“You mean you got on the last plane out before the revolution?” I said.
“No! The revolution already started a few hours before we left. People were gathering at the president’s palace. I think they closed the road to the airport just after we got there. I know for sure that the road to Otavalo was closed.”
“Wow. Close call.”
“Yeah, I know! Other groups are planning to go to the Galápagos, but I don’t think they can go now.”
“Jeez.”
“Yeah.”
“I know, right?”
“Yeah.”
A fiery end in true South American revolutionary fashion. How can you go down there and not witness at least one revolution? Other than that first bit of explosive information, I really didn’t get much more from Maureen about her trip to the Galápagos. She went with a group of high school students on her first solo foray into the wilds of the world. I would’ve appreciated a bit more in the way of stories, but nothing was forthcoming.
“Turtle Porn” on the Galápagos Islands
She did tell me about the turtle porn they witnessed within minutes of arriving at the sanctuary on Santa Cruz Island. The leader of the pack, a high school math teacher, came up with this classy, educational phrase. Nice. Apparently, it was unusual for the turtles to cavort in such a lusty manner, and the students were “lucky” to catch them getting frisky. A male tortoise tiptoed over to an unsuspecting female hardtop and proceeded to have his way with the tiny turtle (in comparison with him). “Oh! She can’t escape. She won’t make it!” The guide cried out. He made it sound like the female tortoise was about to be sexually assaulted.
And I’m thinkin’ these are elderly turtles. They are both probably over 100 years old. I am sure there is nothing to worry about as far as “assault” goes. They are both consenting adults, and if not consenting adults, then two consenting senior amphibians who have gone through this before and who are ENGAGING IN THE EVOLUTION OF THEIR SPECIES FOR GOD’S SAKE.
Photo byCedric Fox from Unsplash
So calm down people, get a grip, and remember why you are on the Galápagos Islands in the first place. Why is it such a draw? Who wrote the book? What was the theory? Has anybody cracked open a book lately? Turtle porn…
August 26th is National Dog Day. Let me tell you about my dogs.
Dinah Nicole
I had five dogs in 2021. It’s the most we’ve ever had at one time, and I didn’t plan it that way. They came to us as castaways. The first one I got at a shelter, so she wasn’t really a castaway. But, they were ready to put her down because she had a broken leg, so I did rescue her. Her owners had named her “Felony”. That kind of gives you an idea of what she was up against. She was three months old.
We named her Dinah instead of Felony. My brother called her Nicole because he said that her bedroom eyes reminded him of Anna Nicole Smith. That’s a weird thing to say, and I think he should probably try to get out more. Anyway, it’s because of her that we ended up with 5 dogs. She loved dogs and she loved people, too. She always rolled over on her back in greeting. Dinah died a few weeks ago at the age of 15. The world lost the sweetest little canine.
Deborah Anne
I found Debbie walking along my road. I picked her up and went to all the houses in the area, but no one claimed her. After putting up a “Found Dog” sign, her owner came to get her. 18 months later, the owner didn’t want her anymore, so I agreed to take her. When Debbie met Dinah, they had a vicious fight over a bag of food. It was my fault. You don’t introduce dogs in front of food. After that dicey first encounter, they never fought again. They became thick as thieves. In the remote backwoods, I watched as they hunted mice, squirrels, and birds together. Debbie is 13 and a half now and learning how to live without Dinah.
Chuey Fiona
It’s hard for me to write about Chuey. And we didn’t name her Chuey but she was so damaged that we couldn’t bear to change her name. Chuey was found “walking the streets of Texas”. Now Texas is not a small town so when you say walking the streets what does that even mean? Anyway, she was brought back to Florida. My friend was downsizing from a trailer to a minivan and had to give up one of her two dogs and Chuey was not the favorite. So I said okay, I’ll take her.
Chuey didn’t like to walk or didn’t know how to walk. I mean she always stayed up with the truck when I took everybody for a walk. She never joined us no matter how hard I tried. If there was a leaf blowing by on the road, she froze and stared at it. She was literally paralyzed by fear. It took years for her to relax. She never had dog friends. They avoided her. She didn’t know how to socialize.
Once in a while, she came along on a short walk I called “Chuey’s Loop”. That was also where I had seen foxes. I suspect Chuey was looking for a secret rendezvous with a fox because she was precisely the color of a red fox. She may have been part fox.
Not One Bark
Chuey never barked. My friend who gave her to me also never heard her bark. This is so abnormal for a dog. It upset us. We had Chuey for 10 years, and she never barked. We never knew how old she really was. I used to say that Chuey was a woman without a past. And that Chuey had secrets we would never know. But at least she had us for a while. She died on February 25, 2022, with people who loved her.
Marcus Julius Goofus
I found Marcus early one morning sitting underneath a Stop sign in a remote, undeveloped development. The night before, the temperature had gone down to 17F. He was freezing to death. And judging by the bones making a tent of his skin, he was starving to death. As soon as I saw him, I picked Debbie up and told the girls, “No walk today”. He body wagged his way over to me, and then I knew he was friendly. He jumped in the bed of the truck, and we drove home. As soon as I let him out of the truck, he ran off down the road the way we had come. I stared after him and said, “Easy come easy go”. About a minute later, he came running back.
It was Thursday when we met. He had his baby teeth. On Monday, when he went to see the doctor, he had adult teeth. That can happen. So he was approximately 6 months old. A year later, I met someone who recognized Marcus. They told me he had a brother. Their owner left town, letting two donkeys and the two dogs loose to fend for themselves. Nobody knows what happened to his brother. That’s about the cruelest thing you can do to an animal – abandonment.
Gone Too Soon
Marcus was a calm, gentle dog who loved to sit under trees waiting for squirrels to drop like ripened fruit. He goofed around a lot and slipped into the pool I don’t know how many times. He would crawl inside dog food bags. When he played, his eyes got all wide and shiny and his tongue hung out of his mouth. So we called him a Goofus. We think he was a Stephen’s Cur. I named him Marcus because I was reading a book about Marcus Luttrell called Lone Survivor when I took him home. One night in February, I found him dead underneath the gigantic Camellia Bush. He was only 6 years old.
Maximus “Moose Dog”
Max was thrown from a moving truck into the bushes on a city street. The mailman who witnessed this cruel treatment of an innocent animal retrieved him and brought him to our office, where his wife worked. My husband looked at him and said, “Has anyone claimed him?” Someone said they were wishing that he would. So he did. When he called me, I said, “I need another dog like I need a hole in the head.”
When I saw this 6-week-old pup with his extended belly full of worms and heard how he was thrown away like trash, what do you think I did? Yep, he was home.
Max does not like dogs. He doesn’t even like people very much. He is affectionate with me, though. I suppose it’s because I feed him, and I am part of his territory. Max has survived a beating with a branch and being shot at. And don’t forget, he was thrown out of a truck. I call him Old Man because I hope that someday he will get to be an old man. I don’t know what I’d do without him. If only he would mellow out a little. Max is a Catahoula Cur, and he is four years old.
One More Thing About a Dog
Don’t forget to look into your dog’s eyes and tell them that you love them. They understand that.
When will we three meet again,
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
When the hurly-burly's done,
When the battle's lost and won.
- Shakespeare's Macbeth
Pack of Three on Bora Bora
On a full moon-lit night we were greeted by a pack of three at the entrance to our lodgings. These were gentle beggars. They very discreetly inquired after snacks and when none were forthcoming, dissolved back into the night.
Mystical Three
I saw three packs of three dogs on the three islands we visited. This fascinating idea of three can be traced back to remote antiquity and farther still to primitive man. It occurs naturally and simply. There is a father, mother and child, sun, moon and stars, land, sea and water, birth, life, and death, past, present, and future. In humankind, there is a homogeneity of mind when it comes to three.
Ancient Egypt’s divine triad was Osiris, Isis, and Horus. There is the Germanic triad of Wodan, Thorr, and Donar. The great Hindu trinity is the Trimurti of Brahma, Siva, and Vishna. In Taoism, there are three pure ones.
In Buddhism, there are three treasures Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha.
Speaking of Religion
I was shocked to read the following.
“Jesus is saying who can enter the city of God. Just listen to this – ‘Without are dogs and sorcerers and whoremongers and murderers and idolaters, and whosoever loveth or maketh a lie’. You see the company dogs are supposed to keep?”
“Travels with my Aunt” by Graham Greene.
Three More
And so it is with dogs. There is harmony between three dogs. They are relaxed and content living their lives the best way possible. They love and care for each other. Dogs help me adjust to human life in a foreign place. They indicate the degree to which I can trust or feel comfortable with the native population. They act as ambassadors.
The dog in the middle is a mother. The dog on the right has a bad limp. They are on the main street of Vaitape.
She reminds me of the dog roaming the resort in Punta del Este. Maybe these homeless dogs all take on the same appearance after a while. Maybe this is the ‘Third World Street Dog’ breed. You might say that this is not the third world with its $12,000 a night over-the-water bungalows.
This 2-story bungalow is $12,000 per night. For the record, it can no longer be called a bungalow, can it? These pictures were taken while touring the island in a boat piloted by Captain Dangerous.
And I would agree that this is not third-world material. However, many homes on these islands, away from the glitzy tourist hubs, would fit right into a slum in Fortaleza, Brazil, for example, like this one.
Our Humble Abode on Bora Bora
We stayed in one of a series of small one-room bungalows on the edge of the sea, which was so calm that Google registered it as a lake. And that is why the Pacific Ocean is called the Pacific Ocean.
Is that a codpiece in San Francisco? What is that? And if it is, I mean what’s going on? Codpieces were all the rage in the 1500s. It’s rather dated. If you want a quick look at what a codpiece is, google Henry VIII. There’s nothing like a good gargoyle, is there?
Juvenile and Immature
What a childish thing to call a post about San Francisco “I left my codpiece…” I am quite disgusted with myself. San Francisco is one of the top 10 most beautiful big cities in the world and here I am making fun of it. Who am I to say such things? Nobody will read this trash.
The Human Touch
We were just traveling through San Francisco on our way to Tahiti. We were there for a day and stayed in the Nob Hill neighborhood. A few months before this, we were also in San Francisco to attend a virtual wedding in San José on zoom. You might be thinking, well, if it was virtual, why did you fly to San José for the wedding? Because there is nothing like the human touch when it comes to weddings. Especially, in the case of a mother seeing her only daughter married.
Grace Cathedral of San Francisco
Resist!
Do you see what I see? The color of these steps is the same as a resistor. Almost right down to the same order. It’s uncanny. Could it be that the Catholic Church is resisting change? That there is a double meaning behind these stairs? Is the Catholic Church indulging in activism against activists? What a mind-blowing thought. Let’s leave it at that. Some things are better left unsaid.
You will not find a photo of the stairs painted these colors. There is one photo, but people are sitting on the steps blocking the paint job. So, no there are no pictures. The church does not want to advertise its militancy, I suppose.
Captain Samuel Wallis stood in the presence of the Queen of Tahiti. Young women dressed only in grass skirts danced to the beat of the drums in the firelight. The Queen’s bodyguards stood close to the English officers. Large and also half-dressed, they seemed to press in upon the three Englishmen. The luscious scent of vanilla drizzled on their faces and in the very air they breathed. Wallis lifted his hand to his head feeling slightly dizzy. The heat from the torches was uncomfortable. He had suffered from scurvy for the last two weeks and was unable to come ashore until now. He began to feel quite weak. Sweat beaded on his brow. Then suddenly, he fainted.
Queen Oberea Meets Captain Wallis This drawing and the others are representations of the events by John Hawkesworth in 1773
Hats Off
The Queen jumped from her chair and rushed to where the captain lay on his back on the sandy ground. The ship’s doctor knelt to tend to the captain and, as he did so, he removed the white wig from his head. A gasp erupted from the darkened edges of the circle. All movement ceased. The natives covered their mouths and stared at the strangers, not comprehending what they had just witnessed.
Home Remedy on Tahiti
A muffled female giggle broke the silence. The captain even managed to laugh. Queen Oberea stood up straight and ordered the captain, who had recovered slightly, to be taken to her quarters. Once at her house, she instructed young girls to massage his body. Later that day, after the young captain, 39 years old, had somewhat recovered, the queen escorted him back to the ship holding him close as they walked.
Early the next morning before the sun even rose the Queen was there beside the ship in her canoe. The ship’s doctor counseled Captain Wallis saying, “Sir, I think it would do you good to go ashore and have a rest.” The good captain took this advice and reveled in the tender affections lavished on him by the Queen of Tahiti for seven days and six nights.
All Good Things Must Come to an End Even in Tahiti
Finally, this idyll came to a close. Captain Wallis knew that if he did not leave soon he might never leave at all. He ordered the ship to prepare to sail. The last night in Old Tahiti Queen Oberea climbed aboard the HMS Dolphin and threw herself on the arms chest. Men stood by silently as she wept. Her heart was breaking for all to see. At last, only a soft whimper escaped her lips as she climbed off the ship and into the waiting outrigger canoe. Sailors tossed gifts to her. The Queen sat motionless as her people caught the trifles. She did not want these offensive trinkets. She wanted nothing except that which was now beyond her grasp forever.
Queen receives gifts from English Captain.
A Tearful Adieu
Tangerine Moon in Old Tahiti
That night, the last night in Old Tahiti, Captain Wallis paced in his small cabin. He felt conflicted knowing he should stay aboard HMS Dolphin and prepare for the long journey ahead and yet he longed to hear Oberea’s voice one more time and gently kiss her full, bee-stung lips stained with papaya juice. Finally, he walked out onto the deck and was suddenly arrested by the presence of an enormous full moon rising like a fire from the purple night. He inhaled the vanilla-scented breeze. There was no help for it. He called two of his men and they rowed ashore. The men waited for him on the beach until just as dawn broke the captain returned. He was pale and his expression grim. That morning the HMS Dolphin left Tahiti and never returned. The first European contact with Tahiti had been made.
They were burning something on the island of Moorea the day we arrived. Our goal was to rent e-bikes and ride around the island for the day. However, when I saw the narrow, winding mountain roads I changed my mind.
When looked at from afar, Moorea has been referred to as a sleeping dinosaur or, in Captain Cook’s time, a castle with spires and turrets.
Moe
Eat While Hiding or Moorea
This island was originally called Aimeho meaning “eat while hiding”. When warfare broke out between the clans, warriors would flee to Moorea and hide there until things settled down. Then one day a spiritual advisor discovered a yellow lizard or “moorea” on the island and the name of the island was changed.
I found one of these guys lurking in my bathroom on Bora Bora. He looks like a guy who wanted to date me once. Can you see the lovesick cast in his eyes? Incredibly, they named a whole island in honor of something like this. However, I will say that Geckos do have one saving grace that places them above their fellow lizards. Unlike anoles, they do not eat each other unless pressed to do so. Good for you, Geckos!
Eating While on Moorea
What do you do when you have a few hours to kill until your ferry takes you back to Tahiti? Feed the natives, of course. I went to the corner store and bought two large cans of dog food.
Unfortunately, this guy, who needed it the most, kept missing out on the food. We finally managed to feed him a little bit before we got back on the ferry.
Corner StorePlaying a game across the street from the store. In the background, you can see Tahiti.At the Ferry
This attempt to care for the poor animals on Moorea warmed the cockles of my heart. But, I feel better if I can feed the dogs myself.
Pro-Life Film on the Ferry?
“No doubt it was thought that this thing could not feel pain having no consciousness yet.” Translation of the above French subtitles. Our entertainment sailing back to Tahiti.
The first time I stepped foot in Ft. Lauderdale was in the eighties. It was a small town then. The rural areas were a lot easier to get to, I mean quicker by car. We found that out by exploring the backwoods with two questionable but super entertaining country boys in a pickup truck. Our liaison with these two lasted only a few hours due to the alarming manner in which the driver sped into the front area of country stores and then both would yell and cuss at innocent people standing outside the store. They loved doing this. It was probably even more exciting for them that we were in the truck watching. After that, we confined ourselves to the strip along the beach and became beach animals for two weeks. That was all we needed: warmth and pleasant scenery. Ft. Lauderdale was paradise, it really was.
The Button in Ft. Lauderdale
‘The Button’ was a popular bar on Las Olas at the time. The first time we went there I sat at the bar and faced the band. As I listened to the music, this big, beefy guy leans on the bar and sticks his face right in mine. It ticked me off because he just kept leaning on the bar, staring at me. Then he says, “You with a guy?” “Yes, of course,” I said. He goes away. Half an hour later he returned and did the same thing only this time he says, “Your eyes remind me of someone.” At this point, I just rolled them and looked away. He stood nearby with his back to me and arms folded for the rest of the night.
Not with a Bang…
His stubbornness paid off. We started to talk. His name was Billy and he was from Boston. He had that Boston accent which I love. He told me he was going to Harvard Business School which may or may not have been true. The four of us: Billy, me, Caroline, and the cab driver moved on to ‘The Playpen’. We danced some more and eventually ended up back at the hotel. Didn’t T.S. Eliot say this is the way the world ends not with a bang but a whimper? That’s sort of how the night ended. Billy hugged me and said, “You’re nice. Nicey, nicey”. He walked away and then turned and said, “Where did we meet, The Button?” “Yes,” I said. “Tomorrow night at 7 o’clock”, he said. “Bye Billy”, I said. I never saw him again.
Stay Sexy and Don’t Get Murdered in Ft. Lauderdale
Caroline dyed her blonde hair blue-black, and we donned false eyelashes. We danced every night at ‘The Button’ and sometimes ‘The Playpen’. One drink was all we had, and one drink was all we needed; we were there to dance. Occasionally, a sketchy dude would cross our path, but that’s all he did. We would walk back to the hotel along the beach. It was a long walk; took half an hour. One night I lost Caroline and walked home alone. She came back a little later wondering what had happened to me. The vagaries of miscommunication. The only phones available were those stuck to a wall.
Photo by Debbie Hudson on Unsplash
Can you even imagine living like that? How did we survive? How did we survive not knowing where our friends were, what they were doing, and what they were wearing every minute of the day? Now that I’m older and listen to true crime podcasts, I wonder how we managed to not get abducted and chopped up into little pieces. We weren’t even afraid of our own shadows back then.
Shadowy Stuff
I made one day trip to Miami on the bus. I found a wig shop and bought a blonde wig with long curls flowing down the back. I’m brunette so it was something different. As I sat on a park bench (not with the wig on) I was joined by a man who engaged me in the wildest conversation. It had something to do with “shadow government”. I’d never heard of this before and was fascinated. We talked for quite a while until suddenly two black gentlemen appeared across the street which was a very wide boulevard with lots of traffic. My companion jumped out of his seat, told me he had to go now, and took off like a shot. The new arrivals tore after him. I got up and walked in the opposite direction. There was definitely some shady stuff happening in downtown Miami that day.
A Day of Firsts
As the sun went down I started to make my way back to the bus station. I asked a cop how to get there. He told me. He also told me that if he had a car he would drive me himself and that I should hurry up and get there before it gets dark. I made it back to Ft. Lauderdale in one piece. The female taxi driver who drove me to my hotel even asked me out on a date. That was the first time in my life I had ever been propositioned by a woman. Flattered, I politely declined her offer.
Some terrible mass killings happened near St. Augustine 450 years before Maureen and I got there. On three separate occasions, Spanish troops killed hundreds of unarmed French soldiers. In the last instance, the soldiers asked if they could surrender. The Spanish said yes. Then, after they were disarmed, the French troops were tied up and clubbed to death or hacked to death with axes. All of this happened in September 1565.
I Do Not Judge
I do not sit here hundreds of years later and judge. They had their own reasons for doing what they did. The King of Spain sent his men to get the French out of Florida. When they got there, they found a Timucuan settlement. The Spanish explorers called the settlement St. Augustine because it was August 28th when a Spanish sailor first laid eyes on it. All the days of the year are named after a saint who died on that day. In some Catholic countries, you celebrate not only your birthday but your saint’s day as well.
Years earlier, Juan Ponce de Leon was the first European to land in Florida. They say he was looking for the Fountain of Youth. He probably was. But the initial purpose of his trip was to find gold in or around Puerto Rico.
The Mother Lode
St. Augustine would’ve made a perfect base from which to launch attacks on Spanish galleons bringing tons of gold and silver from South America. Between 1500 and 1650, the Spanish imported 181 tons of gold and 16,000 tons of silver from the New World. In today’s money, that would be 4 billion in gold and 7 billion in silver. That was a lot of money for that time. Not only did other countries want some of this, but they took it from Spanish ships every chance they got.
So life was cutthroat. There was a lot at stake. Massacres happened.
There is a river, a state forest, a fort, an inlet, a beach, and even a high school all called Matanzas. This word means “massacre” in Spanish.
Easter Parade in St. Augustine
We were in this old town for a non-violent and purely peaceful event. We were taking part in an Easter Parade and rode in the Eastern Star float. And while everyone was looking at us, I took pictures of them and their wonderful beasts. Everybody and his dog were there.
Maureen and I roamed the French Quarter of New Orleans and got lost. It was okay. It’s not that big and our hotel takes up an entire block. I think we wanted to get lost. The whole place was fun and alive. It was part carnival and part adult fairy tale. People were drinking, music was blasting and a crazy amount of lights dazzled our eyes. Finally, I asked a hot dog vendor where our hotel was. He said, “Stay safe”. That was it. Just stay safe. I guess this lady heard us asking and yelled from across the street, “Whatcha lookin’ fer?!” I waved, sighed, and walked on. Just as we were walking away a lady with wings playing the trumpet on a bicycle rode past us. A family standing on the corner hurried to take a picture of her.
Elves on the Dark Streets of New Orleans
We ended up in a quiet place without bars. Ahead of us on the other side of the street, I could make out a small dark figure all bunched up and scurrying along. All of a sudden, it hopped over to our side. Very strange-looking thing. What was it? Oh no, it was an elf! This elf caught sight of Maureen and stopped to talk. The elf thought Maureen was a boy. I asked this sprite where they were going. It glanced up at me with such an amazed and stunned expression on its pale face. “I’m very busy. I can’t stand here and talk anymore.” Then a crease deepened between its eyes. The elf frowned at Maureen and said, “If I were you, little lady, I would think about getting to bed soon. Very soon.” And then it was gone, flying down the dark street and around the corner.
Souvenir
Maureen picked something up off the ground. It was a dark green leather bell about the size of a walnut. “That’s an odd bell”, I said. “It came from the elf! She dropped it.” Maureen’s eyes were wild. “But why leather? You can’t hear a leather bell,” I said. “A secret mission,” she said in a whisper. “That elf had secret Christmas business and didn’t want to be heard.” “Yeah, maybe. But she came over to talk to us,” I said. We both thought about this. Then Maureen said, “The elf told me to go to bed soon. That’s why she talked to us.” That is probably why an elf on a secret mission would risk getting found out: to tell a child to go to bed early on Christmas Eve. The whole thing made sense.
Christmas Spirit
We walked until we reached Jackson Square. Just as we found ourselves at the entrance of the St. Louis Cathedral the doors opened and bells started to ring. Wow…what timing. People came pouring out all around us. They shook hands with the priests wearing long, white robes. One of the priests held a large, gold cross. Everyone looked beautiful in their best clothes and they seemed happy and excited. The feeling was contagious. I wasn’t a part of their group but I delighted in seeing them and was thankful that they were there and we had the good fortune to stand there with them for just a few minutes.
It was getting late. My superior sense of direction kicked in and soon I spied the back of a blonde woman in a full-length mink coat smoking a cigarette. It’s hard to quit. She was standing beside a man in a camel-hair coat. She had a French braid pinned up at the back. Pretty. I knew we were close. Yes, they were standing outside our hotel.
