A huge, heavy prayer wheel above Old Town Zhongdian, at the eastern edge of the Tibetan plateau.The Chinese government has officially renamed the city and county Shangri-la, in a move to attract tourists.. This is a frame from an HDTV video we shot there a couple of weeks ago. We'll be posting exerpts of the video in a few days.
The Sennheiser PXC300 are small enough to fit in a purse
NOW HEAR THIS!
By Pat Meier-Johnson
Probably a dozen or so airline freebie headphones have seen the dreaded inner sanctum of my briefcase and come out a mess. So it doesn't break my heart to plug these flimsly mangled contraptions into the TV jack of the cardio machines at the gym then hand them off to another sweaty news junkie, never to see them again.
But the Sennheiser PXC300 noise-cancelling headphones are in a entirely different class. Unlike the typical large noise-cancelling phones that look like earmuffs fit for Nanook, these comfortable phones collapse into a deceptively small, attractive cordura fabric-type zipped clamshell and deliver an impressive range and richness of tones. MORE
The Plonk that Goes Plunk AUDIO MP3 I have fond memories of driving to Sonoma County, California years ago and tasting good no-frills wines. I am sure some of their descendents now have $50 price tags. One of the places I loved was Sebastiani, a purveyer of fine large jugs of everyday plonk run by one of the old-line familes of Italian winemakers who came here more than 100 years ago.
Well, they're back. Brother Don and his clan, descendents of Sam and August of the old days, have come up with a wine that is as unpretentious and innocent as California wine country in the 70s. It is from Dry Creek, an area of Sonoma that is considered God's green acre for Zinfandels. How unpretentious is it? Well, it is not a Chateau anything. It is called Plungerhead and has a stopper remindful of that of a bleach bottle. Actually the stopper is of Australian origin and it is called a Zork. No more fiddly corkscrews or complicated "Rabbit" contraptions whose screws get dull and bend and have to be replaced. No more sticking an emergency corkscrew in your carryon only to be pulled aside by some unsympathetic Pepsi drinker from Homeland Security.
Plungerhead a good, juicy but not horribly overpowering old vine Zin in the tradition of the simple stuff that I enjoyed years ago when I explored Sonoma for the first time in my smoking Volkswagen beetle. My simple tastes haven't changed and at less than ten bucks a bottle, have not become dramatically more expensive.
Not only that, opening the bottle makes a sound sure to make heads turn in a restaurant. Thwunk! Make that Plungerhead, please.
Rehearsal for Royal Barge Procession on King's Bhumibol's 60th Anniversary, Bangkok, Thailand Photo: Gary Wells
Good King, Bad King, Man Who Would Be King Audio MP3
Here I am, hangin' out in a bar. It is the Bamboo Bar at old Oriental Hotel in Bangkok. A nostalgic place for my wife and me, where a chanteuse sang our "Love is Here to Stay" on our honeymoon, then went back to the bar and fetched us hankies. Different singer this night, but the musicians haven't changed. Good jazz from a Russian ensemble that has played here for some eight years.
Rummied up by glass of Cognac I started to think about a good king, a bad king and a man-who-would-be-king. I was, after all, in the place of a good king, Bhumibol Adulyadej of Thailand.
Kings and Queens have, through history, played to mixed reviews. King Canute was thought of as a decent chap, as was Wenceslas of Bohemia. King John and Queen Mary, not so good, perhaps. My mom was Alfalfa Queen of Thief River Falls, Minnesota and she was good.
In the last few weeks, a good king has come to the rescue, a bad king thrown in his cloak and a man-who-would-be-king unraveled by a not-so-courtly jester.
King Bhumibol of Thailand is the moral voice of this country. Even friends of mine who grew up in America, UK, and Australia worship the man. (Insulting him is against the law). Every time there is a political crisis, Bhumipol steps in and saves the day. The much maligned Prime Minister Thaksin stepped down after a chat with the king. Now, after charges of rigged elections, voters are going back to the polls and Thailand will hopefully return to normal: corruption, yes, but accomplished with a smile and just enough of it to keep things running smoothly..
The bad king is Gyanendra of Nepal. In the name of Homeland Security (sound familiar?) Gyanendra dismissed parliament and declared himself dictator. But the Nepalese, who have only tasted parliamentary government since the early 90s, would have nothing of that. People filled the streets, breaking curfews, and brought him down. Or ,at least, he sort of let go. Gyanendra is still king, but a new parliament is forming and the Marxist insurgents are talking. I met the former King and Queen shortly before they were assassinated. They were pleasant enough, she wore big honking jewels, and democracy got a start under their rule. A few days ago in Thailand I ran into to two Nepali friends who were grinning ear-to-ear over the new developments, their smiles as wide and white as the Himalaya. After all of this turmoil, hope of peace.
It is a shame we don't have a Good King in the US…someone with no real power, but a moral example we can look up. Mind you, I don't have the slightest idea of whom that could be. Here we award the President the sceptre and just because a few more people voted for him than against him, wrap him in a flag and trust him, right or wrong, as a voice of morality when he should actually be trusted as the equivalent of a city manager. In other countries -- UK, Canada, Thailand -- when the prime minister screws up, new elections get called. Here, with our rigged winner-take-all congress, we are stuck for four years.
But last week, in a fine royal court tradition, Would-be-King George the Inarticulate was brought down by a jester at the White House Correspondent's Dinner. Comedian Stephen Colbert stripped both the emperor and the America's cowering mass media of their flimsy cloaks as "Would-Be" squirmed like a little boy who had smothered his sister's cat. The mass media, of course, didn't cover this at all. But the blogs did. (Watch on Google Video)
Given this good king, bad king thing, here are my travel plans for this fall:
Go to Thailand and wish Good King Bhumibol a happy 60th anniversary of his rational thought and good deeds. The Royal Yachtsmen are now on the river rehearsing for the official celebration in June, but the festivities are happening all year. While in Bangkok I'll probably get a physical exam at a fraction of the cost of what it would be in The States.
From Thailand I will hop a nonstop flight to Nepal. Poor Nepal will likely be at peace again and in desperate need of foreign exchange. I don't have too much of that to offer but I do have a great affection for Nepal having traveled there, worked there for the UNDP and even honeymooned there. I have lots of friends in Nepal and can't wait to go back. It an affordable place to visit with both nature and culture you won't find anywhere else. And there is a whole lot more there than Mt. Everest. September and October are the best times to go, after the rainy season when everything is green.
But in November I must return to the US for election day as we have to give our congress the power to curb the President-Who-Would-Be-King and help us regain for the US and we Americans who travel, some of the hard-earned respect we have lost in recent years. We don't have a Good King to do that. We have to do it ourselves.
This is the seat controller in Business Class on Thai Airways. I avoided the urge to micromanage my posture and stuck with the default positions of the three buttons on the bottom. Nice to have sleeper seats in Business, even though they are quite narrow and the arm rests are too rigid. I found it difficult to sleep on my back -- my elbows cramped up against the consoles -- but quickly nodded off when I flipped over on my side. A good choice was my decision to chuck my MP3 player and explore Thai's collection of on-demand audio. I sampled modernized Thai traditional music and 10 rounds of vocal sparring by Cecilia Bartoli before drifting off into the dreamy angst of classic Bob Dylan.
Good to hear that Thai Airways is now going to offer premium economy class. They are finally getting wise to the fact that guys like me (and most businesses) can't afford to pay US$6000+ to fly Business Class to Asia but would happily plunk down a few extra bucks to upgrade their comfort and sense of dignity from that of a chicken awaiting the hatchet.
San Francisco media have done a fine job instilling fear in our hearts about the next BIG ONE. They're good about that, media and politicians: media shouting "watch or die" to flog their newscasts and newspapers and politicians diverting our minds from ever-present scandals. One (but perhaps not high on the list for the hungry and homeless) is the lack of a decent cruise ship terminal in San Francisco. Most coastal cities of any import have built and rebuilt theirs more than once over the decades that San Francisco politicians have squabbled about what one should be…which palms get greased by how much, etc.
Still no cruise terminal, still crummy, cavernous old Pier 35. I hadn't been there in years until Earthquake Anniversary Eve, the night before the 100th birthday of THE BIG ONE. Two cruise ships were parked there, one dwarfing the other. The "BIG ONE" was a 1,900 passenger Celebrity Cruise Lines behemoth. The "little one" was the Radisson Seven Seas Mariner, a mid-sized luxury ship.
I caught up with an old acquaintance, Mark Conroy, who is now president of the Regent Seven Seas, part of the Carlson travel empire and owner of the Mariner . Conroy and I go back to the old Royal Viking Line, where he was a VP and for which I made films. In the 80s, RVL was the epitome of luxury, hosting movie stars and royalty. I directed a little film for the line starring Vincent Price with whom, despite his reputation as a gourmet, I once shared one of his favorite meals, the Egg MacMuffin. Leona Helmsley was kicked off a ship for being, well, Leona Helmsley. Royal Viking Line was my finishing school, even though I admit to being a work in progress.
While Conroy and I sat in the bow lounge, sipping Champagne, a guy above us with a welding torch was removing the Radisson sign and replacing it with the Regent emblem. Overnight the ship morphed into the Regent Seven Seas Mariner. Like a bad guy in an auto chop shop, torch man was erasing the ship's old identity giving it a new life with the more prestigious name of Carlson's high-end hotel brand. Perhaps rightly so as Seven Seas has joined the rarified ranks of the best, a pantheon led by Crystal Cruises. I have never sailed Seven Seas, but it has a great reputation among travel agents I know and respect.
Despite its reputation, most of the old Royal Viking cabins were tiny. Conroy told me that the Mariner carried the same number of passengers in a considerably larger vessel, which means all suites with balconies and real closets. I checked out one of the ship's smaller suites and it had a huge walk-in closet and a real bathroom, rather than a "head" the size of a phone booth. Over the next few months, the line will spiff up its ships with new ameneties like sheets with thread counts higher than the late Carl Sagan's star counts and iPods in the staterooms.
Another "duh" concept that cruise lines have finally figured out is that not everybody appreciates the burned-out lounge singers and ventriloquists of cruises of yore. Small "exploration" cruise lines have known this for ages, but a new generation of luxury cruisers now demand "content" as well, not cheesy bus tours with enforced trinket shopping. Regent has created what it calls "Circles of Interest" where guests can fine-tune their experiences with expert lectures and workshops along specific tracks, as you might find at a conference. Food and Wine, Photography, History, even Marine Life and the Environment are among the "Circles." Jean-Michel Cousteau's Ocean Futures Society has partnered with Regent Seven Seas, quite a statement in an industry that has not in the past been known for its stewardship of the oceans. A National Geographic-sponsored study said that travelers really care about this, and some organizations are heeding the call.
Anyhow, it was good to touch base with an old acquaintance. I sometimes regret not having stayed in that business even though with my weakness for food and wine I would have probably had a gut the size of Rhode Island by now. Conway is a runner.
Hats off to the "little one" and happy 'BIG ONE" anniversary week, I think. And tune in for live chopper coverage at eleven.
Why do the gods always live on mountains while the trolls, barrators, falsifiers and other pointy-tailed deadbeats dwell in the muck beneath the bridges? (As an occasional glutton, I stand just a foul breath's distance from the status of troll in Dante's scheme.) Why do the ordinary people scramble in chaos around the friezes at the bottoms of temples while the enlightened ones quietly meditate at the top? (May have something to do with money). High places have always been magnets for seekers, scientists, lunatics and people like me (a bit of all of the above), who are intrigued by their unseen possibilities and awed by their beauty. Mt. Shasta is such a place. (MORE)
Chipmunk (left) went to the hob. "I shied the hob," harped Deacon, "too codgy. " "There was a huge fister," harped Chipmunk, "and the highman of the higheelers brought in thribs deputies and shut 'er down." "Not bahl," harped Deacon. "Gotta have a fister once in awhile to get it out of yer system."
(Translation: Chipmunk went to the dance. Deacon didn't...getting too old for that he "harped" or said. Chipmunk said there was a big fight and the sheriff brought in three deputies to shut it down. Not "bahl" or good, "harped" Deacon.)
Boontling is an folk language spoken only in Boonville, in the Anderson Valley of Northern California. It was invented in the late 1800s and had quite a following at the turn of the century. Now it is only spoken by old-timers and heritage buffs. Boontling has more than a thousand unique words and phrases. A Bucky Walter, for example, is a pay telephone. Bucky means nickel and Walter was the name of the guy who owned Boonville's first telephone. A horn of zeese is a cup of coffee.
Practical Boontling for Travelers: ab chaser - Someone who lives on the coast, an "abalone chaser." Not to be outdone, ab chasers call Boonters squirrel bacon. belhoon - Dollar blooch - To chatter aimlessly. (also means to masturbate) Boont Dusties - The Boonville Cemetery dinklehonk - cow gorm - to eat hyoottle - hotel kilockety - to travel by train kiloppety -to travel by horse trashmover - heavy winter storm weech - a small child zeese - coffee. Named after a man named Zeese whose coffee, it is said, "would float an egg."
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I'm Sooo Confused
While Conroy and I sat in the bow lounge, sipping Champagne, a guy above us with a welding torch was removing the Radisson sign and replacing it with the Regent emblem. Overnight the ship morphed into the Regent Seven Seas Mariner. Like a bad guy in an auto chop shop, torch man was erasing the ship's old identity giving it a new life with the more prestigious name of Carlson's high-end hotel brand. Perhaps rightly so as Seven Seas has joined the rarified ranks of the best, a pantheon led by Crystal Cruises. I have never sailed Seven Seas, but it has a great reputation among travel agents I know and respect. 
Chipmunk (left) went to the hob. "I shied the hob," harped Deacon, "too codgy. " "There was a huge fister," harped Chipmunk, "and the highman of the higheelers brought in thribs deputies and shut 'er down." "Not bahl," harped Deacon. "Gotta have a fister once in awhile to get it out of yer system."