plane was leaving at 5:20 instead of 8:00, so I had to rush. The busses took forever and the streets were flooded; I returned to my guesthouse, and I got my things. I had a brief talk with some Germans’ who, finding that I was American, gave me a lot of shit (not really, I mean, were being friendly) about the fact that the Americans are installing missiles in their country and I can’t say I blame them! The bus took 2½ hours to get to the airport. I check in, washed, ate, wrote a letter to Gam and one to Mandy (I hope she hasn’t forgotten about me, but it has been a long time – she’ll probably be married by the time I get home – god, she’s so beautiful – I love her.)

The plane ride was short – on it, I had a beer (Heineken.) We arrived in

Rangoon in the dark. With 3 other traveler’s, I rode into Rangoon YMCA – in an ancient car. I was hungry when I got there, so an American guy, named Al, and I went around looking for something to eat, but most places were closed. We finally had a snack, but it was old (a pork bun). Things are really cheap here!

Before I caught the plane, I bought a liter of Jonnie Walker Red and a carton of Rothman’s cigarettes. The official rate of exchange is 1 USD = 7.67 Kyats. But the black market rate is more like 19 = 1 USD!!

Went back to my room – I’m sharing a room with Al and a retired Australian man named Doug Fairbanks who is traveling just like all us youngsters, for which I respect him!

Rangoon looked very strange tonight – sort of like it was frozen in the 1950’s!

October 20th, 1983

Rangoon, Burma Thursday

Well, this morning, 3 couples took off on a taxi trip around Burma, and they tried to get me to go too, but it seemed like a drag – it’s one of those bemos where the exhaust comes in the back!! – they rented it for $200. But I didn’t feel like being carted around Burma for the next five days. I may just stay here in Rangoon. It is a strange but interesting and, for me, pleasant place.

I brought my clothes in for laundry service this morning and I bought 8 Aerogramme as I intended to do some letter writing.

I had lunch at the Strand Hotel, and I quite enjoyed myself – mushroom soup, a steak, bread and butter, vegetables, potatoes, coffee, and an éclair with ice cream in it – all for 35 Kyats (chats). At the black market exchange rate, that’s only $1.75. And, for Rangoon, the Strand is quite ritzy. They had orchids on the table and silver plated severs! (and some stainless steel too.)

I watched a betelnut vendor on the sidewalk, and it was quite fascinating! They have a myriad of different ingredients, and each customer likes it prepared a bit differently! They wrap the ingredients up in a betelnut leaf.

I just walked along in the afternoon among the deteriorating sidewalks made up of slabs of stone 2½” x 1½” feet, in the light drizzle under gray skies.

In the early evening, I went downstairs and weight lifted in the weight room. Not like at Jay’s gym. Now at Jay’s Gym, we had the walls absolutely covered with photos of the prettiest cheerleaders in the school district in bikinis. But here, they have magazine pin-ups of muscle men. And I noticed quite a few of the Burmese guys looking admiringly at themselves in the mirror – it made me laugh to myself. I had a good workout. At the end of it I was going for one last squat with the big bar and almost toppled over, and they had their laugh on me but it was a good workout.

Afterwards, I went to the Strand with a Japanese guy who took Al’s bed (Al left today for Pagan). The service was almost non-existent and the lobster was pretty bad, but I thought the Mandalay beer was okay – the bill was $3.00 US.

After dinner, we walked around the town – again – very strange (The Jap guy said India is stranger!) When we got back, I fell asleep, being quite tired.

October 21st, 1983


I took a leisurely morning letter writing alone on the veranda, and it was slightly regal. I took lunch at the Strand, and I wrote letters all day. By the end of the day I had written to Jeff C., M. Taylor, Mom, Renada, Kelly, the AmEx office in India (asking them to hold my mail till Jan 21, 1984.) Fred Billy in the Soloman Islands (returning his letter of April 8th (!) Which Kelly sent to me, and Norma. Since the Aerogrammes didn’t have any glue on them, I asked for some, and found out that the local way of sealing paper is to smear boiled rice on it! I tried it – and it works remarkably well!! It smears on like glue and holds even better!!

I has having a snack downstairs and I was invited over to the table of two men, one 65 and one 73, both Burmese, one of them has a daughter who is working for Bechtel as an engineer in San Francisco. This man, the 65-year old, was formerly the Deputy Secretary to the Minister of ­­­­­­­_____?.

He said that his salary was 1400 chats per month! He said that the prime ministers’ wages are 1800 Kyat per month! (At the black market rate [the equilibrium rate of exchange] that is only $90 USD per month – for the top government official! Of course he gets house, car, etc, to.

These 2 old timers wanted to travel (they’d traveled aboard on official business years ago), but they were not allowed to exchange their Kyats for dollars and this prohibits them from traveling!! (Of course, they could exchange them on the black market, but I said nothing about this). They said they envied my ability to travel without hindrance, and I don’t blame them.

After talking with them, I picked up my clothes from the laundry, dropped the letters in a post box, and shortly after returning to my room, I feel fast asleep.

October 22nd, 1983


(Note: Activities included weightlifting in the evening)

Note: Diary, I just note here that I am in the process of considering the future and of planning and sorting out my variety of desires/wishes/goals in an attempt to arrive at a cohesive and workable plan to achieve ends, which in lieu of such a plan would otherwise go unachieved.

9:45 pm:

I spent the day walking around the city. I sweat a lot here, both from heat and humidity. The sun seems exceptionally hot here. I went to the Swe Dagon Pagoda, but I didn’t go right up to it; I just observed it from outside. For some reason (as I told some guy this morning) pagodas bore me stiff!! Here in Rangoon I have even seen Buddha’s surrounded by flashing neon lights!!

Inevitably, as I walked around, I thought about me and my life; which is good, I want to think about this now that I am on my own. I went into a church and knelt down and prayed (to a God that is both within and without me) that I might be able to find hidden power within myself that will enable me to excel beyond my present abilities. [Specifically, I prayed that I might see the light and enter it, that I should discover the way to happiness that I might be able to show others, and I prayed –

i) That I could gain the ability to find women on any given night and make love to them for mutual satisfaction,

ii) To receive the admiration of the populace and

iii) Have the ability to amaze people with my music. I did a Super Suggestion – that is, relax my body and then count to 20, then repeat these suggestions, and count back down to 1.]

Diary, I will admit that I have felt, perhaps, some despondency about my life. There are so many unfulfilled wishes, and I feel inadequate in so many areas. 1. Women: I would say that my skills for picking up girls are certainly adequate – that is, at least as good as the average guy, if not better. But on an absolute level, they are terribly inadequate. I say this because I haven’t been able to fuck even 1% of the girls I’d like to, and I have spent so many nights alone (like tonight) when I’d rather be with a woman. And if I am to be fair to myself, I would have to describe my penchant for women as a Need rather than as a luxurious want! Lord only knows that most men feel the same way! And it makes me despondent that I see thousands of girls walking the streets, many of whom are virgins or who have no lover, and whom I want – it seems like such a waste that I shouldn’t be enjoying them – for that matter, a lot more enjoyment could be had by all! Why do we live in such backwards ways! What I wouldn’t give to be able to grab one of those little cuties off the street, bring her to my room, fuck the daylights out of her, and then send her on her way. Heaven, sheer heaven it would be!!!

October 23rd, 1983


8:10 am

To continue my discussion of last night.

1. So, in short, my despondency over the lack of women is possibly greater than a personal problem – it could be considered as a worldwide dilemma! (I might mention that even when I do find a girlfriend that I really like it doesn’t stop me from wanting the others.) I mean to say that this problem is largely a result of the societies I live in than due to any inadequacy on my own part – (except I do allow that in some positions – like rockstars they have the capacity to fuck many more woman than I – but can they just walk down the street and grab the girl they want? Doubtfully!)

Lastly, I want to say, that if I lived in a sexual heaven of this sort, I would probably be more generally happy.

2. Music: My lack of talent makes me despondent. I suppose this may have stemmed from an early association with music and a sincere belief in the well-intentioned compliments of others. Later, as I studied music, I became very serious about it – and, of course, following that, I put all my efforts into the group I formed, and after it broke up, without having ever sold a record (and the subsequent years of dealing with the guilt of letting Tom down), followed by my buying recording gear and finally and truthfully listening to myself – well, the long and the short of it is that I realized a huge disparity between my productions and that of the professionals!!

I cannot totally disclaim any talent – I can’t judge whether or not I may have talent as a songwriter. Even whether or not I can match the professionals is secondary to me! The problem I am writing about is mainly that I have lost the compelling need to write songs and poetry!! I theorize that perhaps this development has largely to do with despondency over a lack of talent. That is to say that talent is an incentive to do these things. But if I truly believe that I will never amount to anything in this area, that I will never produce a work worthy of public notice, then I might feel that it is a waste of time – but this is only a theory.

But, diary, the point is that I really miss that feeling of creating something, which I think is really great – something which flows from my heart. I used to love it when Tom and I would write three songs in one day – it was a joy (though at the time I was worrying about marketing them).

I have thought that I could develop my talent through application, but I find that I grow too easily disillusioned with my lack of progress. I get lazy and feel I can’t concentrate on it! I worry that it is a waste of time. When I compare myself to others, I grow more despondent!!

And in all this process, the meaning of song is virtually lost! I mean that song sprung from the heart and set my mind a glow. Then visions of making a livelihood from it came. Followed by an honest appraisal of how I compared to others who made a livelihood from it! Followed by despondency. This crept into my heart, and the songs of feeling and happiness topped.

Broken, limp and useless. The chords of my soul sound tiresome.

My heart wants to make music but the imprisoned muscles have wasted away.

4 pm (Above) What a bunch of bullshit! Boo-hoo!! I’ve been walking around all day, and now I feel happy. In fact, I am thinking that I was happy before, but I just wasn’t realizing it. I was just walking along a minute ago (the sun is going down, there’s that special glow in the sky) and I thought, “You know, I really am happy.” And as I thought this, I had a sudden burst of perception, as if I was seeing more deeply. I saw the glow of the sun on the leaves, the snail perched on the side of an old cement wall – then I wasn’t just saying it, because I saw in that instant how full life is, I saw the beauty.

Diary, I want to capture this moment, because I think it is important, and I think that many of my most sublime and important realizations are supported by it (e.g. perception to everything) I am happy! I have my body, which is unmarred by disease, it is complete and well – formed, I have my health and my sanity.

Diary, the reason I have sought to pursue money, adventure, music, love and “success” is because I thought it would make me happy, that is what “it is all about” – for me (and probably for the majority of people). I foresaw a life of happiness, of fun, of leisure. I envisioned the perfect life for myself at the age of 18 – so that I had a guideline, which I could follow – so that I could pursue something with energy and I would have something to let me know when I got off the path. But happiness, well… it’s just there. It is there to take.

Let me move on for a moment to a related topic (but first let me say that Happiness should be the foundation for all my goals, of all my actions!)

Can I say that many people have a need to worship a higher being – God, Buddha, Shiva, Mohammed, Jesus, you name it – well, I suppose I do too. I remember how appalled I was when my friends Jeff and Gary called each other “Godly” because I thought it was sacrilegious, but, we evolved into calling each other “Gods” quite regularly until I’ve taken the notion quite “seriously.” And now, I admit that I am a “man,” but I also like to think I am a “god,” because, perhaps, doing so intimates the greater potential that I and all of us have. It is, then, more just a very positive statement than a sacrilege, and indeed man has conquered portions of this material world that would bewilder the Popes of the 13th century into thinking it was sorcery!! Or a miracle! Perception: that the human has an ever far reaching potential.



What a revelation that was today! What a long walk will do for me! I walked back home, and I took a nap. Afterwards, awakening, I met U Thet and his colleague downstairs. Incredibly, U Thet went to school with U Thant (The 3rd Secretary of the United Nations) and knew him personally!! 2 girls from Switzerland were talking with them. I sat down. To make a short story of it, I decided to put the moves on one of them.

Diary, in the meantime, U Thet and I carried on an interesting conversation – yes – indeed – he explained to me the 4 truths of Buddha (1. That we suffer because we believe [incorrectly] that we are a person. 2. That our cravings keep us bound within the 32 planes of life/death cycle [4 planes below men – hell, 2 spirit planes and the animal plane – and 27 planes above us, the first 6 above man being that of nats** 3. That to escape the planes to Nirvana or nothingness i.e., to end suffering, we must end our cravings and 4. There are 8 paths to Nirvana, the most important of them being Morality, mediation (concentration) and faith in the teachings of Buddha – and others: good effort.

The physical body is not a permanent entity but ever- changing, and impermanent – it is composed of Hardness, Water (Liquid), Wind and Heat. The mental body is composed of our 5 senses and the 6th sense, which is growth – and is a direct result of the contact of the physical body with the material world.

U Thet has translated a Burmese book on Buddhism into English and hopes to market it. I also encouraged him to write a book on Buddhism himself because he explained it so clearly (and he’s read many books on it). Most importantly from a directly practical standpoint, he says that there is a lot of money to be made in Burma (and I can see that myself) and what is needed is to export stuff in a big way – to involve big companies. He says they can be my liaison with Burma and I can be the liaison with the companies in the states. We are to maintain a correspondence in the future.

Well, Diary, I swear I have practical mastered the art of getting a girl alone and kissing her, if only I could now further it to making love. So, from a point of sitting with the 2 men and the 2 girls, I ended up in my room with the one girl (under the pretense of having extra Baht to give her – which I didn’t – since she’s going to Bangkok tomorrow). She and the 2 men and I had ended up taking a walk.

I showed her my pictures of New Guinea and then I kissed her. She pushed me away in a friendly way and said, “No, I don’t want.” I kissed her again and our tongues lolled about the others’ and then she bit mine (not hard) playfully.

I said, “Gee, I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” and then, I said, “Hey, you bit me!” and I grabbed her and kissed her again to get at her tongue!! So she kissed me for a moment. But after we talked right on, no problems, I told her she’d better go because it was getting late and she had to go – but that I would have liked her to spend the night. She said she couldn’t because she had a guy at home, and she said she hadn’t slept with anyone since she’d left home. We talked about it and I expressed how I wished the world was different because, basically, guys are hornier than girls, and I think it would be better if we were both promiscuous! She said maybe I’d be able to have it like that when I was older, but when I asked her what she meant, she didn’t really have an answer. So, by and by, when she’d finished her 4th cigarette she left. I went to sleep. (Oh yeah, in between the conversation the YMCA guy knocked on my door because there’s not supposed to be any girls here but I just locked my door on him!)

Diary, it was sort of fun really. I really believe she couldn’t. It wasn’t that she didn’t like me – she said I looked something like and old boyfriend. Given that it wasn’t in the stars, I did the best I could. It made me think that I’ve got to start out with the right kind of girl.

A clue: she went to the north of Thailand, but she didn’t smoke opium because she was afraid to. If this denotes conservation – do I want to seek out, shall I call them – Progressive girls! The kind of girl who takes a chance!! When I think of it – many of the girls I’ve gone to bed with were girls who drank (Lenora, Diantha) smoked pot (Norma, Kelly, Debbie), generally took drugs (Isabelle) had liberal sexual attitudes (Linda E., Joy W.), started smoking and drinking, etc when young (Tonica) and others I’m sure. It seems there’s another kind who seek status to be with you – to be with a California man (Bernadette from France), to be with a musician (Lynn?) and then others who obviously just do it out of sheer horniness (Cayuko for example)!

This is very interesting!! I wonder… if it is possible to outline the behavioral characteristics of types of girls most apt to fuck!!

October 24th, 1983

[Dacca, Bangladesh]

9:15 am

in the Strand Dining Room after a coffee 2) and toast (w/ Butter and jam) breakfast, Burma.

Diary, good morning, and a fine morning it is!! I suppose that just resting in Rangoon for five days was a wise decision, for I feel so rested and happy, and prepared for the rest of my trip, and specifically from Nepal and trekking that it must have worked wonders.

I want to note here (as it seems to be good for me to write things down) that I want to begin some work:

i) I want to use the blue notebook (that Kelly gave me) as an exploratory device armed at defining my future for the next five years and the rest of my future as well. I want to write out my thoughts (In pencil) regarding –

a) What I want to do

b) My philosophies

c) My conclusions

d) My thoughts and

e) Any and everything relating to my life and philosophy.

I want to develop, as it were, a “personal mission” and, and I mean this, I want to examine it backwards and forwards, test it, and make damn well sure that it is realistic and workable and that it suits me well. (Eventually) I want to think out how I am going to do what I want to do and to test my plan for the countless contingencies that are bound to pop up and then become obstacles between my chosen destiny and myself!!!

I may suggest that I just write all the related topics out. Later, to categorize them and refine the conclusions. Because I know that I am going to end up with scores of different ideas – but I want to sue these ideas, put them into play.

Also, I realize that this process is really a continuing one, one of continual examination (although, for example, Dn. Harrell said that a firm made its mission once but that the plans were constantly revised). Thus, I want to derive a cohesive statement of my mission!!

Later (and during this process) I should derive a plan, and afterwards I should keep a journal of any ideas that seem pertinent to this (and my) endeavor.

So, the blue notebook will be a starting point, but I highly doubt that I will be finished with this task by the time I’m finished with notebook. So, I should continue in another book and so on, all the time, collecting, processing and synthesizing my ideas with a rock-hard-core!

(Diary, I can see that being alone is good for me – just what I wanted: to start thinking and planning for my future!)

Well, I fly tonight at 9:40 pm. I plan now to return to the Hotel, do some weightlifting, shower, check out of my room, then come back to the Strand for lunch (the Chinese part – Roast Duck!!) And finally to tour the town for picture taking and shopping/trading!

1:45 pm at the Strand (Chinese Restuarant) for lunch.

ITO – My conception of God. As I started writing yesterday, I have a need to commune with a higher source, as do many people. The trouble is that I don’t think Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha or (The man who “discovered”) Shiva hit the nail on the head, so to speak – that is, I think that they spoke the Truth, but how can each one of them have been right, since they differ?? (We have not had a major prophet for 1500 years.) Well, I think that they saw part of the picture. There must be some explanation for the creation of the universe. But I prefer not to explain it away by guess work or by attributing it to a man-like entity who said – “Ok, let’s create heaven and earth!” It seems like a childish and human-centric notion! I look at what I know or think I know or what I see. The world is here, the stars (and I believe scientists descriptions of the distances and of what they are composed) are there, the earth is hurling through space – and, looking at it the other way, the matter of which all this is composed can be examined at smaller and smaller intervals – we have the atom, the protons and sub-atomic particles – and I believe they exist, except I don’t envision them to “look” like the red and blue balls they have in science 1A.

So, there is this (magnificent) array of reality, but no one has told us (though I suppose some claim to know) – that is, a greater authority has not proved to us or shown us, the purpose or way in which all this came about (by the way, to ask for a purpose also seems trivial). It’s not like the purpose of a laundry detergent or something like that – there’s no “purpose” – that word is a conception of our puny minds (they are also great minds). In the absence of an explanation, I can only look at it all and say – there is force in the universe – there is a common denominator which makes the rather barricade (what is the word for those things… they are the same as me – that is everything has a “sameness” about it.

So if I desire to commune with a source of superior power (I’ll pray to an Atom bomb!) where do I turn?? I don’t believe there is a “man upstairs.” What I believe is that there is a farce, which does not discriminate between me and my neighbor or me and a rock or any set or subset of reality for all is common with the Force. (This reminds me of Star Wars!) Within the realism of reality there are certainly startling possibilities – and it is these I pray for. I am no less or greater than anything – it just is.

So to the point!

ITO is the Force, which moves all things. It is an energy.

(Written next day)

After lunch, I went back to the Y. Al had returned from Pagan. We talked a bit and then I walked around the city. Among the interesting sights was a vegetable I’d never seen before. (Also, earlier in the day, I’d seen a government truck that had one of those “forbidden ” signs with a picture of an opium poppy on it – I asked around, and sure enough, it is a picture of an opium poppy and the truck was part of a government project [backed by the UN] to eliminate the crops.)(Also, before I went to lunch, I met again with U Thet and the 65 year old, the two charming Burmese men. We talked in the Y restaurant and then I took their photo and then we said our goodbyes and I went walking). When it was dark, I returned to the Y, and then I went to the Strand for dinner. Al was there. We sat at a table with 4 other travelers and had a grand time, talking, laughing and each drinking 2 Mandalay beers. Al and I rushed off to get to the airport, arriving with an hour to spare. But the plane was delayed (they’d come in from Bangkok on 3 engines only!) While we were waiting, we met a man from Bangladesh who promised to show us around.

We had no faith in the plane as we boarded. The flight felt shaky. Once in Dacca airport, we were told that in Biman airways would put us up for a night due to the delay (it was 2 am). We were bused to a hotel (the Golden Gate), but it was far from the 4 star place we’d envisioned!! Sleep!

October 26th, 1983

Dacca, Bangladesh

“The moon looked like a pearl, and the clouds like floating white brains, in the easel of my vision, as I lay looking at the night say on the concrete rooftop of my Bangladesh hotel.”

Today was very exciting! We took a walk before lunch, marveling at how placid Dacca was, at how wide the streets were. Lunch turned into a marathon discussion on traveling and a religion between Al, myself and a Swedish Jehovah’s witness. The man we met from the plane came by. [You can get visas to travel by yourself in Mongolia! And Bhutan!, you can go to Laos from Kathmandu but it’s really expensive. You can walk with the hill people in Nepal to opium fields.]

After lunch, Al and I walked to old Dacca, bordering the big River. On the way, Al had a shave, and I decided to have a “trim.” I tried to communicate that I wanted only a little taken off, but the “barber,” a young man, took the shears, and with his first cut, took 2 ½” off he back! I was horrified. A crowed of people gathered around as he tried to correct his mistake. (A woman was yelling at a man and he finally threw her on the ground.) I left in the middle of the horrible haircut (before he could do any more damage.) We walked to old Dacca. It was fascinating. The streets are narrow. Ox-drawn carts piled high with smelly skins of cows and ox’s. Kids following us. We turned off towards the river, kids following in greater numbers. What’s this -?- a man with graying blonde hair – he is prompted by the people to talk to us. He smiles a smile stained with betelnut – he looks as if he was of European origin, but now he has been molded into the Bangladesh peasantry and countryside. He shakes our hands and speaks Bengouli so rapidly, exactly like the others, and I know that is his only language – he makes no attempt to speak English – Al and I are dumfounded. Al points to him and asks “Bengoui?” The onlookers chime in with the man – shaking their heads “Yes” saying “Bengouli! Bengouli!” It looked like he had been abandoned as a child here – his head was into this place – his gestures and mannerism showed that he was a Bangladesh peasant – what was his history???

We walked back into the streets and proceeded along – cramped shops, faces peering out. Have you ever seen a rickshaw traffic jam?? (Well bicycle rickshaws) We walked by the central jail and all the guards waved back. Then the rickshaw traffic jam.

Back at the hotel, the fat man stood over us and watched us eat. The dinner was lacking. After, Al and the Swedish guy sat around the dining hall, and I went out. I met a young man and asked if he could direct me to some ganja. We walked among mud pathways to a wooden porch where men were smoking chillums. Having never used a chillum before, I took some practice to “master” it, and after 10 pulls I began to get the hang of it. About 15 men, a couple of women and assorted children were in the gathering. They procured a minute but flagrant bit of hashish – which we smoked in a cigarette.

When the young man and I left (I had to pay 15 taka [24T = 1 USD or I’ve heard unofficially 40T = 1 USD]), we went to a teashop, where I had Bengouli tea and a snack – a fried dough filled with a potato mixture which was quite good. He insisted on paying the 4 taka. Next, we went to his friend’s “pharmacy,” – which – well, you never know in these places – anyway, there was a good shop and we had some egg and onion pastries, and I insisted on paying 5 times and finally got my way, and they kept bringing more pastries (and a tea – “chai”) – they were delicious – on my request. But, alas, in the end, they didn’t let me pay. I’d offered all the food around.

Me and now 3 young men went out and walked about, across the walkway above the street, with the moon gleaming on a platter of crispy dark blue. We walked trough the New Mahit** (which looks old) and I continued to banter back their Bengouli without hesitation – though I didn’t know the meaning of what I said many times! (Kub-kallo- Good!)

[Pus! (Piss!)] etc. One of the guy’s entwined his fingers in mine, as we walked along – I was hoping that he was just following customs cause where I’m from we don’t normally “hold hands,” with our friends – they’re just being friendly I supposed.

Said goodnight to them outside my hotel. On the way to my room I explored a banquet hall and followed steps until I was on the concrete roof of the hotel. There was a dwelling with a light on and a window through which I saw a row of sewing machines and a man inside at one of them – this was on the adjacent roof of the next building – I could’ve walked from one roof to the next – no gap.

Well, I looked at the rich moon and the overflowing rays permeating the amazing lighting of blues and white. I lay down on the concrete and I looked as the strata clouds blew over the skyscape: The moon looked like a pearl, and the clouds like floating white brains in the easel of my vision.

I tried to blank out my mind and OBSERVE. God, how hard this is to do sometimes. So, I realize that the answer to what is beyond the farthest – detected galaxy, beyond the universes’ walls – will, the answer could be deciphered from the evidence of what I was looking at right then – the sky, stars, moon, clouds, rooftops, buildings. The law seemed obvious – the Law of the visual Universe: everything is inside of something else. As protons are inside us, rings of hurling electrons, so are the electron spheres surrounded by groupings of other atoms and molecules. So, the earth is inside its atmosphere and the sky and stars must be inside another entity. (Perhaps, now, on reflection, I should rather also call it the clue of the visual universe). Where this leaves us is without any doubt that there is something beyond. (Could I say that nothing is endless except time and matter?)

I closed my eyes and drifted – and I woke up and returned to my room and went to sleep.

October 26th, 1983

Dacca, Bangladesh

Today was a weird day, but, at the same time, it has proved to be entertaining. Anwar took care of that! He picked us up with his business partner. Al and I were sitting at the table with Rautu, the young man who showed me around town last night (who got me stoned and introduced me to his friends.) Anwar said that he owned 2 Mercedes when we met him, but instead he picked us up in a chauffeur driven Toyota Corona (’68?)!! It was cramped with 3 in the back. As we drove away A.K said that the young man, Rantu, was dangerous (being from a different “class” than he – he never associated with such a character!). Then A.K. said we were going to his friend’s house – a “big man in Dacca.” The banged-up Toyota drove by the tanneries, which smelled worse than anything that I ever smelled – and within “nose-shot,” stopped the car in front of an average house. We picked up his other friend and now 2 people (them) had to share a bucket seat. He said his friend owned a tannery (doubtful).

We drove to a neat-looking fortification, which A.K. described as being 3000 years old, but was in fact, about 400 years old. He pointed out a structure as “the most important monument,” and then described to us how it led to underground chambers but no one had ever successfully followed them (he described how they tied ropes to the legs of dogs, but the dogs had never returned.) Well, he said we couldn’t go in there because it was “restricted.” Well, some other people went in, so we followed. I took a lit match and discovered that there were no passageways leading anywhere!! But still, the incredibly – full – of – bullshit Anwar, said in a tone of warning: (I was having quite a laugh the whole time) “You can go in, but you can’t come out!” And so, we went to a museum on the grounds (boring). Then we went to the tomb of a prophet where one man made a noise like a strange machine and another cried (in rapid-fire Bengali) a musical prayer (then he stopped this amazing activity to come and ask me for some American coins.) A.K. and friends bought some ganja. We went to a park and smoked it – this was good. Then we went to lunch, which drained A.K. of his money. Then to the zoo, where I saw the most beautiful black panthers, lions, tigers and leopards I think I’ve ever seen (I think it’s a shame to keep innocent Animals behind bars.) Then home.

In the evening, Al and I went about this part of the town, and we smoked the remaining ganja left over from this afternoon.

October 27th, 1983

Dacca[, Bangladesh]

Waking this morning thinking we’d be going to Nepal. The bus never showed to pick us up. Rushed to the airport. Even though we had confirmed seats, we couldn’t get seats on the plane. Back to town, we made it to the Biman Airlines office in racing rickshaws (Al and I each in one). We waited around and argued and finally at 5 o’clock we were given reservations of Burmese Airlines for Saturday at 2 pm and we were given a hotel voucher for the Puibani (a very nice hotel across the street) expenses paid for the next 2 days. We had a snack.

I went out and bought some hash. We smoked it before and after dinner, and it was excellent and lent visual intensification. Al and I walked around the city until 1:30 am.

October 28th, 1983

Dacca, Bangladesh

Al and I had a very interesting conversation this evening. We talked about the potential within oneself – how to draw it out. (I suggested drugs, wearing crazy things.) we explored happiness, vitality, and pleasure – goals. Is it happiness through vitality and pleasure? Hedonism is not necessarily the same as pleasure for it can (well, I’ll look it up: the doctrine that pleasure of happiness is the highest good? Devotion to pleasure as a way of life.)

I am of the universal mind.

I am thinking all the time

On every subject.

Went walking through town today. Followed by a mad dancer and old man who yelled “Hiyah! Hiyah!” and kept us laughing for a mile – we turn and dance with him but we don’t give the old daddy a tip. It was like he made his voice as obnoxious as possible when he cried a muddy verbal musical script between his Hiyahs!

Down on the river. Followed by safari trains of children. Sails torn and re-sewn catch the wind mobilizing wooden craft. The sails are arched squares of red bleached by the sun, and white ones; but a weathered white, beige with time. A caravan of dusty men hauling sacks of dusty cement, burdened, move to and from the ship like camels. I position and the sun (hold up your chin so your face is in the sun), and he poses.

Hand-held scales. Here you see altercations wherever there are these so-plentiful-people, but (so far they have all ended without bloodshed. People, there are noticeably many here.

Al and I got into a tremendous conversation at snack time 5:30. When we finished it, it was 9:30 pm, we had finished it over dinner. We talked about potential of humans, genius, happiness, vitality, pleasure, goals of life (women).

After dinner, I went to buy some hash, and I had just been sitting, writing and listening to Steely Dan and others in Al’s room and we got stoned to the bone on this imported Nepalese hash. (It costs 60 taka = 2.50 approximately – for ½ – ¾ gm, including transportation and Baksheesh, but it’s so good. Only 1/8th gram to get you so thoroughly stoned!!!

It’s been a good day – experiencing Dacca and a stimulating conversation about goals and life, development of potentials – all the types and directions I want to thinking about it. In the evening, some of the best hash I’ve smoked – and writing and music.

October 29th, 1983

Kathmandu, Nepal

Morning – On bus to airport leaving Dacca.

I loved Dacca. I had a good time. The streets were interesting. Changers chanting to Mohammed. The beggar with the vulture eye (all white). 75,000 rickshaws. The barber was a butcher!! (Ach! Terrible!)

Important: I was lying in bed thinking about visualizing activity.

Okay, it occurred to me that if one visualizes what one wants to occur, for it to work (in conditioning his mind to handle situations more effectively it must be sound. That is, if what one visualizes is unrealistic, how can one possibly hope the situation to turn out as it was visualized!! If one was to plan it out, think how one would achieve a gain, visualize it, act on it, then figure out ways to improve the strategy and repeat the process – this seems like it might make a sound method.

1. Write out a scenario the way you would want a (hypothetical) situation to turn out – reason it out, think of it like the move of a chess game – master the response. [Embed it in your mind through visualization – act it out!]

2. Visualize the scenario

3. Act it out in real life

4. Think about it – feedback, rewrite the scenario.

At the airport, I had 12 samosas – a pastry with meat and other ingredients as filling – very delicious. Cold Carlsberg beers were duty-free at $0.50 each, so I had 4 of them on the plane ride. We sat among the Nepalese people (who were also put at the Purbani) watching them all wearing identical watches, rings, sunglasses (which the ringleader brought from Hong Kong to Dhaka where the others were waiting (on a round trip Kathmandu – Dhaka) – they get a free trip to Dhaka and the other guy reaps the proceeds.

I looked out the plane window, and (to my amazement) there were the Himalayas plain as day sitting above the cloud line, which separated their lofty peaks from the fertile valley 24,000 feet below. Everyone crowded the windows, and some of us looked out the nose of the plane through the cockpit windows. This is the greatest!!

Kathmandu looked great too. The houses rose in the scattered array, aged brick, among the fertile valley floor. We checked into the Durber Square Lodge – ha! What an overstatement. Bought some hash (overpaid over double because the going price is 50 rupees per tala, or .33 cents a gram! We sat in the Ying-Yang Restaurant and had delicious mixed eatables curry (leave your sandals at the door). Smoking in excess is effectively easier the lower the cost. Later, we walked the streets. We found a funeral procession and followed it to a lighted temped next to a river. The ladies wailed and moaned. I never heard anything quite like it! Al left and later I walked and walked. I touched a woman with a bloody lip and she wanted me to pay for sex, but I sensed an ambush and split back to my room. Crash!!

October 30th, 1983

Kathmandu, Nepal

Evening: I just enjoyed a super meal – a B.K.’s special burger with chips and salad for $1 – it was great. I got my trekking permit today, and I made plans and should be able to get a plane in 3 or 3 days to Lakla.

I bought another dinner, this time a quiche dinner – it was super delicious – the cook is an expert.

I went back to my room and crashed out.

October 31st, 1983

Kathmandu, Nepal

Early am: It’s still dark out and I just woke up. I am horny – real horny – it’s been 22 days since I last fucked – and when I go trekking that will make it even longer!! The thought of being with a woman possess me!

I’ve got to prepare my things and go soon. Once I buy my gear, I’ll be prepared.

8 am: Just woke up and packed and I am going to –

a) Eat apple pie and drink cappuccino

b) Look for a room close to the K. Guest House

c) Check the plane ticket

d) Shop the rest of he day and get my stuff put safely away (that I’m not taking).

Last night I wrote: I am a master of indecision. Reading that this morning displeased me – I must learn to make quick decisions. I deliberate too long, I think.

12:30 pm: Feeling great. Bought a down jacket for $25 – Swiss made.

4 pm. I’m still going strong. I’m the greatest. I’m the bobbest!

11 pm: I feel incredibly bob!! This feeling stems from a shuffling off of all mortal considerations, (Loudly!!) and a full-on attitude bent on bobness. This is characterized by confident and rapid decision-making. No wasting time. Today was bob:

1) Got reservations to fly to Lukla

2) Bought boots, down jacket, gloves, booties, and a pair of hiking boots!


I feel all in all, October has been an awesome month. I smoked opium with villagers in N. Thailand. I made passionate love to the young lass from Luxemburg under moonlit skies in Koh Samui. I met a friend of the late U Thant in Burma. I went to my first Muslim (hardcore) country – Bangladesh, was excited. And I saw the Himalayas.

But most importantly I feel the ball is starting to roll, momentum gathering for a self-derived plan for “success.”

November 1st, 1983


Lukla: Woke up at 4:30 am. Al and I got the taxi with Angrita to the airport. I was the first passenger on the 8 am plane. Slowly the plane converged on the white peaks, then headed up a valley and made a violent landing on a little PNG-style strip. Went up to the “Himalaya Lodge” where I spent the day eating writing letters and writing on the project I’ve instituted to define my objectives and pursue them. These guys I seem to be with, Al, Greg, Mario and Tiziano, are a lot of fun, always joking, ribbing each other good-naturedly – yes I feel I fit in; I do a lot of grilling myself. It’s fun, for example, to grill Al (we keep treating him like he’s not gonna make it).

Anyway, diary, the thing is, I have seldom ever been so excited in my life. This makes me happy. Fuck, I hope the rest of my life (and wishing for a long one) continues at this pace.


November 2nd, 1983

walked from Lukla to Namche Bazar (from 9,200 ft. to 11,200 ft.) (8:50-2:40 w/ 30, 50 & 10 minute breaks)

Rise and shine, breakfast and we’re on the trail. The trail is wide, a veritable superhighway. (This reminds me of New Guinea – Jesus, the trails were barely visible. I think that half the difficulty in hiking there was foot placement.) The scenery, viewed through an expanse of crystalline air, is magnificent – it’s unheard of! How dare these mountains be so bold! Jagged crests of white, each peak an individualist. (If they were people, they would be extraordinary.)

The trees – well, it’s a good time of year – like fall in Bavaria, color themselves in spectral array from red to violet (greens, organs, yellows, browns.) A river and crystalline streams and a waterfall by the trail.

There are literally 50 or 100 Westerners on the trail. At the end of the day 116 Tamang passed me in a trading train.

The first part of the trail was down. By Phakding, it began upwards. Ahead of the park, I had lunch at Jorsalle, the entrance to Sagamartha (Mt. Everest) National Park. But the others passed me and had no lunch. After Jorsalles; the trail ascended sharply. I passed 20 people or more, all walking with tired and strained steps. I passed Tiziano, then Mario, and finally it caught up and passed Grey and Al. I feel that eating and hot drink is essential to fitness in these mountains. I felt pretty strong. Greg and I are least affected, so far, by the altitude. He recently trekked in the Kharakorams in Pakistan.

At Jorsalle, I asked a ranger how long to Namche Bazar. He said 2 hours. I asked “How about if you walk fast?” 1½ hours. I left about 1:25 and arrived in Namche at 2:40 pm.

The major peak we saw today was Kangtega – 22,340ft. (6809 meters). Looking out the window of this lodge, Kwangde at 20,300 feet takes up half my view. From Lukla, 2 peaks across the river were visible, but I can’t positively identify them on the map – perhaps Kariolung (21,920) and number to the north (22,817). On the east side of the river, south of Kantega, was one very memorable peak, but I don’t have a name for it. I may stay here one whole day and then hike to Thangboche at 12,683.

Note: We left 7:50 am and arrived at 2:40 pm, but I spent at least an hour eating along the way. Mario came in 50 minutes after us and Tiziani 1¾ hours or so after us.

At lunch in Jorsalle, I wrote some in my project journal, and I feel positive about what I outlined.

November 3rd, 1983

Namche Bazar

1:20 pm. The clouds are rolling in. I have been taking it easy all day. The others have gone to Khunde, 1 hours walk away. I have discovered that a pass exists that’s 20,575 feet called Tashi Lapcha. Diary, my goal is to hike to an elevation of over 20,000 feet, so this looks like it. Two obstacles, a special permit is needed and a tent is needed.

However, I am hoping to be able to surmount these obstacles. Even if I have to circumvent a police post, hike to Na and then return, since I am assuming I will have to rent a tent here in Namche and later return it. Of course, first I’ll go for Everest base Camp. From Namche, it looks like a 2 or 3 day hike over Tashi Lapcha to Na. If I can work it so I don’t have to retain the tent, I can continue from Na to Bedding and eventually Lamosangu. I am also considering entering Tibet for a day, but I doubt it will happen.

3 pm Note: Another map shows Tashilapcha pass at 5856 meters (not 6273). Is South Col a pass? At 7986 meters?? Just below Everest.

Note: I forgot to try to contact Kelly again on the morning of the first. This is the second time I forgot, and this after I repeatedly wrote and told her to remember.

I think that Tashi Lapcha is only at 5846 meters, so although it’s the highest place I can go without breaking the rules (or getting permits in Katmandu) – actually, I need to get a permit for Tashi Lapcha – it is just as well to go to Kala Patar at 5545 meters.

Diary, I’m exceptionally horny. Sometimes I fantasize about going to bed with a beautiful 16 or 18-year-old girl, and this picture seems so desirable. It’s happened to me before, and it can happen again. I am lately thinking about visualizing again. I want my project to progress with an answer, for I feel the need to accelerate progress, to grab a sense of direction, and I think it might help me with women. I feel very attracted to these Nepalese women, especially since that night when I tried feeling up that “prostitute” in Kathmandu – she wanted 100 rps. I should really think about what I want to do and how I should spend my time. If I really want to get into women, I should find the right place. There are some places that are better than others – this must be true. In some places, the women are more prone to fuck you than; say, the local Tibetan women. (I would love to meet one of them, that’s for sure. Like today, there was this woman who attracted me, and we engaged in eye contact, but I didn’t know what to say since I didn’t speak Tibetan or Nepalese.)

Diary, anything is possible. I still haven’t given up on my exalted dreams. I want to investigate them for soundness – I want to examine them backwards and forwards – anything for a clue of how I can swing it – make it happen. But it seems as if I have got to do one thing for the others to be achieved at the same time. (Maybe I should talk to other people about these things. They can offer other clues and perspectives.) I.e., I, for example, have to get a lot of money together for me to be able to negotiate mountain climbing expeditions, get nice possessions, spend time pursuing women. Everything is much easier with money – well, at least in this line it is. Does it also make becoming a recording artist easier?! It may or may not.

When I spot – think it (meaning to think quickly and form a split-second tentative judgment), it seemed a good idea to pursue the career as a rockstar, doing the thing I love, as it can be financially lucrative and seems most definitely to attract women. Curious, as I write that it occurs to me “where does Adventure fit in?” Because women and money seem to be the by products of a successful rockstar, perhaps this part of the decision was sound, successfully incorporating 3 of my 4 loves. Further, if, Success (or the pursuit of my spirit, manifested by Philosophy) is included as a 5 th love, music is also incorporation, this, because in order to write lyrics, the head and soul must be together, and also, from the alternative standpoint of being successful as a rockstar, this 5th desire is also fulfilled.

Adventure seems to interfere with this cohesive set of goals on a practical plane. On a philosophical plain,adventure is what a rockstar is all about – taking chances, casting your fate to the wind (in a philosophical sense, surely). But the long spans of time spent traveling to not seem conducive to perfecting another art – this fact, I believe I have learned. Unless one could successfully practice and write “on the road” – I used to do it when I visualized, but maybe not enough.

You see, diary. I still want the same things as I used to! (Note: at these elevations, my mind seems lucid – in the cold, I can escape from my body and concentrate on what I am thinking.)

“They are the things which still occupy my mind,” and make me pine for them. Although, now that I think about it, I don’t feel an urgent need to make money – in fact, I never have. I just want it!

I just had a flash: if I could buy a beautiful woman for $x, then, if I knew for sure I could, I would have an incentive to work towards, but that seems – well – I just don’t have that much incentive – I can’t buy from a woman what I really need – that has to come naturally.

This ‘poem’ should be entitled


I love to be warm in the cold, my heart’s

Pumping for you, I’d like to be thumping

With no clothes on, with you.

Would it that I only had to be bold, to

Snatch the quarry, “to find the goldmine”

(Or Norma, did you really mean that!!)

I’m singing singing singing out for you, that woman

Who will find herself alone with me, who I

Will boldly hold, who’ll accept my tongue and

Lay down with tender passion. I address this

To you, a laughing lady – show me a good time


I want the unexpected happening to both of us, and all of you that I want to break so much, both of us amazed,

My heart cries out to all of you to join me.

The eyes of love that touch me everyday.

Religion of Love. Religion of Love! Religion of Love! Religion of Love! Maybe I should scheme real hard

To get the love I need – to be your savior –

It’s all aimed to open the mind – for us both to rise

In Love’s ecstasy.

Say little girl, New Guinea beauty, the encounter is Tibet.

– written stoned to the bone on Nepalese Hash at 11,200 ft.

What I had started out to do was to try to express my desire for all the women I see every day… I was fantasizing about encounters. I was thinking that I should write an ode to women generally, that if I could write one so beautifully, maybe woman would flock to me. I want women to flock to me.

Summary: The previous page was written in the visitors center atop of Namche. The room was quiet and all windows. I sat alone and smoked. Later, I walked back. I talked with a woman from an expedition that went to Island Peak 6,100 meters. I had some delicious spring rolls at the Sherpa Trekker’s Lodge. Upon inquiry at this lodge, I found out that the word Sherpa can be used as an anthropological term or as am mountaineering term. The Sherpas are a race of people. People of this race can have any occupation – even that of a porter. As a mountaineering term Sherpa denotes the men or a group of men who serve as guides – as the experts of the mountains. A Sherpa (mountaineering) would never carry someone else’s baggage. But a Sherpa (of the Sherpa race) could serve as a porter – and a man from another race, the Lamang, for example, could serve as a Sherpa or an expedition.

There was some fresh-baked bread at this lodge, so I bought a couple of loaves (12 rupees each) – it’s delicious, but the bread was about the size and weight of a brick. I went to a shop, and I bought a kg. of cheese for 80 rp. Back at the home lodge, I talked and joked with the guys. I was given some yak momo – a sort of pastry with spiced yak meat inside – it was absolutely delicious. I smoked some more hash during the evening, yet my mind stayed alert, and I wrote an entity in my project book, with which I am fairly pleased. There was cloud cover all over Namche since the afternoon. Before bedtime, I was super-psyched to be hiking (tomorrow) in the morning. (The others had hiked to Khunde today, and I think, they were a little worn out.) In the middle of the night I went out to pee and I noticed the starry sky, meaning another clear morning tomorrow with awesome views.

November 4th, 1983

Namche Bazar to Thangboche (from 11,283 feet to 12,683 feet) left about 9 am arrived 11:54 am.

Diary, I’m happy as hell. I am happy just to be here. I am happy to be alive – to be alive – to be alive – once that’s gone, I don’t know, maybe nothing remains – at least I know that my body will perish, maybe I’ll never have another. Yes, to me, life is precious commodity – it’s so easy to lose (I heard about Germans recently being buried in an avalanche on Everest.)

Women – well, I feel an attitude like this: I feel aloof sort of – like of course I want them – I’m a virile male – but my time is precious, and unless a woman shows serious interest – well, what I mean to say is that I want them running to me – not the together way around. I must have had some dreams lately because I feel lusty, spurred by this image of a young, cute girl giving me all her love. The Tibetan/Nepalese women turn me on. Before I sleep the last few nights, I’ve visualized a few encounters with women – I think it is beneficial to my well-being -it gives me a tinge of happiness to think about something so pleasant as giving and getting love from a woman – a young woman, a beautiful woman. Ah!!!

It’s about 5:30 pm now. Today was awesome. Up early, hiking by about 9 am. We gained the hill above Namche and soon, turning a corner, I caught my first view of Mt. Everest. In the distance northwards, we saw Naptse, Lhotse, and Mt. Everest. I let out a yell, and another. I lost the others after that. Al started talking to a Nepalese girl, also going to Thangboche.

(We’ve had a good time kidding him about him thinking he was gonna get somewhere – he came up bragging about getting “hot lemons” from a beautiful Nepalese girl at lunch – he stopped at the village before the river.) I made it to Thangboche just before noon. Diary, the beauty is immense all over – there’s no escaping it – everywhere you look!! When I get to Thangboche I took several pictures. (I took almost 20 pictures today). I took close-ups of Everest, of Everest and Lhotse, of Ama Dablam (the most awesome and beautiful mountain I’ve ever seen – shooting straight up – alone – covered in billowy snow, veined, sharp); I shot a wide-angel of the whole scene.

Later, Greg came up. We sat outside with this scene before us, and drank Milk tea and ate my bread and yak cheese. Later, Al came up. Another 40 minutes, and Tiziano and Mario showed up. We’re all here at the Thangboche Trekker’s Lodge.

By the way, the name A.K. Khkan has become famous between Al, Greg and I. What a character A.K. was. – [There was a moment after dinner when the skies cleared and many of us raced outside to take pictures of the [Mugnificura**??]

After dinner, Al and I talked to two friendly girls. One of them had a rich Georgian accent. They both lived in Washington State. The Georgian, Lucia, and the other woman, Joy, were friendly. Al and I talked with them. The conversation soon became Al and Lucia and Joy and I having our separate conversations.

Joy and I got into a heavy one. Well, first off, I was told that the meaning of my name, Jeffery, is God’s Peace; secondly, John, means Beloved. So my name is thus rendered: Beloved God’s Peace. What a lovely name! Rather Bobly!

I asked her what was the meaning of life – what is the best possible outcome of my life?? She said that she knew it was to be happy. Happiness, said she, comes from self-love. I asked if it was possible to make millions of others happy by suffering, which was the right choice – to suffer and make others happy or to be happy. She said she couldn’t imagine how by suffering you could make others happy. I said I was down on religion for fucking up people’s heads. She said that a baby is borne with only 2 fears: fear of falling and fear of loud noises, and that all other fears are learned. She said:


(This comment made me want to throw my arms around her and kiss her, but I felt inhibited – it seemed to me that the other people in the room might take notice. It made me reflect about social fears – both real and imaginary. It made me resent that I should have to deal with religion – impregnated minds and archaic and immoral social maxims. [But as I write this, I realize that whatever has been must have been exactly as it was.] The conversation turned to this. I expressed my dissatisfaction with not being able to behave the way I would like to behave. She asked for an example. I said: Sometimes I feel like throwing my arms around someone and kissing them. I said sometimes pressures inhibited me from doing something like that.

She placed her hand on my head and spoke soothing words. She put her hand over mine, which was gripping the edge of her double bunk. I stumbled away, mesmerized, not meaning to be rude, I went outside and back in, and when I finally went over to ask her if I could sleep next to her, Al hopped off of Lucia’s bed, and everyone went to turn in. I lay in my bed and then got out and walked outside. I came back inside with a sound, and I stood in the darkness and felt the room full of people resting – How beautiful, I thought; sometimes some people are bothersome or rude, but when people sleep they send messages of peace. I made my way to my bed and I grabbed my sleeping bag quietly and came back to the center of the room and sat by the warm hearth.

After listening to the room; I got up and crawled into the upper bunk where Joy lay on the outside third of it. I tried to get her attention, but to no avail. Finally, she moved, sitting up and I said, “This is Jeffrey.” She was startled and said good naturedly, “What are you doing here.” I told her to wake the others and I would explain. She turned off her flashlight and I spoke into her ear: I couldn’t sleep I’m so worked up. I thought you were the only one who could calm me down (since it was the things you said that got me worked up in the first place). She placed her hand on my head, drew it down on the mat, beside her head and said, “Sleep, dear Jeffrey”. And I said, “But there’s other things I want to tell you: remember how I said there were things I wanted to do, but I felt inhibited, well, one such thing was that before, when you said so any beautiful things, I wanted to throw my arms around you and kiss you but I was afraid of what the others would think; I thought that youwould understand.” Her hair smelled good as I whispered all this with my nose muzzled to her head. She said to rest and calmly put my head down. After a moment’s silence, she said, “May God’s peace be with you,” my arms went around her, I kissed her lips, and our head and shoulders and arms clasped with feeling. Then I lay back and slept.

A bit later, Lucia, Joy and I all had to pee, so we went outside at the same time. The sky was brilliant with stars, and we laughed, and even back in bed, we smirked.

November 5th, 1983

Thangboche to Pheuche

(from 12,683 ft. to 13,917 ft.)

Rise and shine. A snack. The plan is Breakfast in Thangboche. We proceed down the hillside. Greg and I walk together and engage in a conversation about traveling and trekking, sharing our experiences with each other. Al is out in front. When we reach Thyangboche, Al is sitting there and he says there’s no place to get tea. Greg and Al wait and I go further into the village. I find a teashop, shortly after they follow. Mario and Tiziano show up. We all have Breakfast. We take pictures of the runny-nosed little kids. Mario shows us the turquoise and Himalayan red coral that he bought in Namche.

After Thyangboche, we continue. I finally take the lead. We get to the crossroads of Thyangboche and Pheriche. Al and I cross the river and take the low road; and we can see Greg gaining on us from the ridge above us. I run to catch up with Greg and we enter Periche together. Pheriche in a flat, barren plain. We pass the “Khomeini Guest House;” I stop and shoot a photo. (Iranian Himalayan Expedition written below K.G. House).

We check into the Himalaya Lodge and get top bunks. Have some Sherpa stew and bread and cheese. The afternoon goes by – I take a short stroll and see (with Mario and Tiziano) the memorial carved into a rock for Dino DeNieu of an Italian Expedition.

Everything beds down early here. I smoke some has and decide to take a walk (to look for Joy and Luria, who looked in but went to sleep elsewhere). I don’t find them, but the walk is brisk, the stars are amazing.

November 6th, 1983

Pheriche to Lobouche (From 13,917 ft to 16,170 ft.)

When I woke up, I didn’t know my plans for sure, but I decided in short order to proceed to Loubouche. The others were of a mind to stay a day in Pherche, at 10:15 am, I left. I crossed the flat plain and then I turned up into a gorge to the right. At 11:45 am, I got to Dugla (Dhukla).

There I stayed, sitting in the sun, drinking tea and eating pancakes in the cordoned courtyard of stone. The child played with my mirror, after I’d shown how we could reflect the sunlight into the darkness of the house where his mother tended in the kitchen. A Spanish man came by. We talked ‘en Espanol.’ Estaba muy Buena hablar Espanol otra vez, y estaba sorpendido (surprised?) que yo pude hablar tan bueno que yo hable! The man was from San Sebastian – he is a Basque.

When he left, I was alone. My sexual drive turned my attention to the lone woman. Inside, we looked over her selection of candy. I touched her hand and, from practice, she drew it slightly away. I examined the beads on her neck. The child was ever present. In the end, I left; I asked where her husband was – away in Khundie. Then I left. I climbed the hill to the valley wherein lie Lobuche. Past the prayer columns, surrounded by diverse geographies of ice and stone. I examined the craggy black peaks to my right, assessing which was Mt. Pokalde. Up the valley for a ways, not a particularly difficult turned, sloping ever so gently upwards, I walked parallel to the stream. A left turn brought me to Lobuche.

Inside the lodge, I began talking with Dan, the mountain climber. “Hello” from my right, and to my surprise, inches from my face was Joy. Joy and Luria had enough room between them, so I set up my sleeping gear on the lower bunk.

I went to the kitchen and had a marathon conversation in Spanish with El Vasqo. Among the things I learned were that the Running of the Bull in Pamplona occurs around 5-7 Julio. Javier described Pamplona as a great place; likewise, he very much liked Andalusia. An ugly Nepali woman sat next to us. He joked that she longed for me. We had a good time, and though I didn’t understand everything he said, I got onto the Spanish well – if I can lead the conversation, it makes it much easier to flow. He described the people of San Sebastian as sort of uptight, whereas Pampolnas were loose, more spirited. He told how when Franco came into power, he forbid the speaking of the Basque language!! I drank a few ho changs – sort of like mulled wine – and, since, during the course of our conversation, it became apparent that we both smoked hash, I procured some of mine, and we had a few hits. He promised to bequeath to me half of his stash he left in Pheruche.

At about 7 pm, I was nestled between the 2 American women. A few jokes and all was silent. 7 pm is too early to go to bed, that is for sure, up here. If you wake up in the middle of the night, it’s dark, people are rustling around. There’s no lights, nothing to do, the thin air keeps you awake. So you can light a candle and write, but the light might keep people awake.

After some hours of sleep, I was awake and so was Joy. We made a few comments about our sleeplessness. I thought of something to say, and though I thought maybe Joy would from then forward avoid me because of it, I thought that the saying of it was worth it in itself, “If I could… (catch breath)… If I could… (catch breath)… if I could… give you an orgasm… with my tongue… then maybe it would help you sleep.” She said, kindly, “Well, maybe just having said that will help you sleep!” And then I fell back asleep.

November 7th, 1983

Labouche to Kala Pattar II back to Lobuche. (From 16,170 ft to 18,567 ft. back to 16,170 ft.)

When I awoke, Dan was just about ready to take off to go to Kala Pattar. The girls were friendly. I set of at 6:45 am for Kala Pattar. It took me about 2 hours to get to Gorohship.

The morning air was spiky cold. Up the valley. Take a dump by the big rock. Then up the wall and across a glacier to Gorohshep. Passed the crevasse. During the walk, the expanse of the Khumbu glacier opened up. Wow! That’s the 1st glacier I can ever remember seeing. Much rubble – the ice poking through in jagged intervals – tan colored rocks. Down into Gorokshep.

I had some tea and chapattis with jam – breakfast.

Up! Down into the sea of sand. (The Himalayas were once covered by ocean – as evidenced by the red coral worn around women’s necks.) Up the first part of the mountain. There’s a trail to the right and to the left. Wisely, I go to the right, and more stable looking, trail. Plug along. On and on. Met a Canadian and then on. Up the rocks to the top. The top. The highest point I’ve ever been to. I didn’t check the time but it’s probably about 11 am (figure 1 hour rest in Gorshskep and 1 hour to arrive to the top.)

There’s not a cloud in the sky. Note the geography. Everest looms clearly in sight. Awesome, 10,500 ft. above me. The South Col – the pass between Everest and Lhotse used by the climbers. Nuptse takes on the appearance of a peak. The mountain behind the clearly visible Lho La pass is wholly in Tibet. Pumore has the acclaim of many as one of the most beautiful of peaks. Pumore stands directly above us, the Kala ridge rising into its tremendous bulk. Base Camp is visible at the bottom of the Khumbu icefall – there’s the Japanese tent (hoping to make a winter ascent). The icefall is an amazing jumble and tumble of ice – my God, how do they go up it – no wonder so many have died!! I can see up the icefall – the top part is obscured by mountainside – but farther up it emerges to the South Col. – and the ridge of Everest – the route for the climbers is clearly visible in its (basic) entirety. The Khumbu glacier is visible from its highest point – at Base Camp – down the valley for 10 miles. Form Pumore to Nuptse, a crown of peaks creates a semi-circular effect.


As you can imagine by this excellent illustration, the view is something unique, impressive, and mind-boggling!

Myself and the Canadian exchange wide-angle shots of ourselves with Everest as a background. Later, I am asked to photo an American man (“I’ve paid $9,000 to come here – I can afford to waste a roll of film on myself.”) I take 10 shots or so (“Let’s try one with my glacier glasses on.”) He takes a few of me on “the summit.” Later, he has another man take photos of him – and later still, he has a woman take more – I was going to ask him if he was in show business! He lent me his binoculars, and (they being Leitz- excellent German binocs his Dad bought for $80, 15 years ago, but now they sell for $500!) I examined the tremendous icefall, the South Col, the summit of Everest, the Nuptse wall. Nuptse is really prominent from here. Excellent. Fantastic.

Some black birds with yellow beaks came and took away some of my glucose cookies. One of them had a red tag on its neck. I shot its photo. (By the way, there are some black crows, different from these birds, which are all over up here. They are huge. About 2 ft + long, and a body 6″ in diameter (or more.)

Before I left, I ceremonially took a few hits from my hash pipe. Stoned at 18,500 feet!!

I suppose about 3 hours. Passed on top. I started down at 1:45 pm. I walked to the lower peak of Kala Pattar (18,187 ft) feeling airy and a little scary. Then, giving reliable information and encouragement to the package – towers on the way up, I made my way down to Gorokshep.

I was drained and faint. I sat by the kitchen fire, and closed my eyes. I drank tea and ate some porridge. I felt weak. I nearly slept, but retained consciousness enough to be cognizant of the woman and young man, who were joking about my state of obliteration – or so I thought.

I would’ve slept there, but my bag was in Lobuche. So I gathered my determination and walked back to Lobuche, arriving just before dark.

Lucia and Joy had moved, so Dan (who had returned in early afternoon) informed me. Joy came in and talked with Dan and I put in a comment or two every so often from my sleeping – bagged position.

I had some tomato soup and later some fried potatoes for dinner. I fell asleep when the lights went out, but I awoke in the middle of the night, put on the candle, and I tried to write, but I could only write a page or two, and the cold forced me to retire again, but my sleep was restless, and I prayed for morning to come. But this I did realize – that it was only the altitude that was making me uncomfortable – and once adjusted these mountains are a wild and spectacular tramping ground.

November 8th, 1983

Lobuche to Everest Base Camp to Gorakshep (from 16,170 to 17,567 ft to 17,000 ft) (though my map says Gorakshep is at 16,892 ft, all the other sources say 5184 meters = 17,003 ft.)

Joy and Lucia came in out of the cold in the morning, claiming their night in the tent was the most miserable ever spent – Joy said she was even crying – the altitude and the cold sun do strange things to us.

Dan set right off, hoping to reach Gokyo via Tashi Lapcha in one day – good luck, if anyone present can do it – he can. I started out hiking with Gary and Al (and Tiz and Mor whom we soon left behind.) It was enjoyable hiking with them, as jokes are ever present. For a while, I was apart from them as I sought a short-cut which turned out to be a long-cut. We arrived in Gorakshep. Greg and Al were soon gone up to KP Liz and Mor came by and I still sat there, having tea and talking with the folks gathered in the sunny “patio” of Gorakshep sole structure. An American man told me about the logistics of getting to Base Camp. I had brought my full pack up to Gorakshep to Lobuche, so that in case I had to sleep in Gorakshep, I’d have everything necessary, (This man was funny “Well, last year I want to 16,635 feet, and this year I went to 18,576 ft and I guess my limit would be 4 miles, 21,120 ft. blah blah blah…” so concerned was he with how high he’d gone. He told me he had a football game in Kathmandu if I wanted to play – he’s at the Star Inn and his name is Jeff Bej.)

At 10:20 am I set off with my daypack, some food in it. Left behind was the big pack, my down long johns and my sleeping bag.

As I started across the glacier, I came upon the American (the “$9000” man) and the Canadian couple who’d let me use their tripod atop KP yesterday. They’d only gone as far the ice pinnacles.

I crossed a stream and then I got lost. Finally, I caught sight of the cairns (markers of stone atop stone) again. I traversed north on the glacier. I met two guys coming back. Then a few minutes later another guy on his way back. Again I got lost, but I saw a couple and a Sherpa and got on the right track again. This guy told me I shouldn’t go further with just my tennis shoes on. Since my boots were in Gorakshep, I ignored his advice.

I had to walk on ice, but I didn’t slip. By and by, I came across the expedition’s garbage heaps. Finally, I arrived at the orange tent. I went to the door. Inside, a young Sherpa whacked some thermos bottles. I asked if I could come in.

I sat down, tired, and I opened up my cheese and bread. He accepted some of my cheese, and gave me some black tea with sugar, which came in mighty handy. I ate slowly and drank a second cup of tea.

Once finished, I stepped outside and shot about 10 pictures with my 3 lenses. The sound of cracking ice and a spume of ice spray a mile off on the icefall, caught my attention. After my photos, I decided I’d better go before it got too late. [I think I left my 28 mm hood on the ground by the tent opening.]

Just like everybody said, Base Camp was a garbage dump, it held no real significance, and all of us who went there just to say they went there, will tell everybody how fantastic it was (in order to justify their going there): the most significant thing I could say before I left was this – “At Base Camp: the fulfillment of a dream, however meager.” Diary, only you and I know how special this feeling was, how humble yet exalted. As Mario might say, “Bravo! Jeff.”

OK the walk back – I knew time was critical “The time (tap the wrist?” The dial on the Sherpas wrist read 2:45 pm.) So I set off determined to concentrate on the trail. I made my way through the ice, once veering slightly, next overshooting the path South, but I was proud to soon have realized it. All the way across the glacier, I successfully negotiated the yak dung and the cairns and the footprints until towards the end, when I had to keep backtracking. There was a cairn next to a stream crossing but it looked (mistakenly) different, so I thought it was “wrong.” I continued south on the glacier. After much, deliberation, since it was getting dark, I thought I’d just better get off the glacier, so I turned back to the cairn by the stream crossing.


(One of the reasons that I had first hesitated at the crossing was because it looked more difficult then I’d remembered.) I noticed my footprint once I was across, and again I was on the right trail. But not for long. I picked my way across the ice, finding a Cairn here and there, going up summits, trying to get an overview.

(“Well, if I have to spend the night on the glacier, I’ll probably survive, just find a ‘warm’ place to bed down. [I’ve got my down jacket, booties and gloves, wool sweater, long john bottoms, sweat pants, 3 pairs of sock, t-shirt, wind breaker and warm cap.] But I think you can make it. I’ve got faith. Just keep trying,” I’d said out loud after my resolution to cross the stream had energized my legs to carry me in that direction.) The darkness growing from fainter and fainter shades of powder blue and ice. I recognized a pool South of me, which I’d rejectingly considered to shoot a photo of on my way to Base Camp. Then, in a moment, another similar pool became noticeable. I crossed the glacial depression, and I was confused as to what the mountain to the North West was. I climbed it.

It was getting dark. I could see Gorakship’s sea of sand. Higher up on this increasing ridge I suddenly saw my way. I saw that I was above on the ridge sloping northeastwards as the base of KP. The pink from the black (the rim of the horizon over dark ranges of mountains) grew into violet with a star and a new moon! I let out a projecting primitive cry of glee that I thought must reach any unoccupied ears in Gorakship. I swiftly made downward progress (“Stay to the right and be sure,” I told myself, whatever that meant!) Down to the lake. Rock-hopping to the sea of sand. In the door of the “Lodge.” The woman sat alone. This I noticed. There were one or two people sleeping, an occasional shortcoming from the together room.

I drank a half-canteen full of ice water. I felt so damn great!! I felt energized. I felt I could run up KP and back “right now.” At 5:55, 3 guys, then 1 more came in. Andrew from Mill valley, Chris who’d gone to Berkeley, though never bumped into Andrew there, even though they’d gone during the same 4-year span, and who’d met up recently, and Simon and François. They claimed to have descended in 21 minutes, leaving KP II at 5:30 pm – and they were incredibly psyched, like me, having watched the Sun set from their respective perch. [Note: as I’m writing this, just now, on 10/11/83 at noon, I look out the window and I see Andrew. He waves. He comes in. Chris sits on the end of the mattress bench/bed 15′ long. I’m sitting in my bag in the sun through the window in the middle of it. I read what I just wrote. Andrew says “Right on!”)

They said they smoked a j on top of KP II. I lit up the roach they handed to me and we passed it around. It was a good conversation, I saying things like America is fucked but it’s the best GD place in the world to live.”

Later I crawled into my bag. I fell asleep first and Chris and I continued a conversation in which we described his 20 month trip. 16 months in Europe, across Russia. Mongolia and China. “Our arms building is the only thing that is holding the Russians at bay.”

My sleep was good for 4 hours, and uncomfortably restless for the rest of my first sleep at 17,000ft.

November 9th, 1983

Gorakeshep to Thangboche (17,000 ft. to 12,683 ft.)

I woke up before everyone and started packing. I didn’t leave till 9. I was feeling weak. But I loved the scenery.

In Lobuche, I treated myself to a corned beef hash and egg meal, a Hershey Bar and a can of fruit cocktail – food left over from the expeditions, (and sold “10-20%” of retail price to the Lodgers who sell them for 50% more than retail price.) [Heasay on the former.] A sit in the sun. Sew my shoes. At 12 noon I move on. On the way to Dhukla, I meet Gary from So. Calif – one of the guys who I was on the SS Tamponas to Singapore with. In Dhukla, a cup of tea. Down to Pheriche (the long walk across the valley to the Himalaya Lodge). I obtain the hash (“chocolate”) that El Vasquo bequeathed to me from his bag in Pheriche. I was told it was 3 hours to Thangboche, but I made the determination and left at 3:05 pm. I ran where the trail went downhill. I passed Pangboche, still light out.

I caught up and passed Sherpas. I came upon Mar and Liz at the bridge. I clambered up the steep path to Thangboche. Arrival 4:55 pm. There’s Al around the stove. Then Greg. I down a Star Beer (50 rps.)

This evening was great. Mar, Tiz, Al and Greg and a couple from Israel.

I told them that Base Camp was the greatest place I’d ever been – Ha Ha. I smoked a joint ¾ hash, ¼ tobacco before I blew out the candle. I looked at the burning cigarette and I thought how fascinating the universe of that seething red end is. “The end of this cigarette is even more fascinating than all these mountains.” Well, Perception is Everything.

November 10th, 1983

Thangboche to Namche Bazar (from 12,683 ft to 11,283 ft.)

I dreamt the most ultra-fantastic dream I ever dreamt. There were many parts to it. They didn’t necessarily join together except that they were all ultra-fantastic. (On reflection.) Perhaps what held the whole drama together was that it was exciting and dangerous, but I never felt at a loss throughout. – perhaps always confident.

Scene 1: Perhaps it was Greg, but anyway, there was this guy in coattails in this most-incredible palatial mansion. I think it was set in San Francisco, but we stood outside and he was pointing out to me houses, which were 300 years old and 500 years old. During parts of my dream, I was roaming though the house, though areas with hanging marble almost down to the stairs, carved like the Pieta, hanging down within 2½ of the marble staircase, and, being chased, I (we) had to duck under it and head up the (secret) staircase.

They story partially took place in this palace. (I also remember being led to a banquet.) And I remember sitting at a table laden with the finest wines, graceful and beautiful women, gourmet food, lace linen tablecloths.)

Scene 2: Me and some guy were in a room with two narcotics agents. I said “What’s this” and withdrew a sample of opium that the agents had planted on his person. My friend took it and nonchalantly flicked it away from himself, while the agents acquiesced that we had foiled their plans.

Scene 3: Deep within the palace recesses, the man sprung from the carved enclosure into the air of the cylindrical space whose bounds were other such tiny citadels. An empty, barren, beautifully carved interior like an influx of the Tower of Pisa. He flew, his lower body deformed into a beast-like bird/man. In through the secret passageway, he arrived, his beautiful wife waited in bed for him. Though he’d been transformed physically, her love for him remained steadfast, and they met and loved each other even though he had been cast down into the strange chamber.

Another day, and the other guys left about 9 am, while I stayed in bed in an attempt to “catch up on my writing.” I had the whole room to myself, which was nice. First, I lay in my bag and later, I sat in the sun in the window. Andrew and Chris came by; A. brought me a bowel of curd from the Namaste Lodge. Those guys took off at 2:15 pm. I had 2 more bowls of curd. I left at 2:45 pm. I pushed fairly hard down to the river, running, but I was stoned. (Before I left, I took a last picture of Nuptse – Lhotse Wall and Everest. I forced my tripod, and it caused it to break. [I think of Boysie telling me I’m wrecking his boat.] Across the footbridge. Up the hill. Pass a Sherpa. Past the village. The sun sets behind the ridge I’m on. The cold is freezing, but my heart is pumping inside my blue windbreaker and thus I stay warm. Meet up with Chris in village X. Then Andrew. We round ridge after ridge (all apart of one huge mountain). Finally, the first view of Namche and the last view of Everest. The others pass on as I fold my arms, televise a gaudly message and emit a gaudly call. Then I catch up. We descent to Mache. We split a beer. Chris brings out a gross amount of pot that he picked and dried. I split a yak steak with rice with him, and it is a fantastic treat­­! I end up in the Sherpa trekkers Inn. Mar and Tiz and Al and Greg come in.

After Mar and Tiz and Greg and Al and I get into an argument about whether DMSO should be legalized or not, at 10 pm, Mar and Tiz leave and Greg and Al and I continue to discuss it. The discussion hereafter was extremely Bob, and it only ended when Mrs. Sherpa asked us to go to sleep. I said goodnight to those guys, found my way home, knocked on the door, repeatedly and was finally admitted.

The biggest thrill of the day was probably coming in. Hiking at 3-5 pm is a beautiful time to travel. The last few nights, when I’ve come in, I’ve downed a canteen full of water – of ice cold H20! It’s greatly refreshing!!

I slept alone in the kitchen area.

November 11th, 1983

Namche Bizarre (Friday) 11,283 feet.

Felt bob all day. I mulled around and washed my clothes. I took a walk about town and noticed the red coral is either phony and overpriced or real and overpriced! Chris wanted my Kelly Hansen jumper that Kelly lent to me, when I told him I wanted to trade it for some red coral. Joy waved to me. Chris showed me a marijuana bush in the backyard. I trimmed off a bit of it, one bud, and I put it out to dry. Had another delicious yak steak for lunch. I was pretty stoned, having rolled a heavily impregnated with hash joint. I had fruit cocktail for dinner and leached cheese and bread from Al and Greg (as they had done from me). I asked those guys for their addresses, and (perhaps jokingly) they gave them to me. I bought a bottle of rum and I drank a bit, passing it to Greg and Mario (and the other two who refused sips). We went over to the Khumbila Lodge, where Mar and Tiz had dinner and everybody except Tiz, allowed me to spike their hot lemons with my rum until the bottle was empty.

To my surprise, Mar asked me for my address. I was surprised also that they welcomed me to visit them. I left, visited Joy and Lucia who claimed that they were from the Pleades – the 7 Sisters – that we all were, but [Lucia showed me a triple Bob Space (hand) didn’t remember. Space cadet to the core.]

I went to the Khumbila Lodge. Interspersed in an array of Nepali, I talked with the owner’s wife, who in her simple sexy way, livened up the Restaurant. I was the only Westerner there. She left with a man who I presume is her husband.

I went home and came in the back door, and I climbed in my bag.

I really craved the owner’s wife, in a wholesome, sexy unafraid, nice way. She’s Nepali-Namche Bizzarean – reminds me of Christabelle sort of. But a Toniça-like posture and cute body.

Diary, maybe because of the stone, but musical ideas have been popping in my mind, and I hope their release is going to be complete.

November 12th, 1983

Namche Bizarre , 11,283 feet.

7 pm: I’m sitting in the cold upstairs room at the Khumbila Lodge writing by candlelight. Diary, the events of the day were simple and few. But the most important thing I can now do is to describe what’s happening. But first, let me roll a joint and blow away this mind that is making me suffer under its brilliant scrutiny of the outside world.

Events: Looked for red coral today. It was a depressing scene until one Nobeit who’s living in Kathmandu, though now in N. Bizarre, who had some small red coral and said each bead (near perfect) cost him 3 rp. In Pokhara in April and who’ll sell them to me for 5 rp. Each and has 108 beads mola or prayer bead. 540 r. I mad an appointment with him for 1 Dec 5 pm at Ying Yang or on 2nd Dec at his house, for which he gave me an address (the mola is in the house near Kath.)

Event 2: I have to stay here in Namche until tomorrow because the bank isn’t open till 10 am tomorrow and I want to make sure that I’m gonna be able to have enough $ to last me until Kathmandu.

Event 3: State of Mind

I’m smoking a joint even now. Today has been strange, could even have been alienating but I still have hopes that the end of the night will bring joy.

Mario, Tiz, Al and Greg left today after the market. Tiziano said “See you soon (in Florence.)” Greg said: “Nairobi – last week in Feb – I’ll be there within a few weeks of that date.” – “Poste Restante, Nairobi – leave a message,” said I. Diary, I’m gonna miss those guys, and it makes me feel weird because I don’t know that those guys don’t think I’m weird. I felt like A and M were trying to get away from me. I think perhaps those guys aren’t sure about their roles with each other, but perhaps they’re said I’m alright, but sort of weird. Sometimes the vibes seemed to be getting colder and colder.

Diary, I must in this evaluation of my state of mind, also express a general problem today of hurt about the people I meet. For e.g. Take Joy and Lucia. I suppose that me saying some of the things I said (like “Give you an orgasm with my tongue… and like telling Lucia I wanted to stay with her and Joy for a few days) might have scared them away. They’re really friendly, but I feel I wish they’d lead into a conversation about what they’re doing… about the 35,000 year old man… about me coming from the Pleiades (maybe I’m getting touched!) sometimes it seems I envision a great love or friendship, and the others seem to shy away from me).

Also, I’m sort of bummed out about Andrew. A and Chris were hassling me to buy my Kelly Hansen and purple pouch. Jokingly, I said, “I feel like that’s the only reason you guys are hanging around me.” I even said, “I’m only kidding.” Yet today A said that I made them feel bad. Then later I saw him and told him it made me feel bad and he seemed kind of like an A-hole about it. Also, he fucked some graying motorcycle momma Suzi Parker, who is flaunting her attraction for him. This is going to his head. Also, even though I’d rather not admit it, I wish she were fucking me. And I go to my favorite coffee place and she’s hanging all over him and it reminds me I don’t have a chick.

I come to my room and she’s sitting on my bed flaunting it with him – what makes these chicks tick?? Well, even though I know I’m super Bob, I hate to see a chick who’s a 3 acting like a 10. So I wanted to get away. I’m not getting along with the shopkeepers – they are such rip-offs as I’ve intimated. So I felt a general alienation. (I think I need a good night’s sleep.) – [Note: maybe I should now understand the way the New Guineans felt when I went away – Kelly and I thought it was funny they seemed so sad. Now I realize why – they felt deserted.]

Like yesterday, I was stoned and I was talking to Al and said, “The running of the Bulls in Pamplona – in Spain, for those of you who don’t know where Pamplona is. And Al said: “You don’t have to go to Spain to get the Bull.” The German sitting next to him said Bravo. I was hurt – but that was because I forgot I’d said the end part – now, just now as I wrote this I remembered that ending and now I understand that Al was only joking me back. Very interesting.

I also lost a sock and ripped my sweatpants while washing today which made me feel like I was stupidly stoned. (Now I realize I wasn’t stoned enough. Ha ha!)

Well, my analysis of all this is that I must be lonely. Especially, girls. I am really hung up on finding a partner. It depressed me if I can’t immediately get a fuck, but now a month has passed and I’m really horny too. I feel as if I could get laid more easily if I would be more accommodating to the particular girls – but I have to admit there’s been a scarcity of them here – but Diary, I wish I was the Best Lady’s Man in the World. That is to say I wish I could get laid every night that I wanted. I wish I could more easily get into chick’s pants. This is getting ridiculous. I’ve got to learn what to do. I’ll do anything nearly to get this power to pick up chicks easily even in the most remote places. I want to be the recipient of the clandestine legs that spread in women’s secret lives. Diary, if there’s any help, if there’s any answer to that question, please tell me.

I was so stoned this night that I fell asleep early in my lone cold room.

November 13th, 1983

Namche Bizarre 11,283 ft.

Evening: Today I woke up and packed. I went to the bank and cashed $70.00 Joy and Lucia were there. I said, “Have you ever heard of the Great Karnack?”

“Two minds that are soaring like cosmic birds.” The answer, Lucia guessed: Joy and Lucia.

Actually before the bank, I wrote for an hour or so in my project book. I asked myself to continue for an hour each day for the next 35 days to write about How to Unleash my Potential.

I went back to my hotel. That girl was there. (Also, I found out this morning that she slept in the room next to me last night.) We talked. I was sort of sassy. We went to the museum up on the hill and then we walked back. Again later we, she took me shopping for a bag and socks. By the way, even though I call her Suzy-Q, she told me her name is Dilmaya – and that Dil means Hot and Maya means love! Mainly because of her, I ended up hanging around today. She really turns me on and I have this craving to dick her. Holy shit!! A sequence of events: Dilmaya leaves the hotel. I stick around but she doesn’t show up. I decide to go for a hot chocolate at the Sherpa Trekkers Inn. There’s a hassle where to leave my bags and the nosy hotel manager has me yelling as I leave. Just before I go, Dilmaya comes in.

Later I return, and I walked downstairs. Her door is unlocked and cracked. I knock and then open it. She looks up from under her fur blanket. ‘Hiya” I say, close the door, open mine, dump my stuff off; back out in the hallway and determined to go into her room! She’s standing outside and her door’s shut. She says nervously “Let’s go upstairs. I’m taken with the chance, and I paw around the back of her neck, but she moves away. I grab her wrist to bring her towards me. She unleashes it and walks away. I say “Wait a minute!” And she said. “OK just wait.” As if she’s gonna come back downstairs. But I get these vibes that she’s not coming back, but she’s gonna send someone down. I open the door as an escape route – sure enough, downstairs come a bunch of men. They see my lock on the door and interrupt each other saying, “This room has been reserved by others; you can’t stay here.” I grab my bags and split. I mulled around thinking maybe I should split at night. I felt like a fugitive!

Finally, afraid of repercussion and then pissed at myself for being afraid when I hadn’t done anything bad, I dropped off my bags at the Sherpa Trekkers’ Inn and I marched back to the Khumbila Inn Lodge. I called for Pasang her brother and I was greeted by him and a few mean looking men. I intimated I’d like to talk alone, so he dismissed them and I talked with him and the hotel manager. I explained why I had earlier been angry and later, I gave a partial explanation of what I was doing downstairs without going into the details.

We ended up sitting down. I got his name and address in Japan because he says he has some tiger hair carpets from Tibet – antiques.

I said goodnight (he asked if I had a place to stay) and fell asleep.


November 14th, 1983


I left Namche in the morning. I walked leisurely. Passed Jorsalle. I stopped in (Salad and peach wine and fried rice with sweet beans) at the “Japanese” place. Boy, it was memorable!! There, I began walking with Jenny, a girl from Canada, who gave me the hots. After a good lunch I smoked a few hits off a hashed joint. The coal breeze of the canyon came up and licked our bodies. In Phaching Jenny went on while I pruned the herbs, which she pointed out to me! Then I proceeded on slowly. In Ghat, I talked with a group of Chinese climbers that were going up Ywangde. I had to find a tent so I could follow them to Base Camp. The Surdar said I could. The leader seemed satisfied also. A young man, a boy, said he’d be my porter, and he had a tent!! I said OK. We went back to his house, but he stalled on taking me to the camp – said we’d sleep there at his folks house. He fixed me some great potatoes and milk teas. I wrote some and then I smoked and I fell asleep deeply.

November 15th, 1983

(Lukla with side trip to TATE)

I dreamt of Boysie and Connie. They were taking another cruise and I wanted to get on, but the immediate word was ‘no.’ I tired to negotiate with them as the dream progressed. The last thing I remembered was that I went to their door and Mr. Fields, my high school football coach, was playing the part of Boysie while Boysie was on the couch huddled over – and I reflected that Mr. Fields had been impersonating Boysie throughout the dream: (Get out of here Mr. Fields!)

The woman made no effort to be quiet, and it woke me. What I didn’t tell you in yesterday’s entry was that the house the boy brought me to was the house of the man who refused to rent his tent to me when I’d first noticed the tent in his store after I’d just talked to the climbers from Hong Kong. So it was that the whole thing fell through. No tent. But it could have been surmounted if I had been more excited about the idea.

About 2 hours after I awoke, I was in Lukla. There, I was having breakfast when Al walked in. Al was still waiting for a plane, as was Greg and Mario and Tiziano. Greg was sitting outside, bummed out about having to wait. After the planes had left for the day, Al and I set off to go to a village on the other side of the gorge.

I told Al about my project, and Al told me about 2 friends he has. One is a brain surgeon who makes loads of money but doesn’t have any free time. The other is a guy who lives day to day and really seems to enjoy his life, but he has no substantial means.

To get to the village, we had to go down a steep gorge to the river and up the other side.

The trail split and Al took the left side. I waited for him by the river, but he didn’t come, so I went up the hill by myself.

I reached Tate, the village. I was invited inside a shanty. The farmers 3 daughters served me. I drank a pot of tea with fresh yak milk, and I ate 9 potatoes. I gave them 10 rupees and they gave me 5 back. I returned to Lukla, virtually non-stop.

I drank some great coffee with Greg and Mario. In the evening, El Vasquo came in. Mario and El Vasquo (Javier) got into political arguments in Spanish while I ate 2 yak steaks with potatoes and 2 bowls of egg drop soup. We drank Roxie (distilled Chang) and passed a few j’s around. It was an enjoyable evening.

November 16th, 1983

Monzo! (The Japanese place)

I woke up prepared to split to Lukla today, and instead, I did a 180-degree turn and returned up trail. How this happened? I can only say that my legs made the decision.

I ate breakfast. Mario, Greg and Al left (Al running to be first in the plane) on one of the first planes. I was mulling around. Admittedly, I avoided paying for my 2 meals and board at the Guest House. I don’t know exactly why, but I was thinking of how much the lady bugged me. I packed up and put my stuff outside. I chatted with Joy and Lucia for the last time. I had just smoked a j with a guy from Santa Barbara. I felt great. I was listening to a guy who was describing the trail to Jiri. I had an inspiration to go back to Namche, which is seemingly irrational. But I grabbed my pack, after singing the praises of the mountains.

My feet took me down and around the airstrip to the other side of town. I put my pack in a coffee shop, and I went to get El Vasquo to have a last cup of coffee with me. I walked to the “lookout,” a point above the airstrip, and I saw the woman and the guy from Santa Barbara. It was a bit unbelievable, but even though there were hundreds of people and I was a hundred yards away, I could clearly hear the guy say, “He’s not here!” It seemed he was looking for me. He walked back to her and said, “I don’t see him.” Again, I heard this above the crowd. I decided I shouldn’t risk getting El Vasquo, so I went and had a delicious coffee, and I got on my feet, which carried me away back up the trail to Namche. Maybe I’ll go in and pay on my way back, but the lady seemed so greedy to me, that I didn’t care to make her sweat! Maybe this is the wrong attitude – I say, “My feet carried me away” because that’s what it seemed like. My head couldn’t make the decision, so my feet took over!

As I began, I met up with a guy named Jack Roberts, who I’d briefly spoken to before my exit. He’s up here to climb Pumore – touted to be the most beautiful mountains in the world by some. We talked on as we walked on. I stopped and picked some more dried herb. In late afternoon, I arrived in Monzo, where the old Japanese man has his garden and his lodge, the delicious peach wine and food. I had my special-order sweet beans and rice fried and a bottle (coke bottle) of peach wine for 30 rps and a salad. Boy, it was great! I retired to a private room, where I took a nap for an hour or two until it was dark. When I awoke, I re-ordered rice and beans, tea, and rice pudding. I sat up and wrote a lot in my project book. I really like writing in that book. I feel that it is very worthwhile. Afterwards, I got stoned. I became inspired to do a night walk. I went and paid the man and I returned and wrote. I became tired, so I blew off the night walk and I went to sleep.

I felt a bit funny about returning but, realizing that it is not ridiculous, but possibly holds an interesting adventure, I felt explained; it’s all good.

November 17th, 1983

Namche Bazaar

The first thought of waking, and I was up. Soon, I was walking. I made it to Jorsalle in a wink, I ripped off a prayer flag from the bridge, and I walked by the river and easily avoided the police post, because they want an extra 60 rps, which I’ve already bought in on. Up to Namche in a flash, no problem! I began thinking about doing Island Peak.

In Namche, I went to the Sherpa Trekkers Inn where I gleaned information from James Bernard Cross (Zabie) and Parker, the younger, who are two men bent on walking from Nepal’s East Border through to India and Pakestains Y2 during the next two years. They’ve been out 40 days. Their Sherpa recommended a guide to take me to Island Peak. He helped me rent crampons, tent, etc. and buy food.

Jack Roberts was around, and Nawang, my Sherpa, Jack and I went down to visit the Tibetan traders who set up a real, authentic Tibetan tent in town. I tried to trade with them but they wanted cash. I was given a grain snack, which had a weird orange-colored thing in it. It tasted all right. I took a photo of the Tibetan guy with his knife raised over his head.

At Nawang’s house I had chang, which was good. And I spent the night in the attic room with his wife, 2 kids and he. For dinner, he made a stew out of some sheep or goat meet that the Tibetans had sold to him. The Tibetan guys are neat – they’ve got leather/fur coats and pants and wear the traditional shoes. They have braided hair draped up on top of their heads.

November 18th, 1983

Namche Bazar

I was going to leave today, but in the morning. I got talking with an American guide who said I should have double boots to wear on Island Peak, so I spent the day on and off looking for boots.

I met two guys Marcus and Greg, who are climbers, and who are the guys who have come to give moral support to Jack on the base of Pumo Ri, the most beautiful mountain around. They say Jack is a world-class mountain climber.

Nawang took me looking for boots, but no luck. Though we did drink a lot of chang.

Marcus and Greg say they may want to climb Island Peak with me, depending on Jack’s plans.

I saw Dilmaya on the street, and she barely wanted to even speak to me!

Angel woman, come to me!

November 19th, 1983


First thing in the morning, I arranged to rent some boots from a guy who’d show them to me in Thyangboche. I tried to take pictures of the Tibetans at the market today, but I had to do so in a clandestine fashion. I lashed out of town at noon, wondering if I’d ever get out of there!

The first view of Everest on the trail! Ah! I stop and roll and smoke a j. The trail is alive with wonder and color. The first view of Phorse causes me to stop, eat and look. In Phunke, I study a bracelet of red coral for ½ hour. The man wants 200 rps. I end up giving him 98 rps and 2 limes! My first red coral! Clouds rolling in.

Down to the river and I have some tea. On the way up to Thyangboche, I spot a pheasant of luminous blue and of orange. I race after it with my camera, but I think it won.

In Thyangboche, the lodges are packed. I eat. I talk with Marcus and Greg and Jack.

When I go to the tent to sleep, my place has been stolen, so the lodge man leads me to a house, past the yak in the garden, through the barn-like room and upstairs to the kitchen, where I sleep. In the middle of the night, the shaved headed girl who was sleeping in there with me sat up and started yelling. A-Lo! A-Lo! She went out and crawled back in bed and I saw her tits by kerosene light (and then I knew it was a girl)! It was all I could do to keep myself from crawling over and trying to fuck her. But sleep, and the thought of being in jail for trying to sleep with a female monk got the best of me, and I dozed off. I’m really horny.

“We came from the sky, which is like being high.” – on the trail.


November 20th, 1983


I awoke with the monk girl running about the kitchen. I was given tea. The yak in the garden had frost on its back, but it didn’t seem to mind. I got a bed at the lodge. Found 10 rps. On the floor.

I pissed the day away, mostly because Greg gave me a brownie that got me stoned crazy the whole day. I was abhorred when I saw how cruddy my teeth were, and I made an effort to clean up; god, am I groddy! When I took a walk up the hill, I saw the procession of lamas and the layout of the tents. Back at the grounds, I think I took some awesome pictures of the “mass” that they held:

The mountains behind the alter gave the already colorful ceremony the most awesome, picturesque and book-or-movie atmosphere.

This “project” or “exploratory work” I am doing is making me up in knots considering the future.

The moon is out tonight and the sky is picture – clear. Singing crowed in the kitchen adjacent to my room. The scene outside is awesome flooded moonlight. It is a vital night, even if everything I want isn’t presently at my feet.

Also, today I got a look in an exotic room in the monastery where monks practiced a strange instrument. There was an air of fantastic here. Cloth of purple and orange, jewelry and sunlight through the window. I felt that beautiful feeling of realization: “I’m here.”


MOONWALK: I was lying in bed and writing while the partying was going on in the restaurant. I kept staring out at Kantiga, being more inspired by the minute. I finished writing, got up and began walking up the ridge without food or flashlight. The sky was crisp and clear and the full moon shed its fantastic light on the scene. The horns billowed in the monastery as I climbed higher and higher. After I reached the cairn, I was going to go back, but I continued until I reached a point where I’d have to start climbing (5.6 or 5.7). I got as high again from the cairn as the cairn is from Thyangboche. I took my shoes off and rubbed my cold feet. I smoked a j occasionally. At my perch, I let out a long godly yell, and I made repeated calls, all, which echoed off the canyon walls. The scene was spectacular.

My descent was leisurely and enjoyable. What time did I return? 2 am? 3 am?

“…disassociate myself from my past actions.”

I felt inspired.

November 21st, 1983


This morning were the lama dances! My, but they were fantastic. Colors and the sound of their drums, their cymbals, strange oboes and the 10 ft long brass horns. Colors, blue satins in the sun. Masks. The courtyard was surrounded with foreigners and locals. It was really worth it. I’m glad I came back. Really worth the wait and trouble. Ya-hoo!

After lunch, they continued to dance. I went back and watched, fully marveling at the scenes from various viewpoints. A comic came out and then his sidekick. It was funny. After sometime I left for some tea. Then I found Greg, Marcus and Jack talking and I listened and spoke with them. When I returned, the comics were still on. I watched them leave the courtyard. The music began again; the music fascinates me and holds my attention. The 10 ft. pair of horns the hat – shaped cymbals, the drums, the high lama’s bell, chanting, a gong, shell trumpets! The dancing continued. It became dark. The orchestra continued to accompany the dancers in rhythmic (I want to say “consonance”) consonance. I stood frozen and jumped from viewpoint to viewpoint until the last dancers left, until the last toot of the huge horns. I remember one part toward the end when the 2 horns mad a higher blaring sound, like the players really had their chops together to make the horns affect a note other than their usual bellowing blows.

I went to the Namaste Lodge and drank roxie. I got in an enlightening conversation with a Yugoslavian anthropologist who I first spoke to while he was washing his clothes in the stream at Namche Bazaar. He explained about the area, the tremendous difference between the Solo Sherpas and the Khumbu people. There are 32 permanent settlements in the Solo Khumbu area, but places like Dingboche are close in the winter. There are 4 kinds of medicine:

1) Prayer

2) Shamanism – which is a link between this world and the spirit world (2 others unmentioned). The most famous shaman is A-TA-U (??) from Khumjung, the largest Sherpa settlement then we talked about the ethnocentrism of anthropology – its either Marxist or capitalist or… but after the 60’s this got better.

I was quite high. After eating an unfinished plate of rice, I snuck out without paying (pulling a runner when you’re drunk) and crashed out at my Gomba Lodge residence.

Before closing, I must mention that I had a flash of inspiration at the closing dances of 1983 Mani Rimdu. I saw myself with long hair in the back, short on top and a red feather in my ear. And I felt and pictured myself singing, feeling strong as a singer, and I was be bopping to a tune in my head.

November 22nd, 1983

Thyangboche (And to Namche and back)

When Nawang didn’t show up by 11 am, I ran back to Namche, arriving at 12:30. I found him sitting at home. He said he’d sent a porter with the stuff. I told him he must come to help me identify the porter. On the way back, we left at 3:30 pm, I saw one of the Nepal pheasants flying. It was most amazing that, amidst plumage of violet, red, yellow, purple, blue, green, etc. it sported a large pure white patch in the center of its back. Later, we saw a deer (?), and still later, we saw another pheasant. It was doing something with the dirt in the garden, and I was able to see the myriad of different colors of its plumage.

As we walked, we talked about going to Tibet. I asked question about ‘If we went,’ and we discussed bypassing the check posts, walking at night, etc.

I said I wanted to fuck a Sherpani and soon we saw one on the road. She agreed to be my porter, and the tree of us walked to the river. At the teashop on the opposite side, she refused to make the climb in the dark to Thyangboche. Nawang insisted on having a flashlight so I brought one. We made a walk up the hill in the dark.

In Thyangboche, we ate dinner, and then retired for the night at the Gomba lodge.

November 23rd, 1983


We didn’t locate the porter last night before sleeping. Before, I fell asleep, I planed to get my gear in the morning and then to “dismiss” Nawang. As it turned out, the first new was that the porter had left the Dingbohce yesterday.

I told Nawang that I couldn’t afford him. He agreed to go with me to Dingboche on a contingency basis, and he took full responsibility for my food and the things the porter was carrying. We left the Namaste Lodge and I said I wanted “to say goodbye to a friend.” Nawang started down the hill. I went and sat with Judith in the sun where she sat; I asked if she wanted a smoke, and she said yes, so I put down my pack and I got out the j. She had one hit and me two.

The conversation was a flower of philosophy, love and reflections. It was beautiful and inspiring, and the white, brown and black mountains sang a rhythm to the Nepalese who colored the scene before us. By the later afternoon I had told Judith all the main things I had thought to say to her.

I thought she must be artistic as a lover. Would she camp with me? Would she paint me in the nude? And a few others that came out when I read her this “poem.”

Artistic as a lover.

Camping with me.

Paint me in the nude.

Spend the afternoon in bed with me.

Would you like to enjoy me?

I want to be enlightened as a lover.

During the course of the conversation, I took some of her water colors. In remembrance of New Guinea’s Chimbu I put 2 yellow strips on my right cheek, and for the Wigmen, I put a bright red line under each eye. I’ve been wanting to paint my face for awhile now.

We went to have potato pancakes. She was talking about walking to Namche in the dark. I said, “Why not do the fun thing?” (Come with me.) I also told her that I felt like I’d been making love with her all day. We talked about her coming with me. After listening talking and thinking she said, “I’ll do it!” I, in a fit of happiness, threw my arms around her neck, and in essence, in a bear-like sense gave her a big hug, to which she protected herself from injury and laughed good-naturedly.

I came back to sleep it at the Gomba where I am now; she’s at the Namaste. We’re to leave in the morning.

Why don’t you do the fun thing?

Come with me.

I feel like I’ve been making love

With you the whole day

Why not continue it through the night.

I should mention this: after the day’s talk, I went up to the monastery (with my face painted red and yellow). I asked to see and play their instruments and to see the monastery. They said come back tomorrow. We have not time today. We’re too busy.

So I went up to the gong tower and evoked a few clear tones form 2 shell horns. They even had a metal gas cylinder for a gong. The shell horns looked very old. Then I picked up the cloth mallet and lightly banged on the fine gong – the main gong. First, lightly, then harder. It brought 10 of them running. It was a major commotion. They kicked me out of the monastery: Get out… why you no ask permission? It was all in good fun!

Judith came by in the evening

She jumped back when I jumped up

I told her not to be afraid

She said let’s keep it simple

I painted her like a photograph

Later, while I was writing.

She was eating vegetable momo

I had a bowl of curd at the Namaste.

I came back and had a bite

But I had to spit it out because it was so bitter

Meanwhile the moon rose over Ama Dablam.

I finished writing and went to sleep.


November 24th, 1983

Chukkung, Kumbu

I’ve lost track of the days of the week. The man who runs the Gomba wouldn’t let me rent the boots without a deposit. (He saw me at the monastery yesterday with my face painted.) He even had the nerve to tell me that Nawang went back to Namche yesterday, so he says he heard through the grapevine.

Judith and I left on the clear Morning at the stroke of 9 am.

We reached Pangboche in an hour. I had tea. We reached the restaurant on the plain before the hill before Pheridre, where Judith had a few changs and a few teas.

We crossed the river and came into Dingboche. So far, the walk has been wonderful. We’ve been talking. It is another golden day in the sunlight with Judith, the Dutch girl artist with silk clothes of green and blue hanging from her body, the rosy cheeks, the blue gray round sunglasses and the beautiful aqua blue and gold scarf glittering in the sun, held on her head by their white visor. I’ve been carrying her pack up the hills. We talk and it is beautiful. Judith is a vision, a specter of wholesome loveliness, a complete universe. Her voice is clear and lovely. She pronounces English with a noticeably Dutch flavor. Now as I write this I know why I want to love her – it’s because I’ll be able to hold her attention long enough to look at her and listen to her to experience her as long as I/she projects this unforgettable persona.

Nawang, the Sherpa, yells for us from the mat he is laying on in the sun in Dingboche. He’s found the porter. Over a lunch of potatoes, Judith and I talk. I make some generalization about Jewish people in America being both industrious and pushy, and then she tells me she’s ½ Jewish. Oops!

We walk to Chukkung in the late afternoon. Our talking goes on and it is wonderful. We arrive in Chukkung – three dwellings: the Ama Dablam View Hotel, the Namaste Lodge and another one, where I slept.

When we got there, I found Jack, Marcus and Greg celebrating Thanksgiving Dinner in the Namaste Lodge. Norbert, the guy who’s supposed to sell me a coral mala in Kathmandu on Dec 1st, was also there. We changed the date to Dec, 7th, 5 pm at the Ying Yang.

I slept at the other lodge. Judith slept at the Namste.

[Note: One of the sights today was seeing a nak (a female yak) getting milked into a wooden pail in Dingbohce.]

Walking up the valley where Chukkung lies was awesome. It’s a slightly inkling plain of glacial tundra.

Diary, life comes moment by moment. At this moment, I perceive in me a fascination with Judith. I had thought during the fictional: why not find the best female in the crowed and go for her. Judith was it. I think her hair is beautiful, her eyes are pools of meaning, her nose sculptured, her rosy cheeks so Dutch that I just want to cream in her pants.

November 25th, 1983

Island Peak Base Camp

A cold night alone next to the wall, next to the door.

Woke, ate, washed. Judith is game to come along, so we rent crampons, ice axe, 2 sleeping bags in which to put our existing bags, a yak blanket, a space blanket. Actually, Judith pays for it all. She also rented a roll mat for herself.

We’re, along with Norbert, the last of about 25 Sherpas and climbers to leave for Island Peak Base camp today. There’s a mountain Travel Group and there’s Jack and Greg, Marcus, and a Scott.

On the trail Nawang (?) reminds me that last night he asked Judith for a kiss but she refused him. (And he meanly says that she slept with Marcus last night.) He says he wants to fuck her, and he asks me how it’s going with her. We laughed about it. He really wants her.

He very reluctantly carried my pack at intervals. Judith and I walked along talking. We arrived at Base Camp, where the porter had set up our tent. The meal was a fiasco. Judith and I got stoned. The porter had spilled the sugar in the rice, and ‘lost’ the porridge. The food tasted weird, and we have no salt. I was stoned and 4 of us were in the tent. It was a crazy scene. Judith started complaining about this and that. She was acting like she was in charge of the expedition. She said she was going to sleep in a lodge no matter what tomorrow night because she “Couldn’t stand the tension in the tent.” There was tension, because I was getting angry at Nawang – I felt like I had no control over any of what is going on. Since I’m paying for it all, I feel like I should be in charge, but I also see the need to work as a group, which requires me to sometimes put others’ demands before mine. But when we got ready for bed down go the space blankets (this is the 2nd time in the last day or two that I’ve had deja-vu about Judith and (this scene). Then the mat, my sleeping bag goes inside the rented one, and over all four of us goes the big yak blanket (It’s toasty warm in here.) – the mood changed.

I lay back next to Judith (God! I’m falling so in love with her! When we got to the tent, she came in and something was said and I spontaneously kissed her neck through her hair – and I smelled and felt her hair, and I love it so much it made me very sure I want to love her.) She began explaining to Nawang what she wanted to do. I got stoned. At one point, I spoke up and said that I love all the people in the tent.

I told Judith, “Fuck, you spark something in me.” She said: “Well, as long as it’s good.” I said, “Good! Why… it’s like a rush of sight to the blind. It’s like finding an oasis in the desert.”

Diary, I don’t want to be too forward with Judith, but I really, really want to be her lover for at least a couple of weeks. I want to touch her and be touched by her. I want her to fall in love with me.

Now I write by candlelight and the other sleep. The mountains talk to me. The candle is almost out. Judith is lying next to me. I want it to be perfect, as thrilling as the perceptions she incites!

November 26th, 1983

Island Peak High Camp

Judith said, in the middle of the night, that she wanted to summit and go back to Chukkung in one day – I said I wouldn’t mind walking myself right then by moonlight. However, we fell asleep till 5:30 am, and I decided it was too late to try. She left early, but I stayed in bed, and I wrote while I was served tea by the guys. I waited in my sleeping bag, writing, until the sun came out. I got stoned before we started walking. It was a leisurely morning. Me Nawang and the porter were the last three to leave (there was a mountain travel group also at Base Camp – 5 white guys, plus Marcus, Greg, Scott and Jack who left at 5 am.)

We climbed up to High Camp in a matter of hours, halting to catch our breath. I was sort of surprised how soon we arrive (and wondering if I haven’t been mislead because we probably, no, surely, could have made it from Chukkung to High Camp in one day’s walk). We ate some of the “bread” that Nawang fried in the morning and then we pitched camp. I was inside writing and just rolled a j when Judith appeared. Nawang was totally uncooperative with whatever Judith wanted to do, and it bothered me, but I tried to make the best of it.

We ate noodles for dinner. I stayed in the tent most of the time because of the cold, but I could see out of the opening, and looked on the snow-capped peaks to the north.

When darkness came, the four of us got in our sleeping bags. The others tried to sleep, while I wrote and got stoned by candlelight. Periodically Judith woke up and we talked. I tried to tell her how beautiful she appeared to me. She dozed off as I read to her about my vivid memories and sentiments about New Guinea. I told her beautiful things though I knew she was probably asleep. I recited impromptu poetry to the best of my ability.

Through the night, again, the porter mumbled and groaned and fasted, Nawang talked in his sleep, and Judith remained peaceful and beautiful.

I slept stoned.

The goal is to reach the top. I was really pretty much unaffected by the petty upsets of living with 3 totally different people. Actually, before I slept I said things like – you know “I love everybody in this tent!”

November 27th, 1983

[summit Island Peak and back down to] Chukkung

We awoke at about 6:30 am and began to prepare for the day. We left at perhaps 7:15 am. Soon, Judith was lost from our sight behind us. Nawang and I scaled the mountain, reaching the beginning of the ice within an hour or so. The 5 guys with the Mountain Travel group and a guide were there, fixing on the crampons. They had all sorts of climbing equipment we didn’t.

Apprehensively, I fixed the crampons on my New Balance boots (which aren’t designed for crampons). The 6 guys moved on. We followed 15 minutes later. Only minutes out on the ice, and I had to readjust my crampons with Nawang’s help. Soon we passed over a small hump and the ice field revealed the other group, going 3 to a rope, moving slowly across it. We caught up to them and had to wait for them to move on. I thought that the path was going to be a gentle slope to the right and around the far side of the peak. To my surprise and excitement, however, the climbers took off on a 50-degree ice slope. I asked Nawang if we were going to go the same was and be affirmed my supposition. We traversed a small obstacle and climbed slowly, by necessity, having to hold up for the other climbers. By taking measured steps, I reached the crest of the ridge with ease. I figured that I’d already gone over 20,000ft! My goal reached!!

We stopped and had a snack. The view was magnificent. There was a panorama of about 100 degrees which revealed about 80 (am I exaggerating??) snowcapped peaks – it was a revelation to me – these are the Himalayan – their extent is grand – and I never before fully viewed their wide extent except for from Kathmandu or from a plane – but then I could not so fully see their form and array.

The others went on, and Nawang and I proceeded along the easy ridge, alternating now, me going first. Nawang showed me to walk with my feet apart


The ice was packed into a narrow trail while on either side, I could push my ice axe up to the handle in the snow. It was an easy task to mount the summit. As small an accomplishment as it was, for me, it was a great thing. For one, I used an ice axe and crampons on the snow for the first time. It was great – I loved it immensely. I loved the feeling of the spikes crunching into the snow – the feel of it was satisfying!

The weather was essentially perfect! Not a cloud in the sky, the sun shining the wind was a mere zephyr at the strongest times!

We lunched up top. I forgot the can opener, so Nawang opened a tin of meat with the ice axe. The Sherpa for the 5 others gave Nawang a nice chunk of white chocolate, which he gave to me since he doesn’t like sweets. It was delicious. After lunch, I walked on the small bluff, which marked the peak and Nawang took a photo. I noted that there was a finger of ice which was perhaps 4 meters higher but no one climbed it, nor were there any signs of others climbing it, for it was riddled with a crevasses and powdered snow.

I noted to the others: isn’t that the summit. The one most knowledgeable of the 5 Americans reluctantly offered: the peak shifts all the time. I felt vibes like: Don’t say anything that points out to us that we didn’t actually summit!!

Before I’d yelled out: Anyone like to get stoned?? No reply at all! After I’d gotten my pictures taken, and also of Nawang, I lit up a roach that I had and mounted the summit. I emitted a low but clear internal frequency and projected a message to Clymer, Cappa, Hockridge, Nelson and Taylor and Kelly and also a visual message to my Gram. I raised my arms in exaltation, again thinking of each of my friends. I raised my arms “Ridiculously” high as I thoughts of Hock and Nelson, and I felt as if I was initiating Nelson into the ranks of the (symbol) (as I remember Hock referring to his face once as being only an angel-and I felt that I was also initiating Taylor. I think that at 20,3000ft. with a view of the top of the world (minus Everest), is an appropriate place to do such a thing.)

Then N. and I got ready and descended, leaving behind us the excellent view of Makalu and Lhotse, the 4thtallest of the worlds’ peaks. The descent was easy, slightly more difficult than the ascent. We continued to High Camp, where Judith explained how she’d gotten lost. The porter handed me a cup of rice I had a bit off coffee, and we shared a can of beans. Judith was missing ½ of one of the crampons that she never used. We packed up and made our way to Base Camp, arriving at 4:05 pm. We continued on to Chukkung. Judith told me that in the morning she was going to go on down towards Kathmandu. Although I was disappointed that she wasn’t going to come to Gokyo with me, I said nothing.

We four arrived in Chukkung in the dark. Marcus was at the Namaste Lodge when we got there. He was talking mountain climbing with another climber named Scott. Judith and Nawang had an altercation over my flashlight. Marcus tried to make a mockery of Judith, telling me how she “snuck down” to their Base Camp tent and asked if she could come with them. I didn’t remember till later that I suggested she do that. But J was pissing me off anyway. I went to bed feeling great about the day and myself, but feeling sad about how cruel even nice people like Marcus are, and feeling disappointed that I may not see J again. J woke up twice in the middle of the night, short of air, and I wrote.

November 28th, 1983

Everest View Hotel

I started packing before anyone else awoke. Nawang was worried I was going to cut out on him. I said goodbye to Marcus. (I’d left my Trekking Permit with Nawang who was to follow afterwards.) As I left Chukkung, there was the German guy who J had told me hated me because I’d joked “From my mothers’ womb, Mt. Zion hospital San Francisco” when he’d asked me at Mani Rindu where I was from. I gave him a big “Good morning” to see if that could break his iron stare at me. He said nothing but when I passed him and chuckled he said, “Why are you laughing?” I replied. Because you don’t like me” He: That’s right. And I: You take things too seriously buddy – much to seriously. Judith soon caught up with me. We began a discussion. She: Are you happy?

This was my opening to express my dissatisfaction with her selfishness and my disappointment with her leaving. Naturally, she took it the wrong way, trying to make me sound like a forlorn suitor, when I felt more like a concerned and loving friend. We had words. Me; You’re blind, J! You miss the point! You’ve got no heart! Her: I care, but I guess I don’t care enough to satisfy you. She stopped to change clothes and I went on. I had tea in Dingboche and she passed me. As I left, I admired the gompas (Stone pagoda-like monuments) on the hillside. I saw Judith’s tracks and followed. I caught up with her just before the restaurant on the flat plain before the hill before Pheuche. J and I had tea. I explained to her what Marcus had said, some things Nawang had said and soon the air cleared between us. The real Judith comes out when we have an opportunity to communicate – just the two of us.

We walked together/apart to Pangboche. Before we arrived we were talking about why Nawang told me he’d tried to kiss her. She leaned against a rock and my body moved, my mind readjusted, and I leaned forward and pressed my lips against hers. I saw he move not at all. Her lips were soft and good, and her eyes shined a happiness that came from her heart, which message her mind was unaware she had given.

When we arrived in Pangboche, she was going on to Thyangboche/Namche, and I was going to the right: to see the Yeti skull cap in Pangboche, then Phoortse, then Khumjung/Kundi and finally Namche. She had been telling me about how my behavior with Nawang had seemed unbalanced. She had been saying – make your balance like that of a ball. I said, as we were going to part: How do I make my balance like a ball when someone I really like is leaving me and I may never see her again? (I had told her earlier things like: Judith, you’re a vision!) She suggested we exchange addresses then I asked her where she was staying and she said Sherpa Trekkers probably, but only after some prompting by me. To say goodbye, I held her close, and I kissed her lip to lip 2 or 3 times, the last time real hard for 5 seconds or so.

I went to the monastery, but no one had the key so I left Pangboche (upper). I saw another pheasant, but no photo. Just before Phorse, I saw a mountain goat peeping over a rock. I took out my 80-200mm and took a photo, and another. When I got closer I saw a 2nd goat, and soon a whole family appeared. I took photos. Then, when they’re walked away from my line of vision on the bluff above me, which they’d been viewing me from, I placed my pack on the trail, and I climbed up quietly. At the top. I peered over the rock. They looked up from their graying 25 ft away. I took more photos. I walked up and stood facing them, finishing my roll of film. I was wondering why they seemed so unafraid. I walked on to Phortse and found a man who made me tea and potatoes, and who sold me extra batteries for my night walk. He explained to me that the mountain goats are protected and sometimes there are herds of 100 or 200!! I had seen a family of perhaps 7. They almost had deer-like bodies but the horns of goats.
(P.S. – the trail to Phortse was spectacular an overhanging now mountain).

Phortse, when I saw it captivated me, as it did when I first saw it rounding the mountain from Namche to Thangboche. There are no teashops, per se, in Phortse.

After I had some potatoes and tea, I quickly departed and made my way down to the river. I started my climb up the opposite mountainside, and it was necessary to use the torch, as it was now too dark to walk quickly up the hill without it. Some musical ideas started going through my head, and I made it to the top of the hill in the dark without stopping. I refreshed myself with some tea I’d had him put in my canteen. I looked for the trailhead going down the mountain, but not finding it, I headed straight down the mountainside thinking I’d run into it. Mistake!!! For the next hours, I fought and sought my way through the steep rock and forest. I sat down and realized I had to come across a trail further down because I was out of the river crossing from Thyangboche (which I could see by a single light in the village) – there was someone walking by the river far below with a flashlight. Voila! I hit the trail, a trail, but not the one I’d previously traveled on.

In an hour or 1½ hours, I arrived in Khungung. A woman got out of bed to make me 5 teas, a pancake and an omelet. She kept feeding the floor heater with coals, while I, tired and cold, hovered over it like a well-cared-for zombie. I hesitated to sleep there, overpaid her 20 rp bill with a 50 rp bill because she had no change and I said I’d come back “tomorrow.” She had been so good to me, I even wanted her to have 50rp for such good service!! I made my way out of Khumjung at 10 pm or so; I thought I heard a Yeti growl – I must be getting tired. I walked on. The mountains confused me in the dark. Which way to go? I came to a staircase. A big building I went around it, and I realized where I was – the Everest View Hotel! The “abandoned” place.

After going completely around it, I went in the front door. It was weird. It reminded me of the Shining! It was real nice, except for the floor, which was covered by a cloth like layer of burlap and creaked as if it was only laired by boards. I sat in a chair main the lobby, and I studded the map. I saw my relation to Namche [?] and Khumjing, but because I was worn out, I didn’t feel sure enough (which way to go) to go on, so I decided to sleep there. (Usually, I could have easily gone on, but the time, about 1 hour to get there seemed too long.) The room keys were behind an empty front desk. (I had yelled Hello! But got no response). I grabbed a key, but rm #3 was out of order; rm #1 was kept operable with 2 beds – but the bathroom had no water. I went to the dinning room, and got some candles.

In bed, I did my exploratory journal writing. I though: Wow! What a find! No one here! I’ll try to get Judith to spend the night with me here tomorrow night. I’ve got to wake up early, got to Namche and find her!

November 29th, 1983


As I walked out briskly from rm #1 and past the dining room, I cam headlong into the sight of a group of 5-8 men having coffee in the dining room. “Where did you come from today??” “I slept here last night,” I replied. “Oh.” I asked the way to Namche.

On the way out the door, I said I had to drop off the key at the desk. The man, who was the manager when he found out that I had slept in the room, said I had to pay. Oh no! He said it was “only” 10 dollars. I said I couldn’t pay. A big hassle ensued. I finally paid under protest, writing “Paid under protest.” I said I was going to go to the police and have them arbitrate. He threatened to tell them I stole things, which I didn’t. The other guys laughed, and I thanked them for having a good sense of humor.

I walked down to Namche, passing the Tyangboche [?] Airport, and I was wondering how I could have been lost since I knew exactly where I was on the map last night.

I went to the Sherpa Trekkers Inn and had cinnamon rolls and coffees, Yum! Judith came in – she came to see if I was there. We talked with some Israeli people. She said she was leaving. I said “Do me a favor: walk slow.”

Nawang, who’s house I’d dropped off my stuff at to get my Trekking permit back (which I had) came in. I went to the bank and met him at his place, prepared for the disagreement over the payment. He presented me with a bunch of bills. Then, when all were settled (besides pots and pans = 115 rps!), we turned to him. [332 rental, 270 porter, 150 borrowed]. My lowest estimate was 200 and his highest was 600 or so. I gave him 400 and he wanted more and he wanted to fight. I talked to the administrator of Namche “and he made sexual advances to a woman I invited along,” he just laughed. I went to Nawangs’; he refused to return my sunglasses, so I took a water bottle. I finally just split. (I even told him to step out in the street, so we could have it out like me, but he declined the offer.)

At about 3:15, I started down the hill feeling the joy of being free and free of complications. I arrived in Mondzo, the Japanese place. I ate and ate – beans, rice, salad, peach wine. I had 2 super delicious yak-momos that a trekking agency cook prepared for his sole guest. I could have sworn that the girls in the room were looking at me and attracted by me. I stayed up and wrote. After everyone went to bed, I got out my sleeping bag and laid out on the stone floor in a back room. In my dreams, I dreamt that women were in love with me, and I was finding a new girl to touch and feel very easily.


November 30th, 1983


I admit I purposely forgot to pay, clandestinely sneaking out at first light. I was in Lukla for breakfast. Four coffees and an egg. I checked on the planes. Again, I thought a woman was attracted to me. I followed a young man, we both running to Su. There, I had 8 oranges and lunch. We pounded up a long mountain non-stop, at full pace; only I had a real pack. I picked up Judith’s footprints. At Puiyun, I rounded a corner and saw her setting in front of the “Holiday Inn.” The 2 boys went on and I stopped there. Judith went for a walk and I took a bath in the light snow in a tub of hot water. I told her I might not be there when she came back, but I was.

We had delicious beans for dinner. We were the only ones there, eating by kerosene lamp, fantasizing we were in a fancy restaurant by candlelight. I had five eggs between the time I got there and the end of dinner.

We had the sleeping room to ourselves. We had a fire built. We sat on a bench together. You’re not going to get a more romantic night.

Before, in the afternoon, Judith said she was going to paint. I leaned over to give her a good luck kiss, but she turned her lips away from side to side. “Don’t ever do that again,” was my planned respond. (Don’t ever deny me!)

We sat by the fire. We talked. I excluded charm from my heart, and I dashed my tongue inside her lip in a moment. (Later, she told me she felt the kiss in her vagina.) She told me she felt confused about her feelings. She said she valued her freedom. (This is getting interesting). I assured her that I didn’t want to infringe on her freedom. By the tone of the conversation, the right thing to do became the masterful touching and kissing, and soon, I was lying on top of her on the bench by the fire, and then we straightened up and she suggested we sleep together. As neither of us had any protection, we slept without making love. As I got into the coves I lied on top of her and shoved my dick against her pussy through our clothes. This, however soon subsided, as I realized it wasn’t going to happen tonight. She must need time to think. Goodnight.

December 1st, 1983


The daybreak brought a new message – that things seem to have opened up with Judith, the object of my recent desires.

We planned to write during the day, yet I covered little ground. I ate delicious wheat chapattis and fried eggs that were incomparable. Judith and I sat in the sun watched hundreds of people, some barefoot, come by with some incredible loads, carrying produce to the Saturday Namche market. How many oranges did I eat and buy – 2 or 3, per rupee? Chapati and eggs. Touching and kissing sunny Judith. So, in such a stance, the afternoon waned and the darkness descended again. Judith and I took a walk before dinner with a flashlight. I told her I once considered the possibility (in Foster City) of entering a new universe through physical hotels in reality – we had been talking of inanity/sanity.

At dinner, there were 3 men who had come to spend the night, ours being the only available room. When they went in our room, we dashed in and bought them off; I paid them a bottle of beer to sleep in the kitchen! Judith and I went to bed. We had our clothes on to keep from the cold, and Judith made some inane comment like “We’ll be cuddly and sleep at night.” To unspoil my despoiled amorous mood, I smoked some pot, which brought forth the consequent and expected change of atmosphere, one of openness and explanation. Then I pulled down her pants (she took a hit too.) I went down towards her legs and proceeded to eat her pussy like determined and prolonged lightening. This reached the desired point, where upon I plunged my dick into her. She sang some words of apprehension, but once the verbal was secured, I rammed her with delight, as long as it lasted, until almost instinctively, she pushed my hips away and I voluntarily flew backwards and spurted on her sleeping bag, as planned. And so it goes!

Then I wend down on her again. I put it in again, but we curtailed any further action on the topic till she felt more secure with the question of her own fertility.

And we slept. I woke up with no clothes, freezing, and I donned some warmth.

December 2nd, 1983


Chapati and eggs. We really didn’t get going till maybe 11 am. We took a stroll around the ridge and the headed iced over trail. She told me about sticky mucus meaning fertileness, and about her father falling 15 meters onto a rock, skiing off a ledge. “He broke every bone in his body.” They kept him alive artificially, but he was going to be a vegetable – they pulled the plug on his life support. Her brother needed his own life, tormented by visions. Now we are happy. We round the curve into the sunlight.

At a roadside shack, I enjoy my first cup of the most delicious milk I ever tasted – of yak. I eat some ‘dilo,’ what a meal, also delicious. We have corn chyang, also delicious.

Kharikola was descended upon by this pair. We discussed how my kiss of the tongue under the lip was from the heart and how it touched her vagina. When she was tired of talking, I went on. Kharikola [?] was like the Twilight Zone, everyone seemed lethargic like a zombie. I tired to order food, but it was met with numb perdition of my own words.

We walked on to Jubing when alone, I sang. When I got to Jubing behind Judith, I found her talking to a California – type girl. This girl, Adik, did a dance with her face, hands and even sometimes legs while we talked. In the first hour or two of veneration, she informed me that she was a real sexual beast (but see, she’s actually cute), she lives in Kathmandu, I heard her speak singsong Nepali off the top of her head, and I wanted to fuck her and run away with her, to make her the greatest love of my life. After dinner, Judith went to bed, and I was outside at the table by lantern-light alone with A-dik.

I tried to convince her to take our hash-smoking to a good viewing spot for astronomy. She said she was only going as far as her bed. She was coming back from her piss and I was going to take a dump. Crossing paths she asked me a question then, she said, “Just forget about touching me – I’ve got bed-bugs: Lice!!” It seemed hard to believe that such a cute, clean girl with a French jacket on did, but she’d been camping in obscure places the last few weeks. I acted confused as to why she would say that!

Back at the table, we smoked our brains out, and I leaned across the table on impulse and kissed her forcibly, let her go just as she began to struggle, saying, “That’s just to show you I’m not afraid of you!” I think she said, “I know!” We talked, we talked. I came and sat next to her. She told me that her mind was on this guy in Kathmandu. (Before, a lengthy story about how she went all the way to Switzerland to chase a guy that didn’t love her.) I told her, I’m not going to kiss you or touch you, because your mind is somewhere else and you have lice, but maybe later in Kathmandu, when you get back.” I got her phone number. She asked me if I wanted to trek in Lang Tant with her. We’ll see. We had some of her cheese, butter and sampa flour. When she went to bed, I said, “Could you give me a friendly kiss on the cheek goodnight?” She said sure, landed forward, and, her standing, me sitting with my arms at my sides, put her lips to mine once, back off, twice, and turning her head, a 3rd time.

We went inside and she got her bed ready, and I wrote. We exchanged a few happy words. I got in my bag in the dark and I put my hand into Judith’s bag, where it was accepted.

I also mention that our conversion may have flowed into the nearby open dormitory window. At one point, Adik said something like “Don’t try to kiss me,” when I leaned foreword stupidly while she had a cigarette in her mouth. That was when she explained where her head was at. OK, thought I. Maybe things will be different in Kathmandu. I said things like I find you attractive. She said Thank you. [“I was going to run away with you!”]

Thanks Jack Harpster: Flattery will get you everywhere. (So start talking).

December 3rd, 1983

Cheese Factory, Tragshindu

A burst of a good morning. We got ready, munching ½ popped popcorn. I was sitting outside when Adik left for Puiyan: see you in Kathmandu she said briskly. I threw popcorn at her chest. I said I liked her shoes, they made her remind me of a yak. “They have a slit up the middle” (In the back.)

Judith and I crossed the river, and she sat on my lap in the sun and plagued me with questions about Adik, and smeared her with not always complimentary observations. She told me she sense the way I was looking with interest at Adik, and I knew that she had noticed, but I don’t feel ashamed.

We took a pleasant stroll up the mountain. In Mandingma I had 5 cups of yak milk and lunch. A man offered to sell me some of his hand rolled hash. I bought about 8 grams for 55 rps. I smoked some and vividly walked on. When Judith said “Hash smoking doesn’t always make you happy,” I said see you later before she cold get into the forthcoming illustration.

On my own, I pounded my way to Trangshindu Gompa. At the lodge I waited for Judith. When it got dark I went down trial to look for her. I met some people that had come after and hadn’t seen her, so I assumed she went to the cheese factory. I followed the trail and found her footsteps. I felt sure of her presence, and, in the dark, I walked into the lodge and found her there. I had cheese racettes (fired mashed potatoes with cheese top and bottom) for dinner, cheese, bread, apple cider.

I shared my hash with Judith and 2 Swiss guys and we laughed and had a good time. Judith and I slept in the fireplace/restaurant room. The man’s son slept across the room. I was sitting by the fireplace when Judith came up to me. My hand ran up her thigh to her ass from between her legs. I heard a startled sound and looked up at the staircase where the mother coughed, and ran upstairs. It was the funniest thing. It reminded me of a Charles Dicken’s scene. The woman had been watching through the posts and my hand touching Judith made her exclaim. Realizing she’d been caught, she coughed as if that’s why she’d stopped on the stairs. It was a good laugh for all. Judith and I went to bed. I felt her pussy, my hand in her sleeping bag. She said, “Shall we make a bed?” We got up and opened the sleeping bags. But when we got it all made and laid down, Judith fell asleep, despite my amorousness. Oh well. I was tired too, partially from all that good hash.


December 4th, 1983


After an interesting apple pancake, Judith suggested we go to Tragshindu Gompas Lodge, so I could make good my bill of 10 rps. That I couldn’t pay before I left cause the lady didn’t have any change. (By the way, the lady of the cheese factory and I had a good laugh when we saw each other in the morning, remembering the comedy of last night.) Judith and I went over the hill, and I paid he bill. We had a few chyangs, and on the walk back, we laid right in the middle of the road kissing. I said I was thinking about taking her in the bushes, and she said let’s go! We took a short trip to a secluded patch of dirt and scrub, took our clothes off in the sun. I got it in and, well, like I told her. I was gonna come (too) soon, I did.

I explained to her, the Himalaya in the background, how, at first I do things like that, but, after I get used to a girl, I can go for a long time. She said, “But don’t you know?… all men are like that!” We lay around each other. She said she wanted to lie on top of me. We were lying there, and just about ready to go when I slid down and started eating her pussy. Then, I slid back up and put it in. We fucked for a minute or so, and I pulled out (For birth control) and spurted on the ground, my leg, her butt. We both seemed happy about this.

When I explained how it took me doing it a lot to get real good, and she, ‘Oh, we’ll do it every day.’

We finally made it back to the cheese factory, me with my long john bottoms hanging over my shoulder. It was 1:15 by the time we left the cheese factory. Shortly afterwards, we stopped in Ringma. The apple wine was pink like petroleum and tasted like it. The cider was artificial yellow and tasted watered down. The apple pie not so great and I hear they’ve got the good stuff in Junbesi. So much for Ringma.

45 minutes down the trail a guy with a Himalayan Rescue Association patch on who tells me I’m on the wrong trail. I remember the Swiss guy saying either way was OK. Finally (after some more guys told me I was on the wrong trail); we met the incarnate lama [blama] of Tragshindu who, according to Adik (who said that he tried to fuck her), hasn’t yet taken the vows of celibacy, abstinence of liquor or tobacco; ahem! This man showed us which way to go. From this village, it was down to the river, across and up a canyon. Shortly after it was dark, we reached Jubesi.

At Anchopka’s Lodge, I had the most amazing vegetable soup and 2 pieces of delicious fresh-baked apple pie, popcorn and hot lemons. Ecstasy. We sat around and smoked my hash, mostly me and a guy from Mill Valley, though Judith smoked and laughed.

Afterwards, we retired. Again, Judith fell asleep, and my resources to purse her were depleted shortly, leaving me in a deep hash sleep.

December 5th, 1983


Apple pie, Sherpa stew. In the morning Judith asked if I’d like to go to the monastery tonight. I though it might be a chance to be alone with her, so I said yes. I wrote in the sun, different colored prayer flags like streamers of holiday from the “pagoda.” Warm day, then cold wind.

I was late and Judith snapped at me, which ended up in a friendly battle on our way to the monastery. The anthropologist, Rick Kohn, came up as we were walking, and our attention turned to him. “Some monks take vows of abstinence from liquor, celibacy, while others (who wear slightly different shawls) don’t – you can renounce your vows once, and twice but a 3rd time… well, I really don’t know. You can lay their shawls out on the ground and have someone who knows point out the difference, and then you’ll be able to tell… but otherwise?!”

When we arrived, we had to ask through Rick, for permission to sleep there. We were allowed to share Rick’s room with him, that was a drag considering I wanted to sleep with Judith, but there were 3 separate beds.

All the monks are escaped from Tibet. Rick told me one of the monks, who laughed in the courtyard said “Oh, he’s from American and she’s from Holland? I don’t know Holland.” [Rick: “It’s even smaller than Nepal.]
Oh, and America is big… big and bad!” “No, America isn’t bad… Americans are bad… no… it isn’t Americans who are bad… it’s just you who’s bad!” (Addressed to Rick). When Rick left the room (I’d already had. Tibetan butter, salt tea, which I liked) – and Judith and I were faint at dinner we talked (the dinner was pounded rice – the first time I’ve tried this [I liked it], and some dahl and peas or something).

Before, when we’d first entered the room she’d said (in front of Rick): “If you don’t want to stay here, just say so – we can go back down.” Now I told her it made me uptight- not because I minded what she said but because she said it in front of Rick. Before she’d said (When I said… Just a little joke) “You’ve told plenty of jokes lately, and I’ve gotten them all!” She looked pissed off. Anyway, Rick walked in again. I donated 20 rps and said I was splitting. Rick seemed disappointed. We 3 walked outside to smoke a j. When we sat down, Judith said she was coming too if I was. We smoked the j. She put my legs over her knees. Rick told us about how great this monastery is, etc. Judith seemed cold so I said let’s go inside. Back in Rick’s room, Rick told us about some of the things he’s done here. He’s worked on his PhD. He’s recently translated his oldest ever recently. It is a prayer to the god of Central Tibet, who predates Buddha:

The Cloud of Worship of the God of the Plain

(translated by Rick Kohn)

To name the body God’s Father –

He is Ote, Gung Gyal,

To name the body God’s Mother

She is the one-winged Turquoise bird

To name the body God Himself –

He is Ya-shud, the God of cruelty.

Take the name of the country in which you dwell

It is shivering swamp bottom

A wild throne of shimmering green turquoise

Verdant in summer, verdant also in winter.

The country in which you live is

Called Delightful to Experience.

The rest was totally awesome. We said goodnight and started downhill. (I’d given him my address to send me a copy COD when it’s published.) We were stoned. I told her I was happy she’d come. It was all simple: I (we) wanted to sleep with Judith on our last night together. In our walk, she gasped and claimed to just to have had a vision: I was a Scotsman and she was a Scots’ girl… “We were talking… and then all of a sudden it was us here…” the implication that we were loves in a former life sent a mood though me. I was saying. “OK, so if it’s true… OK… so what… I’m not afraid of that reality.” Judith told me when she’s afraid she sends a white light through her that’s God and protects her. I was thinking that she is a bit nuts, and I ought not let it affect me… besides I was stoned… and I’ve nothing to fear for no fate to fear… I’m not afraid of ghosts… not afraid of being attached… nothing.”

The wind rustled through the tiny bamboo rushes sending up a clattering that sent the most awesome feelings through me – like fiery electricity that was so new, it scared my body, though my mind was calm. It was as if I could suddenly view the night sky, landscape and hear the sounds accompanying them, for the first time, with no knowledge of what it was – the reaction of a being with out cry preceding or explanation of what was around them. Judith, holding my left hand said, “You’re afraid,” “I can feel it… you’re afraid.” “No, my mind is calm… I’m not afraid… my body is afraid but my mind is calm.”

We got to Junbesi after an hour. We ate dinner. We both uptight until we got to bed. This was the first time I really loved Judith good. I knew it was gonna be good even before we did it. I got her pants off and her silk under long john bottoms too. I got on top of her and she said let’s play around for a while first… and I said OK… just wait a second thought as I shoved my hard cock in her. We did it… I’d pull out before I cam and put it back in her. Her lips were awesomely soft and moist to kiss while my bottom played with pussy. We made noise enough to keep people listening if they were awake… Judith seemed too carried away to notice, thank God! I went down on her and ate her sopping fun. Again, fucking. I finally said: I feel like coming. She kicked her legs up wide and accepting my pounding cock. I backed off as I came doing it on her sleeping bag. Marvelous, it was! I had held her butt with my left hand as is my habit and it felt awesomely good.

December 6th, 1983


When we woke up, I felt like boning this wench again. She popped open her pants, just as I was about to come she said, “Don’t come for awhile… okay?” I wanted to just because people were waking up for the day in the next room – we were in the “dining room.” Sure enough they started filing by on their way to take a piss. The lovemaking kind of fizzled out right there, and I was momentarily pissed off that I hadn’t just come, and I mentioned it. Again, I felt that I was causing strife without realizing it, due to internal frustration. In the final analysis, it was really non-important. We sat on the bed, her wrapped in her bag, me sitting up, my hand in her bag, feeling up her pussy through her panties the whole time we were talking… and we were kissing, and it felt great…being affectionate. I had 2 pieces of pie for breakfast, and 2 cups of milk coffee (and 2 pieces of pie for the road, making it 12 pieces since I got here!) No one could see me rubbing her pussy. Yum! I really love her pussy. One could say I feel attached to it!

We made a variety of plans, aimed at getting us together again in Kathmandu, Pokhara or Junbesi. The basic plan is to meet at the Paradise Restaurant on Dec 16th (17th or 18th too) between 12pm – 1pm. She gave me the address of a man whose house I can leave a message at if I go to Pokhara. I gave her the name of my lodge – the Kim-Shaun, where she can find me if she gets there earlier than the 26th. She gave me the names of some people in Pokhara with whom I can leave a message there if I go there. And she reminded me that I can come back to Junbesi if I want to.

She walked me out to the road. We kissed. She said, “Remember, I love you.” I ran off, looking back. She stood there, looking and waving until I was out of distance, but I turned around at a higher curve in the trail and saw her walking into a shop.

I cruised on the trail like a locomotive. I passed everyone who had left earlier within an hour or so. I looked at the Lamjara pass as if it were a hill. I suppose it must have been at 9 am when I left Jubesi. I saw Behandar from the top of the pass, and I reckoned it would only take me a couple of hours to get here, but I was wrong. Descending the hill to Kenja at the river as in involved process – a long one, at least, Perhaps 2 or 2½ hours.

In Kneja, I had 4 eggs, 2 chapatis and 3 teas, 4 glasses of water. When I started up the hill to Bhandur, a Nepali man was just behind me. We walked fast, I hopped from rock to rock and we made good time. When we started up the rail we were now accompanied by his 2 friends and 3 young men with porters baskets. At one point, I stopped to let him pass because my calves cramped once or twice form the long days’ abuse, but he was tired as well and allowed me to keep the lead. In Bhandar, I was worn out and debated about going on. Scott, a climber last seen in Junbesi and before that leaving Chukkung with Marcus was there. He described the trail to those. At least over the pass and down the river – easy. I had an hours light left. A bowl of rice budding and 2 reviving lemon teas later, I was off. Over the pass with daylight, and down I arrived in Shivalaya about 7 pm.

The Nepalese that had been following me were not having dinner, so I joined them. The woman gave me portions less than ½ of the other men, but I got charged the same. She was very hesitant to give me seconds of the most minute portions, while she had just dumped the larger part of the remains of dinner into the bowls of the Nepalis. After dinner, I slept in the kitchen where we ate. I figured I’d only sleep a few hours and go. I was really beat, and still, if I’d known the right trial I’d have gone on. The man at the restaurant had given me directions to bypass those and 1 hour of the trek, but I didn’t feel up to trail finding, so I went to sleep. I am hoping to get to Jiri for the 6 am truck that’s supposed to leave. Can I make it to Kathmandu by tomorrow evening to meet Norbert to by the coral mola?

It seems doubtful.

December 7th, 1983


The people of the house made noise. I was up and out the door into darkness. Already, people with porters baskets were out, and pointed the way to Jiri via Mali, the short way. I crossed the river. By the time the sun came up, I was almost over the last hill: at a teashop. I was in sight of Jiri when I heard, then saw, a green truck leaving. I figured I missed it by only 20 minutes. If I’d just walked faster, if I’d not stopped for tea. I got to Jiri by about 8 am, 23 hours from Junbesi.

A group of 4 people told me that there were not trucks. The green truck was a local emergency truck (but I still might have gotten a ride)! I found out that the bank won’t cash travelers checks or money, contrary to what Rick said. So I started a walk to Mina Pokhari, a purported 4 or 4 hour walk, like the other 4 not ½ hour up the road, there was a truck going to Kathmandu. We waited more than an hour for it to start.

One of the 4, an English dude named Trevor, got super uptight when I told him I wished he’d given a seat to a Nepali man that he’d taken – because now the man’s smelly feet were closer to me. He wanted to fight but I declined. He passed comment about “Americans,” and I passed one about racism. Two Americans sat next to me. One guy, Dave from Alaska, passed some pretty witty comments about this guy (who is a jerk). After all, Americans stick together, I guess. We had fun saying “I hate you Easterners! (They were both originally for the east) The only thing I mind about being called American is that they group me together with guys like you!” We smoked my pot and ate their opium. The ride was thus assuredly nice. Not until after nightfall do we reach Kirantichap where we all got off because there’s a bus in the morning.

December 8th, 1983


The horn on the bus was blaring at 4:30 am, and the first thing I saw was the whole room full of people frantically packing the first thing I said was “Thanks a lot for waking me up” which I think bothered Dave and Jacob. I was first out the door, sleeping bag, shoes, socks, etc., in my hands.

The bus ride, part inside: most of the way to Lamosangu, and afterwards to Kathmandu on top of the bus. It was an OK ride.

When we got to Kathmandu, I checked into the Kim Shun Guest House, cashed $50 (for 16.1 rp/dooar) and got a taxi to around the Boudinath Stupa to see if I could find Norbit to get that coral mala. After quite a search I found out that he flew to Delhi this morning from a lady whose house he stayed at (through a Nepali girl who was my interpreter). It seems simple and a fact: I’m too late: no coral mala.

Ho: Inflation is primarily caused by forcing people into jobs they don’t enjoy to meet crushing pressure of industrial living.

I returned to Thamel. I saw KC’s restaurant, went in and had a pepper steak, 2 cups of cappuccino, a “small” salad, a cheeseburger, a piece of pumpkin pie, and a cup of black coffee for dinner over a period of a few hours. I went back to my room, cooked at a picture of Kelly (sweet, dear, Kelly!), tried to read, but fell asleep.

On the truck today, I began reviewing my notebook. Quite interesting, thought it felt a bit doubtful reading it. Maybe what I mean to say is really impatience. I can’t wait to implement the ideas I talk about.

So, ends this notebook. One of the best times of my life is continued in these writings.


December 9th, 1983


My first day back. Devoted primarily to getting my new trekking permit for Pokhara area, which I got for 2 weeks time.

I ate at K.C.’s, which I thoroughly enjoyed.

I bought new notebooks, of which this is one, which is supposed to last me till the end of the year.

I smoked a lot of hash, which is my prerogative.

I didn’t see any girls, who really caught my fancy, and consequently, I didn’t move on any.

I checked out a musical instrument shop, which may rent me a guitar if they can find one.

I spontaneously thought of a tune to some pseudo-lyrics I wrote in my last journal.

Come, Sit in the Sun, Inside My Room, We will be as warm as the cindering soul inside of me, which longs for you.

I wrote about what I want, but I came up with no new revelations though I’m knocking myself out trying to think of them.

I got a letter each from Isabelle of Luxembourg, Amanda from Daly City (moved from San Bruno) and Grammy. I got 2 letters from brother Mike and 4 letters from Sweet Kelly.

Dad fired Mac!! Amazing!! Hell, I’d really love to talk with Dad! And Mike reported that Dad talks as if “no one can replace me”. Wow! That’s good news!


December 10th, 1983

Kathmandu (Saturday)

At breakfast, I met 2 guys – Aram, a guy from Massachusetts who recently spent 11 months in Africa and Nick, a fellow from England. Fed up with electricity going out in the Kim Shun Guest House, and with the noisy Indians next to me and the ½ minute hot shower, I moved across to the Everest Guest House where they’re staying, with the 75 gallon hot water heater! Private room: 30 rps.

Saturday in Nepal is like Sunday in the States: most things are closed.

Nick, Aram and I walked to the monkey temple. The temple was pretty weird and commercialized and the monkeys were interesting, and every bit as bickering as could be – they went for the grains of rice on the pavement. The people did weird things like throw water on others, put broken flowers on their heads and lots of meaningful movements with their hands that escaped my understanding.

I didn’t understand. The temple looks impressive from a distance.

We returned to K.C.’s where I munched heavily on tomato soup and then lasagna (I Believe it was). I moved my stuff to the other hotel.

I did my usual writing in the exploratory notebook. I wrote about the five areas that I have long felt represent my innate drives. But I almost feel like I’ve got to get my head out of the clouds no matter what it is I do. There’s so much competition in every field. I’ve got to get going if I want to be No. 1 in anything!

I saw some huge coral, 3 pieces in a nearby shop. I feel so much like “acquiring” it, if I could only think of a way!!

December 11th, 1983

Kathmandu (Sunday)

I left my notebook at the post office, and it was gone for good when I went back to find it.

Tonight I picked up my down jacket – they did a great job! I left my Hilly Hansen, etc. to pick up tomorrow.

The notebook I lost is only 2 day’s writing, but it is still a shame to leave it there. Someone is going to find it and say: This guy is crazy!!

I spent a lot of the day writing letters. I wrote to Gam and asked her for money in one letter and a general description of events in another asked her to send all or part of $2100 to Delhi. I hope she doesn’t mind me asking for so much, and I hope she sends at least part of it, because I’m going to need it!! It would be great if she would send it and it would be waiting for me on my arrival.

I wrote to Dad and told him I thought it was wise (“great”) to fire Mac if he wasn’t compatible with him. I wrote to Mandy and sent her that picture from Singapore and a photo of the sing-sing in Lake Kopiago. I hope she doesn’t think I look too ugly! I wrote to Isabelle in Luxembourg: it seems strange that Lucien was so unhappy on his return that he sold his café!

I saw the Swiss guys (From the Cheese factory in Tragshindu) at the Paradise Restaurant tonight.

In the late afternoon, I almost felt weak. I had a touch of the bug in the morning.

At night, I took a walk about. I found out that the drug I took in the morning for the runs Mexafrom has been banned!

Stoned before sleep. Fell right off again for the 4th night in a row.

I really miss Judith.

December 12th, 1983


Today? Well, oh! Tonight I found a purse. I walked into Jamaly’s and went to sit down and sat it on the floor. I touched it with my foot and knew somehow that I was in black. I touched it and knew it was money. I peered in and there was a 50 rp and 10 rp note on the outside of a small wad: I went in the bathroom. There was 233 rp, the little cloth purse and a small ying/yang silver pendant w/o chain! There were 5 others at the table, so I had to be discrete. I was with Nick and Aram, and 3 ugly girls who happened to be sitting there and left… thank God!! Well, those guys kept me in stitches. We ate apple pie till out our ears it came! Aram ate 5 pieces of pie!

Today at the Paradise Restaurant, a Swedish girl asked to sit with me even though the restaurant was empty. She was leaving on an airplane right after we ate. She was really nice!

I went to the Indian Embassy to get my visa renewed. I almost hit on a woman I asked directions from. But I decided “no” even though I would’ve liked to have her.

I wrote a letter to Kelly and one to Gam. In Kelly’s, I told about the mountains and also about forgetting to telepathize, but telling her about the time I did. I gave Gam info about yaks, monks and my feelings for the future. I gave both of them my love and a copy of the excerpt from the prayer to the god of central Tibet (pre-Buddhist).

I checked out guitars and found one for 525 rps that sounds decent. I packaged my film.

I’m supposed to move into Nick’s room tomorrow because Aram’s splitting; however, the Swedish girl told me about a trek where you start walking out of town, also I might sleep out on the 14th and maybe 15th.

I had steak for dinner. I loved it. I had apple crumb pies, a good eating day.

I had more energy today, and its been building all day. T’s late now but I’m still going strong, whereas the last nights, I’ve been really tired.

I really miss Judith. Wow, I really hope we meet up.

I’m wracking my brains over my “objectives” exploratory work. I can’t figure out how to “fantastic-ize” myself!!

I really miss Judith!!

December 13th, 1983


They’re playing an Al Demeola tape and the guy… I can’t believe how well he can play the flamenco guitar!! It sounds like Montoya.

Well, today I finished all my chores. Mail is sent, everything is washed, trekking permit obtained via for India updated. I suppose I could use some super glue and have my shoes fixed too. (Done 16/12)

I moved into Nick’s room (to save 15 rps), since Aram took off for India today. Last night Aram told us some pretty dinky story about how some pervert paid Aram and 2 other guys to beat the shit out of him. It was really gross! Nick and I were polite even to listen!

I bought a map of Helambu for my “trek” tomorrow. I really miss Judith. I hope she shows up. If she doesn’t I’ll just have to go look for her, it’s that simple!

Diary, I’m going crazy!!! I need creative release. I will buy a notebook and write nonsense (I mean lyrics.) if that’s what it takes! I wish I could afford a $25 guitar!! They sound pretty good.

I met a former chief of staff to the governor of Iowa tonight. He enlightened me on how people get elected to the presidency… it was fascinating. It made me want to be a politician!

Jeff Bejach and I played a board (bored) game of football till midnight – it was so boring I almost cried. To his disappointment, I resigned at halftime!

December 14th, 1983

Kathmandu (Wednesday)

[defined the “path,” outlined the requirements in the exploration journal.]

Wonderful day!! I was just walking out of Thamel with my backpack on when I saw Al riding towards me on a bicycle! I was surprised. I thought he was in Jumla. We had coffee together and then went to the Kim Shun to see Greg (about Africa). I went down stairs when I was leaving, and I noticed my note to Judith was missing. I looked on the floor, but didn’t find it.

I went to my motel and tried to sneak up on her. We went to my room, lay down and talked. Glorious happiness.

I shuttled her around (to help her with chores) on the back of her bike. A mantra: I love Judith played over in my mind. She had to split at 3, but said she could come tomorrow or the day after for sure to stay with me. When we’d been lying down she said, “I’d like to make love to you all afternoon.”

The rest of the day:

I went to eat at K.C.’s, but they are Closed Wednesday’s. I bumped into Nick. We chatted at Govinda’s across the street – I had a steak lunch special!

We went there together for dinner – both had a pizza, it was Ok.

I went by to see Al and Greg, but their light was out, I thought they were asleep or listening but not wanting me to come in and keep them awake, so I left.

Nick and I chatted before sleep. He’s quite a nice fellow. Very easy to talk to. Pleasant. Humorous.

(It turned out Al and Greg were at Up and Down bar partying with the Nepali/Tibetan friends.)

December 15th, 1983

“If you think I’m trying to impress you, you’re wrong.”

Wow! This is one of the best day’s of my life. My experiences with Judith tonight were the most beautiful love I’ve ever known. It all seems so perfect. Every time it’s too weighty, she laughs. She’s such a good lover. She’s so soft and she moves like no other I’ve ever been with. She does this motion with her hips, so graceful, you could almost say she’s artistic!

I thought, “Kissing other girls is like just a guy kissing a girl, but kissing Judith is like all of England kissing the sea!! It feels momentous.”

We fucked on and off for 2 hours before I came the first time.

I had her turned over on her tummy. With a lot of girls looking at them makes me less excited, but when I open my eyes and see her, it gets me super excited. She is so warm. I’ve never been in love like this before.

Over and over I must repeat it, how intensely wonderful bedtime was. We got to bed at 10 and not to sleep till 3 or 4.

When I got up this morning I went by (To see Al and Greg and) to check into the room that Al and Greg left this morning. They were just leaving. They gave me hash, candles, books, a map, a scarf and some other useful items. We talked about sending notes to each other via Delhi, Bombay, Nairobi. Said goodbye as they got in the taxi to take them to the airport (to Varanasi, India). Good men.

Hung around the rooms in both hotels and made the transition of my things between 12 pm and 2 pm, but Judith never showed.

At 4 pm, I had an appointment for a haircut with a woman who cut the Queen Mother’s hair this morning (all at the Annapurna Hotel). A few times, I felt that she was deliberately pulling my head into her chest, which I liked very much. She gave me one of the best haircuts I’ve ever had.

When I got back to the Kim Shun Guest House, Judith was there. God, I’m really in love with Judith, and she loves me a lot too!!

We lay down and talked and kissed. Then we went to K.C.’s for dinner. I had spaghetti, garlic bread and salad, and it was fabulous!!

About 10 pm, we got home and went to bed. We made love on and off for 2 hours, at which point I finally came. During that time we talked joked, laughed and exclaimed repeatedly to each other how incredibly and amazingly good it felt. I personally believe I’ve only had comparable sex and warmth a few times in my life, but this is the best. Can you imagine my happiness?? She’s so totally positive about the whole thing: (the love, the sex, the relationship, me) that it is super-charged love and affection. She repeatedly says:

“I like you. I like you so much.” And “I love you’s” are exchanged.

Her face looked so pretty while we fucked. Her movements, her expressions and exclamations all filled me with delight. We seem to agree on most important points about our interactions.

We were both plainly wondering with amazement at how good it felt, how wonderful the sex was.

Afterwards, we began to fuck again and finished in not too long a time.

Then I started reading Carlos Castenada, and she prepared some boiled soya bean cheese. We had the stony munchies!! I finally passed out at about 4 am or 3 am! (Had a beer with the cheese.)


December 16th, 1983


Judith and I are planning to go to Pokhara and be down in Delhi together in late January. We are both psyched to the max about the prospects of enjoyment.

First thing in the mornings here in Kathmandu, for me, is always a minimum 2-hour munch-out at Jamaly’s pie shop downstairs.

This morning being no exception, with the addition of Judith, I was enjoying my apple crumb pie. J. B., the guy who’s walking from Darjeeling to K2, came in. I showed him one of the best photos I have from New Guinea. (I was labeling them.) He said, “Did you take this picture?” “Yes,” I said. He seemed surprised!!

The friend of his sitting next to me expressed how fantastic it was. He said that he sells others photos in L.A. and he’d buy this one. (Well I told him later I’d send one to him gratis.)

I got to talking with those guys. (Judith left to attend to chores.) It turns out this J.B. is a pretty unusual dude! He’s got a history of these walks: Calcutta to Amritzar, a walk across Malaysia North to South or vice versa, he’s lived with the Bedouins in Egypt (and into Libya) for 6 weeks, and with the Berbers for a short time. He owns a Judo school. (Parker, his partner on this walk, is one of he’s former judo students.) He learned photography, which he’s into. He’s sold pictures. He learned photography from a Japanese man who’s won several international awards, who made him take 7 or 8 rolls a week for 16 months, pointing out his mistakes in a once a week review session, before he could say, “Now you know how to take a picture.”

Before he left, he had told me he might like someday to walk from Egypt to Tanzania along the Nile. I told him I’d like his address so I could write to him and make him an offer cause I wanted to go. I got an address to write to.

The other fellow gave me his address, and I gave him mine at Gam’s.

I stayed at Jamaly’s till 1 pm, writing and listening to music. I wrote down an idea: to make musical videos in remote areas of Earth and other interesting places, thus incorporating music and adventure together. Could this be the brainstorm I’ve been looking for?

I met Judith at the Paradise Vegetarian Restaurant near Derber Square. We had a soya bean burger. The rest of the afternoon, I slept, sold a book, walking about, attending to minor chores.

I changed a $20 for 17 rps/$. I picked up 27 passport photos for 35 rps = $2.25.

A few hours later I went back down to he Derber Square area, picked up my down gloves at the cleaners and bought Dune Messiah. On the way back, I saw a man with Elephantiasis in his left leg. It was astounding whereas his right leg was 2½” in diameter at the ankle, the other leg was 6″ in diameter? I didn’t want to get within 10 feet of him!

Judith had a 7 pm date with Sambu, a Nepali suitor. She invited me, but I didn’t go because I wasn’t hungry at 7 pm.

Later, I went by the restaurant, and I let them sit side by side while I ate a garlic steak and wrote in my journals privately in a seat facing them (I chose this seat because it is my favorite) from across the room.

Later, 12 minutes after they left the restaurant, I was walking down the street when she came by in a Land Rover and called out my name. She introduced me to Sambu, the driver. Then I said, “See ya around,” and proceeded to go into a store I was headed for. She said goodnight to Sambu, and came up to me. She said she’d spent the entire evening telling him how much she loved me. Jokingly, I said, “Girls like you ought to be shot (’cause I thought she might’ve hurt his feelings).” She misunderstood an old expression and went off to the room, where I found her. I refused to get involved in her guilt-feelings. She flung herself on the bed. Then she came to my arms. The inevitable beautiful lovemaking ensued, so magnificent!

December 17th, 1983


Sitting in the garden of Yeti Cottage Restaurant – “This place is like an airport, say I,” what with the birds and insects all landing and taking off.

“You know, man has this idea that airports are a thing of the modern age, when actually the world has been an airport since life began. Birds and insects have been lying for ages! They’ve even developed wings on their bodies!! How far ahead of us are they.” It must be jealousy that prevents us from seeing their innate superiority.

Diary, what a life! I’ve never been in a situation like this before: never where there are so many ideal, things happening simultaneously!

1) I’ve never been so in love so quickly with such a sensuous girl who appeals to me as much as Judith

2) We’ve both got the next month to do as we like

3) We’re in a beautiful place, that’s interesting, has good, inexpensive restaurants

4) I can smoke all day for next to nothing – hash is so cheap (I’m planning on buying some opium too!)

5) I am experiencing one of the most exciting times of my life not even counting the fact that I’m so in love. I’ve come across the ocean on a sailboat, crossed the interior of New Guinea, climbed a 20,000 ft mountain, and now I’m finally exploring the possibilities for my future

6) The sex is better than I’ve ever had looking at Judith’s perfect complexion, loving eyes and warm smile is an aphrodisiac in itself.

This morning, I spent my usual few hours in Jamaly’s having pie. Later, I went to the Yeti Cottage Restaurant, sat in the sun, and then Judith, who had gone to do errands. Met me there. We were proceeding on to Mom’s Health Food Restaurant when we stopped at the hotel to pick up my sunglasses. We got sidetracked into bed, and we made love and it was great. We lay there until 6:30 pm when it was dark, and in the meantime, we made love again. The sex with Judith is often ideal (which is really an incredible statement)! We will make love for a while, and then, we will lie side by side, talking about love or other things, kissing a lot, touching, then we will make love some more. I usually save an orgasm for right before we have to go somewhere.

I was craving for a meal at K.C.’s, so I went there while Judith waited for me in the room. Then she came into K.C.’s and said she was going down to Mom’s Health Food Restaurant. I had spaghetti (delicious), garlic buttered bread, cappuccino (delicious), salad (Delicious) and a baked apple (delicious). Before I finished eating, Nick came in and grabbed a seat next to me. We laughed and laughed, both having compatible senses of humor I suppose. Since he was leaving early next morning for Delhi, I stayed and talked while he ate. I went to his room after, and he showed me a painting he paid $120 for, which was awesome. We exchanged addresses on my suggestion, and I left I went to her room – Judith was there:

I was supposed to meet her at Mom’s but I blew it off to talk to Nick – she wasn’t angry.

We went to Jamaly’s and stuffed our faces. I also rolled a joint. Back in our room, we made great love again. After I came outside her, I licked her pussy for 20 minutes, which really was nice for us both.

December 18th, 1983


By 1 pm, I was not yet breakfasted, having spent the morning since sunrise, making love and lying in bed with Judith, 2 happy lovebirds, during which span of time I had 2 orgasms. We might have continued the encounter, but she had an appointment with the Polarity Therapist.

We met up in the afternoon. The Polarity Therapist sure works wonders: just like last time, she came back saying she felt great, but she also involved me in an argument and acted like she had a screw loose upstairs. She accused me of being greedy over a pendant of moonstone she wanted. I felt she was being irrational and a pain in the ass and eventually said “fuck off” which apparently was simplest to understand. I met her back in the hotel. It’s funny how much I love her. We went to K.C.’s for a late dinner.

I feel asleep when we got home. I’m feeling a bit sick today, a bit heavier diarrhea.

Today I bough a multicolored vest and a colorful t-shirt. I ordered a passport pouch to me be made.

December 19th, 1983


I’m really crazy about Judith. I’m really in love with her. I think she’s beautiful. We made love in the morning. Breakfast at Bhutoai’s stoned, began by studying each other’s eyes. We lost track of each other all day, and I went along to the Post Office. Kelly’s letter was cheery- she seemed better. I still love Kelly dearly for sure.

We met again in our hotel room. We decided to eat at the Paradise. I had a delicious quiche. Afterwards, I tried to buy opium, but turned down a “tola” for a 70 rps, ($5 for 10 grms.)

My piss was orange when we got home. I thought I had hepatitis, but later realized that it was only the coloring of the pill I took for my diarrhea.

(I’m writing this on the morning in the 21st) I don’t recall: I marked down we made love twice today, but the second time must have been before dinner, for, to celebrate not having hepatitis I went to Jamaly’s for apple pie, and when I returned, Judith was asleep. She’s been sick for weeks, since she contracted diarrhea, right after I left her in Jumbesi.

December 20th, 1983


Judith wanted to get going early this morning to Pashi Putinath but by the time we’d finished saying good morning it was 11 am, though I didn’t care to cum.

Breakfasted at Bhutovi’s. I am in love, dairy, deeply!!

Checked into Star Hotel. Talked with Sydney: introduced her to Judith. They seemed to have an immediate attraction for each other.

J and I rented bikes. We biked out to Pashi Putinath. The area was quite nice.

During the course of the day. I gave Judith an idea of the freedom I sought on a daily basis. It is great how much time we will save foregoing having to be with one another all the time. We seem to agree to be flexible on scheduling. We can do whatever suits us individually moment by moment.

I feel satisfied with Judith: sexually, emotionally, and intellectually, spiritually, even financially (we always just pay for our own selves.).

We met at the Paradise Restaurant; again, I had a delicious quiche dinner.

At a pie shop, we discussed the travel plans for our 6½ more weeks together. Judith said that it would take her 3 months to earn enough to travel 3 months more (or ½ a year in an inexpensive country such as India). She said she’d be ready to travel again with me in May.

Back in our new room; we both took hot showers. It was one of the best showers I’ve had sense leaving home.

In the room, we smoked a joint. Judith looks so beautiful to me so much of the time!! I love looking at her.

I lit a candle. I made love with her, repeatedly licking her vagina, then inserting my throbbing cock until I came near orgasm. Finally, after a moment of a few strokes where I felt my full length rigid against her innermost recesses, I pulled out and orgasmed on the sheets.

December 21st, 1983


When I awoke this morning, Judith was leaving to go to the hospital and to handle some errands. She ordered some coffee for me, and the room service man brought up a tray with coffee in a small pot, hot milk and sugar. I lay in bed for hours writing, and it was good.

Later, I got up and walked down to Derber Square area. On the way, I bought 10.4 gms of opium (Chinese Red) for 60 rps. ($4.20). I ate lunch at the Lunch Box, and talked to a Swedish girl that sat down at my table. I went and played a guitar in a store that I would really like to buy, but I’m so short of money, I think I should wait until I get more.

I talked to Sydney and Neil in their room. Judith came in. We all went to Narayan’s for dinner. Afterwards we returned to their room. I had eaten some opium and while we talked, my stomach turned round and round but I still felt good. Judith went up to bed. I stayed talking to Sydney and Neil until late. Every time I said I was going to go, they invited me to smoke some more pot, so I would sit down again and gladly carry on with our interesting conversation.

When I got upstairs, I went down on Judith, but gave up making love cause she wanted to sleep.

December 22nd, 1983

Kathmandu (Thursday)

What a day. I felt like shit most of the day. The only reason I was able to give the day a rating of a 6 was because the finish of the day was so magnificent, with Judith and I making love 3 times before we went to sleep. After my 3rd orgasm, I went down and licked her vagina, gave her an orgasm; she said it was mild but quite pleasant. She described seeing colors (“blue…”) or some sort of visions like that. When we make love, I always time my orgasms perfectly so that I don’t come inside her. I pull out of her and spurt my semen on the bed.

Judith woke me “early” and we went to Pashi Putinath, but the day started off wrong because I was so tired from partying last night, and I didn’t want to get up so early. (Note: Forget to say how we danced love. See Dec 24th entry.) I went because by mistake, I agreed as soon as I woke that I’d go along. As it turned out, I could not be sociable, and we got split up. I found a seat by the water and I wrote in my journals in the sun. Later, I went back to Narayan’s for a lunch. I had taken a bit of opium; felt very tired. I missed Judith: I went back to the hotel and slept from about 2 pm to 6 pm. Judith came in.

We went to dinner, but I felt insane with ill vibes that I didn’t want. I went off by myself, leaving Judith at the Paradise. We dined separately.

When we met again in the hotel room, Judith told me how she’d been mildly attacked by a group of 4 men on her way home.

Then the floodgates of love opened, and we had fantastic sex 3 times.

December 23rd, 1983

Kathmandu (Friday)

When we awoke, we made love again for the 4th time since we went to bed last night. We were going to do it a fifth time, but abandoned it, as Judith was getting anxious to get up for the day.

We went to Jamaly’s Pie Shop and then to the Lunch Box for lunch. I wrote after lunch. We split up at dark (We’d not gotten to the Lunch Box until almost 3 pm.)

I went at 6 pm to my appointment. At 9:30 am this morning, the friend I’d met yesterday and his friend brought ½ kg of hash in walnut shapes. They would sell it at a rate of 1750 reps/kg or about $100 for 2.2. lbs. We scheduled a meeting, where we could weigh it at Paszus’ shop. I bought a 25 gram walnut of hash (20 gm + ½ total or 26 gms.) for 40 rps or about $2.40 or less than 12 cents/gm.

Judith came back to the hotel at 7:30 pm. She had been physically sick. I told her it would be best for me to dine alone. I had a pizza downtown, which was okay. I walked back. Judith seemed in a foul mood. We were both hinting at possible break up. She wanted to leave tomorrow for Pohkara, and I secretly didn’t want to leave yet.

Before we slept, we made love in a sort of perfunctory way. We were both very tired, and I came rather soon and I felt okay because I was so tired.

The sex is so good with Judith.

December 24th, 1983

Kathmandu (Saturday)

When we awoke, Judith said it’s 8 o’clock. I was pleased, because I didn’t want to go to Pokhara today. I was unhappy that Judith said she’d go to Copan Monastery until 2 days after Christmas. I was turned off when she said she’d like to try to masturbate while we’re doing it. I was on my way out the door when we started a talk.

I told her that I wondered if the reason she’d never gone down on me. She said that sometimes it took her time. We went on the roof where the sun relaxed us, soothed us and cured us. The upshot of the conversation was that she was going to stay here with me until the day after Christmas when we’d leave together to go to Pokhara and that’s she be alone today and we could be together tonight. It was lovely in the sun. We talked about fucking right there up on the roof, but there was some ladies on an adjacent roof who could see us.

We returned to the room, where I brought her to the bed, saying I’d only keep her a short while. I removed her pants and mine. I fucked her hard and strong as she melted into a position with her legs spread wide apart. After a minute I was ready to come, but I pulled out, waited, then fucked her aggressively for another minute and came.

We lay around, and talked, and fucked around wrestling. She expressed her desire to keep fucking, so, in short order, we were fucking again, and I came after not too long a time, saying to her that it was one of those days where it’s better for me to just come.

Again, we lay around and decided to stay five more minutes in bed. With 2½ minutes left because she wanted more, I licked her cunt, got stiff again, and came a third time in a period of say, 2 hours.

I felt proud of my virility, and I passed a comment she said, “You’re so virile, such a man!” And other similar comments, which made us laugh as we made love.

Judith took off by herself for the day, and so did I. I sat in the sun at the Sunny Garden Restaurant and wrote.

In the evening, I went to Neil and Sydney’s room and we all went to K.C.’s for dinner. Judith came in the middle of dinner. I feel sort of electrified by Sydney sometimes.

Neil didn’t feel well, so we didn’t stay up talking. Judith and I returned to the room. She felt sick gradually. We made love but never finished. She progressively didn’t want me –

i) To kiss her

ii) Put pressure on her knees or elbows or a particular place on her cunt all 3 of which she injured when she retuned a boys bike today, fell on the bar and fell down

iii) Get off her for a moment

iv) Don’t move. I was lucky even to get to sleep with her and she had all the covers. She really felt bad, I fell asleep next to her. During the night, she did some moaning and kicking.


Note to Dec 22nd: When we made love tonight, the most enlightening feeling overcame me and I was sort of dancing in ‘Love Dance’ as I made love with Judith. I had such a free and fantastic rhythm, I could hardly believe it. Around my neck were the green and red “scarf’s.”

December 25th, 1983

Kathmandu (Christmas)

When I awoke, Judith was on her way out. I sat about mulled around, read some Dracula, hung out in Jamaly’s awhile. Later, back in the room, Judith came in. She felt better.

We went up to the roof of the Star Hotel. We enjoyed the remaining afternoon sun. She ate curd and put apples in it, and I ate that too. We had my leftover bread and cheese, which I’d breakfasted on over coffee in the sunny terrace of the Star Hotel. It was a lovely sort of time, I let her smell burning opium, and she caught only a whiff but liked it – she loves the fragrance of the opium tar when you break a lump apart. I saw J.B. on the 4th floor. He was polite as I showed him Patagonia in my world Atlas (he had previously mentioned his interest in doing a walk down there).

When the sun had completed its journey to the horizon, I gathered my camera and things (I’d shot a number of candid and posed pictures of her beautiful face in the sun. During the day, she’d gone to the hairdresser’s and had Henna put into her hair, which makes it have a red tint to her brown hair) and brought it all downstairs to Su room. She lay down, as she began to not to feel so well. As it turned out, she was not well enough to desire dinner, so at 7 pm, I went to K.C.’s to move reservations to 8 pm, in case she felt better. She came with me and then had to go home minutes after entering K.C.’s. I had my own dinner (after I’d walked her back to the hotel.) By this time, they were out of Turkey, so I had a spaghetti dinner, they did have a special ham and pea soup, which was quite good!

I returned to the hotel. I might have read, but I had not candles and the light made Judith uncomfortable, so I just went to sleep, (also since we were scheduled to get up at 5 am so as to get to Pokhara tomorrow.)

Judith gave me an Xmas present:

i) A pack of special writing paper with Hindu designs on it

ii) A small cheap mirrored tin “for your hash.” I didn’t get her anything for Xmas. But I should get something when I see it and give her a belated gift.

Granted, diary, it would have been a more exiting Xmas, but circumstances unexpected, like Judith’s illness, caught me off guard. Further, I was supposed to party with Neil and Sydney, but I didn’t see them at all (and I know Neil wasn’t feeling well today).

December 26th, 1983


The hotel guy woke us up. First Judith didn’t want to go, then she wanted to go, then she saw it was raining and said it was probably raining in Pokhara. Then she said we should split up, because it just wasn’t working out; finally she said “Let’s go!” Then she came outside and said, “I would really like to go to Copan Monastery for 2 days.” I said Yes, as to acknowledge her saying this, as I could not imagine how to handle this. She thought my “Yes” meant I wanted to go with her. On the way to the bus station; Sydney rode with us in the taxi (She was going to call home.) Sydney is a turn-on! I told her, if she ever came to San Francisco to call me. She said she would call me, and added, after we had kissed goodbye on the lips, that she was coming to SF… “And I am coming to San Francisco!”

At the busses, I discovered Judith expect to go to Copan. It was miraculous that we ever got on the bus to Pokhara. She said she wasn’t going. Petty bickering ensued. I explained to her that she has to expect some negative reaction from me when she changes her mind at the last minute. The minibus came by again, now ready to leave, and I had just finished telling her that I’d wait a day for her to go to Copan. I really recognize how much fun we can have together, which is why I put up with all this trouble. Well, I informed her that now they had real seats for us (Because before they didn’t), so, on the spur of the moment, she decided to come with me.

Well, once we got in the bus, everything became okay! We were both glad to be going to Pokhara, sand she was happy to be leaving Kathmandu (Which she didn’t like as much as me).

The bus broke down several times on the way. It usually arrives at 2 pm in Pokhara, but today it arrived at 5 pm or a bit before. The bus ride was dreamy. We sat together in the back of the bus, and we kissed and talked much of the way. It was romantic as could be. (Her determination about me was not to argue, and my determination about her was not to ever suggest that she was less than perfect – this is a determination certainly destined for a short life!)

We both took a minute amount of opium, and this probably added to the dreamy morning sunniness in the back of the minibus. I devoted most of my attention to her, and I did so because I reflected: be a lover and nothing else for a week, and see if you like it – this was a resolution I’d had when returning to Kathmandu – but I had meant it in the sense of chasing women. However, it seemed to have a good effect on her. Sometimes, as we got stoned too, she’d totally lose the train of the conversation, and sit with a perplexed face.

Her face seems so beautiful to me, and especially when I am close to her. Her rosy cheeks, straight, white teeth, wide, generous and lovely mouth with delicate pink lips, her perfect (near-perfect) facial skin, beautiful sparkling in the sun green brown eyes, straight attractive nose all add to her loveliness. She’s very affectionate to me. She likes to be close, kissing and hugging and touching. (The only lover comparable to this one is Toniça.) It seems I can absorb myself in her face for hours on end.

More and more, I am attracted by her body. Making love is near ideal with her. She’s about 5’4 ½” or 5’5 ½”. Her tits don’t have any stretch marks because she’s never been pregnant. Her cunt has a nice shape and inside is quite tight enough to afford much pleasure! In addition, she is so giving and loving, and she likes sex so much that, as we are much the same in these regards, we are quite compatible.

When we arrived in Pokhara, we had yet another misunderstanding, but I must admit that I cause myself problems sometimes. It passed over quickly, and meant nothing, except I was quite startled by the suddenness of both her actions and my surge of anger!

The result was pleasant enough, however! We checked into a hotel on the water. The lake is quite beautiful. The gorgeous mountain (which you can see from here) inspires me! We are both happy to be here. In the room, we decided to fuck before dinner. I was aiming to not cum, so as to see if it resulted in me being less or more horny – usually in this situation I would come, and I have a rough idea how horny I am after dinner in these situations. We determined that we’d continue after dinner! Well, the sex was beautifully great as usual! I feel so exalted to be on top of her and inside of her, and moving rhythmically and with passion! We began to get up to go to dinner after we’d made love for a time, but she wanted to keep fucking, so that I was brought back to bed, and we did it and, despite myself, I finally came. VERY NICE. End of experiment.

For dinner, we went to the Hungry Eye. It was okay until I bit into a bite of fish that tasted putrid! (What was it?)

Back in our room, Judith fell asleep and later, after a bit of reading Dracula, so did I.

December 27th, 1983


Well, the day ends and I am feeling ambiguously wonderful. I find this diary a regretful piece of triviata – all the good stuff, I leave out of this journal. (Like yesterday, when Judith said, “A Real Artist paints because he feels it!” Now this is a pertinent thing. It rings true in my heart – the well-spring of creativity must come from inside.)

Today we awoke. Judith bathed awhile. I woke and then she came back to bed, whereupon we made love.

Then we went out and sunbathed until I got horny and she seemed fairly eager, whereupon we returned to the room and had a rather lengthy session which climaxed with us looking in each others eyes, so she can see the electricity in mine and share it in the reflection in her own. Wow-a!

I did some writing about goals and managed a very vague outline of priorities on them. I will attempt to manipulate them until I get some answers.

We had dinner at the Kantipur. It was overpriced because the portions were small. Then we had another misunderstanding and I went to eat some pie while she took off. I wrote in the journal and then she came to the Hungry Eye, where I was. We walked back home. We lay on the bed talking and then we went to sleep.

December 28th, 1983


The opium brings a sort of dreaminess to events, though I only take a little bit of it at a time, else wise, my stomach acts up too much.

I awoke and Judith said, “I’m going to get up in about 15 minutes.” Then she tried to fuck me. I put it in, but I was too tired to be rushed, and I felt like sleeping, so I did.

When I finally woke up, many dreamy hours later, I went and wrote by the water. Then I came up here to the terrace so that I could write in peace, as the children are playing by the water.

The day is beautiful, it is sunny, clouds lull behind the mountains. I can see white mountains to my right.

Judith just left in yet another altercation. This time it started because I was disgusted because she is so non-cooperative and selfishness sometimes. But even if my point was right, I still caused more strife. I felt, when we began our relationship, that I was very considerate of her. As we’re together more, I feel less included to be helpful because she is so non-cooperative and non-reciprocal. An example of non-reciprocity is that she gets very angered if I disturb her when she is concentrating or sick, yet she constantly infringes on my time when I am trying to think about other things or writing. I suppose I could teach her by example.

I mulled around after she left. I smoked some pot and ate a small bit of opium (0.1 gram). I took a hot shower, which was lovely.

I went out to change money. I turned down 5 offers until I accepted 16.50rp/$ for a $20 check. I didn’t see Judith (But she saw me, as I found out later), so I went to town to find immigration. I had to backtrack, as immigration was all the way back towards Baidam, the lake settlement. It was closed when I got there.

As I walked about, I bought plenty of oranges to make me happy – here, they are, delicious. On the way back, about 5 pm, I bought a bottle of Milk, 100gm of cheese and a small circle loaf of brown bread. Outside, the hotel grounds, I got in a conversation with a man who told me about his motorcycle of Indian make (and 1940 Polish design.)

Judith was not receptive at all, when I found her in my room. She left or dinner. I read Dracula in bed then my eyes grew heavy, and I fell asleep.

Many hours passed. Judith came back late (11 pm?). She got in bed and turned her back to me. I tried to talk with her. I told her about my day, and mentioned that I looked for her. Then she accused me of lying, as she had walked right by me and said I looked at her with a strange, frozen look. The truth was, I had not even noticed her, and she claimed that she didn’t say a word, because she was so shocked. A “discussion” ensued, the “bridge” between us wasn’t gapped until I said, “Well, anyway, I for one want to be on friendly terms,” at which she turned over and cuddled up. Slowly, I kissed her while we talked. Things became friendly indeed. Soon, we were making the most beautiful love we ever made. I didn’t cum during the first round. After maybe 30-40 minutes of fucking, I lay next to her to “rest.” She fell asleep after a time. I turned off the light. Then she woke up, I turned on the light, then she tried to sleep again. I turned off the light and began licking her bottom, then I stuck it in from behind. She was oblivious. I felt like I was fucking a pig or other barnyard animal, but don’t get me wrong – I loved it. My orgasm was super. I came on the bed. Then I went to sleep.

The weather is sunny and beautiful.

December 29th, 1983


The day went perfectly. It was really lovely. We woke up and went to breakfast (after we fucked a bit, but I didn’t come). We went to a sunny garden restaurant, drank banana lassis, and I wrote. She did too. We talked. It was lovely. We spent 5 hours there. I bought some fresh mountain honey for 17 rupees, $1.00 for about a liter!!

We went back to our lakeside Hotel Fewa. We took a swim at sunset and then a hot shower.

Back in the room, we decided to go to dinner. We fucked for a little while, but again, I did not come as an experiment to see my physical reaction.

We were getting dressed when I gave her 50 pesa (1/2 rp) because she’d loaned me 3 rp and I paid for a taxi in Rahmandi for which she owed me 2.50 rp. She got insulted: What is this, a joke? Ensued some mutual ribbing, her point being how shocked she was at my remembrance of so small a sum. I joked back. She got defensive and kept the argument alive. Finally she said, in a demanding tone: “Can we end this conversation? Will you please stop talking about this?”

I was numbed by her outburst of anger. Up to that point in the conversation, I felt like it was a big joke. There was nothing I would have liked more than to drop the topic, and indeed, I said so. Now the atmosphere completely changed!! Now, simultaneously two things happened:

1) I realized her distress

2) Which gave me a need to talk about it.

It was frustrating, because she had pretty much demanded silence on the subject! I didn’t know what to do.

I leaned over and kissed her. She began to talk about other things and I threw myself face down on the bed, for I was confused, frustrated and shocked. She showed no kindness, and would not admit of her anger. She went out saying that she would wait 10 minutes for me at the Cucko Restaurant. If she would have been kind, I could have recovered but I felt all the worse for her leaving as she did. I felt undeservedly belittled.

As I walked to the restaurant (and it took all my will power to even go there), I felt depressed, because I thought: I am in love yes, but must I suffer injustices and belittlement as a price? How sad! It was her rigidness and sternness, which gave me the feeling that I was a weakling and yet to combat her behavior only brings on an argument!

I walked into the restaurant and demanded an apology. She did apologize and was very sweet (for which I commended her) but I didn’t feel she understood why she should apologize. As the night wore on, I felt a pawn of her desires, and my manhood suffered and retaliated in my bosom. We went to the restaurant where she wanted to go, and it was totally inappropriate to the needs of my stomach. She said I could go but to be polite I stayed. However, she ate so slowly and then ordered more, and I was cold so I left. I felt much resentment. She was removed from the whole affair, and it was her unconsciousness of my heart that made me despise her. I felt so low.

One side of me loved her madly, and the other was dismayed: I can’t change her – yet, her behavior makes me unhappy! What do to do! This is the best love I ever found!! My pride clouded all my thoughts. If she could just learn, not to injure a man’s pride! So many thoughts ran through my mind: Do I pick the stern girls? Am I a puppet? Have I no backbone?

She came to the restaurant where I was at, and she maintained her sweetness. I went dully through the motions of courtesy. When we walked home, I felt sad. I went home and crawled in bed with my clothes on and fell asleep.

How can I allow myself to be so depressed over her actions? I so wish I could ignore her frustrated outbursts!

It just gets me and the more I discuss it with her the worse it gets! Naturally, it is impossible for her to change, and I don’t know what to do. I have an overwhelming feeling that… oh God! I can’t let a love like this escape me! I must master the situation. If I could only act in a simple, effective way – if I could only control my behavior.

Note: Just before the fight, she told me how it will be great if we can be an inspiration to each other! She can paint and I can write, and we can be together. It is a wonderful idea!

If I could just not take myself so seriously! Let people do and think what they may, as long as I prevail in my personal quests!

December 30th, 1983


We were awakened early, before light, by some men’s voices. We made love, but I didn’t come. I lost interest when I tried to wipe my dick on her sleeping bag (as the nearest available thing) to wipe off the seamen for her benefit and she brashly told me not to. I admit at this point I was over sensitized to her, and I took it as her being demanding again! I feel mentally castrated by her when she is demanding! Naturally, I revolt!

I went out to shit and came back in. She announced she was leaving to begin her painting. Then I brought up my feelings. She was angered by my words and naturally assumed a verbally defensive posture, as she got dressed. All I wanted her to do was understand, but she complicated the argument with rhetoric and left.

Sometimes she tells me how love is and I feel that she thinks she’s an expert. I guess we all have a knowledge of the principals sometimes but can’t implement them ourselves. I know I’m like this!

If she knew how well I barred up under the pain I felt last night, she would shut her mouth and come to me and be warm, and not say another word. Maybe that is what I should do for her, maybe she bears and feels a lot too!

Diary, I realize I cause my own problems. I am weak emotionally. I must steel myself!!

I remember what the manager in the DACCA office said: You lose nothing by being Humble.

I need Humility! I really do! I foresee one of two things to happen in my relationship with Judith. Either we will go on fighting and eventually part. Or we will become magnificent. We will overcome our handicaps and experience a great love, the greatest each of us has ever known.

I must take the initiative! I must realize when she gets angry that she is trying to bear the pain of frustration, but it is so great, the confusion is overwhelming – ah what a pitiable state. I should then take pity and be humble. I know this course of action will work for the best. God, give me strength to overcome my weakness.

Jeff: What is the relationship between time spent on art and how good it is?

Judith: Well, to be a good artist you’ve got to work 8 hours a day on it.

Jeff: No I mean, if you spend 1 hour on one piece and 10 hours on another, which one is best; on a general level.

Judith: Well, the one you spend 1 minute on is best.

Jeff: Why?

Judith: Because its honest. Honest. If you spend all day on it, it begins to be intellectual.

Idea: Write down every 10 minutes a day during waking hours (duh!) what you want to be in life. Wait a week. Do this 5 weeks in a row.

One side of me is the Activator. He has ideas, like the one above. One thing I learned from Dracula is that if you write down all details, no matter how trivial, you may find them very important later. One side of me is the Activator. One side of me is the Depressor. The bad guy who says negative things about my ideas. There may be many more, but these two guys have quite a relationship!

Analysis: Idea: To keep all notes in one notebook. Idea; to write it like poetry when you can. To write it down as quickly as it comes to you.

One side of me is the

Optimizer, who hopes to get

Everything he can out of

Every good thing.

One should not be afraid

Of poetry, just let it

Flow, and remember always

To let it flow.

One side of me is the

Changer, who corrects me

In a rational fashion

(Rational Fashional)

I am a universe in one man

And so are you

Everything is happening

Like they want it to

Are you democratic?

Idea: to write down my ideas in format statement.

Remember Kelly January 1.

In other words, make my workbook like a telegraph from brain to hand.

Note: Trend in music lyrics for pop songs to be more realistic.

Note: Idea: to observe crowd behavior.

Depression: Alter diary.

One side of me is the Encourager.

(The Depressor says You’re always been a bore socially!)

Crowd behavior.

Soccer Match.

The more tension there

Is on the field

The more involved is

The crowed.

The ball goes

From one side of

The field

To the other.

(Transmission Notes Jan 1st, 1984)

K: J: / 9:00 am ½ hr. after transmission. I love you. Happy New Year. Blah, blah, blah. I can’t wait to see you. I forgive you for forgetting. How are things there? I hope you’re having fun!! I miss you. I can’t wait to see you. Okay, I have a poem for you.

New Year Haiku

City noises

Country quiet

The tremendous sounds of

The bush one

Thoughts of you.

J:K / 9:04 am 12:34 pm Tokyo

Kelly, listen. Now transmitting ½ hour late. I love you so much. I would give the moon to have you here! I’m in Pokhara, by the lake! I’m kissing you. I’m hugging you. Can we do the Cyclops? Most thoughts for the New Year!

White mount bliss before me, communing with you, Making love with you! I miss you!!

A poem for you:

Kelly, I can’t wait to

Be with you!!

Pysche up!

I love you!

We were ½ hour off let’s transmit again.

Jan 10th, 1984 12 pm


Dec 30th (continued) Pokhara

December 30th, 1983

Well, Judith and I went to Immigration together in the afternoon. I felt much easier with my new realization. In the back of the book, I describe our evening with 3 lovely sexual episodes! After the first two, we had dinner at Phewa Restaurant, and it was quite satisfactory. Later, we returned and made love again. The day and night were so wonderful – nay, they were incredible, for in our lovemaking, my love manifested itself – I was touched by a unique and powerful enlightenment. I can’t help but award this day a 10, if only for the incredible acts of sex!

December 31st, 1983


Upon waking, we made it! O-la-la! The sky was cloudy. Judith went out to the lake and began to swim. There’s a temple on an island in the “middle” of the lake. I ate a quick breakfast at our hotel, and I went in the water too. It was cold! I swam all the way to the temple, where a crowed of Nepali people were coming to and fro in their canoes. I got out and walked about briskly, but I had no sun to warm me. I entered the cold lake again and swam to the boat landing, whereupon, I got out and walked and then ran back to the hotel. I ran barefoot on the rocks, and curled my fingers in the Don Juan gait of the warrior, my eyes fixed on my path and analyzing at an abnormally high rate the terrain. I gained speed until I felt like I was flying! The passers by must have stared at this sight of a man in a multi-colored t-shirt and brief swimming trunks running own Baidam’s commercial centre doing the gait of the warrior!

When I got back, there was no hot shower left, which I needed sorely, as I had lost much essential body heat. I do believe in the ensuing 2½ hours of trying to get warm that I suffered a mild case of hypothermia. It felt draining and almost scary. Judith got in under the sleeping bag with me to help warm me, which helped.

We went to the Phewa Restaurant where we spent the entire afternoon eating and writing. We returned to our hotel at sunset. We made it. Then we left again to meet the people we’d agreed to spend New Years with. Well, we were 2 hours late. It became a rush. I was smoking joints of hash and opium and marijuana.

Rather than drag out a long story, basically, the night had a strange flavor to it. Eight of us went in 2 canoes out to the temple. I was very stoned, I grant you this, but it had seemed I was being ignored by the whole lot of them. I held my tongue, until we landed on the island. When I offered my flashlight and got no reply at all (for the umpteenth time), I blew up! I said, “Judith, none of these people pay me any mind at all!” Only one guy, Gus, heard me. He came up and brushed my cheek with his hand in an affectionate and encouraging way, and he invited me to sit with them all by the fire. I lay on my mat, removed from the rest, and no matter what entreaties they all made, I would not join them!

Shortly after we arrived at the island. I could hear a crowd near the shore…4…3…2…1. I let out a yell!

Judith was confused by my behavior. She came over to me and got sort of angry. This happens a number of times. Someone gave me a bottle of beer via Judith. I yelled out “I’m on an opiate high” as a means of explanation for my behavior. They all toasted New Year’s while I remained apart. As I told Judith: I feel Defiant!

Ju: What’s that?

Jeff: It’s the opposite of humble! (I’d read to her my determination to be humble earlier in the day.)

I went off by myself and danced on a concrete walkway, which bordered the water. I walked up and down it and sang softly as I composed a little tune on the spot.

Finally, I joined the group. I had by now alienated them to me. I spoke imploringly and challenged much of what was said – this further alienated them! I asked serious questions about life, questions, which I’ve been asking myself lately, and they wanted to laugh.

Finally at 4 a.m., Milo asked me to stop talking – they all chimed in, saying that I had been asking serious questions for 4 hours, which was entirely untrue. It was the most unanimous rejection I’d felt in a long time, but I was pretty strong and defiant about it all. Basically I felt I’d never see any of them again after tonight, so it was almost like an experiment.

The funny thing was that because I’d alienated them, they were unreceptive to all of me. They perceived my entire act as being of one unnecessary weight, far-out spaciness, rudeness, unpleasantness, aggressive hostility! I on the other hand, felt none of this could be the truth.

One said something about meditating and I said why not, for example, smash a bottle against a wall. My meaning was positive. I was saying one act is as good as another. I believe they were saying that meditating could relieve hostility. I was not inferring any kind of violence in smashing a bottle; only that the act itself can be exciting, relieving and pleasurable. This comment brought on a torrent of statements like: “Well, I just don’t smash bottles around me if I’m meditating” in injured tones, tones of defiance to me, tones with implications that I was violent. I thought their behavior was aggressive myself!

I could go on with examples. However, it suffices to say that I remained strong throughout, and it was sort of refreshing to stand out, even at the pride of pain.

At 4:30 am we canoed back. I think the girl Cindy really hated me by the time I left. Judith and I, on the way home, found a woman who was preparing this for the day: potatoes, etc. We had some snacks: me, 3 eggs and teas. We got back to our room and slept.

December 31st, 1983

Upon awakening, we enjoyed each other on the last morning of the year. I had 2 orgasms. The first one was without much impact (the orgasm was weak). How could I hope it to compare to last night? But it was still nice. The second time was fine.

In the evening, it was fine. Usually, whenever we make it, at least a substantial portion of the time, it feels really good!