By way of introduction - part two

In 1994 I became one of a tiny group of journalists to have reported from North Korea, the last Stalinist dictatorship.

The planet’s most extreme personality cult meant that the ‘Great Leader’ – Kim Il Sung – was even over my bed at night.

A handful of Westerners had approached the DMZ – the Demilitarized Zone separating the two Koreas – from the northern side. North Korean soldiers escorted me to the ‘truce village’ of Panmunjom.

And I had a unexpected evening competing with my driver on Pyongyang’s driving range. He won.

Considerable research before going had not revealed that it was the sort of place to have a driving range or golf course. I saw both. The North Korean media has reported that the ‘Dear Leader’ – Kim Jong Il – has repeatedly shot holes-in-one while playing. Once, he apparently shot five holes-in-one in a single round! That I didn’t see.

In 1998 friends suggested I might enjoy Northern Cyprus for a holiday. Not many tourists go as Northern Cyprus is only recognized as a state by one other country – Turkey. I stayed in a delightful small hotel by an idyllic harbour on the northern coast. One day a battered old yacht with a mascot tied to the mast tied up. The mascot – named ‘Threadbear’ – was sitting on a trunk.

Such a boat and bear must have an interesting owner. Bob Beckingham was a character and we shared a lot of laughs and drinks by the harbour. He was, as you might have guessed, English. By the way, you can see my hotel just over Bob’s right shoulder.

In Northern Cyprus, I had Greek cities and Crusader castles more or less to myself. The food was great, the local wine drinkable and everything was cheap. The locals were delightful and, in a village café, these two hospitable old boys insisted on buying my coffee.

I’ve made a number of trips to the Philippines, staying in a remote area with excellent scuba diving. If I weren’t so lazy, enough odd things have happened to me in the Philippines to be the makings of a good book. It’s certainly the only place I’ve been where Coca-Cola was prominently advertised on the wall of the local jail.

Ocean travel has long appealed to me. A few years ago, I travelled aboard a container ship from Philadelphia to Auckland, New Zealand. Here we are with another ship waiting to go through the Panama Canal. It's an approximately twelve hour passage, so a canvas canopy's been rigged to protect the crew from the sun.

You've probably seen lots of canal pictures, so, instead, I'll include a dining table the stewards set up on deck, so we wouldn't miss anything. In the background is one of the parallel locks.

My trip to New Zealand was so successful I next spent three months going around the world on a British container ship. Nineteen days out of London we approached Cape Town. You can just see the flat top of Table Mountain.



On freighters you're allowed on the bridge, in the engine room and other places you could never possibly get to on a normal passenger ship. Here I am, at the very bottom of the ship in the tunnel that runs the length of the vessel just above the keel.



Freighters particularly interest me, but, while they were still afloat, I wanted to experience the two last liners from the golden era of transatlantic travel.

In 1999, I sailed on the Norway, formerly the France and the glory of the French Line. In her day, she was the longest passenger ship ever built. Even in her declining years, suffering the indignity of a ‘sports bar’, she still had a certain je ne sais quoi.

A couple of years later, I took Cunard’s QE2 from New York to Southampton. In six nights, I put on my dinner jacket (tuxedo) two or three times. For a very informal person, this was a sacrifice, but well worth it given the setting.

The only bow-on picture I could manage of the ship unavoidably included a concrete abutment, but here it is.

I dined with ‘the lady who lives on the QE2’. Bea Muller, from the States, has been aboard more or less permanently since 2000. After her husband died, she decided the ship was better than a retirement home.

I pose with the Queen and Bea.

Havana is a favorite ‘quick break’ destination. Great architecture, people-watching, music and rum. I’m a non-smoker, but, on the patio of the 19th century Hotel Inglaterra, occasionally enjoy a cigar with a cuba libre. Hokey, I know, but like everyone else, I have to have a picture taken with Che.

It’s a wonderful place for photography, but all I’ll include is this well-used hearse resting next to the late Felipe Gutierrez in Havana's vast main cemetery.

And now a transition to digital photography with pictures from my recent trip to China.

I’ve been to China before, for work and on vacation. This time I had the help of a Chinese friend – Si – who lives in Toronto. She and her parents helped fulfil my ambition to spend time out in the countryside. If you don’t speak Chinese, you’re not going get very far on your own outside the cities.

These pictures were all shot in Hunan.

Stating the obvious, travelling with someone who speaks the language means you actually get to talk with those who otherwise you might only smile at. This friendly chap was one of Mao Zedong’s ‘barefoot doctors’, idealistic young people who brought rudimentary health care to the countryside in the 1960s. He continues to run a basic clinic in his village.



The young woman on the right is Si’s mother, taken as the Cultural Revolution was coming to an end.

In those days, hundreds of thousands – millions – came to Shaoshan in Hunan Province. Shaoshan was Mao’s birthplace. It’s still popular, although prosperous Chinese tourists no longer sport Mao badges and red scarves.

Si's mother - with her 'little red book' of Quotations from Chairman Mao - could never have imagined that one day she would have a daughter educated in the West and living in a faraway Canadian city. Below are Si and I at Shaoshan.