Afghanistan to Zambia: Chronicles of a Footloose Forester

By Dick Pellek

Not one to miss an opportunity to see what was nearby; a restless tropical forester scheduled or planned trips to or through nearly 100 countries during his working career. Afghanistan was the first country he jotted notes about, and when his official duties later took him to Zambia, the title Afghanistan to Zambia: Chronicles of a Footloose Forester began to emerge as his memoirs.

 

This personal memoir is about capturing in print the more vivid reveries of over 80 countries; and some themes that form his viewpoint about what he saw and did there.  It was never intended as a travelogue or historical account, merely as a receptacle of personal adventure stories.  Thus, as he wandered and crisscrossed the globe over a span of four decades, he was not overly concerned about a chronological order.  In the case of Viet Nam and Haiti, however, it spurred two or three chronicles that serve as poignant accounts of both past and present.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 2, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452031538

Dick Pellek

Author Dick Pellek spent five decades on the road—again—during his career as a forester. His interest in tropical and international forestry impelled him to keep notes and copies of records regarding his travels, observations, and experiences in many of the 106 countries and territories he visited or worked in. Volume I of Acer Rubrum to Zyzyphus Jujuba: Essays and Dreams is an attempt to dissociate his opinions and thoughts, including those emanating from dreams, from his stories based primarily on past travels and adventures. Chronicles relating primarily to anecdotes about places and events have been selected for inclusion in Volume II of Acer Rubrum to Zyzyphus Jujuba: Stories and Adventures. Dick Pellek currently resides in Greenbackville, Virginia, with his wife and soul mate of fifty-one years, who is a central figure in many of the chronicles by the author, who prefers to narrate in the third person tense, as the Footloose Forester. Till this day he and his wife are still celebrating their honeymoon.

Book preview

Preface

Some people I meet truly want to hear tales of my travels, but others show no interest or don’t care one way or another. Not wanting to be a bore, most times I choose not to tell too many stories. But that is not to say that there are no stories, or that some people might not find them interesting. The trouble is, it is difficult to tell a story that is entirely true, or entirely correct in its detail and in its chronology. One instinct I have always held is to tell only stories that are true, because they are the ones that I find are most worthwhile in their re-telling. But the more that time blurs the details, the less total correctness remains. Since those memories span the period from 1964 and beyond, the details become fuzzy, in some respects. But, my reservations notwithstanding, these are a few of the memories that I myself am inclined to tell as real-life stories about a Footloose Forester gadfly about the globe. No, the Footloose Forester was never CIA.

The bullets, the bombs and the bloodshed

Many in the Pellek family talk about me as somehow being mixed up in fighting, wars or espionage. One joke was about me secretly working for the CIA, but never coming clean about it. Not true. The CIA probably has more applicants and wanna-be operatives than they could possibly manage or pay for. Being in the CIA was never something I wanted to do because I don’t like secrets, I don’t like lies and I thoroughly dislike liars. So I never wanted to be in a position of telling lies for the sake of protecting myself, someone else, or some state secrets. There simply was too much honest work to be done in my chosen realm of international development work, or helping the less fortunate anywhere I happened to be, in any variety of jobs. But that is not to say that those who suspected that I had CIA ties didn’t have some suspicious circumstances that I was too close to. Sometimes I went into areas where trouble had occurred, other times I was in the midst of the shooting and the bombing; and other times the violence later occurred on the very spots where I had been.

Some of the shooting was far away, sometimes it was a block or two away. Sometimes the bullets whizzed overhead. My basic training in the army taught me a lesson one never forgets what it sounds like when machine gun bullets snap just over your head. Earlier as a youth I had been in front of small arms fire when my brother Ronny and I approached a sandbank from the wrong side and wandered into someone’s target practice. The ricochet rounds sound different, but the deadly danger is real. So I wasn’t too concerned with the gunfire in the streets of Kashmir, because there was no snapping of bullets coming our way, or no ricochets taking chunks out of buildings in our direction. The shooting did seem to take place each day we three Peace Corps Volunteers were in Srinagar for a short holiday. Later that year, I showed up in Vientiane, Laos to hear of the bombing of the royal palace by a disgruntled pilot who stole an armed fighter bomber and made his political statement.

For the most part, the bombs and bullets in Viet Nam were in the hinterlands. As a civilian I didn’t normally carry a gun, but wished at times I didn’t feel so helpless. Especially during the second VC summer offensive during 1968. At that time they infiltrated a section of the outskirts of Saigon where I lived, so came close enough to make things dicey. One morning about 2 AM I recall hearing them advance along the streets, running in the dark. That was one of those days when the memories are strongest. I had only a butcher knife to protect myself, as I waited for any VC to break in and come after me on the third floor of my apartment building. It was one of those defining moments in life when you find out who you are. As I prepared to die, I remember making a vow to take one of them with me. And it really felt good to know at last that I could answer the question about how I would react when in real danger. But they advanced past my small, unassuming building and didn’t tip their hand about where their planned attack was going to take place. Civilian or not, many of us saw lots of action of one form or another. There were mortar attacks, rocket attacks, ambushes and, for me, one memorable frontal assault. That was conducted by only a handful of VC who attacked an ARVN machine gun post next to the house where I was staying on the outskirts of Pleiku. At about 1:30 in the morning, the VC opened up on the machine gun position. My host and PA&E colleague told me to get my weapon and make haste to his personal bunker outside. So I grabbed my pants and shoes, then the M-14 rifle he had given me the night before. We spent only an hour or so in the bunker, and there really wasn’t that much firing. The VC always count on surprise but when they didn’t take out the machine gun after the first volley, the fearsome 50 caliber raked the positions where the firing came from. The ARVN also used parachute flares to light up the brush and tree line. When it got quiet and it seemed that the attack had ended, a VC soldier stood up to retreat just as a final parachute flare opened to reveal his face. He was directly in my gun sights but he started to run so that if I had chosen to pull the trigger, my bullet would have gotten him in the back, only 50 yards away. In an instant, I knew that both of us would live to see another day, so I don’t regret not shooting a man in the back. On the other hand, I know full certain that had he chosen to advance instead of turn away, I would have pulled that trigger.

Being around the action in Viet Nam led to plenty of predictable moments of violence. But some of the earlier and later encounters were not expected. Take for example, my Peace Corps service in Pakistan. At a time when Pakistan was composed of the provinces of West Pakistan and East Pakistan, separated by 1000 miles of the Republic of India, none of us could know how the peace and calm of the desert would turn into a war zone. In 1965 India and Pakistan engaged in a brief war precipitated by the presumption of cross-border incursions by India into the Rann of Kutch, a Pakistani desert area on the border that might contain oil deposits. Since the ensuing 10-day war is now a distant memory, so is the talk of oil in the Rann of Kutch. For me, the only clear memory of the war occurred one clear midnight in Bahawalpur, the large village of my Peace Corps assignment in West Pakistan. Through the silent desert air the sound of a single airplane kept getting louder. I ran outside into the courtyard to catch a glimpse above the nine foot walls of my compound. When it passed over my house I noted the spot on the wall where it first appeared, then turned to see the spot on the opposite wall where it passed by. It was a twin-engine RB-66, or Canberra bomber. I had seen whole squadrons of them lined up along the runways at two U.S. air bases in Morocco, so there was no mistake. Besides, it was only about 300 feet up, to keep under Pakistani radar. Then I hurried into my house and dug out my compass and a map of the area, which included our position in Bahawalpur, and the border area of India and Pakistan. Using the compass, I sighted on the wall to determine the azimuth from which the bomber had appeared, and then, turning around, the azimuth of the direction of flight. I then aligned the compass on the map and drew a line from Bahawalpur back to the source azimuth and another line from Bahawalpur to the destination, based on the forward azimuth. Within a few minutes I knew that the plane had come from Jodhpur Air Base in India, and it was heading to Multan Air Base in Pakistan. A few hours later when I arrived at the classroom to teach my 65 students of forestry surveying, I had my compass and map along. It was probably the only classroom lecture in which they paid full attention. First, I asked them what they knew about the plane that had flown overhead, what it was, where they thought it was going, and where it came from. Then I reminded them of the lesson on re-section we had covered the previous week--the process of using a compass to sight on an objective, then drawing a straight line on a map in the opposite direction. They lit up with interest as I told them I had the answers before the bomber reached its destination. My students all knew that Multan Air Base was bombed (only a few cows near the runway killed) because it was announced on the early morning radio broadcast. But they were all surprised to know that the bomber came from Jodhpur Air Base. From that day on, if not before, I was suspected of being a CIA agent working for the other side. Oh yes, before I showed them the map of the azimuth lines leading from Jodhpur to Multan and directly over us in Bahawalpur, I snipped off the margins of the U.S. Air Force map that had been provided to me by the Peace Corps, not the CIA.

On the road …again!

Afghanistan to Zambia

Chronicles of a Footloose Forester

By Dick Pellek

Table of Contents

Preface

A is for Afghanistan

A is for Australia

Analysis of a Post-It Note

A for Austria

B is Belgium

B for Belize

B for Burkina Faso

B for Botswana

B is for Burundi

California

C is for Cambodia

C is Canada

Canyon on the Feather River

C is Cape Verde

Caving in California

C was Ceylon

C for Comoros

C for Costa Rica

Desolation Valley Wilderness Area

D is for Denmark

Dominican Republic

Elk City, Idaho

E for Egypt

E is for El Salvador

England

E is for Ethiopia

Exposé or Critique?

F is for France

G for Gabon

G is for Germany

G is for Ghana

Golfing Where and When You Can

G for Greece

Guam

G is Guatemala

H is for Haiti

H for Haiti, Revisited

Haiti in Tears

H is for Hawaii

H for Hong Kong

H is Honduras

H for Hungary

Idaho

In and Under Flying Things

In the Army

I is for India

I is for Indonesia

I for Iran

Iraq

Italy

J is for Japan

J for Jordan

K is for Kenya

L is for Laos

L for Lebanon

L is for Lesotho

M was Macau

M is for Madagascar

M is Malawi

M is for Mali

M is Malta

Making Enemies

M for Malaysia

Maple Trees

Mauritania

M is Mauritania - Updated

M is Mexico

M for Montana

M is Morocco

N is for Namibia

N for Nepal

Netcong, New Jersey

N is New Zealand

N for Nicaragua

N is Nigeria

On Growing Things

On Languages

On Moseying

On Name Dropping

On Tree Planting

P is for Pakistan

P for Panama

Pets and Their Adventures

Plant Propagation Around the World

P for Portugal

R is for Russia

R is Rwanda

Santo Antão, Cape Verde

S is Senegal

Smuggler, Forger and Grave Robber

S for Spain

Sponge That Tastes Good

Schooling for Life

S is Singapore

Softball

S for South Africa

Switzerland

T is for Tanzania

The First Time I Met a …..

The Rhine Freezes Over

The Tiger and the Bear

T for Thailand

Threatened with Extinction

T for Togo

T for Trinidad

Trinity Center, California

T for Turkey

U is for Uganda

V is Venezuela

V was Viet Nam

Viet Nam

V is Viet Nam

W is for Wales

Wrights Lake

Kyburz, California

Zaire

Z is for Zambia

Z for Zimbabwe

On the road …again!

Afghanistan to Zambia

Chronicles of a Footloose Forester

By Dick Pellek

A is for Afghanistan

His urge to visit Afghanistan was precisely as James Michener described in his book Caravans. That was many years ago and he has forgotten just what Michener said in the book about the incident of a young Marine and his brief, forbidden encounter with an veiled Afghani woman. Something about such events keeping a generation of travelers on the road in quest of memories. Wanderlust, the urge to travel, the open road... yes, it affected the Footloose Forester, too. Even worse then than it does now. But it was only co-incidence that he was reading Caravans as he was waiting for his Afghani visa to come through. For him the trip was not just daydreaming. He was a Peace Corps Volunteer forester in Pakistan and the trip to the land of the camel caravan was only a short flight from his jumping off place in Peshawar on the Pakistani side of the Khyber Pass. Caravans was, for him, one of the most enjoyable of books, even if he soon came to learn that Afghanistan was not exactly a tourist Mecca.

The short flight to Kabul in a twin engine DC-6 was uneventful, but he was to learn that flying in and out of Kabul’s Baghram airport in the 1960s was not to be taken matter-of- factly. Expatriates he met referred to Ariania, the national Afghani airlines, as Scariania--three frights a day. It was indeed scary to see the mountains rising up sharply so close to the end of the runway. When the wind was coming from the east, it was not of too much concern because the rise in the land was more gentle facing east toward the Khyber Pass. But when the wind pattern dictated that flights had to take off and land on a western heading, it added a rush of exhilaration to the whole affair. Of course, Footloose Forester got the bonus of a thrilling exit, stage West,--at no extra charge.

The episode that sticks in his mind, however, is what happened while they were waiting to take off for Teheran. As he sat waiting in his chilly seat opposite the open door which faced the terminal building, he followed with boredom the approach of three people (two men and a woman) coming from the terminal. It was cold in late November, but the door was left open to permit the last of the passengers to board, and he hoped this group was them. In those days it was still a matter of walking from the terminal to the airplane, and as they made their way he wondered if all three of them were passengers. He had the feeling that someone was flying and someone was seeing them off. As he followed the progress of the people, he guessed that they were colleagues. And he didn’t have too much longer to wait. As all three climbed the steps into the plane, it took his curiosity to the limits. He still couldn’t tell who was going and who was staying. It also tells you something about the state of airport security in those days; no attendant came to check boarding passes. Well, he never figured out who these colleagues were in relation to one another, but he couldn’t avoid seeing the farewell formalities taking place in front of him. The gentleman with the beard was staying behind; and then he bid adieu to his colleagues: a firm handshake for the woman and a kiss on each cheek for the man.

The local flavor of Kabul is something he is not likely to forget, either. Every morning hundreds, perhaps thousands of Afghanis go to the Kabul River to perform their ablutions. The routine for most people goes something like this: start with a washing of hands to prepare for the brushing of teeth. Brush teeth with a brisk motion of a finger working inside the mouth; continue with washing face, arms and other body parts, and conclude with a discrete urination and perhaps defecation while standing knee-deep in the river. Sometimes, he vividly recalls, the steps were reversed, that is, by a final brushing of teeth with a well-washed finger in the mouth and scrubbing briskly. In the meantime, another Afghani quietly slipped into the river downstream and started his ritual ablutions. Most disgusting to contemplate was when the initial teeth brushing downstream came immediately after the final defecation by a neighbor upstream. Yes, Afghanistan may not be a tourist haven, but then not too many tourists expect to freshen up the way many of the local inhabitants do.

On the road…again!

Afghanistan to Zambia

Chronicles of a Footloose Forester

By Dick Pellek

A is for Australia

Memories of Australia never got beyond the hoping stage. Hoping to see things like kangaroos and koala bears and other creatures that are unique to Australia. The continent is too large to capture many experiences in a short time, or to sum it up in any short description, so the Footloose Forester was only hoping but not expecting too much. But he was able to hang onto a genuine piece of historical fact, related by an Australian in his own home. He was the head of the Forestry Department at Australian National University, and he invited the Footloose Forester home for dinner after work.

Sadly, Hugh Manning told of being a prisoner of war and being tortured by the Japanese when he was confined in a jungle camp in the Malay Peninsula during World War II. He did not elaborate and since his wife was also sitting at the dinner table, eye contact with her told Footloose Forester not to pursue the matter. Instead, we enjoyed a home cooked meal prepared by his wife. After dinner we enjoyed a sweet manioc roll that Footloose Forester had packed in his bag before he left Indonesia. Although they lived closer to Indonesia than did Footloose Forester, who was en route back to his studies in Hawaii, they were not aware that the Indonesians made such yummy treats that were packaged in cellophane wrap.

Except for the plane ride to Canberra to visit Australian National University, the uneventful time spent in Sydney and a brief walk to catch a glimpse of Sydney Harbor; there are no other sharp memories of Australia. One that was hopefully exciting was seeing the bright red of the Western Australia desert at sunrise, on that early morning flight out of Bali. To an outdoor type like the Footloose Forester, it was better than all the time spent in Sydney.

On the road…again!

Afghanistan to Zambia

Chronicles of a Footloose Forester

By Dick Pellek

Analysis of a Post-It Note

On some occasions the desire to write things down turned into exercises in analysis. This present episode is an analysis of a small piece of paper with 17 words and letters written upon it. Some critics would point to the effort as one example of why Pellek, the Footloose Forester, is weird and why he sometimes tends to overanalyze things. Of course, the Footloose Forester rationalizes his actions with the argument that most people don’t make the effort to analyze anything. Sometimes, many times, the consequences are important and analysis is one simple method of explaining why some things work and other things don’t work. Over the years, professional associates sometimes perceived the Footloose Forester as being negative because he chose to discuss negative aspects of projects when they were trying to promote them by always putting on the happy face. Any attempt to discredit their pet project was always taken as an affront. Seldom did anyone entertain the notion that all things in life are subject to challenge, and that the downside of situations are legitimately part of a proper analysis.

This making a mountain out of a mole hill is about a Post-It Note that eventually involved five people. The note was stuck to the glass door of a vending machine and it was originally intended to be a request for a refund for a dollar lost by a guy who did not get the item he paid for. Let’s call him John Rambo. Rambo’s choice to be ill-literate in his note led to the partial loss of his refund from the vending machine service operator. When he complained that he had put in a dollar but did not get his item, he wrote his first and last name and the simply worded notation owes me 100. Two observers at the scene suggested that he include the fact that he was not a company employee, and to also put a date on the transaction so that others who might be questioned about who gets the refund would know when he came to work, and when he was off. Rambo did not immediately take their advice, so Observer #1 again urged him to put his job title on the note so that anyone who was questioned about where to find him, the claimant, might know who he was and would be able to help out. A one-word job title was then scrawled on the note. Then Observer #2 added a date to the top of the note, using his own pen. Rambo did not take that advice, either.

At some stage the complications set in. A practical joker later came along and added a decimal point and two zeros, with a pen of a different color than the one Rambo used. Now the note said 100.00. Two days after the original posting of April 4, another person who lost money in the same vending machine added a claim and dated it Apr 6. Although the second person stated that he/she put in 60 cents, and an elaboration of the fact that the product did not come out, he/she did not include their name. A sure loss of 60 cents. And a second choice of an ill-literate written communication.

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines illiteracy as: the inability to read or write. This analysis is not an attempt to point out anyone’s literacy of lack thereof, but to point out that failure to provide fundamental information very often leads to not having a situation resolved satisfactorily. In this case, it may be said that ill-literacy can cost you money. But the story doesn’t end there. A few days later when the vending machine service man came and inquired who the person was who wanted a refund, he stated that the claim of $100 was probably some sort of joke, and he was not going to pay it. He said that he would provide 60 cents, the second claim amount from the same Post-It Note. His failure to recognize the original claim as one for a single dollar, and the alteration of the note with a decimal point and the additional two small zeros led to his decision of ignore the original, legitimate claim; and to proffer a refund to the second (unknown) person. The ill-literate mistakes of all parties led to Rambo losing out on his refund of a dollar; party #2 not getting his/her 60 cents because nobody knows who made the claim; and the vending machine service man was deluded into believing that he properly honored a claim.

Why does the Footloose Forester makes mountains out of the mole hills of such things as Post-It Notes? Because he sees the deficiencies in the operations of vending machine company policies that don’t bother to post their refund policies on the machines they service. Because he sees the shortsightedness of his fellow workers who repeatedly ignore the fundamentals of providing enough information to anyone, in order to achieve the results that satisfy the circumstances. In this case, it was a matter of two petty claims that amounted to less than two bucks. The matter could be shrugged off and forgotten, but it is likely that those same people will, in the future, give no further thought to resolving a similar issue because they don’t think deeply enough about what it takes to make the point. Importantly, the larger issue and the real reason for this analysis is to alert anyone who takes satisfaction in conducting their affairs with a mutually intelligible level of communication, that they should explain themselves, even if it is only in a brief note on a small piece of paper such as a Post-It-Note.

On the road…again!

Afghanistan to Zambia

Chronicles of a Footloose Forester

By Dick Pellek

A for Austria

Talk about exciting places and Austria always comes to mind. The mountains are tall, steep and often bring on that dizzy feeling when you look up, or look down. There are a few places that are not so beautiful in Austria but Footloose Forester chooses not to remember them at all. That is part of the luxury of a selective memory and a key to writing memoirs that celebrate the joyous events of the past. Footloose Forester was lucky enough to travel to Austria on more than one occasion, and on each of the three trips in and out, he delighted in seeing mountain passes by automobile, each time taking a different route. In fact, that was the way he always preferred to see the world, by taking one route in and another route out.

The first time to Austria was by bus from Bavaria in Germany, with the specific purpose to visit Innsbruck and the ancestral home of Brahms. His modest home, more like an apartment on a main street in town, was part of a tour organized by a US Army social service organization. It was a day trip but the beautiful sunshine of that day has always been included in the long term memory of the Footloose Forester. The second trip was with his brother Joe Pellek, when we played the role of gypsies on our way to Rome. We came via the Simplon Pass in a Volkswagen Squareback that the Footloose Forester bought new in Frankfurt, Germany. He was stationed with the US Army at an old Luftwaffe air base at Langendiebach, east of Frankfurt; and Joe was stationed with the Air Force in Lakenheath, England. We would both remember camping out in the mountains, and the monastery near the summit at Bernard’s Pass, where they actually trained and used St. Bernard dogs for avalanche rescues.

Finally, we remember the cozy warmth of the quilted comforters found in most hotel rooms in Austria. Based on the number of comforters we saw being aired out in the sunshine of day, quilted comforters are probably the most common bedding in private homes, as well.

On the road… again!

Afghanistan to Zambia

Chronicles of a Footloose Forester

By Dick Pellek

B is Belgium

Belgium, as one of the ‘low countries’ was not particularly appealing to Footloose Forester who much preferred mountains and mountainous countries. But he always respected the historical record of the Belgians who fought tough against the Nazis and always maintained their dignity throughout history. They also had a good relationship with the Americans during World War II, and Footloose Forester was ever willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Brussels was a beautiful city. The central square in the middle of the city was larger and cleaner than he would have imagined, and the government buildings there are well worth seeing just to note the spectacular architecture. They were on the agenda of things to see in Brussels, as well as the rather inconspicuous private water fountain on a near-by and very quiet street. Le Mannequin Pis has been an attraction since it was erected, and travel brochures always highlight it.

Over the years, however, Footloose Forester came to know and work with several Belgians and his respect for them and, therefore, for Belgium took on a higher level of esteem. A few were Walloons whose native language was French, and a few more were Flemings whose native tongue was Dutch. Two of the latter group spent some time with Footloose Forester doing similar work in soil conservation in Cape Verde. They were very well educated and very professional in the way they conducted their research for the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations. The best times, however, were those days off when Footloose Forester taught Paul DeWit and Chris Mannerts how to play golf on the arid plateau near where they worked in Cape Verde. One year Paul DeWit came to the United States on vacation and played golf with Footloose Forester in Pennsylvania. He stayed at the Pellek residence and seemed to enjoy himself except for the several times that young Lucy pestered him. A year or two later, the Footloose Forester visited Paul at his next FAO assignment in Botswana. Nice memories of nice people.

On the road…again!

Afghanistan to Zambia

Chronicles of a Footloose Forester

By Dick Pellek

B for Belize

Casual is the mode of dress and the mode of life, in general, in laid back Belize. The local Chamber of Commerce likes it to be known that even the governor comes to work in an Aloha shirt. The English speaking population makes you feel welcome, so a trip to Belize is likely to be a very pleasant memory for most Americans.

A diver’s paradise, the many cayes (pronounced keys) must be reached by boat. But there are plenty of boats for hire and the boat skippers know where the good diving sites are. Some of them are close to Belize City, but some of the best are due east more than 20 miles over water to the large reef that runs along the coast of several countries in Central America. Diving is great, day or night. One of the best places for a night dive in now part of a national underwater park. The Footloose Forester was interested in making such a dive, by way of comparison with the reef resources of Haiti. At the time, he was also engaged in doing preliminary survey work for an underwater marine park at the Archidenes in Haiti.

Every so often, Thu and the gadabout Footloose Forester agreed to take separate vacations. On the occasion of an opportunity to take a long vacation from his duties in