THE PRICE OF IMMORTALITY!

What makes a man murder innocent people and claim a victory for himself? For instance, the recent Oslo bombing and mass murder of young men and women at a camp in Norway by the right-wing political extremist Anders Behring Breivik who called himself a fundamentalist Christian. He said he is a supporter of a “monocultural Christian Europe”–all this in face of the change in Europe toward a secular society. In no way can his murderous insane actions be prompted by any understanding of the teachings of Jesus.

In Breivik’s case it is personal importance at any price. So pertinent is the tale from the foreword of Lajos Egri’s “The Art of Dramatic Writing” where, in classical Greece, a young man is caught for defacing major statues. He is asked if he knows the penalty is death. He answers, “I am a nobody. All my life I’ve been a nobody. I’ve never done anything to distinguish myself and I knew I never would. I wanted to do something to make people notice me . , . and remember me.” After a moment’s silence he added, “Only those people die who are forgotten. I feel death is a small price to pay for immortality!” Breivik will not be forgotten.

Climbing Kinabalu

When in the clothing manufacturing business in Asia, more than a few years back, I flew around the world twice a year for about six years. Each time I would take a scenic break somewhere for a few days. Once I climbed Mt. Kinabalu on the Island of Borneo. It was an unforgettable experience.   The mountain, the second highest in Southeast Asia is today 13,436 feet high.  But when I climbed it, it was a bit shorter as it is a granite pluton that pushes up at the rate of 5 mm per year.

It is covered with incredible flora and fauna that exist nowhere else, including orchids of endless varieties.  The summit is amazing as it is naked granite, having been once covered with ice and snow. The views to the north are of the South China Sea and the Sulu Sea and to the south of the beauty of the island of Borneo with is mystical clouds and jungle. I signed my name in a protected  summit guest book. Strange thing is that a few months later, at a dinner table in a Colorado Ski Resort, I met a woman who had signed that book a few weeks later.

What a wonderful world.  Has anyone elst climbed this great mountain?

The Wonderful Moscow Metro

Russia can’t build a decent car. But it can build the best rockets, incredible fighter planes, all kinds of technology, and the world’s best subway, the Moscow Metro. You’ve heard about them. They are works of art. In the main Metro ring and stations in Moscow they are filled with statuary and frescoes. The architecture is superb.

The Moscow Metro was built in 1935,  is 301.2 km (187.2 mi) of length, 12 lines, and 182 stations. The highest passenger traffic is highest on weekdays, when the Metro carries over 7 million passengers per day. Of course you know about the dogs that ride the Metro daily to visit their favorite dining grounds.

Ride the Moscow Metro. It is a treat. Get a guide book and top off at the most artistic stations. But do it on the weekend.

Learn more. Buy here  “Walking on Ice, An American Businessman in Russia”

Fort Collins is a Wonderful Town

Nestled in the foothills of The Rocky Mountains, Fort Collins, Colorado is one of my favorite towns anywhere. In 2006, Money ranked Fort Collins as the best place to live in America,^[18] proclaiming that “great schools, low crime, good jobs in a high-tech economy and a fantastic outdoor life make Fort Collins No. 1.” For my money it always was.

I discovered it as a Forestry student at Colorado State University.  When I returned in 2005 to get an alumni award from CSU I realized that although it had expanded and was now about 140,000 population, it still had the friendly feeling I knew as a student. And I will never forget The Poudre Valley Creamery – the best milkshakes ever.

The location is great if you like mountains. Skiing and hiking are nearby in the West. It is only an hour north of Denver and its big international airport. Yes, it was a fort and there was a man named Collins back in the mid-1800s.  It’s grown-up now, but still has that charm and healthy life style. It’s a favorite.

Rocks in your pack?

I went to college in Colorado and I remember a story that has always stuck with me.

Some guys went hiking in the Rockies, up to a lake high above timberline. Each climber has his pack, bedroll, food, etc. on his back – heavy. With the thinning air as they climbed the boys stopped and rested ever so often—all except one. Jeff was from New Jersey. He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to get there first. When advised by the experienced climbers, he ignored them and went on.

When once they caught up with Jeff, they started slipping pretty big rocks into his pack. Soon he had to stop and catch his breath and rest. The others rested with him. From then on they were all together. At the top they managed to unload the rocks without his knowledge and had a private laugh.

Why do I remember this? The lesson is about unwanted weight. The “rocks” we carry in our thought slow us down. We need to carry forward only what we need today, not yesterday’s unsolved problems, bad memories, jealousies, bad thoughts about others. Life is an uphill path and can be a beautiful climb with all we really need, and no more.

What do you think about this?

Sound familiar?

Let me know!

Thanks.

PRAGUE~ A very special city

From my global travels there is a short list of cities that remain as very special places to me, for many different reasons.  Prague, in the Czech Republic, is certainly one of them. I had a business there.

Prague has been a political, cultural and economic center of Europe and particularly central Europe for the over 1,100 years. The famous Charles Bridge, with parts dating to the year 885, crosses the Vltava River (aka Moldau) and takes you into the Old Town Square with its famous Astronomical Clock and ancient buildings including the Kafka Museum. Prague was one city that was largely spared of World War II destruction.

But, it is the culture that holds me. The Bohemian composers including Dvorak, Smetana, and Janacek, are among my favorites. The writer Franz Kafka is a legend. The poet Rilke and writer Kundera are special. One night I bought a ticket to see the opera “Don Giovanni” in the Estates Theater where Mozart conducted its premier in 1787. Mozart liked Prague and named his Symphony No. 38 after it.

I agree with Mozart.

SIBERIAN TIGER TALES

The famous Siberian Tiger has been getting a lot of attention of late. Even Mr. Putin says he knows one. The wild population of Siberian tigers is estimated at around 350-450 tigers. They live in the southeast corner of Russia east of the Amur River. They are the largest of the tiger species and can grow up to 13 feet in length and weigh up to 700 lbs. Not your cuddly bed-partner.

They are an endangered species with the primary threats to its survival in the wild being poached for their fur and for their body parts used in  Chinese folk medicine.and habitat loss from intensive logging and development.

A romantic account of this fascinating cat is the beautiful book “Spirit of the Siberian Tiger, Folktales of the Russian Far East” by Alexander B. Dolitsky head of the Alaska-Siberian Research Center in Juneau, Alaska. This is a wonderful and entertaining book which I have recommended to many and loved by all. The artwork is magical and the well-written stories so entertaining. Highly recommended.

A full story of this colorful animal and its survival is found in the book “The Tiger, A True Story of Vengeance and Survival” by John Vaillant. It was chosen by our local book club.

What do you have to add on this fascinating subject?

Buy here  “Walking on Ice, An American Businessman in Russia”

Orange County, California, Today

 OC has become famous via TV and for lots of more sensible reasons. I have lived here for over 25 years and witnessed the change, mostly desirable. I have traveled the world and lived abroad, but this is the best, in my humble opinion. Everyone admits it has been an unequaled growth story. A recent article in the New York Times headlined it with the political change where Republican voters have dropped to 43 percent. The demographic, ethnic and political changes are transforming the county and challenging long-held views of a region whose colorful, its detractors might suggest zany, reputation extends well beyond the borders of California.

At 3.1 million population it is larger now than the state of Iowa. There are 34 cities in the country and I read its gross domestic product (GDP) is higher than Arizona and New Mexico combined. It’s half way between Los Angeles and San Diego. Now we boast one of the finest cultural music and entertainment centers in America and receive orchestras and performing arts from all over Europe, Asia, and the Americas. The John Wayne Airport efficiently provides non-stop service to many major cities.

According to the New York Times, “At the end of 2009, nearly 45 percent of the county’s residents spoke a language other than English at home, according to county officials. Whites now make up only 45 percent of the population; this county is teeming with Hispanics, as well as Vietnamese, Korean and Chinese families.” The point is the diversity is invigorating, not to mention the abundance of good restaurants. My observation is that even with the multi-national population, they are all American and active in community affairs.

It is a great place to live – not cheap, but full of expectation and opportunity. And it’s on the Pacific Ocean with some great beaches and sunsets.

Coyotes, prairie dogs, tanks and B-29s

It was seven years after the Great Depression had leveled the fortunes and morale of the nation and raised the hopes of my parents for finally producing a boy after three lovely daughters. The richness of the desert was the only richness around. The Andresen’s never had much, but we never lacked. In 1939 Hitler launched his invasion of Poland and Czechoslovakia. I was safe in the desert of West Texas. Before I would reach my teens, the silence of the desert would be blasted by the roar of maneuvering tanks and the shouts of sergeants; and from Biggs Force Base, five miles across the desert, the drone of B-17s leaving to their bases in England from which to bomb Germany, and B-29s to the Pacific to bomb Japan. It was a thrilling time for a young boy.

Seven identical red brick houses formed an island in the West Texas desert, holding the families operating El Paso Natural Gas Company Station #3, one of seven “booster stations” on the pipeline delivering natural gas from the fields of Texas and New Mexico to California.

The desert around us was full of mystery and beauty for me. With my dog, Jeannie, I trekked through the desert until I lost sight of home. It was always a thrill to lose sight of my house and the tall water tank emblazoned with the company emblem. Then the adventure began. The desert was full of living things: coyotes, jack rabbits, prairie dogs, hawks, tarantulas, and a myriad of small birds. But in all my life in the desert, I never saw a rattlesnake. I learned they hid during the heat of the day and would come out at dusk. My dog would come home with her long ears full of cockle-burrs. I often had a sunburn so painful my mother would put me chest down on the bed and rub me with calamine lotion. That was all we had in those days.

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St. Petersburg and Moscow ~ Cats and Dogs

These two cities define what most see of Russia, and they are so different, yet in some ways the same. They have forever been in contest with each other, and are today.

 Moscow is a masculine city. It is an exploding powerhouse of opportunity held together by threads of personal energy and ambition. It is a cocoon of lives stacked seven stories high, living all the happiness and sins of people anywhere – only at the extremes Russians are so capable of.  Moscow hardly sleeps. It has a muscular aggressiveness unique in Europe and traffic jams that make Los Angeles look easy. The one word that describes Moscow is power.

 St. Petersburg is a feminine city. Her historic personality is as an elegant and noble woman sitting draped with the jewels of her youth waiting for her prince to return. This “Venice of the North” with its symmetry, architecture, statuary, art museums, performing art, palaces, gardens and languid summers with endless days make it a city never to be forgotten.  St. Petersburg is not Russia; it is the historical myth of Imperial Russia.

 Moscow is a city of dogs. There are two classes. One can be seen in vagabond packs or stalking alone, scheming to survive, begging, much like the city’s underclass inhabitants. The other is the canine elite, who walk their masters, regardless of rank, in the parks each morning and evening. The disenfranchised class lurks around the apartment blocks sniffing the garbage for anything to swallow.

 St. Petersburg is a city of cats. From the streets at night, you can see their shining eyes, peering through the arches from the inner decay of “Dostoevsky‘s St. Petersburg,” the faceless blocks of communal flats. The cats hang comfortably in the dead trees, dine elegantly in the overflowing garbage, sit regally on the broken steps. For some reason, the cats always look healthy and fat.

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