Globetrotting

My father had accepted a teaching position at the University of Khartoum in 1958. My mother, younger brother and I traveled by ocean liner from New York to Cairo in July 1958. We were supposed to stop in Beirut, however bombs were falling in the harbor and our ocean liner got there before the U.S. Marines, so we had to stay away. This photo was taken during our extensive travels across East Africa. My only memory of this sort of village is that a leopard had eaten a grown man just before we arrived. We were staying in huts like this, and I didn’t feel very safe. I didn’t sleep very much and was annoyed that my parents had brought me to Africa to be devoured by a leopard. 

Ali, our cook, brought home a baby goat one day. It was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I didn’t know how he had figured out that I needed a goat, but he had gotten it exactly right. This was the goat for me. My goat and I were inseparable for months. The goat never got a name, and the goat never got house broken, but I was a happy girl. As the goat got big, my parents, in desperation, suggested that it was now grown and should be returned to the stock yards. They explained to me that I had raised a fine goat, but the job was now done. I acquiesced. The goat was returned to the stock yards of Khartoum. Years later, I asked my parents how they had known that I wanted a goat. They finally confessed that the goat was supposed to be dinner. 

I remember this hotel very clearly. It had been built by the British for tourists visiting Mt. Kilimanjaro in East Africa. We had traveled though villages such as the one above, for what seemed like an eternity. I was so happy to find this hotel because it had flush toilets. Our house in Khartoum, Sudan had no flush toilets, only buckets. We had lots of servants to carry the buckets, but no technology to flush. Arriving at a real hotel with real toilets seemed like an incredible luxury that I thought I deserved. I thought that I would always be a flush toilet kind of girl. I have no memory of Mt. Kilimanjaro itself. 

These little deer are indigenous to East Africa and are known as “dik-diks.” I am only four years old, so you can see how small the animal is. This is a tame deer at the tourist hotel on Mt. Kilimanjaro.  My sister Lili had a pet dik-dik in the 1970s when she was living in Dar es Salaam. 

Big birthday parties are not new for me. This is my fourth birthday party in Khartoum and I remember it clearly. My father and his pals made these hats for the children. We thought they were pretty swell. Then, the men got rolling with the hat concept and started making silly and elaborate hats for themselves. Unfortunately, I could not find a picture of them with their ridiculous hats, but it was high entertainment for the children. 

This is my mother and I on the steps of Sacre Coeur in the summer of 1962. It was my first visit to Paris and I thought it was everything that a six year old could want. Everything was posh, and nobody thought that you should eat bacon and eggs for breakfast. The French fed me hot chocolate and croissants and that was enough. They gave me red wine at dinner and added water and sugar to the wine. Terribly civilized. 

Here I am with my brother and neighbor friends at our home in Oxford, England. We were living at #4 Polstead Road. Lawrence of Arabia had lived next door during the 1930’s. This would have been the wall that divides our house from his. The little Indian girl was my best friend. Her name is Kiki, and she was a much better friend once she learned English and stopped speaking her native Punjabi. There were some notable gaffes such as the time she came running down shouting that the walls in her house were covered with rats. My father went running to the rescue. She pointed to three flies on the wall and shouted “rats!” 

I hope you recognize the Prime Minister of India from 2004 to 2014. His daughter Kiki was my best friend back in England in 1961, when her father was studying Economics in Oxford with my father. Our families stayed in touch over the years. I visited India for the first time in 1996. Of course I wanted to visit the Taj Mahal. I was concerned that Manmohan's wife Gursharan would have already been there a thousand times. When asked, she replied to me, “What would you say if I were to tell you that I had never been?” That settled the matter and we visited the Taj Mahal together, both for the first time.  

I went to Bangladesh to visit my sister Lili after my visit to India. This is the only type of car that existed there in 1996. The outfit was custom made for me. The tailor could not believe how long my legs were and had to measure them himself. I felt like a movie star in Bangladesh. Nobody is that tall or that pale.  

I visited Cuba in 2002 on a legal “cultural tour.” The Bush administration allowed cultural visits at that time. Today they are again prohibited for Americans. I like this picture because you see the old colonial architecture, now in ruins, along with the cars from the 1950’s. My friend David took the picture and was convinced I would get run over standing in the street. Of course, I survived.  

Our Cuban guidebook promised a “riding stable with Olympic-quality horses” in Lenin Park, outside of Havana.  There were indeed Olympic-quality horses, but the stable was absolutely not open to the public. My taxi driver was sympathetic to my plight, and promised he could get me the horseback ride I had come for. The man in the photo happened to be going down the road with a younger fellow accompanying him on the white horse.  My taxi driver explained that I was an American lady looking to ride horses and the fellow pronounced that his horses were the best horses in Cuba. If you look carefully, you will see that the reins are made of twine, not leather, and it is a pretty primitive entourage ensemble. The horse started dancing in the most peculiar fashion when I mounted.  I learned later that this is the special “Paso Fino” gait for which these horses are named. Paso Fino literally means “Fine Gait” and is very comfortable for the rider. In all, it was a great ride. So the lesson I learned that day is to ride the horse that shows up.
 

This scene is from Delhi, India in 2004.  On the way to a fancy dinner with my friend David, I spotted this elephant in the street and leapt out of the car. David yelled because I was jumping out of a moving car.  I just pointed and said, “elephant!”  It was part of a wedding party and the handlers were walking it home. They saw the opportunity for a large tip and asked if I wanted a ride. Within seconds, I was riding the elephant, which was no small accomplishment, as I was wearing evening clothes rather than an elephant riding habit. I yelled to my friend to take a photograph. The flash on the camera bothered the elephant, who started throwing a fit. His handlers had us move under a street light to make it easier for all involved.