Until a few years ago if someone had asked me to make a bucket list of countries to visit, Vietnam would have been at or near the bottom. I guess you could say, “been there, done that.”  I served in the U.S. Army in Vietnam from June 1969 until June 1970.  I was part of a recon platoon called Fox Force.  We operated in the Central Highlands of Vietnam – in the mountains and jungles of that area.  Unlike any unit I’m aware of we wore red scarves – always – even on combat missions.  We had a well-earned reputation, and our red scarves clearly set us apart from other soldiers in our division.  We were told the enemy had a $10,000 bounty on each of us.  It didn’t really matter because in the year I was part of Fox, the enemy never killed a single member of our team.  We were in combat frequently but were never ambushed or surprised.  If we were a baseball team, we would have ended our season with all wins and no losses, and with most games pitched as no hitters.  I’m sure history books will say the U.S. lost that war, but we were ahead when I left.  Read More

When Royal Princess pulled into Skagway, the morning was young enough that a mist still clung to the edges of the harbor.  With each successive hour, the trails of fog gave way to rays of sun and by afternoon the sky shown clear – a perfect day for a helicopter “flight seeing” tour and an encounter with some speedy pooches.

I’d been working aboard the ship for the season in my capacity as cruise director, but hadn’t yet had the opportunity to experience one of the state’s singular sports – dog mushing.   An animal lover all my life and big fan of the outdoors, I was intrigued to interact with Alaska’s most unique athletes and see their remote summer camp high up on a glacier.  I was thrilled that we were finally on our way.  Our bus ride to the airport doubled as a safety orientation, and on arrival we were fitted with life vests and moon boots and placed in helicopter groups.

Nestled into the chopper, no sooner had I placed the headset over my ears than we soared upward.  I watched as the Alaska gold rush town shrank away from us, along with the rest of civilization.  Read More

They had only recently put finishing touches on the statue when Mavis, my grandmother, made her first visit to the iconic Christ the Redeemer in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil more than 70 years ago.

Mavis was a young Brit, living with her family in the Amazon, where her father was an engineer working on one of the first railroads being constructed in the jungles.  It was on a side trip to Rio that Mavis would marvel at what is now the largest art deco statue in the world – Christ the Redeemer that stands majestically embracing the whole of the city from its grand perch on Corcovado Mountain.

She journeyed up this famed mountain by way of an electric railcar that jerked and jostled its way toward the summit, traveling through a lush rainforest along the way.

As she disembarked from the train, and climbed the many steps to the statue’s base, greeting her with open arms was Christ the Redeemer. And he was not like any depiction of Jesus Mavis had seen before.  Read More