Caravans, Cranes and War Without End, Part 2

James Michener's 1963 novel "Caravans" was one of his characteristically sweeping sagas, this time set in Afghanistan and neighboring countries in the period immediately following World War II. The movie based on this book was filmed in Iran and released in 1978, the year that HWMBO returned to the US after four years living and working in Iran. HWMBO departed barely ahead of the revolution that would transform Iran from 1979 on.

The story deals with a protagonist who is stationed at the American Embassy in Kabul who is given the assignment to discover the whereabouts and condition of an American woman who had married an Afghani exchange student several months previously and then seemingly disappeared. Given the time (mid to late 1940s) and the state of race relations generally in the US, any white American woman who married a foreigner, particularly one whose skin color was darker than lily-white, was already in the extreme avant-garde. Interestingly, nearly 20 years later, another avant-garde white American woman married another even more dusky-hued exchange student although she did not follow him when he returned to his native country. The current US President, whom I am very proud to support wholeheartedly, was born of that union in Hawaii, another Michener novel locale. Unfortunately, it does not seem that race relations in certain parts of the US have progressed much beyond the post WWII-period. To our eternal shame.

As anyone who reads the novel discovers, no harm has befallen the American woman, who is supremely independent and very much the mistress of her own destiny. But the scenario does provide Michener with the excuse to explore the extremely interesting complexes and nuances of the primarily nomadic cultures that he describes. In fact, even with that arguably sketchy and fictional background about Afghanistan paired with my own experiences as a Peace Corps Volunteer in an Islamic culture, I likely understood much more about the region than the majority of those in the Reagan Administration who hated anything Russian with fanatical zeal. Thus, as soon as they possibly could, and in defiance of any long-term logic, they hastened to arm the most fundamentalist Islamic Afghan groups and extensively trained in military tactics anyone who was willing, Afghan or not, to fight the Russians who invaded Afghanistan in 1979. Of course, as we have all seen since, many of those who were armed and trained by the short-sighted Reagan-era fanatics were the same people who would later conspire successfully to bring down the Twin Towers on 9-11. Many of those trained and their successors continue to fight - successfully - against our own troops today.

So, I was delighted when in late January I had an opportunity to meet with and hear some of the first-hand experiences of the Swiss-American journalist, Edward Girardet. Girardet, who has a home in Geneva and who wrote principally for the Christian Science Monitor during the 30-year period from 1979-2009, published a book, "Killing the Cranes," in 2011 about his experiences during three decades of war in Afghanistan. Here is one book review. It is my fervent hope that those in the Obama Administration will read it and take heed. In fact, I think that every American should read it. After our extremely ill-advised commencement of war there in 2001, we seem caught there in a morass that destroyed empires long before our own was even a gleam in the eye of civilization.

As Girardet tells it, the title comes from an experience in March 2004 when Girardet was spending the evening with an Afghan friend in Kabul. His friend remarked, "For me, the end of March has always been the time when you cannot hear your voice for the sound of the migrating cranes." He meant the Siberian cranes that every spring have flown northward from the southern wetlands of Iran and Afghanistan to the Russian Arctic and northern Siberia. The friend continued, "You know, I have not heard a single crane since being here." Shaking his head wearily, he asked, "Have we even killed all the cranes?"

In September 2001, Girardet was in Afghanistan hoping to interview Ahmad Shah Massoud, the Afghan leader who likely presented the main challenge to the then-Taliban government and thus a counter to the growing influence of Al Qaeda. As it would happen, Girardet had a commitment to return to Switzerland for his wife's birthday and could not stay later than 8 September. Because weather conditions were such that Massoud's helicopter could not land at his command post until after Girardet's departure, Girardet missed getting his interview. Fortunately for him, he also likely just missed being killed along with Massoud on 9 September. In the book, Girardet describes how all the journalists waiting to interview Massoud were staying in the same guesthouse. Staying in the room next to his were two Arabs posing as journalists who turned out to be Massoud's assassins.  Here is a link to a YouTube video of Girardet's conversation with Thom Hartmann.

Afghanistan has been in the headlines recently, but neither in the romantically exciting sense of "Caravans," nor in the vanished cranes symbolizing a similarly lost past. Now it is in the context of War Without End and commensurate atrocities. Thus, to tomorrow's post.

Caravans, Cranes and War Without End, Part 1

When I was much younger, among the books I loved to read were those by novelist James Michener. Michener's works were generally characterized by their scope and treatment of epic sagas.  He often began literally at the geological or at least the pre-historical origins of the regions that he wished to encapsulate for his readers and described ensuing generations in detail. One literally needed a map of the territory or territories covered, along with family trees to keep the characters sorted, as the stories wound their way through the generations, with actual historical events often forming the backdrop. Michener's research was meticulous. But what also characterized his novels for me, especially in hindsight and upon reading some at my now more advanced age, was Michener's prescience. So many of the issues he treated, whether they concerned ethnic identities, religious zealotry, tolerance or the lack of it, individuals and their rights or identities being subsumed into a larger geopolitical military context or simply appreciation of the richness, beauty or vast expanses of the regions his novels dealt with, have emerged time and again as events in those regions have made headlines.

Some of his novels have resonated with me at different times in my life. More eerily, they have even paralleled my own life trajectory, although occasionally in their film as well as written forms. Thus, I first saw "South Pacific," the film made from the blockbuster Broadway musical of the same name based on his Pulitzer Prize-winning novel "Tales of the South Pacific," in the early 1950s when my family made its first-ever major family trip together. We had boarded the then-orange-and-black Empire Builder in our tiny rural home town in Montana - that was when the train made stops in other than major cities so that people could actually get from one place to another - and traveled westward for many, many hours through the Rocky Mountains to Spokane, Washington to visit my father's parents as well as other family members there.  As if the Spokane visit were not already an adventure sufficient unto itself, while we were there, we attended a showing of the movie. The wonderful tunes, beautiful film footage and story line grabbed my soul and imbued it - once and forever - with the wanderlust that has been with me since.

Continuing Michener's fascination with Polynesia was his 1959 novel, "Hawaii," which I loved - even the seemingly-endless description of the birth of the islands themselves. While awaiting the birth of my older son in the mid-60s, I read "Caravans" and "The Source." After living in Tangier, Morocco in the late 60s and meeting descendants of those whose ancestors had fled to Morocco from Spain after the Spanish had reconquered Andalusia in the 15th century, I read "The Drifters." I read several other titles in the 1970s, courtesy of the Missoula County Public Library.

"Caravans" re-entered my life in film form late in 1980, when my sons and I were once again in Morocco, this time in Rabat. As an aid worker, I was entitled to attend English-language films at the Embassy and generally took my then-teen-aged sons with me - homesick as they were for anything American at the time. Somehow we had missed seeing the film in the States, so it was a new experience for us. A few months later when I had been introduced to the man who would later figure in my life as "HWMBO," I was delighted to learn that much of the film had been shot on location in Iran, near where HWMBO and several other US expatriates lived during the time when relations between our two governments were friendly. Some of these new friends had actually been "extras" on the set! Now we were together with them in Morocco. They were as affected with wanderlust as I!

Later, after marrying and returning with my newly increased family to Maryland, I read Michener's "Chesapeake." It was a lovely introduction to that home. That novel is here with me now. In Switzerland.

But all those life experiences were pre-9-11, that catastrophically tragic day when the world literally changed forever.

Michener was fortunate. He left us all in 1997, before the horror arrived, before the decade-plus thereafter when the US - if it ever truly had a claim as a "White Knight" had most certainly lost it, perhaps forever.  And now for the Cranes ....

Spring Cleaning Interlude

Nearly two years ago, I wrote a post about some neighbors that had just moved in, displacing the former "residents" of a nearby poultry farm after that facility had been cleaned and renovated. Since that time, these horsey neighbors have settled in nicely. In addition to passing by their stables and paddocks while taking walks or biking, I occasionally have the great pleasure to meet them while they are being exercised or ridden.

The horses plus cart make weekly circuits through various neighborhoods to pick up large objects such as used furniture that are generally difficult or cumbersome for ordinary householders to deal with. Once loaded onto the cart, these objects are taken to the recycling center that my village shares with a neighboring village.  I am delighted to report that I met my neighbors on their route this morning.  It was a glorious morning to be out biking.  Meeting such pleasant neighbors along the way was a real bonus.

They were accompanied by the adolescents from Geneva City who come out daily as apprentices to learn the basics of horsemanship along with the particulars of maintaining these lovely animals.  These young apprentices also accompany the horses on their rounds and perform the clean-up service for us all.

So far, it has proven to be a win-win service for all concerned.

FestiChoc Delicacies

In case visitors wanted to know where to go and what was on offer, a signpost outside the Big Tent provided directions.

"Atelier pour les enfants" directed children towards workshop areas where young ones could have hands-on experiences making chocolate. Some of us older visitors wouldn't have minded a try at that ourselves! "WC" with the ubiquitous symbols directed people towards the "facilities." "Samaritains" was where First Aid assistance could be found, in the event it was needed - possibly from chocolate ODs. And "Chasse aux oeufs" indicated that pre-Easter Easter Egg Hunts were among the festivities.

For those of us hard-core chocolate fans, the Big Tent did not disappoint.  Welcoming us was a big display from the local chocolate factory Favarger.

When HWMBO and I lived in Versoix, it was always fun to tell visitors that we were only a block away from the Favarger chocolate factory - we were literally living Charlie's dream in those days!  But what was even more fun was that we also were only two doors away from one of la Suisse romande's up and coming Master chocolatiers.  And chocolatiers were abundantly well-represented at FestiChoc.

I found exactly what I was looking for right here.

It's the wonderful moelleux au chocolat that I discovered at last year's chocolate festival, made by this chocolatier who has shops in Geneva and ... Paris! I purchased a package of six because I had a long-time friend over for lunch today. A couple have since gone into the freezer, hopefully awaiting a visit from HWMBO. As for the remaining two - let's just say that I will have some delicious desserts to look forward to this week.

There were displays to welcome Spring

Yes, Spring is officially here. But chocolate helps smooth the way for ALL seasons.

FestiChoc 2012

Another sign that Spring is here and this is a sweet one: chocolate and lots of it! Yes, this weekend, my former Swiss home town of Versoix hosted the Festival du Chocolat. This year, the eighth annual Chocolate Festival, dubbed "FestiChoc" - a nice play on words since "choc" is pronounced "shock" in French - helped to jolt us into the proper mood for the season.  After all, Easter is just around the corner and serves - if any were needed - as just another excuse to stock up on chocolate.

The blue and white streamers of Versoix and the scarlet and yellow streamers of Geneva canton, with the eagle and the key symbols featured prominently, flanked the red and white colors of Switzerland as all fluttered above the festivities below.

To one side, small carnival rides were set up for the youngest visitors.

Booths enticed small ones to try their luck at winning a prize

and tempted older visitors to taste and imbibe.

Tables were scattered around plentifully so that visitors could eat and drink in relative comfort and not have to remain standing.

But the main action was inside the Big Tent where the chocolate exhibition was held.  More on that in my next post.

Signs of Spring

This weekend is the first truly spring-like weekend that we've had in March.  That is timely, considering that the Spring Solstice occurred earlier this week.  In some ways, this temperate weather represents a return to February temperatures for us because some weeks in February were milder - certainly warmer - than March has been for us this year.  Until recently.

On Wednesday, one of the local florists sent flower-bearing representatives around to greet us (we are a comparatively tiny commune, after all) and left a blossom with each resident.

I have always loved the name of this local shop, Vertige, playing as the French term does both on "vertigo" and on the words "vert" (green) and "tige" (stem, sprout).  The shop is located in a 14th century building and is one of my favorite and most colorful spots in the little bourg.   Here is a link to a YouTube video that shows some of the happenings in and around the tiny shop.  The narrative is in French, but the actions are self-descriptive.  So, I was happy to place my blossom in a vase.

It's been opening gradually since Wednesday.  By this morning, it had opened gloriously.

And here's a close-up.  One blossom may not make a Spring, but it most certainly does lift one's spirits.

In another sign of Spring, the forsythia on my balcony is also beginning to bloom.  This was all the encouragement that I needed to unearth the cushions for my balcony settee, now that it is warm enough to sit comfortably outside.

This evening, I will set the clocks forward an hour as Europe officially changes to Daylight Saving Time.  For  the past couple weeks, friends and family in the US have been an hour closer - timewise - than is usual.  They set their clocks ahead two weeks ago.  That extra hour of closeness has not meant that any distance has been shortened, but it has still been a comforting thought.

Too True!

Bless you, Hillary!  Let us not forget this.

These Boots Are Made for Walkin'

Princess Jelly Bean, whether she knows it or not, is very like her active cousins.  She has a little mind of her own and she knows just what she likes and what she doesn't like.  She is very much enchanted by footwear - of all shapes and sizes, whether that footwear consists of her own little mocs for climbing (also like her cousins love to do), or

sneakers for hiding in lockers,

or even better, when the footwear in question belongs to Sweet Momma T.  And clumps satisfactorily.

True to her Montana roots, she finds cowboy boots to be the most fun of all!

And, one of these days, Princess Jelly Bean will be walkin' in large strides to impress us all!

How lovely to look forward to that day!

Inner Demon?

Little Prince Tyger is tuckered out.  Surrounded by the havoc created mostly by Little Bro, Prince Lightning, our Barefoot Boy looks as if he can barely move.  It's just been one of "those" days.  It's sad to think of "having one of those days" when one is only three years old!

Uh-oh - what brought this on?  Do we have a case of possession!  Doo-doo-doo-doo ...

Proud Grandmom is sure that it's not.  It's simply a "why-are-you-shoving-that-camera-in-my face-again" moment.

Momma's Little Helper

In many ways, Little Prince Lightning is the embodiment of a tornado! Here he surveys the path of destruction he created after Sweet Momma H had gone to a lot of trouble to put everything in order. Where's the fun in order, after all?

One wouldn't think that such a seemingly angelic little tyke could also wreak havoc while eating. After all, it looks as if he's cleaned up his tray table pretty well.

But that's before one checks the floor underneath, or looks inside the nearby Pack 'N Play, where anything he doesn't want to eat is tossed. His little giggle on discovery shows that he knows exactly what he's done wrong.

But let him have a Handi Wipe and he's very happy, even enthusiastic, about helping to clean up, even if his expression is a bit glum.

Still, one should be very wary of any help that one is likely to receive. There is a distinctly naughty twinkle in those little eyes.

One is forewarned.  But who could possibly resist such help?

Saint Paddy's: The Littlest Hooligans

I hope that all who are of Irish descent or simply wannabes will have a wonderful St. Patrick's Day today!

Unfortunately, I don't have any truly recent photos of the Younger Set in the traditional regalia, whatever that may be.  But I do have photos of the youngest two of the younger set, so they are the ones who will feature here today.

First, my darling Prince Lightning, who has changed SOOO much over the past year that I hardly recognize him here.  His little shamrock shows clearly, however.

Next, my also darling Grand-niece Princess Jelly Bean, disguised as an "Irish hooligan."

Princess Jelly Bean is actually a couple weeks younger than Prince Lightning.  But this particular photo was taken later in the year when she was almost a year old.

These two youngest of this particular offshoot of our Irish clan join me in sending greetings to all!

Days of Mourning

On Tuesday evening, what should have been a routine return from a ski vacation in Switzerland for Dutch and Belgian children turned to horror. The bus they were riding in, 52 passengers in all including two bus drivers and four accompanying adults, crashed headlong into the side of a tunnel between Sierre and Sion in the beautiful Valais Alpine region. Twenty-eight persons were killed, 22 of them children aged 10-12. Miraculously, 24 children survived, although some remain in critical condition. More details of the crash can be found here.

More than 200 people were involved in the rescue operation. It took eight hours to clear the scene. There have been reports that the horrified rescuers were greatly traumatized. And it is no wonder why. In spite of the large amounts of daily traffic, tunnel crashes here are relatively rare. But when one occurs, it is considered to be a worst case scenario for rescuers.  Especially when children are involved. Here is a video of some aspects of the rescue operation.

I have travelled that road myself, although not in recent years.  From from first-hand experience, I can testify that the roads and tunnels through Swiss mountains are marvels of engineering.  When there is a rare accident, it is studied in depth and lessons are learned.  If called for, the tunnels are re-engineered to incorporate additional safety features.

Ironically for this bus and its ill-fated passengers, it was one of the tunnel's safety features that proved to be their ultimate undoing.  After veering into the side of the tunnel and careering to the other side, the bus returned to its own lane, travelling along the side of the tunnel until it crashed headlong into a concrete outcropping designed to assist any passengers trapped in the tunnel during an incident make an emergency exit. Although the crash is still under investigation, it appears from video replays of the incident that speed was not a factor and no other vehicle was involved.  The bus, one of a cavalcade of three transporting the children home, was relatively new, well-serviced and equipped with seat belts, which the children were wearing.  There were no problems with either of the other two buses. In fact, there are reports that all arrived home safely, at least some unaware that there was even a problem with the third bus! Swiss authorities were concentrating on three possibilities for the cause of the accident: a technical problem with the bus, a health problem with the driver, or human error.  One report said that statements from the children who survived the crash indicated that the driver might have been attempting to change a DVD at the time.  But nothing is sure yet.

Memorial services were held in Belgium and in Sierre, Switzerland last evening. Today, both Belgium and the Netherlands held official days of mourning. All are aghast. Tragedy may reach out and tap each of us on the shoulder at such times. But we are grateful when it is just a tap and not, as for these many parents, a heart-breaking body blow.  May these little ones and those who accompanied them all rest in peace.

Solar Flares and Aurora Borealis

The past several days, various news sources have discussed the solar flares that our Sun has been responsible for lately. Yes, our gallant life-giving star occasionally has its moments. Perhaps the Sun is frustrated with the antics of us humans here on Earth - and methinks we may give a lot of cause for that. But even in spite of our antics, the Sun continues with these phenomena. The flares are apparently caused by large energy releases. They eject clouds of electrons, ions and atoms through the Sun's corona into space, ultimately bombarding those in their path with x-rays and UV rays.

It appears that we here on Earth are fortunate, for the most part. These charged particles may occasionally disrupt long-range communications, although so far there has not been much disruption reported. It also appears that Earth has a strong enough magnetic field to repel harmful rays so as to protect our atmosphere from being stripped of its oxygen atoms. I find that to be a good thing.  After all, none of us could exist without oxygen. However, our neighboring planet, Mars, has a magnetic field that is not as strong as our own.  This article describes how Mars loses oxygen atoms in its atmosphere ten times faster than Earth's atmosphere does.

But in recent days, I have also noticed more people on Facebook and elsewhere posting photos of the wonderful Northern Lights displays in their areas this year.  One wonders whether the Sun's recent activity may have something to do with some of the more spectacular displays.  Or perhaps I am just noticing these displays more this year.  Here, for example, is a wonderful video from Norway, taken in January 2012.  And here is a series of photos as posted in today's Washington Post online, taken by Alaskan photographer, Dennis Anderson.  Sorry, but you'll first have to sit through 15 seconds of a commercial before being able to view the WaPo series.          

Around here, the night skies have been much more subdued.  We cannot see the Northern Lights from here, although the last few evenings, we have had some nice sunsets. Here was last evening's:

I LOVE the wonders of the internet!  The Northern Lights were winter phenomena of my youth that helped to compensate for the long, cold, dark, bleak and harsh winters on the high plains of north-central Montana.  In my youth, I didn't realize how fortunate that I was. After all, not everyone could see these wonders first-hand, as we were used to doing, but I didn't know that then. Even then, however, I appreciated their almost supernatural beauty.  With the internet, I can now relive some of that pleasure without having to endure the occasionally painful existence.

That is pretty close to a definition of Paradise, IMO.

The Much Younger Set

A weekend ago, I was invited to celebrate the first birthday of the third daughter of the lovely young woman who used to be my executive assistant.  Her oldest daughter, Princess L, is exactly three months younger than my own granddaughter, Princess Butterfly, which means that Princess L will very soon be five years old.  Her middle daughter, Princess E, is almost exactly one year younger than Prince Tyger.  Princess C, the birthday girl, is almost five months younger than Prince Lightning.  Here is the young celebrant, whose delight was palpable but whose toddling was still somewhat wobbly, being assisted by Biggest Sis.

There must have been something mysterious happening during the years from 2007 to 2011 because there seem to have been lots of little ones born around the same times as our youngest grandkids.  Either there was a mini-baby boom then.  Or I have just been noticing more.  Whatever the case, our whimsical weather happened to be kind on the day of the celebration.  We were even able to have our cake and goodies outside.  All the little ones, family members and guests were delighted to be out in the garden.  Here Sweet Momma I poses with the guest of honor and Middle Sis, Princess E.

Proud Papa Big P was busy with a camera for most of the afternoon.  Documenting the antics of three lively young girls and their guests is no small challenge.

Little Princess C, like so many first birthday-ites, was fascinated by the lit candle on her cake.

What just happened here?  Where did the flame go?

Princess L and guest Prince L were more interested in eating the goodies.  Prince L is six.

And, of course, there were the gifts.  Here is another little Princess C arriving with her Sweet Momma E.  This princess is almost exactly Prince Tyger's age.  See what I mean about a mini-baby boom?

After goodies and gifts, there were balloons: to kick around,

to bounce on until they popped,

or just to hold while watching others bounce.

But it was also fun to get together for a Playmobil session.  Such concentration from a formerly boisterous group!

Little Princess C enjoyed everything right along with everyone else and had a very satisfactory first birthday.

I'm so glad that I was able to share in the fun.  But I am even more glad to be a grandparent, even as a surrogate GP, rather than a parent again!