Harry Hubinger

Korean DMZ Revisited

May 10, 2018 by Harry Hubinger Leave a Comment

From time to time I admit to having visited over one hundred and fifteen countries, at least once. Some of these visits were quite lengthy, while others were extremely brief and came close to not counting at all.

The shortest stop in a country on my list had to be the one in North Korea. It may have been the quickest, but with the North Korean troops watching me through a window, and the impending threat of strife around me, it was one of the more interesting stops.
It came very close to not happening at all. Let me tell you about it.

Regnibuh is our Internet handle – it’s our last name spelled backwards. And, when we travel, it really gets a workout. Barb uses it to make reservations, book tours in cities we hope to visit, and hunt for sites not always obvious in those fat travel brochures.

The gravel/sand divided by a concrete bit, in Joint Security Area also known as Panmunjom, is where the border is drawn between North Korea and South Korea. South Korea is on the left hand side of this photo.

Singapore Air was offering an attractive price for airfare, a week’s lodging, and a couple of delightful side tours while visiting its principal city – a city which we both love dearly. We discovered the package on the Internet. Day by day, visit by visit, the details of our trip were falling into place. People thousands of miles apart were typing little notes to one another confirming our journey and making room for us.

A special feature of this package was a stop along the way at any point serviced by Singapore Air. We chose Seoul. This bustling metropolis in South Korea appealed to our sense of adventure, particularly because of the impasse of almost sixty years that exists with its neighbor to the north. Here, on a narrow band of land, two nations have faced one another with the constant threat of attack for almost two generations. We’ve fought several wars since then, but this belonged to my generation. The line separating the two countries is called the demilitarized zone or DMZ. A Quonset hut sits half in the north and half in the south and marks the piece of ground where the two countries negotiated an impasse way back in the fifties. The location of this standoff is the city of Panmunjom. We had heard that visits to Panmunjom could be arranged, but we were not quite sure how. Back to the Internet. Barb found a soldier stationed in the DMZ and after a great deal of Internet communication, he volunteered to arrange a visit for us up to the front line. The trip was sponsored by the USO. We were told what to wear, yes what to wear. Jeans were not acceptable – sorry Levis. Ladies needed to avoid shorts or anything even vaguely revealing. No tennis shoes. We all needed to look proper and prosperous. Instructions were also given on how to behave and what to expect. The deal was closed. At 7 a.m. we were to arrive at the Seoul USO facilities on the agreed-upon date, present ourselves, and we would be taken by military bus to the north. We congratulated ourselves on our Internet success. The deal was we would come in from the south and walk round the “negotiating” table – this stroll would put us in North Korea for only a few steps.

Some three weeks later, on the agreed-upon morning, we left our hotel in downtown Seoul and headed toward the USO. Twenty minutes later our cab deposited us at the door in plenty of time to meet any contingencies. It took us only a few minutes to find the proper authorities, and with due respect we presented ourselves.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hubinger are here and ready to go,” we said. The soldier smiled and began to search his list. Over and over again he checked the spelling, looked at all of the possibilities, and then grim-faced, announced, “Your names are not on the reservation list.”

Some mistake? Was our soldier friend unreliable? What could possibly have gone wrong? We were dejected and apparently had no options. We were about to retreat out the door to our hotel and lick our wounds when I happened to glance at the soldier’s list. Sure enough, there it was Mr. and Mrs. Regnibuh. I explained the situation to a smiling sergeant, who graciously acknowledged,

“Well, if Mr. and Mrs. Regnibuh don’t show up, I’ll be sure that the two of you can use their seats.”

Mission accomplished – we went to North Korea – we walked around the table – and I added another country to my list.

Editor’s Note: This article originally appeared in the August 2010 issue of ALIVE in Harry Hubinger’s regular Stamps in My Passport column.

Police VIPs Part II

March 30, 2016 by Harry Hubinger Leave a Comment

This is the second of a series introducing the Danville Police Department VIPS (Volunteer In Police Service.)

Last month we accompanied Darren, our hypothetical alter-ego, as he attended the Danville Police Citizens Academy. You may recall that upon graduation Darren applied to the Department to become a VIPS. At the very end of the first chapter, Darren was given a badge, a uniform, and an ID which meant he passed all the required interviews and background checks. I might add he was very pleased and anxious to get going, but there were a few hills left to mount.

Darren’s first direct discussion with the powers that be was the introduction to the Scarecrow Rule. Now he may be in uniform, may sport a shield, may drive a black and white police vehicle, but he is NOT, I repeat NOT a police officer. He may fool a few people and look professional, but it is important to realize his minimal training does not qualify him as an officer. What then is his overriding duty? That’s where the Scarecrow rule comes in.

Now we all know that scarecrows are placed in corn fields. The crows see the image and are convinced that a live person is protecting the field. “Hey, let’s move on to the next field. This one is covered” is the crow’s response. The parallel applies. A black and white is seen cruising around a neighborhood, and “Let’s move on” is the bad guy’s response.

This boils down to a simple truth. Be seen by as many as possible, and be a good witness to what you see.

Now a VIPS is not allowed to travel alone. There must be a twosome for safety reasons. Obviously, they both are required to have radios which connect them to the Contra Costa Sheriff’s dispatch center. When they go on duty, and as they travel about, it is important that they keep the dispatch center informed. This little hill was Darren’s next to conquer. The radios themselves were not tough to learn, but it was surprising how tongue tied a normal person can become when they are faced with telling someone what they are witnessing. It takes a lot of work to overcome one’s stammering and concisely give the position and activity you are observing.

VIPS patrols cover a number of other things as well. A garage with an open door and no cars is an invitation to disaster. Those four expensive off-road bikes next to several sets of golf clubs can earn a thief a thousand dollars in five minutes. When our VIPS come upon this situation a mail reminder is sent to the resident with a request that they be a bit more cautious in the future.

Newspapers collecting on the drive and a UPS box on the front porch announce to a thief that the resident is on vacation. Great time to make a midnight call! A large percentage of police calls are for crimes of opportunity, and Darren is out on patrol looking for these oversights. The program is called “If I Were A Thief” and reminds the residents to be more careful.

It didn’t take Darren long to become a friend with the sworn officers. They are fully occupied with the daily duties of investigation reports, traffic safety, thefts and robberies, and the mountain of paper work that goes with each activity. Darren was surprised to learn that last year the Danville Police Department handled just under 26,000 calls. Not that there were that many crimes, but there were that many needs for police contact. Therefore, from time to time, he is called upon to help with traffic, vehicle maintenance, police station tours, fingerprinting, and possibly some office work.

Darren chose the activities he enjoyed the most and had no difficulty putting in the minimum of sixteen hours per month that are required to remain active.Patrolling the neighborhoods was one of Darren’s favorite duties. It seemed that on each patrol he was able to help make Danville a better place.

On one patrol he saw a young bike rider take a bad spill. His quick call had the fire department’s medics on scene in minutes, and they informed the parents of the accident.

Because there is only a limited number of sworn officers on duty at any one time, and on occasion more than one incident requires the police to respond, Darren was able to assist an officer with traffic control around the accident.

One of the highlights of his first year was in helping locate a missing young child. The incident was initiated by a call from a distraught parent. The youngster failed to return home fromschool at the usual time. This type of occurrence is treated with the highest police priority. Detectives interview teachers, parents, and friends. Patrol officers roam the streets, and bike and motorcycle officers work the trails. On some occasions even the helicopter from the Sheriff’s Office can be activated as well as the Search and Rescue teams. Fortunately in this case the child was quickly found at a friend’s house – just having a post-school snack.

Also during this event Darren was able to watch the Danville Police K9 dog and the K9 officer do their thing. Most of the time one associates the K9 with a crime. For example, he may nose out hidden drugs in a car or find a perpetrator out of sight in a garage. But in this case the dog’s sensitive nose followed the child’s path from school to a friend’s home.

The most prevalent use of the VIPS occurs at the many special events hosted by the Town of Danville. These include the Fourth of July Parade, the car shows, and the periodic street fairs. We see the white shirted volunteers walking the streets, answering the simple questions like, “Where are the toilets?” to the scary ones, “I can’t find my child.”

We could go on and on and on listening to or reading about Darren’s adventures. But like most things in life, it’s necessary to move on. It is my hope that in these two stories about the Danville Police Department VIPS that you have found a better sense of the sometimes overlooked umbrella of security we all enjoy. We may go days, months, even years without contact with the police. But they are there, 24-7, willing to help under any circumstance.

Thank goodness….

Meet the Danville VIPS

March 6, 2016 by Harry Hubinger Leave a Comment

It’s extremely difficult these days to pick up a newspaper, watch a television news broadcast or, for that matter, have a friendly discussion without being exposed to some incident involving the police. The featured stories cover a wide range of police activities. In some articles the officers are portrayed in a favorable light–helping to protect us from crime and violence. In other pieces they’re described in a negative manner–perhaps displaying some insensitivity.

It’s not my intent to either defend or condone these commentaries. I’ll leave that to professional journalists–all of whom are closer to the actual situations than I am. Rather I’d like to tell you about my experiences with the Danville Police Department. I’ll hide behind a mythical character named Darren who pursues an “after retirement investigation” into volunteering as a VIPS (Volunteers in Police Service.) Admittedly most of these stories are mine, but using Darren’s name protects my occasionally faulty memories and forgives any enthusiastic exaggerations.

“Darren”and his family moved to Danville almost five decades ago. They chose Danville because it was a nice, quiet, clean, and comfortable place. The schools were good – in fact they were excellent. The shops and restaurants were numerous. Not a lot of glitz and the thought of crime of any type was far away. Life was good, and they prospered.

The kids grew up, went to school, and moved away. Work slowed a bit, and retirement arrived. Ah, but now a new problem presented itself: How to fill in all those empty hours, and more important, how to repay the community for all that it had given to him and his family?

And then a neighbor introduced an exciting possibility. There was a small group of residents who worked with the Danville Police Department known as VIPS (Volunteers In Police Service.) This group was formed to give a community assist to the department. Here was a way to pay back the town he respected, and it even had a little bit of excitement connected to it. But how did all of this work?

The first thing he discovered was that the Danville Police Department, as well as the Alamo and Blackhawk neighborhoods are actually part of the Contra Costa County Sheriff’s Office. These local entities contract with the County to furnish police protection to their respective areas. The advantages of these contractual arrangements are numerous. The County is able to furnish well-trained, seasoned officers who rotate through the region. In addition, they provide the backup and support of a larger entity with resources not financially feasible for the locales. These resources include a professional crime lab, SWAT teams, three detention facilities, and a major communication network which covers a wide area. Our small towns have access to a major police department.

The next thing Darren found was that he needed a lot of education before he could even be considered as a VIPS. Potentially harmful situations might be encountered, or conditions could prove legally detrimental to the Town. This education was to be obtained by attending a series of classes conducted by the Danville Police Department and known as the Danville Police Citizens’ Academy. Darren was up for this and immediately enrolled in the next academy. Thankfully the wait wasn’t long as two such classes were held each year.

The classes weren’t simple. They extended over a multi-week period and were comprised of six three-hour evening sessions and two eight-hour Saturday events, but they were both interesting and proved to be exciting.

The two Saturdays included tours and activities that were a part of the regular officer training program. They visited the Martinez Detention Facility – thankfully as visitors not criminals. The class was allowed to drive regular patrol cars around the county test track – very exciting. Think about getting into a black and white and racing around the course! They toured the shooting range, and the class was permitted to fire weapons similar to those used by the officers. In the training facility in Concord, attendees were presented with potential real-life situations. The students were placed about twelve feet from a very large wall screen upon which potentially- threatening situations were displayed in video form. Class members demonstrated their ability to respond to these circumstances with the best possible snap decision. They learn a lot about themselves when placed in hazardous situations. The county-wide dispatch facility was also on the list. This is where 911 calls are taken and relayed to the officers in the field.

The evening classes were equally informative. Deputy District Attorneys from the Contra Costa County District Attorney’s Office spoke on the need for factual reports being received from the officers. These reports could then be used to win convictions. The time between arrests and trials is often long, and these reports help refresh officers’ memories. Regular beat officers spoke about how DUIs were handled.

Detectives shared investigative information into non-violent crimes which had occurred, such as identity theft. Police sergeants and officers spoke about the procedures that were used in high-speed chases and how the different police jurisdictions cooperated when needed. Actual videos were shown of routine traffic stops and how they could suddenly turn into gravely dangerous conditions for the officers. One develops a great deal of empathy for the officers when one realizes the difficulties that can occur.

Darren was made aware of how carelessly allowing newspapers to accumulate in front of a house can advertise that a family is gone for a week’s vacation, inviting burglary.

After completing the Academy he came to the conclusion that police officers are people – no different than our fellow workers or our friends. Oh, granted some are friendly and easy to get along with while others are more aloof, a bit standoffish. But what’s different about that? They have families, spouses, and children. They get tired, they laugh, and sometimes get a bit grouchy like we all do. One of the tasks that differentiates officers from the rest of us is that each day they are forced to make life-changing decisions.

The results of these decisions influence everyone involved. They can be praised for the successful choices and be admonished for any poor ones. Like most situations in life, the poor choices are splashed across the media, while the successful choices are often lost to the public.

Prior to this Academy most people’s only contact with the police was being stopped for some traffic violation or perhaps being questioned about a theft or some other crime they had witnessed. All in all, the academy was an eye opener, and an excited Darren applied for acceptance into the VIPS program. Little did he realize that the simple portion of the program was past, and there was still more complexity to come.

The time between offering his service and acceptance into the program seemed endless. One interview followed another, and a detailed background check seemed to go nowhere. But like all things in life, there is an end. Darren was given his uniform, a badge, and his smile got bigger and bigger. He was now a novice VIPS.

Part Two Next Month – Darren shares his continuing education and tells about some of his experiences. .

Vacation Destinations

July 31, 2015 by Harry Hubinger Leave a Comment

Motivations for taking a trip—vacation if you prefer—and where to go, vary all over the map. Mostly they are related to the individual and to one’s desire to get away, to change the environment, or to ignore problems or conditions that exist. To escape the mundane world for a bit.

Ah, but where to go, what to do, what to see? Once again, this decision is personal. For some, just relaxing is the object of the exercise. Chase the sun to Hawaii, the Caribbean, Mexico – who cares. Just lie on a beach, eat well, and finish the novel. A more anxious person may assemble an educational trip; to the Louvre or the Hermitage, or maybe touring the splendid architecture of medieval castles and churches so predominant in Europe. We can’t rule out nature as a possibility. Wild beasts in Africa, mountain ranges in Switzerland and Argentina, as well as jungle creatures along the Amazon.

Cruise ships and river boats have been tossed into the mix as of late. These vacations reflect a number of motivations and afford the opportunity to shop, visit, and experience a variety of cultures. Here one can move into the lodging once and still visit a large number of cities.

I’ve probably been too general in my overview, so now it’s your turn. What is your motivation—your desire? What do you look forward to? What do you hope to bring back? What stories will you tell to friends on your return? Got yours? Now here is mine.

Barb and I enjoy the freedom of choice. We wander a great deal, spending more time in places and areas we find enjoyable and stopping only briefly in places where we feel uneasy or uncomfortable. Another very gratifying experience for me is communicating with the people who live and work in the areas we visit. Language is often a barrier, but it is human nature to talk, to share, and to explain, especially to visitors to your own area. We love to immerse ourselves in their culture and to hear their stories or observations. If we ask their opinion of Americans, we usually get interesting feed-back. Let me share a couple of my experiences with you.

One conversation which always makes me chuckle was with a Brit well outside of London. He spoke about Americans’ ability or desire to rearrange or adjust tings. This is a near quote.

“Should a group of five Brits enter a theater just as the feature started and see no seats together, they would disburse, sitting separately about the theater. If such an American group arrived they would readjust the entire seating capacity of the theater until they had five seats together in a good location.”

On another occasion we were touring China with a group. We visited the soldiers at Xian and were heading back. We passed through a tiny village, and I asked the tour guide if it was possible to see how the people lived. We stopped, and the guide politely asked the villagers if we could take a look. Overjoyed, they agreed, and we visited a tiny town. Looked in houses, saw where they purchased goods, watched them garden, all with smiles and nods from both visitors and residents.

Once I talked at length with a police officer in a medium-large German city. I spoke of crime and how it manifested itself in the United States, and he shared with me what it was like in his city as well. He spoke of drugs, of gangs, of petty theft, or major corruption. I was surprised how similar his stories were to the things I read here in the states.

I admit being captivated by the wild animals loose outside our safari vehicles in Africa. Also, by the magnificent structures of the medieval churches in Europe, and by their art and sculptures. The mysteries of the Asian continent and their milling throngs of people entrance me. But, it is the interaction with individuals I find the most exciting and interesting as I travel. We humans share characteristics regardless of where we are raised. Deep down we all share the same feelings, the same desires, and the same goals. These features become apparent as I collect Stamps In My Passport.

“Kids” of the Serengeti Plain

July 4, 2015 by Harry Hubinger Leave a Comment

Near the center of the African continent sits a vast grassy plain – stretching miles in all directions. The southern part of this plain is situated in Tanzania and is known as the Serengeti Plain. The northern portion is in Kenya and is known as the Masai Mara. This huge area is home to an incredibly proud native population called the Masai. The area derives its name from the Masai language and is called the Masai Mara.

This plain abounds in native African wildlife. Animals seen only in zoos in other parts of the world abound here in their natural habitat. Lions, elephants, zebras, wildebeest – and the list go on and on. Here they roam free, unfettered by wire fences and glass cages. Here the roles – which in other places we consider the norm – are reversed. Here the human observers are housed in a cage – mostly called a truck – and the animals are free to roam, to watch the observers, to wander free and come and go as they please.
We drove in our open-bed truck, watching and logging each sighting. Our driver, in constant contact with other drivers, showed a grin. He turned and told us he had a treat for us. A special event – another driver had radioed in, and we were on our way.

The drive was a short twenty minutes away, about ten to fifteen kilometers I would judge, over grassy plains, away from any form of road. Another similar truck awaited us, and we soon learned why the excitement.

There, lying in the shade of a single acacia tree was a new cheetah family. Mother lay stretched out on

the grassy knoll and gathered about her were four recently-born cheetah cubs. Mom watched us arrive but didn’t seem overly concerned as we did stay a bit away – perhaps fifteen to twenty meters. The four little cubs rolling on the grass resembled baby house kittens. They clawed and pawed one another, played some new game of “bash your brothers and sisters,” stopping occasionally for refreshments furnished by a proud mommy. She watched them play, and I swear she looked as if she had a gratified look on her face.

We stayed on for a half-hour, caught up in the magic of nature. All the truck passengers had huge smiles on their faces. I couldn’t help but appreciating this rare opportunity afforded us. As we smiled and watched, we became aware of a light humming in the background. Yes – we could actually hear this little melee purr as they moved forward into life’s cycle.

I would have loved to get out and hold one of these little guys, but believe me that would have been suicide. We were all proud parents watching our children grow and play. We were all protective of them up to a point. I felt a strong kinship to this handsome beast and her offspring. We both loved our children very much and wanted only the best for them. After all, “kids is kids.”

The Normandy Coast and D-Day

June 3, 2015 by Harry Hubinger Leave a Comment

May – the in-between month. Holidays are long gone and more time will lapse before summer vacation begins; weather struggling between still cold and too-early hot. So what’s to write about that might be current. Anything in my passport that might fit in here? I’ve got it – June 6, 1944, the day called D-Day. Let me share my trip down the Normandy coast. Talk about what has changed and what has not in the past 70-plus years. Maybe remind you of a few movies you have seen and of a few older vets who remember being there.

We started our trip at the city of Arromanches-les-Bains. This seaport isn’t often mentioned because it was not one of the original landing sites. In fact, it sits between them. The British and Canadian landing sites named Juno, Gold, and Sword sit to the east, while those of the United States, Omaha and Utah, are to its west. But this little known spot was perhaps the most important of them all. Why? Well, an old army proverb says “An Army marches on its stomach.” Without food, medical supplies, and ammunition the entire project collapses. There on the beach, at an artificial temporary harbour, all of those goodies came ashore. This pier also served as the location for loading wounded or stranded warriors who were heading back to England. The plan was actually quite imaginative. In Britain they built huge floating concrete caissons which, after being towed from England, then had to be assembled to form walls and piers which defined an artificial spot named the Mulberry harbour. When they got there they were scuttled and sunk, forming a concrete pier going from dry land well out into the English Channel. Ships could tie up alongside the pier to unload and reload, and supplies and troops streamed in and out.

These “concrete hunks” were very difficult to remove so many of them remain visible from the shore, sitting about where they were sunk some seventy years ago. A few of them, I’m told, went on to greater things. They were purchased by the Dutch and are now doing their thing as part of dikes to hold water back on the coast of the Netherlands.

Our next stop, just to the west, was to visit the remnants of the German gun positions. These elaborate bunkers housed huge 105 mm rifles, cannons if you prefer, that could hurl a shell twelve miles. An observer on the cliff’s edge would call out range and distance, and from the bunkers these huge weapons would launch shells at either the fleet of ships or the shore’s landing sites. In contrast these days an unmanned drone, remotely controlled, using GPS for the location of its target, could easily accomplish the same task with far more accuracy. The bunkers are now old and the remaining guns rusted, but they still give off a sense of foreboding.

Our third stop was the American Cemetery just above Omaha beach. I could write a separate story on the beauty and serenity of this place. Statistics and history abound, but I am not going there. Instead I will share with you one of my quests while visiting the site.

Over the years I’ve talked to many who were there on D-Day and who participated in the mighty endeavor. I’ve also watched a lot of films out of Hollywood which told stories, often sugar-coated, of what happened there. To a man, all participants said the movie “Saving Private Ryan” was by far the most realistic.

You may recall that three of Private Ryan’s brothers were victims in this war. Two had died on or just after D-Day, the third was a POW of the Japanese. This film was based on a true family story of the brothers whose real name was Nyland. One of my quests was to find their resting places. This took me into the vast cemetery with a goal and a purpose.

At the Information Center I looked up their location and found it to be A-19. Admittedly I wandered around looking out to sea over the beaches and did read the history of ten or twelve others buried there. In the end, I found the Lieutenant Nyland’s grave and his Staff Sergeant brother’s also – with white marble crosses standing on each.

This was enough for me. The oft-stated truism became reality here, namely the United States of America has conquered a great deal of land over its history. But we have always returned it to the inhabitants who were there before we came. The only ground we have asked for and kept has been the plots of our soldiers who died liberating the land.

Rest in peace.

People Watching

April 9, 2015 by Harry Hubinger Leave a Comment

Something different this month – a quiz! A chance for you to relive those tedious hours spent in airports all over the world. Let me set the stage. You have just been told your flight is delayed and will not leave for another hour or maybe two. You are here sitting in the lounge waiting somewhat impatiently. Where? International, of course. London, Berlin, Singapore, Nairobi – take your choice. To pass the time you watch the passersby. You hear the boarding calls, Rome, Dubai, Tokyo, Belgrade, Sydney. You watch the people going by, and you begin to guess where they are from. A word of warning – all of the people I’m telling you about are real. I sat in my chair at an airport and sketched out each traveler. Let’s start with an easy one.

Six feet tall, about 200 pounds, close cropped hair, jeans, slightly worn. A plaid shirt covered by a V-necked sweater. Loafers with no socks. Computer case under his arm, and cell phone at the ready. Where? The United States – you get it!

Now let’s get a little tougher. A saffron robe draped around his body, with a matching shawl over his shoulder. Shaved head and neck. Plain glasses. Bare legs sticking down into sandals. One arm folded into the robe. Got it? Burma probably. A Buddhist monk on his way home from a class or maybe a lecture. The face is passive, serene. I’ll bet he’s humming his mantra.

Okay, on to the next person. High black boots with six inch heels. Lots of space between the top of the boots and the bottom of the stylish skirt. Rings galore. Black hair, long, but swept up. Leather jacket. Have to describe her demeanor as haughty, ignoring all the stares she’s getting from the men. Sashaying might describe her walk. Bet she’s on her way back to Paris where she will meet an equally-haughty guy. Maybe a fashion model.

All black outfit. Black fedora hat sitting a little too high on his head like a poor fit. Black curly hair hangs down in braids. White shawl on his shoulders – standing erect, now slightly rocking. Indeterminate age—anywhere from thirty to sixty. Suit is well pressed but showing a tad bit of wear. Probably alone or maybe talking to a fellow dressed the same. Might be saying goodbye to a lady about equal age. They announce the plane to Tel Aviv, and he kisses her lightly on the cheek. “Goodbye sister, thanks for the time together. Come visit me soon at the university.”

Our next couple is a bit more universal. The gent, perhaps in his sixties, wears a tweed jacket over medium gray trousers. His shirt is light blue and he has a fluffy red ascot tucked into the neck. Shoes are comfortable. There is a slight touch of grey in his hair. He shares a look with his traveling mate, a lady about the same age. She wears practical shoes which look very comfortable. Her tweed skirt is well below her knees and matches her jacket. A white blouse with a little fluff at the neck. They check their watches every few minutes. When the call comes for Heathrow, they both pick up parcels and briefcases, and they are off.

And finally I wonder about that stylish older gentleman sitting across the aisle from me. Certainly late seventies or so but still erect. Black cargo pants, black plaid shirt, and black vest. Sure could use a little more hair. Hey – wait a minute! That’s a mirror I’m looking at. I described myself!

Conspiracy Theory

March 10, 2015 by Harry Hubinger Leave a Comment

I’m not often one to subscribe to conspiracy theories regardless of how rational or irrational they sound. There seem to be hundreds of them floating around, usually based on a government’s action. Even if you agree with me about doubting them, you’ve got to admit they are fun to speculate on. Often wonder how they get started and who embellishes them as they are passed along.

How about you and I starting one? Ok – here goes. About four or five years ago a confidential conference was called in Geneva, Switzerland. Attending were all of the companies in the world that made shoes. It was organized by the large manufacturers who specialized in tennis shoes (sneakers if you prefer.) Now you know their names and probably can identify their trade marks. Maybe Adidas, Nike, or New Balance, to name a few. But more conventional leather goods firms such as Ecco, Birkenstock, and Nunn Bush were also attending.

The group sat down to a Power Point presentation that focused in on the fact that the world was nearly saturated with plain old white or black tennies. Something needed to be done to increase sales. The agreed-upon solution was to introduce shoes in any and all imaginative colors, a wide variety of materials, and a bunch of new shapes. It was agreed to be a joint venture where all participated, and believe me it has worked. Worked extraordinarily well!! The colors were then assigned to different countries and aimed at different ages. The new materials were introduced worldwide.

A few months ago I spent a number of weeks over in Europe. It was a pleasant, relaxing trip including France, The Low Countries, and Germany. Several times during this visit I found myself sitting alone on a bench watching people stream by. Barb was shopping, and my tolerance for wandering through stores loaded with local items (some imported from China) is very short. While sitting there on the bench I became aware of the shoes people were wearing. I’m easily entertained as you can see. Nonetheless let me share a few of my observations with you.

Older, more mature women with longer, box skirts and proper jackets wear brown medium-heeled comfortable shoes. They often carry bags with expensive store logos. A hat or kerchief may be included.

Men in business suits wear lace-up shoes of shiny leather, usually quite well polished. The younger these men are, the more pointed the shoe becomes. Either their toes are more pointed than ones I know about, or there exists a large space between foot end and shoe end.

Younger, more casually-dressed people, invariably wear tennis shoes. (I’ll get to the Uggs and boots later.) Now these shoes are extremely colorful. Orange stripes or sections are the most predominant, but an iridescent blue comes in a close second. One can be sure the brand is identified as it stands out in some bold statement or color on the side of each shoe. The actual sole may be white or black but is hardly visible. Colorful shoe laces that may or may not match are also part of the ensemble. They appear comfortable so I guess they work.

A group of Eastern Europeans paraded by following a younger lady holding an umbrella aloft. They all wore beat-up looking black oxfords which to some degree matched the dour look on their faces. I tried a smile at them, but I was dismissed out of hand –or ignored, as the case may be. The shoe revolution has not reached these countries yet.

Perhaps the happiest of all groups was a gaggle of school kids about twelve years old. They laughed, pushed, hit one another, and overall seemed to be enjoying themselves. They all wore those brightly colored tennies I mentioned earlier, so perhaps the color works.

There was one pair of clean white tennies that zoomed by. They were on the feet of an older American lady who was passing everyone else. Maybe looking for a w.c.

Another tour group, which I would judge came from Southern Germany or maybe Switzerland wore very comfortable looking hiking boots. The sole left a design on the pavement as they passed. Their determination and general robust size gave their nationality away. They all seemed comfortable – content with their lot in life.

I did notice a fair number of boots. Mostly on ladies. The height of the boot seemed comparable to the length of the skirt. The higher the boot, the shorter the skirt.

There are also those feet things that look like bowling shoes used to look. They are low to the ground with very thin soles. They have funny lacing going almost to the toes, and they too come in all the colors of the rainbow.

I can hardly wait to get back to the United States and test out my new theory. We’ll go into San Francisco and see if the conspiracy theory which matches colored shoes with the personality of the wearers is valid there as well.

Oh – here comes Barbara. Time to move on.

Human Traits

February 7, 2015 by Harry Hubinger Leave a Comment

Often while traveling I find myself contemplating human traits. For example – courtesy, kindness, humor, and rudeness – to mention a few. Without realizing it I begin comparing these observations made outside the United States with characteristics I find at home, particularly among occupations similar, both here and over there. Examples might be waiters, vehicle drivers, tour guides, and other professionals.

Sometimes while doing this I become philosophic and attempt to assign certain traits to specific nationalities. For example, “Do we in California drive more aggressively than the Germans do on the autobahn?”

I need to be careful here, especially when national customs and traditions are involved. I may feel offended but have only stumbled upon a local custom. While again, I may have affronted another by one of our own national traditions.

If I haven’t lost you so far in my story, let me go on by being specific about some of the experiences that fit my introduction.

MACEDONIA
Our temporary “permanent” address while here was a hotel in Skopje. One day we traveled several hundred kilometers to a tourist site. While there I lost my passport at a restaurant but didn’t miss it till a day later when we were back in Skopje. I hunted and searched all over, then out of desperation my friend called the restaurant and was relieved when they told him they had found it. The employee took it to their local bus station, and gave it to a driver who was on his way to Skopje. We waited for him at the bus stop, and he returned it to me. Characteristics – honesty, courtesy, thoughtfulness, and effort above and beyond what was necessary. I will defend the Macedonian people whenever I can.

FRANCE
We rented a car and drove to a city which was new to us.We needed help in laying out our visit, finding where things were, and how to get there. French is an unfamiliar language for us, so we made a visit to the local tourist bureau. “Here’s a book. Don’t ask me. Look in the book,” was her response, while her fingers were tapping, and her eyes were rolling in disgust. One more question was answered with, “‘Didn’t you hear me?” Nasty treatment, sour response. This created a lasting image I will not soon forget. There was no courtesy, no joy, only contempt.

CHINA
Once again a new city – this time alone, not with a tour. A local businessman recognizing our confusion offered help. He took a map and placed eight numbers on it depicting items of interest that had been added in recent years. Then he took eight business cards, numbered them, and wrote instructions on the back in Mandarin, and the name of our hotel on the front. Very helpful, and he demonstrated pride in his city and kindness to tourists. I was grateful and pleased.

ECUADOR
While touring the Galapagos Islands by boat along with a group which included a diverse mix of people, we were greeted by an insolent tour guide. One couple was inquisitive, questioning, and somewhat persistent for more details.They continued to ask questions. The guide responded, “You ask too many stupid questions. I will not answer any more of them. So be quiet.” Prejudice, discourtesy, rudeness – all nasty traits were demonstrated here. It was his business, and he should have been more respectful.

BRUNEI
We were on a tour, and it was very hot. Ladies were dressed comfortably in shorts and loose-fitting blouses, as we approached the major mosque in the city of Bandar Seri Begawan. All of us wore regular street shoes, and we were politely asked to remove them. Ladies were given abayas, and asked to cover their heads with available scarves. We Americans could have easily offended local customs. We were asked graciously in a respectful way, and we complied in graceful fashion. Proud of both of our positions. We were asked with courtesy, and we responded with courtesy. An all-around win.

GERMANY
While driving ourselves in a remote area, we became completely lost. After a number of “rechtes und linkes” out of desperation we stopped at a gas station looking for help in finding our hotel. A customer saw the problem. With a laugh he said “going near there, so follow me. I will take you there.” The courtesy and kindness were much appreciated. It was done in good spirit and with thoughtfulness. I wonder if we would have done the same for him in the Bay Area. What do you think?

I hope these examples emphasize my point. We go about life leaving a trail of impressions. I hope my trail is a polite and courteous one.

Stamps In My Passport: Bruges

January 9, 2015 by Harry Hubinger Leave a Comment

I’ve never managed to get around to putting together a bucket list. Done lots of exciting and different things over the years, so never felt the need. Had I ever assembled one, it would have been divided into two distinct categories – one being things to do and the second would be places to visit. To fill the latter category I would have used the UNESCO World Heritage list. It’s a huge register of just over one thousand sites divided into cultural, natural, and mixed locations. I’ve blundered into a number of them during my travels, and I really have to give the twenty one members on the selection committee a “thumbs-up” for picking great places.

It isn’t easy to get on the list. An applicant must meet at least one of ten criteria established by UNESCO. The next step is to become part of the Tentative List, meet their approval, and finally be selected by the UNESCO Council. The last stage is to receive final approval from the UNESCO World Consent Committee. Takes effort, time, and patience to be selected.

Perhaps my all-time favorite is Luang Prabangin Laos far up the Mekong River. But last year I found a great number two. May I tell you about it?

Our experience with Belgium has been quite limited. We spent a couple of days in Brussels some years ago while on an “If It’s Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium” tour. A few years later we visited with friends who were living in Brussels. Our modus operandi has changed considerably since those days. As we age we are now spending weeks instead of days at each spot. This gives us an opportunity to feel the life of a location, rather than just a brief run-by.

We realized we knew very little about Belgium, so this country worked its way to the top of our “to visit list.” When one thinks of Belgium, Brussels is the first city that pops to mind. But as I said in my introduction, World Heritage sites usually prove more interesting, so our focus turned from Brussels to the near-by city of Bruges.

Bruges is a rabbit warren. Its history goes back about two thousand years. In the fourteenth century it was well established as one of the most prosperous and cosmopolitan cities of Europe. Its easy access to the North Sea made it a central operating city of major importance. Several major waterways allowed goods to flow into and out of Europe. The historic city center is a prominent World Heritage Site of UNESCO. This area is not only surrounded by canals, but they are also found in every corner of the town. Inside this tight little conclave a city of remarkable architectural and cultural interest developed.

The Industrial Revolution was not kind to Bruges. Other ports along the North Sea in France, Netherlands, and Germany drained much of the lifeblood from this thriving metropolis. The canals from Bruges to the sea began to fill with silt, and the deep draught ships found more appropriate ports.

World War I proved an important event for Burges, as it occupied the northern tip of the German defenses. The poem “In Flanders Field, the poppies blow, between the crosses, row on row,” speaks of the land surrounding Bruges. WWII had only a minor influence. The town was occupied by the Germans, of course, but was ignored by the advancing Allied armies. For all practical considerations, the occupying Germans just got up and left.

This light treatment was exceptionally beneficial for the town. There was very little damage done to the multitude of magnificent buildings, and Bruges became the stereotypical picture of historic houses. It achieved the coveted prize of being named a “UNESCO World Heritage Site” in 2008.

Now, let me slip from the broad overview to my own little Bruges story. Near the center of the town sits an old hospital, St. John’s, which was later expanded with the addition of a monastery and convent. The building was first built in the eleventh century and is located just across from the Church of our Lady. This complex served its purpose for many centuries, and then evolved into one of the leading hospitals in the city. It served in this capacity for many years and continues to have elements of its mission left behind, such as an herb garden which was used to grow healing plants. Alas, modern medicine made this beautiful sanctuary obsolete, and it now has been resurrected as a museum.

Just outside the west wall sits a white block and stone building. The wall itself contains a number of tombs – each of which holds the remains of local church leaders who were influential throughout the centuries.

The little building next door to the wall began as a nunnery. Early pictures show it standing stately by itself. The windows were heavily barred, and a local joker told me the bars were to keep the nuns in and not to keep the riffraff out. The construct of stone is strong and stately and shows no signs of its age. This building now is in its third resurrection. It currently houses a small apartment hotel with just eleven rooms, each about 600 square feet. It was here, within these four walls of ancient history, that we spent two plus weeks studying this fantastic town of Bruges.

My first observation found Bruges to have more chocolate factories and confectionary stores than it has churches. The chocolate shops are loaded with tourists stocking up on the well-known confections. Chocolate is resplendent in a variety of molds, not just proper-sized pieces. These molds can be of tools, such as pliers and wrenches, or as various body parts. (Use your own imagination here.) The chocolate shops are challenged for supremacy by the locally-brewed beers. Beside each chocolate shop lurks a store selling Bruges-brewed beer.

We spent days wandering the streets of this picturesque city. The canals offered slow and easy boat rides through the multitudes of canals. Horse-drawn carriages clip-clopped along the narrow cobblestone streets. Tea houses with Belgian waffles were mixed in between the chocolate shops and the beer retailers. The mixture of architectural design delighted the eye. The dates on most of the building went back three hundred, four hundred, even five hundred years.

We sat in parks, ate in street cafes, and allowed the tranquil atmosphere to sink in. Then, of course, we could return to our ex-nunnery for the night.

Once again I tip my hat to the UNESCO people. They did it right by putting Bruges on that very select list.