My Secret LIttle Spot

We left our little cottage and slipped out the backyard gate and into the alleyway. I was excited to show Jenelle my secret little spot. I had discovered it the day before and was sure that no one else in the entire world except for me knew it existed.
 
We walked down the alleyway, past garbage cans and garage doors, and down the hill that slopes toward Vista del Mar Avenue. Then I took this road to the left—not toward the beach—but to the left. Remember, this is my secret little spot. If it were near the main beach then everyone would know about it.
 
We crossed the road and climbed the hill at Ruta de las Tumbas (I have changed the name of the street to protect the identity of the location). Halfway up the hill on the right side of the sidewalk, nearly unrecognizable and somewhat camouflaged is a passageway. I had been on this road several times already and had never discovered the secret passageway. I suspect that most others never do either and if they do, perhaps they believe it to be a stairwell to a private residence.
 
The passageway is narrow, with tall walls on both sides. It slants steeply downward. At the bottom of the passageway it merely drops onto the sand.
 
Now we were on the nethermost corner of the beach. It is a short trot to an outcropping of rocks. We climbed up its edge and shimmied around the corner into a miniature alcove, blocked from sight to the rest of the land-based world. We sat down on a low stone shelf and watched the ocean before us. This was my secret little spot.
 
Jenelle loved it too. The brisk coastal wind was blocked within our lee-side haven. The sun neared the horizon, gently warming us. A small pool of water rested in a shallow cavity at our feet.
 
The sea toiled dark blue except for the white rolling waves. It is interesting that the waves in this nook of the ocean came toward the shore from two directions, both perpendicular to each other. They collided to create a turbulent stir.
 
In the distance we caught sight of two surfers paddling from shore. When they caught a roller they became black silhouettes, cruising smoothly on a glistening wave, the golden sun directly behind them.
 
Willets and gulls would occasionally glide above the water. They were silhouetted, too. On the horizon roved a sailboat. As the sun neared the line between earth and sky, the waves built up intensity.
 
Right now the rest of the world didn't exist. We watched in reverent awe at the mighty ocean, deep and powerful, with the ability to invoke a scene of beauty and also the capacity to kill. It was indeed a sacred site. ♠

First Time on Skis!

This is Dave, who has been on skis MANY times.

There's not a place on my body that's not bruised, battered or stretched!
 
It was time to get out and have another adventure with Dave and this time we chose cross-country skiing at 10,000 feet. The only problem was that I had never skied in my life.
 
We pulled to the end of the pavement, or at least to the end of where the county had pushed the snow, and from there we slid on our coats, backpacks, gloves and beanies, then clipped on our skis. I wasn't sure if this would be easy or hard, but I figured the only way to find out was to just do it.
 
With poles in-hand I maneuvered over the mound of snow pushed by the plows and moved onto a lightly used path. Dave had briefly returned to the vehicle and while he did I fell flat on my butt. Wipe-out #1. And the funny thing about it was that I couldn't get up! I looked like little Randy Parker rolling in the snow. I couldn't help but to lie there and laugh at myself.
 
Eventually I regained my footing, yet remained wobbly. It didn't take long before I biffed it again. This would be a long, long, day!
 

Vast meadows, once filled with wildflowers, now held three feet of snow.

Really, it was a shame that I had to spend my entire focus and energy looking at my feet to maintain my balance. We were in such a beautiful place. Pine trees grew all around. Vast meadows, once filled with wildflowers, now held three feet of snow. Crimson cliffs beckoned like a city skyline in the distance. We were in heaven, but all I could do was look down at my skis.
 
The distance traveled between wipe-outs gradually began to increase. I learned how to balance my weight over the skis and gained more confidence. Sometimes the point of the skis would come together like a pigeon-toed walker and naturally I would fall over. Other times the point of the skis would drift apart and I would involuntarily do the splits. That would hurt.
 
I fell in every conceivable manner: on my butt, on my face, on my hip, on my elbow. My hands and wrists took the brunt of many falls and I worried that I would twist a knee or ankle.
 
The easiest terrain was either flat, or slightly uphill. During these stretches I eventually did well, but as soon as we came to a downhill stretch I would lose control of my weight distribution and fall directly on my back.
 

Clay-colored cliffs were covered in a veneer of white.

We traveled about two miles to our turn-around destination. I estimate that I biffed it twenty to twenty-five times. I was happy to take the skis off for a moment and replenish my body with food and liquid.
 
We spent time at the overlook. This was an opportunity that not many people get to do. Although I had been at the overlook several times before, it was never during winter. This stretch of road is always closed during the the colder months.
 
Much of the clay-colored cliffs were covered in a veneer of white, with green coniferous trees poking through the layer. Most of the northern slopes sat covered in snow, while those facing the opposite direction had melted off into Ashdown Creek. In the distance we could see the globular radar tower on Blowhard.
 

Dave takes a break from gliding across the snow.

By now the breeze had picked up and it was becoming bitter cold. The sun inched toward the horizon. We certainly wouldn't want to be trapped out here at night.
 
My return trip ran much smoother. The skis glided across the snow and I felt I had a rhythm. Even though it was becoming easier, it still required a great deal of concentration.
 
At one point we stopped and for a moment just listened. A soft breeze blew through the trees and other than that there was nothing. Silence. Then two ravens lifted off from a tall pine tree and we saw the spread and flapping of their wings and the dusting of powder as it floated to the ground. Again it was silent.
 

Then it was silent.

Pink and orange hues of sunset began to gather on the clouds. We smelt the musky smell of pine needles. We were far from anywhere.
 
On our return trip I only biffed it five times. Dave biffed it once. As I gripped my poles I thought that this must be similar to how tight a jockey grips the reins of his horse. Although I wasn't falling down, it was still a challenge to stay standing.
 
At last we arrived at our starting point. I was very glad to unclip the skis and relax in a warm car on a soft seat where I had no fear of falling over. ♠

Pink and orange hues of sunset began to gather on the clouds.

Spanish Flu From a Hurricane Perspective

Old Bridge at Hurricane crossing Virgin River. (photo courtesy of Washington County Historical Society)

Spanish Flu killed nearly 50 million people between the years 1918 and 1920. It erupted during the turmoil of World War I which no doubt facilitated the spread of the virus. It did not discriminate, quashing large swaths of population all around the world, from New Zealand to Europe to the United States. It was one of the worst pandemics the world has ever seen.
 
The little town of Hurricane in Southern Utah was young during the pandemic, having only been settled twelve years earlier. My great-great grandfather, Charles Adelbert Workman, and his family were among the first settlers on the Hurricane Bench. He faithfully kept a journal, recording the town's reaction to the pandemic.
 

Family of Charles and Josephine Workman.

The year began like any other. In spring they began planting a large garden that included peas, watermelons, strawberries and currant bushes. Charles bought a new Ford car and they also saw his brother-in-law Henry off to war. They also experienced tragedy when their son, Eldon, was electrocuted to death. But in October, a pall of a different sort fell upon the town. On October 14, 1918 Charles records in his journal:
 
“The town has been quarantined for Spanish Influenza and I have been employed by the Town Board to notify travelers as they come into town to not put up at hotels. They are permitted to get supplies of gasoline, etc. but not to stop in town. There are no cases of influenza here yet but it is spreading through the country rapidly. The State Board of Health has ordered all public schools closed, and prohibited public gatherings in towns where the disease exists.”
 
The next day he writes: “Have been watching the road all day for travelers to notify them of the quarantine. Stayed in my car at the north east corner of town where the state road crosses the bridge over the north ditch this afternoon.” The next day he is at it again: “Have been enforcing the quarantine again today. Stationed in my car at our lucerne field gate. Made some repairs on the gate.” The next several days he writes that he is still on guard. Sometimes he goes on guard in the morning until early afternoon, and at other times his shift is from late afternoon until midnight.
 
The public order also affected their Sabbath worship service. Charles was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and as a devotee he attended church every week. On Sunday, October 20th he writes: “There have been no public meetings today on account of the order of the State Board of Health that no assemblies be allowed. The object is to prevent the spread of the Spanish Influenza. Thousands are dying with it all over the United States. I have been on guard again today to enforce the quarantine.”
 
On the 28th Charles explains the scope of the pandemic throughout the state of Utah and also in Washington County, of which Hurricane belongs: “I am still guarding the town to keep out influenza. There are thousands of cases of it in Utah and hundreds are dying. It is in every county in the state except Washington County. There are no cases in this county yet that we know of. It has spread all over the United States and to some extent in Europe and other parts of the world. Whole families die of it, and sometimes two or more of a family will die in one day. It begins like a cold, a high fever followed by a chill and coughing and sneezing. In the fatal cases it is followed by pneumonia of some other complication.”
 
As November comes a cold wind blows from the north. The quarantine guards set up a tent with a stove inside. Word comes that the first local residents are infected with Spanish Influenza. These families include those of E. N. Stanworth, William Ruesch and Albert Russell. By November 13th it is reported “about a dozen cases of the Spanish Influenza in town, but they are all getting along well.”
 

Home of Emanuel Nutter Stanworth in Hurricane, Utah.  Several members of his family were infected with Spanish Flu in 1918.  (photo courtesy of Washington County Historical Society)

On December 4th, Charles Workman is appointed as Justice of the Peace for the town of Hurricane. I find his first case interesting: “Fined S. B. Chipman $5.00 for breaking the order of the Health Board that requires everybody to wear gauze masks on the streets and in public places.” He also fined half a dozen men, including two relatives, for “breaking health regulations.” On another occasion he fined two people from Cedar City $5 each for going into town without permission.
 
The first death from Spanish Flu in Charles' account is recorded on December 21, 1918: “Horatio Pickett, my wife's father died this afternoon of influenza followed by pneumonia.” Horatio was 70 years old and living in St. George at the time. The diary mentions no funeral so perhaps they tried to keep it small to prevent spread of the virus.
 
The following day—a Sunday—Charles wrote the following: “Pres. Heber J. Grant [President of the Mormon Church] has designated today as a special day for fasting and prayer for the relief of the people from the scourge of influenza that is sweeping over the earth. It is one of the most dreadful diseases that the world has ever known. Hundreds of thousands of deaths from it have occurred and almost all parts of the civilized world have suffered from its ravages. There were no public gatherings [a.k.a. church meetings] today.”
 
From this point forward, life on the Hurricane Bench appears to have gradually returned to normal. On Sunday, December 28 the first church services were held since October.  Four days later on January 2 the schools reopened. There are only a handful of brief mentions of guard duty or someone breaking quarantine rules.
 
It appears that one of the last restrictions was that of allowing outsiders to stay in town. On April 15, 1919 Charles records one of his last entries relating to the Spanish Flu: “A number of [sheep] shearers came in today but I did not let them stay in town on account of the quarantine. They expect to begin shearing at Gould's in a few days.” ♠

President Heber J. Grant.

St. Augustine, Florida

My first experience with St. Augustine could have killed me.
 
We were driving across the bridge over the Matanzas river when suddenly I saw a traffic light—which I thought was a ridiculous place to have it. I almost didn't stop. There wasn't even an intersection. Then it dawned on me. This could be a drawbridge!
 
We don't have drawbridges where I come from. I've never seen one in person, and frankly, I wasn't even sure they really existed. But within seconds, the road before us began to rise until it came to a ninety-degree angle. Within just a couple minutes a gap had been created in the bridge and soon a sail boat with a tall mast came gliding through the aperture. Boy, was I glad we had stopped!
 

Drawbridge at the Bridge of Lions in St. Augustine.

Little did I know that the river we had just crossed played a crucial role in the founding of St. Augustine. In the year 1564 the land that is now the United States was wild and unexplored by Europeans. This was also a period engulfed in the passions and conflicts of the Protestant Reformation. Would these new conquered lands become Catholic or Protestant nations?
 
In this year Fort Caroline, in the northern extremes of Florida along the Atlantic Coast, was established by Huguenots (French Protestants). This resulted in the ire of the Spanish who had already claimed the land. Fort Caroline also provided a strategic base where it could attack Spanish treasure fleets sailing along the coast back to Europe.
 

View of the Matanzas River from Fort Matanzas.

To counter this move, King Phillip II sent Admiral Pedro Menéndez de Avilés with over 800 people to remove the French. After a brief skirmish between the two armies, the Spanish retired to the newly founded post of St. Augustine, some 35 miles south of Fort Caroline. On September 10, 1565 Jean Ribault, the leader of the French, sailed to attack St. Augustine. Unfortunately for them, they encountered a hurricane that sent them further south and wrecked their boat. Menéndez took full advantage of the largely unoccupied settlement and easily captured Fort Caroline.
 
Upon his return to St. Augustine he learned from the Timucuan Indians of a group of white men on a beach a few miles to the south. He marched with 50 soldiers and found about 130 shipwrecked Frenchmen trying to make their way back to Fort Caroline, but who had been blocked in their journey by an inlet of the Matanzas River. They were hungry and worn, and Menéndez informed them that he had already captured the fort. He urged the men to surrender, with no promise of clemency. They did surrender, and upon bringing them across the river he slaughtered all of them but sixteen. Two weeks later a similar scene unfolded. In all nearly 250 were killed. Hence the name of the Matanzas River, which comes from the Spanish word for “slaughters.”
 

Streets of St. Augustine, Florida.

We continued onto Anastasia Island where we checked into our Airbnb and then connected with our friends, Wendy and Dirk, who live in St. Augustine. Originally we hadn't planned on coming this far north into Florida, but we were made a deal that if we spent a couple nights in St. Augustine, then Dirk and Wendy's grandson, Gavin, would come all the way from North Carolina to meet us . . . AND they would teach us to surf! Not a bad proposition. Of course, Gavin's mother, Vanessa, would have to drive him, and I believe the journey would be eight hours each way, so we appreciated their sacrifice. Gavin had been close friends with my daughter, Savanah, so they were anxious to meet up.
 
After meeting with them we all headed toward town. On the way there we stopped at a lighthouse, crossed another drawbridge at the Bridge of Lions, and rode a carousel for one dollar a person. Now we were parked and ready to explore the Colonial Quarter on foot.
 

Governor's House in the Colonial Quarter of St. Augustine.

St. Augustine is the longest continually inhabited city of European origin in the continuous forty-eight states. It is now 455 years old. Walking through the streets does not have the same feel as walking through the ancient Gothic Quarter of Barcelona, for example. No. Walking through the streets of St. Augustine is akin to walking through Disneyland. Everything is commercialized. Nothing looks old. All the buildings have a fresh coat of bright paint. And prices are sky-high.
 
But, having said that, it was pleasant to walk along these pedestrian roadways. We began on Spanish Street and ended on St. George Street. There are clothing stores, restaurants, gelato shops, souvenir stores and the occasional historical landmark. We also saw a street performer and horse-drawn carriage rides.
 
On Spanish Street we came across a beige-colored two-story home built in 1807, known as one of the original Minorcan homes. Minorca is part of the Balearic Islands in the Mediterranean Sea, and in 1767 a Scottish man named Andrew Turnbull led a group of 1,000 Minorcans to Florida as indentured servants to work on his indigo plantation. After a few years of disease and toil, many in the weary group fled their master and sought refuge in St. Augustine. At the time St. Augustine had come under British Rule, but in 1783 with the second Treaty of Paris, the territory was given back to Spain. Ironically, the island of Minorca was also given to Spain as part of that same treaty, as were the Bahama Islands. The Minorcans have since played a key role in the growth and culture of St. Augustine.
 

Triay-Hall House built in 1807 is an original Minorcal home.

We walked along St. George Street as far as the cathedral, but didn't go inside. We ate at a restaurant on the corner of King Street and Avenida Menéndez. A man in the lobby played Love Shack on his guitar as we climbed the stairs to eat upstairs. I deliberated between jambalaya and the lobster and shrimp tacos, but decided on shrimp and grits. On our way back through town I bought a watermelon and hibiscus popsicle.
 

Monument on the grounds of the Cathedral Basilica of St. Augustine.

We also stopped at the Huguenot Cemetery. It's interesting how each historical landmark helps fit together another piece of the puzzle. Following the second Spanish period mentioned above, Florida was ceded to the United States under the Adams-Onís Treaty of 1819, ratified in 1821. Now that the controlling culture had shifted once again from Catholic to Protestant, there was a new need for a Protestant cemetery. The nearby Tolomato Cemetery was barred to all non-Catholic residents.
 
The cemetery operated between 1821 and 1884. Despite the name, there are no known Huguenots buried in the cemetery. The burial ground came just in time for an epidemic of yellow fever.
 
I had about ten minutes to peruse the Huguenot Cemetery and found it very interesting with many old grave markers. Some of the burials were marked with rectangular cuboid stone markers the length of the grave. I found one from 1821 and two from 1823. In total, the graveyard is fairly small. I'm sure many of the burials are not marked.
 

Huguenot Cemetery of St. Augustine, founded in 1821.

Grave of Charles W. Bulow, a plantation owner from St. Augustine. Died in 1823 and buried in the Huguenot Cemetery.

We began our second day in St. Augustine on Butler Beach. Everyone in our family agreed that this was the funnest day of our vacation. As luck would have it we were in Florida for the final launch of the Delta IV Medium rocket. The only problem was that we were 94 miles away from the Kennedy Space Center. We woke up early enough to be on the beach at 8:45. Jordan watched the live stream on his phone and we all looked toward the south. Billowing clouds hung low in the horizon, but beyond that the skies were clear. We had heard you could see the rocket from this distance, but no one in our group had actually done it. The countdown came, the rocket lifted, and within seconds we could see an arching plume in the southern sky. A couple minutes later came a sonic boom.
 

Watching the launch of the Delta IV medium rocket from Butler Beach.

Now, it was time to get surfing. Dirk and Wendy remind me of the stereotypical beach bums—but in a good way! If they could, I think they would spend 365 days of the year at the beach. That's probably why they moved to St. Augustine. Dirk is the type that wears Bermuda shorts and a light Hawaiian shirt, but most often, no shirt at all. I believe they attend a Christian church for surfers.
 

Coming from the desert, no one in our family had ever surfed. Dirk taught us to lay belly-down on the board, paddle when the swell came in, and then at just the right moment stand up and ride the wave. It was much more difficult than it appeared. I don't know how many times I wiped out and got washing machined below the waves. I ended the session with bruised muscles, sand rashes on my skin and salt water up my nose. Jordan and Kaitlyn did relatively well.
 
In the end I used the surf board as a boogie board and just rode the waves while lying on my belly. It was enjoyable and I received far fewer bruises.
 

A few miles south of Butler Beach is Fort Matanzas National Monument. We pulled into the parking lot just in time to catch the ferry to Rattlesnake Island. Unlike the impressive Castle of San Marcos which is within the city limits of St. Augustine, the outpost of Fort Matanzas is a lesser-known fortress from the Spanish occupation.
 
The Spanish had good reason to fear an attack because they suffered many throughout the years including one in 1740 by the Governor of the British colony of Georgia, James Oglethorpe, who besieged the city for thirty-nine days. The major weakness for St. Augustine was the Matanzas inlet because it was out of range for the cannons at San Marcos Castle. For this reason it was decided to build a fort near the inlet of the river.
 
The building began in 1740 with the help of slaves, convicts and additional troops from Cuba. The fort is 50 feet on each side with a 30-foot tower. Although the fort fell into decay after the British acquired St. Augustine, it has since been restored and includes one of the original canons. The only way to get there is via a ferry run by the park service. Visitors are allowed to peruse the soldier's quarters, as well as enjoy the view from the observation deck.
 

Fort Matanzas.

From the observation deck at Fort Matanzas.

On the ferry to Rattlesnake Island.

Our trip to St. Augustine would not have been what it was without the hospitality of our friends. After visiting the fort we spent a couple hours at the house of Dirk and Wendy in Butler Beach. From what I understand they bought the house for a good price after the entire neighborhood had been devastated by a hurricane. They fixed it up and decorated it with surf boards and other memorabilia to always remind one that they are next to the ocean.
 
In their back yard is a canal that winds through the neighborhood and eventually connects with the Matanzas River. They have a boat that they sometimes use, but on this day we paddled a canoe. We lowered the vessel into the water and took turns stroking oars to explore the waterway through the area. [As an interesting side-note, Dirk and Wendy have recently posted pictures on Facebook of dolphins swimming through their canal, right in their backyard!]
 

Dirk and Wendy's backyard!

As dusk approached, we felt an itch to return to the beach one last time. We first stopped at the Sunset Grille to eat dinner, then we drove to a another beach. We didn't have a lot of time, but I could have stayed there for hours. The sky was now filled with pink and orange hues and the sun was about to disappear over the trees. The waves rolled in rhythmical motion, leaving a white foam as it returned to the sea.
 
The beach where we walked had a short, but photogenic pier. We walked beneath the deck boards and let the warm water run up and over our sandals while we admired the evening and took a few pictures.
 

St. Johns County Ocean Pier.

Like I stated, our time at the beach was far too short. We returned to the home of our friends and said our goodbyes. Living across the country we didn't know when we'd see them again. For Savanah and Gavin it was particularly hard and they shed many tears.
 
But there was one more item of business before we left. There is one item that uniquely belongs to St. Augustine. In fact, you could easily say that St. Augustine is the “capital of the world” in regard to this item. No one is exactly sure of it's origins, but some speculate it was brought by indentured servants from Minorca. Wendy had a plant in her home where she was lovingly growing this item. Then she graciously picked and gave me . . . a datil pepper. ♠

The Ultimate Chinatown—Bangkok!

We step off the boat at Ratchawong Pier and into a different world. Men push loaded carts down the road while ladies grill food at a stall. Buildings appear a generation older and the din on the street is pure chaos. I feel as if we've traveled back in time fifty years, but in reality we have just entered the Chinese district of Bangkok.
 
This area has been home to the Chinese community for over two hundred years when they were dislocated after King Rama I built a new palace. They moved downriver to the Sampeng area, occupying a large area roughly between the Chao Phraya River and Charoen Krung (New Road). This space is now densely packed with shophouses and street vendors, sprawling through a complex web of alleyways.
 

Sampeng Lane.

We turn right and enter Sampeng Lane, a very narrow alley congested with shops and merchandise spilling onto the walkway. There is so little room that we have to constantly turn side-ways as we pass the oncoming crowd. Ahead is an old blind lady with a contraption on her shoulders that holds a microphone, as well as a bucket for money. She sings a beautiful high-pitched song as she walks along the narrow passageway, but walks slowly and holds up the line.
 
Everything seems to be sold here: stuffed animals, toys, t-shirts, baby clothes, purses. Merchandise is stacked high and shade canopies hang over the doorways. Sometimes it is easy to forget that we are outside because the sky is but a fleeting suggestion above us.
 
We cross another bisecting street, this one a bit wider, but still packed with vendors. Many of these are selling street food. Skinny men with dark leather faces and gray hair push carts heaping with fresh vegetables. Ladies with aprons grill bananas over a charcoal flame or fry balls of dough in simmering oil.
 

Yaowarat Road.

A mess of wires over Yaowarat Road.

Not far away we arrive at Yaowarat Road, the main corridor through Chinatown. Here now we have vehicular traffic. Taxis and tuk-tuks vie for position. Perhaps there is enough space for two lanes of traffic, but it is a dog-fight to eek forward wherever you can. Tall signs in either Thai script or Chinese hang from the buildings. Electrical wires drape across the road.
 
Chinese influence on Thai culture has been immense. Since the fourteenth century the area of present-day Thailand has seen several waves of Chinese immigration and intermarriage to the point that there is Chinese blood in almost every Thai citizen, including the king. Chinese-Thai business interests play an enormous roll in the Thai economy. This is played out in Chinatown where real estate is some of the most expensive in the country.
 
It is interesting that Yaowarat Road is lined with over 130 gold shops. It is the world's largest market for hand-made gold ornaments, supplying demands in Dubai, Singapore, Hong Kong, Europe and the United States. As curious tourists, we decide to step inside a gold shop to see what they are all about (obviously not to buy). No sooner do we enter the doors than a gentleman whisks us out, stating that we have to be members to enter the premise.
 

Hidden alleyway.

Running perpendicular to Yaowarat Road is another narrow alleyway. Vendors line both sides of the passage, standing behind tables topped with exotic spices, fruits and salted fish. Most of the tags are in Thai or Chinese and I don't know the name of anything. One man sells a variety tea, the dried herbs piled in bins. Alongside are a selection of tea kettles.
 
Walking down this lane is almost like walking through a tunnel with numerous cave-houses built into the side. I say that because this street is a narrow gap between buildings and the canopies of the vendors are drawn out, blocking much of the light. When walking past you will notice that some of the openings are portals into dark shophouses. It's like you are visiting an ant colony with so many people, so many smells and noises, yet all you can do is walk past and hope you can take in at least a portion.
 

Leng Buai Ia Shrine.

At the far end of our dark alleyway, we see an opening with the bright noon-day sun shining down. We explore this new open-space and find a courtyard to a Chinese temple. My first observation is the difference between this temple and the more traditional temples in Thailand that have white walls and multi-tiered orange roofs with golden lamyongs flaring from the ends.
 
This temple is in the Chinese style. The roof is made of glazed colored tile and on top are two stuccoed dragons facing each other. The columns in front of the entrance are also decorated with stuccoed dragons. Inside is a shrine with a sculpture of a man and his wife, along with other deity and a couple dozen figurines. A plaque informs us that this is an ancient Tae Chew shrine that is possibly 300 years old and the oldest Chinese shrine in Thailand.
 
Bangkok is a crazy jungle of urban confusion. You can find any surprise around the next corner. How many unexpected shrines like this can you find in Chinatown? Who knows? Walking down the street is like living in a choose-your-own-adventure book and at every junction you are faced with the decision: do I turn right or left, or keep going straight? Whatever decision you make will bring a new experience.
 

Wat Mangkon Kamalawat.

The sage on the left holds a parasol, the sage on the right a snake's head. 

After wandering through the maze of streets for another twenty minutes we come to another Chinese temple, this one bigger and more well-known than the last. It is named Wat Mangkon Kamalawat.
 
There are several shrines within this temple and many devotees kneel and offer obeisance. Incense flows to the sky. Citrus is offered at the alters. This is a Mahayana Buddhist temple, which fuses several ancient beliefs, including Confucianism and Taoism. Chinese lanterns hang from the ceilings and golden sages watch forbiddingly. Elsewhere in the compound are medicine stalls, booths selling devotional paraphernalia and a fortune-teller.
 

On the fringe of Chinatown.

Heaps of used machinery in Talat Noi, a section of Chinatown.

For our final four days in Bangkok we stay at a hotel overlooking the Chao Phraya River on the fringe of Chinatown. Squeezed between other drab buildings, the hotel is very inconspicuous and would be nearly unrecognizable as a place of accommodation without the green awning draped at the front. Just below our hotel, pretty much at the side of a parking garage, is a Chinese Temple. Outside hang red Chinese globes and inside I can hear people singing or chanting. I don't dare go in. The temple is very simple, and if you aren't right there, you won't even notice it. Nearby a small shrine displays several Buddhist figurines, as well as flowers and incense sticks. A small sign is in both Chinese and Thai.
 
The neighborhood around our hotel smells like grease. This is because they sell second-hand car parts here. Walking down the street there are heaps of metal, including engines and mufflers that belong to anything from cars to mopeds. It's like having the junkyard as close and convenient as the grocery store. Sometimes a couple men will be tending the heap by sitting next to it on a chair, smoking cigarettes and talking. Any foreigner who walks past will get a look of suspicion. This area is known as Talat Noi and used to be the site of ice factories, saw mills, rice mills and shipyards. Scraps from these places were collected and sold. Nowadays it is a center for used machinery and motors.
 

The Golden Buddha.

Also located on the periphery of Chinatown is Wat Traimit, a Thai-styled Buddhist temple that is home to the Golden Buddha—the largest solid gold Buddha in the world.
 
It is an interesting story of how the Golden Buddha arrived at Wat Traimit. The image was cast in the thirteenth century. During the rein of Rama III (1824-1851) it was brought to Bangkok, but to conceal its value to would-be thieves it was encased in stucco. It wasn't until 1955 when being transported to its current location at Wat Traimit that a crack in the stucco revealed the true nature of what lied beneath. It was then restored to its original glory.
 
The lustrous Golden Buddha sits on a white marble lotus-pad surrounded with offerings of lotus flowers. The Buddha sits with the right leg folded over the left; his left hand lies in his lap with the palm upward while the right hand rests on his knee with fingertips facing the earth. The statue weighs 5.5 tons and from weight alone is valued over ten million dollars. It is very fitting that the Golden Buddha would reside in Chinatown, home to one of the world's largest gold markets.
 

Yaowarat Road at night.

It is now one of our final nights in Bangkok and after a wild tuk-tuk ride we are back on Yaowarat Road. Neon signs flash overhead and below all traffic is at a crawl. The gold shops have all closed their doors and rolled down the metal gates, but now in front of them are vendors selling food. Trays with mounds of green and red chili peppers are on a table in the middle of a sidewalk. Next to them are buckets of rice and a cauldron for cooking noodles. A sweaty lady labors to cook food for the waiting crowd. Men sit on plastic chairs and enjoy a savory dish.
 
Trying to maneuver through the streets and around the traffic and stalls are throngs of people, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. I look below and there is a man with no legs moving alongside us. He carries a money purse across his shoulders and uses wooden blocks to grip as he walks on stump and hand across the sidewalk.
 

We find a small noodle shop and go inside for a bite to eat. It is a refreshing reprieve from the chaos of outside and we look at a menu that offers pictures for some of the dishes. Jenelle isn't hungry, but I order a bowl of fish-ball soup. It comes in a simple form. Along with a handful of bisected balls of fish are a few slices of greens and a modest amount of noodles. The fishy broth is smooth and hits the spot.
 
Our night is winding down. On our way to our hotel we stop at Odeon Circle. This is considered the gateway to Chinatown. A large roundabout marks the intersection of Yaowarat Road and Charoen Krung. In the middle of the circle is a huge red Chinese gate. It is ornate as is everything in Thailand, with Chinese letters on one side and Thai on the other. It was built in 1999 as part of the celebrations for King Bhumibol's 72nd birthday. It is now an icon in Bangkok. Below the gate are two lion statues made of white jade.
 
On the other side of the roundabout is another shrine. It is a small but ornate building with red columns and two Chinese globes hanging from the top. In front are tables set out with offerings. I can see people over there, one lady is lighting a candle or incense. It amazes me because it is close to ten o'clock at night and the city seems as alive as ever. ♠ 

Chinese gate at Odeon Circle.

Chinatown—Las Vegas

The six of us sit around a table with a circular grill in the center. Kimchi, pickled vegetables, rice, dipping sauce and a bevy of other condiments spread across the table. When the Asian waitress comes she brings three plates heaped with meat: bulgogi, beef brisket, and pork belly. Some are sliced paper-thin while others remain thicker, each with streaks of fat. With silver tongs she transfers the mound of meat to the grill and soon the fillets begin to sizzle and curl and a sweet aroma fills the air. This is how we begin our first Korean barbeque.
 

Until a few years ago, I had no idea that Las Vegas had its own Asian District. Since that time, it has become a mandatory stop when we travel to Sin City.
 
Unlike the Chinatowns of New York or San Francisco, which have a long history with Chinese-Americans, this two-and-a-half-mile strip of Las Vegas is relatively modern—1995 to be exact. It began when Henry Hwang, K.C. Chen and James Chen built a seven-acre shopping district in the style of an emperor's palace, with ceramic-tiled roofs and a paifang entrance gate. Over the years it has grown and now the streets are lined with restaurants, supermarkets, massage parlors and signs in Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Vietnamese, Thai and more. Roughly speaking, the Asian District centers on Spring Mountain Road and runs all the way from I-15 to Rainbow Boulevard. 

Not only did I eat my first Korean barbeque at Chinatown in Las Vegas, but my first Vietnamese pho and Indonesian mie goreng. It was here I received my first foot massage. I think you can find almost any Asian item you are looking for in Chinatown. I come here to buy kaffir lime leaves and Thai eggplant.
 
Tucked behind a massage parlor and sushi house we found an authentic Japanese Ramen shop. This was recommend by a friend who assured me that they were just like the ramen shops in Tokyo. Once again it was on-the-job learning as I watched them bring a large bowl of noodles with black broth and an egg, corn and slab of butter to garnish. I learned to hold the chopsticks in my right hand while using a spoon to slurp up the broth in my left.
 

Probably my favorite place to visit in Chinatown is the supermarket. Along Spring Mountain Road there are at least two large Asian grocery stores, as well as a Korean supermarket. This last time I gave each of my kids a small allowance and let them choose their own instant noodles. We love ramen at our house, but at an Asian supermarket, you have an entire aisle full of noodles you would never find at home. They had a hey-day buying their own private stash of exotic noodles to bring home.
 
As for me, I scoured the store for anything I've never tried before. In the past I've bought duck eggs, fermented soy bean chili sauce, furikake, masaman curry, tom yum soup paste, fish balls, rice noodles and dried shrimp. I love the smell of fresh fish on ice or pungent aroma coming from the spice aisle. It truly feels like you're in another country. 

Back at the Korean barbeque our waitress teaches us how to eat. After grilling the meat, you wrap it in a leaf of lettuce, then dip it in a garlicky soy sauce. If you prefer, you may eat it with rice. In addition to our meat there are small plates with kimchi, glass noodles, pickled vegetables, spring rolls and other condiments we've never heard of. We begin practicing and start to get the hang of it. The most difficult part is using chopsticks, but that we overcome. The meat is extremely tender and each has its own unique flavor. When we are finished, the waitress brings more. We choose baby octopus, squid and another plate of bulgogi.

After an hour we all are stuffed! This Korean barbeque is all-you-can-eat, and a great deal from what I understand—only $20 per person. In my typical fashion, I pick the leftovers from my kids' plates and finish off the condiments. To top things off, we each get to choose a scoop of ice cream—strawberry, chocolate or green tea. I choose the chocolate and savor every last bite . . . and then I finish off the last of the kimchi. Money well spent! ♠