Parading Around in Pakistan

For $30 million, all I had to do was find a guy. It seemed easy enough.

Fed up with student loans and usurious credit cards, I thought I'd hit the lottery for real. The U.S. Government was offering a cool 30 mil to anyone who could aid in the capture of Taliban leader Mullah Omar. What a deal!

I didn't speak Urdu, but English is the other of Pakistan's two official languages. Plus I took Spanish in high school. That's practically the same thing! How hard could conversation be? With my smartphone and its infinite number of "apps," that cash prize was as good as mine.

After landing in Peshawar, I took a cab to the outskirts of the city and figured I would ask one of the locals in or near the Pashtun tribal region of northern Pakistan.

I knocked on the door of a small hut. Without much delay, the door opened, and a stocky man with dark clothes and a warm smile welcomed me in.

"Pakheyr," he said. "Salaam, Ta sanga yee."

I stared at him blankly.

He kept on talking. I tried to say who I was in English. As soon as he heard me speak, his mood changed. He kept on speaking in his native tongue, and every so often I heard the English words "Ace Ventura" and "Pet Detective."

"No, I said. "He is an actor. I am not him."

I kept trying to explain in English, but he didn't seem to understand. So I said it again.

No, no soy Jim Carey. No soy un actor."

It didn't take. They didn't seem to understand English or Spanish. Or they thought I was lying. Either way, I must have made some sort of faux paus, because things didn't seem to be going over very well. Then the man of the house broke into a sinister looking grin and grabbed a huge knife about the size of his forearm.

"I kill you, Jim Carrey." And with that he lunged at me. Uh oh! I twisted out of the way just in time. The man barrelled past me and crashed into his own kitchen.

Man, I'm outta here! While my opponent was disoriented from the crash, I bolted out of that house faster than the time I walked out of The Cable Guy.

I sprinted for hours until I had left the temperate climate of Peshawar behind--long behind. The modern city had since vanished from sight and the tribal villages were fewer and further between until they disappeared entirely. The green scenery had turned to white.

I had entered the Himalayas! Ah the safety of the snow. It was cold, though. Damn cold. I opened my backpack to put on my jacket. Ah, that felt better. At least I had come prepared for the weather.

I still had to figure out where I was. I didn't even know which way was north. I pulled out my Galaxy Samsung S2 and decided to get a GPS on my location.

Before I had time to figure out where I was, I saw an animal running towards me. Oh no! A Snow Leopard! I was exhausted from my marathon up the mountain, and now some Himalayans snow leopard was going to eat me alive!

What a way to go. Instead of tracking my location on a map, I decided to take a photo of the killer cat so that at least my friends and family would know how it ended.

But the sleek snow leopard didn't care for me. The little leopard saw a tree and leaped, shaking its branches and playing in the snow. Maybe he didn't see me?

He jumped and jumped and like a little kitten. Come to think of it, he was a kitten. Judging by his size, there was no way this was a full grown mountain cat. My heart stopped again, where was this boy's mother? If she saw me, I'd be leopard lunch. 

Groar! She growled like Chewbacca. Seriously. That's what snow leopards sound like. Or I was just delirious from being out of breath and nearly a mile above sea level. Or possibly just the fear induced by a giant jungle cat running towards me. Maybe it was a combination of all three. Was she going to teach her cub how to kill humans? The baby cub ran. I was terrified. NOOOOO!!

I let out a blood curdling scream. This was it. I was a goner for sure. Come to think of it, I even sounded like Jim Carrey when I screamed. Maybe I was Jim Carrey after all! Maybe the villager was right! I can't escape fate! This is the end!

I my raging cowardice, I hadn't notice that the cub was actually running away from me. The momma had called off her baby and I was safe. I thanked my lucky stars that momma snow leopards find me both totally harmless and not very tasty.

With that, the two snow leopards marched away, up further into the Heavens. My second brush with death had been averted. Now I only needed to figure out where I was and where to go. I took out my phone: no reception. No idea where I was. It was getting dark. I couldn't even tell which way was north. I heard some crunching in the snow. Where the snow leopards coming up behind me?

"Bravo has found the chicken. I repeat, Bravo has found the chicken."

Huh?

I turned around and saw four U.S. Navy SEALs. It was a miracle!

"You came for me!" I said, elatedly.

"Yes, we came, but not for you specifically," said the lead SEAL. "You must be one of those jackasses who thought he could find Mullah Omar."

"Yeah?"

"We 'rescue' someone like you about three or four times a week."

Ouch. And I thought the Himalayas were cold. The SEALs escorted me towards a  clearing until a helicopter arrived to take us to friendly territory. As we flew away from Pakistan, I thought about how much money I had wasted on international airfare. But in a larger sense, I think the experience made me a better person. Although deeper in debt, I was richer in life. I looked at the brave men around me and thought, what's another $100 bucks at this point?

"Guys," I said. "Tonight, where going to your favorite place in Kabul. Drinks are on me."

Tiger Tales.

We had hoped to land in Pyongyang, but at the last minute, we got a call from the State Department. No go, they said. Too dangerous. The U.S. Government will not support you. The pilot headed north, hoping we might be able land in Vladivostock while the State Department would reconsider. All of a sudden I heard the co-pilot scream, "Look out!" I turned to the window and saw the unmistakable streak of a surface-to-air-missile. The pilot banked hard--but it was too late. The missile hit the left wing and were headed straight down.

I don't know how long I was out, but once I regained consciousness, it was clear that I was the sole survivor of a plane crash. Was I lucky? Or would I envy the dead? I wasn't even sure which side of the Amur River I was standing on. Was I in Russia, or China?

Then I hears a growl. International boundaries were the least of my concerns. A Siberian Tiger! He sauntered, slowly, as if teasing me. These fierce creatures eat photojournalists for sport. It's their game.

My one hope was to somehow distract the mighty animal and hope for an escape. I grabbed my Nikon D5200 DSLR and set the flash bulb to Christmas Party. Hey, if I didn't make it, at least I would go out with a blast . . .

But really . . .

I was taking photos of the Tigers at the Bronx Zoo. All of a sudden a group of pre-teenage schoolchildren showed up. This furry beast decided to give everybody a show. He hustled towards us and displayed his fangs in the most menacing way possible. 

Then he plopped down on the snow, belly up, paws in the air and started wagging his tail like an 800 house cat. What a ham!

How he likes to mock the hipsters and their silly little manicured mustaches!

Ho Ho Ho! It's time for the Holiday Train Show!

All aboard! Nicole and I were fortunate enough to take advantage of Bar Car Night, a special, after hours exhibit of the New York Botanical Gardens Holiday Train Show. While Nicole and I have visited the show every year since moving to the Bronx, this year had us (well, at least me) aching with anticipation.

Model Trains seem to make every Christmas a little more merry.

You see, a few months ago, Nicole was in the thick of reading Empty Mansions, a sort of documentary of copper king W.A. Clark's fabulous wealth, and its effect on his daughter, Huguette. Nicole was sharing her disbelief over the opulent splendor that was W.A. Clark's 121-room mansion. The list of amenities was truly incredible: An art room the size of a gymnasium with priceless paintings from all over the world. A $120,000 pipe organ that was built inextricably into the walls. A corkscrew marble staircase imported from Maryland. 

Clark Mansion, in its Modern Incarnation.

"Just to think," said Nicole. "An amazing building like that, right here in New York, and I've never seen it."

Clark Mansion as viewed from Central Park.

True. Very few people are old enough to remember W.A. Clark's tribute to himself on Fifth Avenue and 77th Street. My 90 year old grandmother was four years old and living in Brooklyn when the Clark Mansion met the wrecking ball. Much of the interior of the mansion was given out in W.A. Clark's will, or sold, but not every piece survived. The pipe organ now sits in a landfill in Queens; the marble staircase rests at the bottom of New York Harbor. But I politely told Nicole that she had seen W.A. Clark's mansion before.

"Where? She asked. And then I reminded her: It was just made out of plants!

960 5th Avenue as it appears today.

So once we found out about Bar Car Night, we were thrilled. The Holiday Train Show in and of itself is very exciting. It is a place where visitors can enjoy New York's finest and most iconic edifices, constructed out of leaves, berries, flowers, and twigs. Bar Car Night is a special occasion  just for grown-ups. Visitors can pay a little extra to avoid the crowds--and enjoy a complimentary drink on the house. We took advantage of Bar Car Night this past Friday, and Clark Mansion did not disappoint: it was bigger and grander than ever before. On its pedestal, the plant-based version of the old building was even taller than me. 

Despite the recent attention garnered upon Huguette Clark within the last two years, not many passers by recognized either the mansion or W.A. Clark. One woman was flummoxed when she saw the building's lifespan on the faceplate. 

"1904 to 1927?" That sure didn't last!" She shook her head and walked away. Not everyone was astute enough to read the inscriptions, however. I made the mistake of engaging conversation with somebody who was taken aback by the presentation of Pennsylvania Station.

Pennsylvania Station, in its plant-based structure.

"Wow," said a middle-aged man, as Nicole snapped a photo. "I've never seen Penn Station from the outside before."

I was only trying to be helpful when I said that the original Penn Station was demolished half a century ago. Oops.

The original Penn Station, before its untimely demolition in 1963.

"Yeah, I know, but I've never seen it from the outside before!"

Sigh. The tracks are still there, and the train's run every day as they have for over a century. But above the tracks where over half a million riders get on and off every day, sits Madison Square Garden. And its pretty hard to miss. So yeah, chances are if you have walked by 7th Avenue and 34th Street, you've seen it from the outside.

Penn Station today: Madison Square Garden atop 600,000 passengers.

Not every Bar Car Patron interaction ended in frustration. One passerby had a hard time recognizing a replica of Hell Gate Bridge (one of New York City's ten major suspension bridges). Once I referred to it as the Amtrak bridge between Queens and Randall's Island, a light bulb went off in his mind as it illuminated something he had seen before. He knew it as the bridge he sees when he drives over the Triborough Bridge.

"No wonder I couldn't recognize it [Hell Gate]; I can't drive over it!" We chuckled.

Most of the show is very recognizable. The Statue of Liberty, JFK International Airport, and just about every prominent skyscraper in Midtown Manhattan are perennial favorites. One must be patient at some of the more popular installations.

Al Khazneh, a new addition to the Holiday Train Show!

Not every model plant house at the train show is a tribute to New York's great monument, past and present. The makers of this fine art projects do like to add a new piece here and there from outside New York. This year, I was quite impressed to see Al Kazneh. Although the name may not be familiar, viewers will soon recognize its unmistakable facade from its famous appearance in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Hey, I may never get to see Petra, Jordan in my lifetime, so I'll take what I can get!

Al Khazneh, virtually unchanged after two millennia.

The New York Botanical Gardens Holiday Train Show runs through January 12th, with two more "Bar Car" exhibitions on Friday, December 20th, and Saturday, December 21st.

Battery Park at Sunset.

You Can Canoe in the City, too!

"Before we start," said the Bronx River Alliance volunteer, "does anybody want a guide?"

No hands went up.

"Okay, just to let you know, it is windy today. Knowing that, does anybody want guide now?"

Again, no hands went up.

Well, one hand almost went up.

"I'm scared, Kevin. He asked if we had experience."

"Well," I said, "if you count canoeing across Lake Belgrade, holding a paddle in one hand and a bucket in the other to empty the incoming water. Yeah, I would call that experience."

"That's it?"

I politely reminded Nicole that I had also canoed in a segmented river before. It was in Texas--with her. And we had both conducted various paddling excursions in Connecticut before we had met.

"Yeah, well, this is different!"

Oy vey. I assured Nicole that if it were genuinely windy to the point of jeopardizing safety, the New York Botanical Gardens wouldn't be giving out free canoe rentals.

"Okay." With that, Nicole seemed resigned. Her husband would be the tour guide.

I have now paddled a canoe in four states: CT, ME, TX, and NY.

We were happy and fortunate for the opportunity. The New York Botanical Gardens was hosting free canoe rentals. Guests who signed up early enough were privlidged to paddle through the Bronx River Gorge, once home to the Algonquins. Aquehonga, as it was called, was the source of all things sustanence for centuries. Food, water, transportation. Everything. Aquehonga was life.

Aquehonga doesn't flow as fast as it used to, as its source waters are dammed up to provide drinking water for New York City in 1842. Ironically, the Bronx River was pristine and clean back then, and Manhattanites where dying of cholera left and right. If only the new settlers had been wise enough to listen to the long term residents. Add a century and half of yucky pollution, and you have yourself a mess. Where once was a treasure now was a waterway filled with trash.

Look out for rocks! Shallow water is excellent for flat-bottom canoes.

Fortunately, the Bronx River has experienced a renaissance within the last 20 years. Cleanup crews have removed rubbish, factories no longer dump waste in its waters, and wildlife has slowly started to return. Today, Bronx River is among the cleanest waterways in New York City.

No sooner than we got in the canoe, that we felt a sense of excitement as we were able to see the Bronx River as never before. And what a sight to see! The fluorescent fall foliage dotted the riverbanks with shades of amber, crimson, and gold, punctuated with trees of evergreen. The steep cuts of Fordham Gneiss periodically rise and fall, alternating between the flats of a river valley and a high bluff that was carved during the last ice age.

At last those were the first thoughts on my mind. At first, Nicole had other things to speak about.

"Rock!" She said. Followed by, "Lookout, rock!" Navigation was tricky, as Nicole had a tendency to go with gut instinct instead of trusting her husband. Sigh. No worries. I just paid very close attention to whenever she would panic and switch whatever side of the canoe she was paddling and adjust accordingly to right the course and avoid collision.

End of the line--until we get our own canoe and ride the whole river!

Another benefit with me at the back of the vessel,  was that Nicole free range to take photos at her discretion. It wasn't long before we had cleared the rocks and we were both able to relax a little a bit and enjoy the scenery.

The flatlands of the valley before the high bluffs of the Algonquins.

We paddled upstream for about ten minutes before we reached the bridge known as Magnolia Crossing.  The water is much shallower at that point, thus reducing the level of fun. We decided that we would save this for when we had our own canoe at a future date. It was time to turn around.

We paddled back--slowly. "I don't want to get back too early," said Nicole.

Good thinking. We even did a little 360 at one point just get a few more minutes of paddling in before we making the final turn around the bend. That is, if those mighty rocks didn't stop us!

"Kevin, Kevin, rock, rock!" It was Nicole, and she wasn't talking about my career as a music-man. We had piloted the canoe over one of those pesky rocks that sits about two inches below the waters surface line. Nicole was a touch in panic mode.

"What do I do," she asked, more than a little nervous. Before I had time to explain, a guide and his partner paddled up to us with some simple words of wisdom.

"Take your paddle," the guide said reassuringly, "and use it as a stick."

"Wow," said Nicole, as she effortlessly dislodged us from the rogue rock. "Thank you!"

"No problem," said the guide.

And with that, we were at the end of the line. Nicole took one last photo of the river before we docked the canoe.

Well, almost at the end. She handed the camera to the volunteer. "A picture?" She asked?

"Sure," the volunteer said, as Nicole handed him the camera. Nicole and I smiled. Apparently, that was a no-no.

"You must grimace," he said. "It is the face of the paddler."

And grimace we did. We had earned it!

Grr! It's not a canoe trip unless you grimace like a madman!

When cats act like jerks.

Recently, Nicole set up a nice little bird feeder outside our bedroom window so the cats could feel a little closer to nature. It wasn't long before Emerson and Emma decided to take up camp to catch a glimpse of their feathered friends. 

Normally, these two felines like to antagonize each other, so I thought I would take a photo of them actually getting along. Once they saw I had a camera, they decided to antagonize me. Thanks guys!

A Tale of Two Tigers

Do you ever wake up and feel like your on top of the food chain?

This guy does.

Meanwhile, on the other side of Tiger Mountain, we saw an old friend. Then again, even though we have known her for what seems like a long time, she is way to young to be old. 

The Bronx zookeepers have moved the teenage tigers to the other side of Tiger Mountain. These teenagers are very cautious in their new surroundings. Look at the uncertainty in her eyes as she scouts her new surroundings and the way she stretches herself like a slinky as she climbs up the rocks to the top of Tiger Mountain. 

Watching these little babies grow up has been fun and intriguing. I wonder what these cool cats will look like once they become twentysomethings. I sure hope they don't turn into hipsters!

Then again, Tigers are just way to cool for that. 

You guys weren't looking at other cats, were you?!

Helping a friend find a home.

Another rain storm leaves another frightened caterpillar stranded in the sidewalk.

Two good Samaritans walk by.

Come to my hand, little fellow.

I'll take you too the tree.

And shelter with leaves.

It's as easy as 1-2-3!

My crown is called . . .

Drink in 

Our

Refreshing

Invitation from

Nature, 

Ahhh.

Life

Issues us

Zeal.

Keenly

Examine it,

Value it, 

Invest in it and

Nourish it.

Nature
Insures that we
Claim
Our
Love for
Each other!

Dorina, Liz, Kevin, Nicole

My crown is called content--a crown that seldom kings enjoy.

Typical Banter

"What do you think of this picture?"

"It's bee-utiful!"

Really, Kevin? Bad puns from my English Major husband--now that really stings!

Mister Lizard writes a poem!

Can you see me?

I've been here since 65 million B.C.

Check out the stripes on my back:

They keep me safe from attack.

Bronx Bears are no more

Wolves and bobcats, too.

You'll never get rid of me!

If I see you coming,

I won't flail my tail

or bite with might.

Here's a secret from the lizard vault:

I'll just make like Usain--and Bolt!

Peace From the Tourists?

With tourist season winding down, certain parts of the city are much less congested. That's good, especially when I visit the Botanical Gardens I can get peace and tranquility in a city of over eight million.

Now if I only I could figure out what to do with my husband . . .

Kevin wonders if  "Elephant Ears" are in improvement over his current visage.

Wild Deer in New York City!!

For real. No joke. Here's the story:

Nicole and I both recently finished reading The Last Algonquin, a true story about an American Indian named Joe Two Trees. Joe lived most of his life on Hunter's Island, which is now part of Pelham Bay Park. His story, recounted by Theodore Kazimiroff, is simply amazing. We decided to take a bike trip from our apartment and search the island, hoping to find some kind of inspiration. Aside from the book, we didn't know much more about the island. It was with this very open-ended mindset that Nicole and I decided to conduct our own field expedition.

Just another day in the largest city in North America . . .

After a quick swim to cool off after the ride, we set out across the field that connects Hunter's Island to the Bronx and commenced our search. As you can see in the video, it's not hard to tell man's artificial land ends and where New York's nature begins.

We enjoyed walking around the "island" (it is 3/4ths surrounded by water), but except for an interesting insect, we didn't see much in the way of wild nature. Granted, the tall trees were quite majestic, and the island's natural, rocky shores were more reminiscent of the rural Maine coastline than that of New York City, but we didn't see anything that was startling and unbelievable. After about half an hour of walking, the dirt path turned to pavement. Our search was almost over.

As we were walking back towards the beach, however, I spotted a friend who was looking at me. He had several other friends. Four of them to be precise. They each walked on four legs and had beautiful antlers atop their heads. My jaw dropped. Nicole and I couldn't believe it: Wild Deer in New York City of all places!!

Does the spirit of Two Trees live on? After this day, we were convinced. It had to have been a sign. Your thoughts? Watch the videos and judge for yourself.

How to Beat the Heat in NYC

This summer was a hot one, no doubt. So hot, that Nicole and I fell a little behind the times. This is an episode of an earlier weekend when we sought refuge from the oppressive city summer heat.

This summer was the sort of hot where you walk outside and can't tell if you're sweating, or if the humidity in the air is just bonding to you. Blech! Who needs that?

Kevin's bike casts a lovely shadow in the setting summer sun.

Nicole and I thought we could seek refuge from the summer sun with a trip to one of New York City's world-renowned swimming pools. From what we are told, these are some of the best public pools in the nation, virtually all of which were massive public works projects during the Great Depression, and kept in pristine condition for the general public, free of charge.

It was with these expectations that we got on our bikes and headed to Van Cortlandt Park Pool on a sultry Sunday afternoon.  During the summer season, New York City closes its pools daily from 3 pm to 4 pm for a mid-day cleaning.


At about 3:30, Nicole and I got to the back of the line. We waited patiently for 4 o'clock to come. It came. The line moved slowly at first, for about fifteen minutes. After this quarter of an hour had passed, the line stopped entirely. Van Cortlandt Park Pool was filled to capacity.

Nicole rides along the old Putnam Rail-Trail.

Not entirely pleased that we hadn't received any sort of warning from the parks department that something like this might happen, and not really looking forward to standing around in the mid-day heat, we decided to ditch the pool plan.

We got on our bikes feeling resigned until  we stumbled upon a dirt path. Nicole suggested we turn left, towards the unknown, rather than simply head home. On the path, we found that the the trees around us offered protection from the summer sun's oppressive heat. Even though the hot and humid air was static, simply riding the bikes gave us a cool breeze that we so sorely needed.

We rode a few miles before the dirt trail turned to asphalt. The terrain had changed, and so had the imaginary borders that define cities and towns. We were in Yonkers.

We kept riding north, because, well, why not? The trail was there, and we had fun riding underneath several underpasses on this new found bike trail. We passed a golf course, a large public park, and rode through residential neighborhoods that were reminiscent of our rides along the Farmington Canal Trail in Connecticut.

Did we have a destination? Not really. We rode for about an hour this way before we decided to turn a back. We had seen something of a water park just east of the bike path and figured, why not? We did intend to go swimming today and we were riding with our gear, bathing attire and towels included. There was a convenient spur from the bike path to the park entrance, and we simply coasted towards Tibbetts Brook Park.

North of the Border! Of New York City, that is.

Once we arrived at the main entrance, we saw that there were two problems: one, the pool was closing soon, and two, it didn't matter what time the pool closed, because this park is only open to residents of Westchester Country. Ouch.

The detour wasn't a total loss. Nicole spotted an ice cream stand and we were in business. We enjoyed some ice cream sandwiches. I stood in the shade. Nicole smiled and laughed at me.

"You're so silly!" She said.

"Hey, it's almost a hundred degrees out here."

Almost. Perhaps I didn't need to be so dramatic. We finished our sweetened cold-cream confectionery sandwiches and headed back home. It wouldn't have been nice to have pool splash around in at some point during our little adventure, but that was not to be. Alas, maybe next time.

And if next time the trip to the city pool is bonkers, I guess we're heading back to Yonkers!

The familiar face of the 4 train greets us back home!