38th Parallel: Korea Demilitarized Zone

Since the 1953 armistice, the Capital of South Korea has found itself within range of quite literally 10,000 North Korean artillery tubes. To be that close, it can't take much time to travel there and in truth it doesn't. Boarding a bus from downtown Seoul, you can drive to the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) in about one hour, traffic dependent. So on a sunny and clear summer day, our team of five Marines boarded a bus along with soldiers, airmen and sailors for a day-long excursion to experience a series of paradoxes at one of the last standing relics of the Cold War and what endures today as the most heavily defended border in the world.

The DMZ itself reflects all the characteristics of any typical No-Man's Land: A strip of land devoid of character, loaded chock-full of mines, machine gun nests, security cameras, fields of fire and barbed wire that separates two ideologically polarized armies. 4 Km wide from the Southern to Northern Boundaries, the DMZ is heavily patrolled by soldiers whose countries continue to demonstrate one-upsmanship on a spectacular scale. Adding to that, hair-trigger tension between the two nations is at an all-time high thanks to the North's recent unprovoked torpedoing of the Cheonan and other ensuing events generating a mild feeling of anxiety as you approach. US and Republic of Korea (ROK) soldiers constantly prowl the border, tasked with ensuring no repeat of a 1950 North Korean invasion catches anyone by surprise. Actually in some way, shape or form that's what our team is doing on this hot, humid Peninsula as well.

As we draw in on the DMZ the first stop is Camp Bonifas, named after a US Army Captain and UN Command team member axed to death by crazy North Korean guards as they supervised the cutting down of a Yellow Poplar in August 1976. At it's peak, the United States Army occupied this US installation with over 11,000 personnel that daily patrolled the DMZ. While the overall number of border guards remains the same, the US contingent has dwindled down and that responsibility now falls almost entirely with ROK forces.


The first thing I notice is the state of disrepair of what was once a Tip of the Spear facility. During their tour of duty, soldiers lived here under immediate daily threat of an occasional rifle shot aimed in their general direction and greater looming danger of a major, coordinated North Korean attack. In it's heyday, Camp Bonifas was visited by Ronald Reagan and other Cold War dignitaries in a show of force. Now, upkeep of the base has made Bonifas look more like it was hit hard under one of the mid-90s Base Realignment & Closure (BRAC) waves. Weeds peek through cracks in the pavement, fences criss-cross whole areas, and 1960-era shelters are in desperate need of a paint job (or tear-down).

Everyone signs a waiver stating that "The visit to the Joint Security Area at Panmunjom will entail entry into a hostile area and possibility of injury or death as a direct result of enemy action," so it is hard to imagine why this site looks like a run down time capsule. We don't spend much time on Bonifas, but did get a chance to receive a quick orientation on the history of the base and border which proves educational and also helps provide some situational awareness when we are actually on the DMZ and peering in to the Democratic People's Republic of Korea (DPRK), just over the hill.

Transiting north from Camp Bonifas we immediately pass the 2km Southern Boundary of the DMZ, immediately apparent thanks to an over sized vehicle barricade that a ROK soldier opens with a smart salute. Within meters, we drive through a series of large and small physical barriers that are well camouflaged, semi-camouflaged and not camouflaged at all. Given the limited number of highways that connect North and South Korea, US/ROK forces have designed many of these to block the arteries with preset explosives should the need arise.



We learn that this isn't meant as anything more than a delay tactic and these barriers exist all the way down to Seoul. If each feature delays a DPRK attack by 15 minutes, then Seoul has bought another few hours before enemy forces roll downtown, aiding in defensive preparations and allowing citizens a few more precious minutes to evacuate. Two sets of 20-foot high fences riddled with triple-strand concertina separate a gravelly minefield. I'm still not sure if that ROK salute was more of a send-off than military courtesy, but either way it was a nice formality given what we then crossed through en route to the actual border.

Side roads zig-zag through the Southern Boundary and before long, we arrive at Checkpoint Charlie- the final US checkpoint before entering the United Nations Panmunjom Peace Talk facility. From here, there is nothing separating us from North Korea but two buildings, a parking lot and a whole lot of attitude. We hear a story about a Soviet citizen that made a mad dash across the border in 1984 defection attempt, making it as far as the parking lot immediately north of Checkpoint Charlie. North Korean border guards crossed in pursuit, and a 40 minute fire fight erupted inside of South Korea. The citizen was ultimately protected and the attack was repelled thanks to the Quick Reaction Force called out of Bonifas but in the end, one South Korean and three North Koreans were killed with a handful of soldiers wounded on both sides.

Once given the all-clear, we are escorted in a formalized column up through the Peace Building and out on to a concrete platform that overlooks the border and a series of buildings painted in distinct United Nations blue. Nondescript concrete blocks straddling ranch style facilities identify the true border while the main administration buildings of the North and South stand off with imposing, several story facilities that are largely open inside and unoccupied. The Peace Building on the ROK side was built specifically to hold ongoing talks between the two sides but given the lack of meetings in today's climate, it is solely used by groundskeepers to get out of the sun at lunchtime. Since the Cheonan sinking, there has been only one set of talks between nations. Fittingly enough, the only agreement coming out of that meeting was.. that the countries should have more talks.



A stare-down of sorts evolves over the course of the day. Two ROK guards outfitted with black aviator sunglasses and pit helmets face the DPRK and stand at a position of modified attention while half protected by the buildings themselves. All these soldiers must have a black belt in Tae Kwon Do or Judo and must be a minimum of 177cm tall in order to intimidate the North's guards. They do a good number on me, so I'm sure the DPRK don't take them lightly. On the north, two stone-faced soldiers stare on through binoculars while another snaps pictures of our group thereby placing us on Kim Jong Il's Enemy of the State list. We are told that these individuals are among the most well-fed of all North Koreans in order to allow them to maintain their own version of intimidation and "face".

The UN Command Armistice Conference Building is a single room facility housed with nothing other than desks and chairs. We learn that flags used to be in the room until one day after a negotiation, the UN team looked in the windows and saw DPRK soldiers rubbing their asses/ crotches with the US and ROK flags. Seriously. Both sides also kept bringing in larger and larger flags (my flag is bigger than yours) until a separate session was needed solely to discuss flag sizes in the conference room. All of this ultimately led to an agreement to just leave flags out altogether. There are two other things in the room, though- ROK soldiers who are essentially there for our protection and to guard a door that leads in to North Korea proper.

This door is a bit of a concern. A few years ago, a DPRK soldier had hidden on the other side of the door and when the ROK soldier unlocked it, the DPRK soldier reached through, grabbed his hand and attempted unsuccessfully to pull him kicking and screaming in to North Korea. As a result, a second lock was installed and the second soldier stationed in the room. When this particular door is now closed the second soldier braces himself against the wall (hence the clearly visible rub marks) and holds on to the utility belt of the first soldier, who then unlocks/ locks both deadbolts in the door quickly before backing off and egressing the building.

From there, we head a short distance to Checkpoint 3- a guard house surrounded on three sides by North Korea and some heavily populated minefields. Across the treeline, a DPRK checkpoint is clearly visible along with speaker towers that blare propaganda into the south. Located on a hill, this checkpoint provides sweeping views of the mountainous area to the north and some interesting history as well. From here, the site of Capt Bonifas' murder, the Bridge to Nowhere, the site of the 1953 armistice signing, and also Propaganda Village are clearly visible.

Minefields, camera arrays, sensors and alarms are everywhere as far as the eye can see. Some are easy to identify thanks to signs, some are more hidden by shrubs and grasslands. But the border is so well entrenched that one quick glance at any of the border stakes riddling the area quickly brings awareness that mines and other nasty pieces of equipment that would put a serious dent in your social life are only a few steps away. At several points on the trip, we comment to each other: What would you do if you ended up finding yourself inside North Korea and were trying to get out? Just even trying to figure out how to cut across this seemingly impregnable line is mind boggling.

Would you go for it? Try to make your way to the coast? Head north for China? All that we see is a blaring reminder of one Golden Rule of the DMZ: While walking around, under no circumstances should you leave the path.

From Checkpoint 3 and at several points along the border, the absolutely ridiculous Propaganda Village comes into view. Adjacent to the North Korean border city of Kaesong, this "village" was actually erected in an effort to show South Koreans all the prosperity and exciting ways of the North. Speakers broadcast music and propaganda designed to convince people to defect to the North. Never mind that other than a handful of settlers and border guards, South Koreans are forbidden from entering the Southern Boundary and therefore wouldn't see Propaganda Village with their own eyes. But even if they did, what would they think? Sure, you will always get some schmo that might buy into the whole cockamamie ploy and absurdity. But the village is deserted and made like that movie set Wild West town that Gene Wilder blew up in the movie "Blazing Saddles". We learn that at night, US guards have noticed that lights shining through windows were brighter at the top floor and became successively dimmer going toward the ground. Buildings are a facade- plywood multi-story replicas completely hollow inside. Through high power binoculars we notice no movement in the village other than two DPRK guards walking lazily to their post, so it would seem that even the North knows that the South is on to them but keep up the game anyway.


Propaganda Village is also the site of one of the most evident and peculiar pieces of one-up-man-ship going on cross-border. Many years ago, the South Koreans had erected a flagpole which was clearly visible from the north. The North Koreans then promptly responded in-kind, raising a conspicuously taller flagpole. Not to be out done, the South Koreans then built a flagpole that is 100m tall and stands prominently above the surrounding treeline. The North Koreans then immediately followed with giant F-You by one erecting one that stands 170m in height- the tallest flagpole in the world. The North Korean flag is so large that it takes 11 people to raise/lower it, and weighs close to 600lbs. The South said "wow, you guys are doofuses" and that's where it stands today. If they didn't say that, they sure should have.

I read that over 750 overt acts of violence have been registered on the North/South Korea DMZ, not even counting the shoving/ rude gestures/ fistfights that have erupted. One of the craziest examples of this occurred on August 18, 1976 when Capt Bonifas and 1stLt Barrett led a working party contingent to trim a tree that blocked the view of Checkpoint 3 from Checkpoint 2. Once on site, the working party found themselves surrounded by a large number of DPRK guards who became increasingly hostile. Unprovoked, the DPRK attacked the UN team, mauling Capt Bonifas with his own axe. A few weeks later, Operation Paul Bunyan was executed- in what shows true tension of the Korean Peninsula, a large team of Special Forces cut the thing down while an entire Carrier Battle Group was positioned in the Sea of Japan, bomber and fighter squadrons were put in the air and US forces regionally were put on high alert in a massive show of force. In the end, the tree came down.

Maybe it's because of how crazy this part of the world is. Maybe it's a combination of both those reasons coupled with others, but for whatever it's worth there are some funny and very different parts of this border that contradict all the barbed wire and explosives that are literally feet from a tourist attraction. The border town of Imjingak is just one of those examples. Where else can someone spend time staring across the DMZ with binoculars, walk by a locomotive that was shot up back in 1950 and then go spend the rest of the day eating Korean BBQ, shopping for chotchkies and riding Super Viking? Some things make sense, some don't. Standing next to a camouflaged building that is home to one a border guard team known as the "N1CE" unit, I am strictly instructed to not take pictures in front of a yellow line.. that is literally ten feet from a wall that houses a phalanx of binoculars requiring 500 Won to operate. What that ten feet did for anyone or OpSec is beyond me, but they meant business and were enforcing that rule with gusto.

Simply because they are crazy, the North Koreans decided that it would be a good idea to dig infiltration tunnels into the south and over time and thanks to actionable intelligenge the south has discovered four of these spanning back to the mid-70s. Some are larger than others, some are more advanced than others. But 3rd Tunnel is reputed to be capable of allowing 30,000 North Korean soldiers in to South Korea/ hour, so when the South Koreans finally learned of it they spent no time cutting it off and building in barricades to ensure no-one is able to slip through. So what else did the South Koreans do? Turned it into a tourist attraction. Following a 350m walkway down into the guts of the earth, you feel the temperature bleed off and humidity jump. The tunnel itself is nothing more than a rocky crawlspace that is likely perfectly high enough for your average North Korean soldier, but requires American Marines to hunch over while walking. Water drips everywhere. Drill points are highlighted to show that this tunnel was clearly drilled out in a southerly direction. Almost laughably, we learn that when the tunnel was discovered a team from the north painted the sides with coal paste in order to make the argument that the tunnel was a coal mine that originated in the south. Hard to explain how coal paste covering granite makes sense, but it must have been a last minute ditch excuse that someone concocted on the fly.

All in all, a unique experience. All of this reminds me of a teammate at IBM named Chuck Adams. In a former life, he worked at the Pentagon on his twilight Army tour in an obscure office like "Department of the Army, Assistant Logistics and Transformation Office". Essentially a low level office that had little to no access to classified materials. One of his coworkers was a crabby, antisocial Paraplegic woman who wouldn't meet with anyone and spent more time at doctors appointments than she did in the office. Anyone who knows about Federal Service jobs knows that it almost takes an Act of God to fire someone, so they allowed her to continue doing what she did, on her own time. One day, Chuck walks in to the office and finds dust all over his desk. He looks up, and sees the face of a worker in the ceiling who then goes on to tell Chuck that the Pentagon is in the process of network upgrades and it's his turn to have CAT-5 cabling installed. Six weeks pass. Chuck again walks in the office, and finds out that the paraplegic woman has been arrested. For spying for North Korea. Apparently, that's the best that they can afford, which is sort of funny and sort of sad.

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Little Tahoma (11,138')

What better way to celebrate Independence Day? On the 4th of July I stepped off for Rainier National Park to climb Little Tahoma, the 3rd largest peak in Washington State in what turned out to be an enjoyable and fun trek through subalpine meadows and forests on the way to a technical and challenging climb. Little Tahoma has always seemed quite daunting. While summiting Mt Rainier via the standard route, it takes up a significant portion of the eastern skyline with sheer, crumbly volcanic rock cliffs that rise close to 2,000 feet in a straight spire from the craggy and crevasse-riddled glaciers below. As “Little T” looks to be somewhat attached to Rainier and is overshadowed by it’s more popular and more famous neighbor, there is a definite misperception surrounding this mountain- it is actually a separate peak. Several hundred thousand years ago, Little T was a massive volcano all to it’s own. Then the hot spot shifted, and the birth of Mt Rainier simultaneously caused the extinction of Little T. What is left of Little T is essentially the rotten, crumbling and unstable core of what was a volcanic center that still manages to rise 11,138’ into the sky in what resembles an almost vertical pyramid.

A few of my Seattle Mountain Rescue (SMR) teammates have climbed Little T already and through their experiences, I have been studying Little Tahoma for a potential climb for close to seven years. So this year, another Marine and climbing buddy named Peter Leonard and I decided to set out and tackle the standard route via the east over a ~30 hour trip. We both subscribe to teams that select a “lighter-is-faster” philosophy to climbing in the Pacific Northwest when weather is stable and this experience was no different. 18 miles round trip, the Fryingpan/ Whitman Glacier Route ascends 7,338’ from the trailhead, so bringing along a bunch of excess equipment that would never be used just didn’t seem all that attractive to either of us. This type of travel can have limitations though. In 2005, our team of five Marines/Sailors tackled a speed ascent of Mt Olympus and were roughly 20 miles into a 47 mile trip when it started raining heavily at 2am. We all curled up into fetal positions on a flat rock to wait out the night, and Leonard whipped out a bivvy bag that he had somehow snuck along. Wiping wet faces with dirty, grubby hands and staring in envy through sideways blowing rain that was twinkling thanks to glowing headlamps, we looked on longingly as he crawled into his bag. “I’ll give you a million dollars for that bivvy bag..” “Nope.” We shivered for the next three hours. He slept like a baby. Short of it- there can be drawbacks to traveling light.

Fryingpan Creek: (3,800’) Stepping off to chirping birds, pine trees, wild flowers and the burbling sounds of Fryingpan Creek, we wound our way from the trailhead through scenes right out of the movies. Massive trees stretching to the sky provide God Rays that filter down to the pine needled and red dirt forest floor. Briefly, cool breezes lift the spirits as glacial meltwater rolling down the creek drop the temperature, providing a brief respite from the warm air. 4.2 miles later, the Wonderland Trail has zig-zagged over side brooks, through smallish meadows teeming with butterflies and awash in wildflowers brimming in color. We continue to tack on elevation and the trail soon turns to snow as we cross over a large log that has been chipped into a bridge that allows us to cross over Fryingpan Creek almost at it’s source and arrive at Summerland- a campground at 5,800’ that is popular later in the season and provides breathtaking views of the east face of Mt Rainier.

From Summerland, we continue straight up a steep, snow-covered ramp that rises 1,800’ to Meany Crest. It takes us close to two hours to pick our way up what is generally not climbable in August when snow melts off and vertical chutes, cliff bands and crumbly rock provide way too much exposure to go straight up safely. For now though, steep ramps of snow allow us to dial in on Meany Crest easily while fuzzy, 30lb, teddy bear-looking Marmots stare on and squeak out their alarms to friends up the route.

Meany Crest (7,500’): Four hours after stepping off, we arrive at Meany Crest. A flat, large rock formation that juts out at the end of a topographical finger, there are plenty of spots to set up camp. Leonard and I found 11 other climbers at Meany Crest- the only other climbers on Little T while we were there, and among them was Gretchen Lentz- one of my SMR teammates who happened to be there assisting with a climbing course. They had taken an area among the large rocks, but as we were traveling light it didn’t matter. We located a scrub pine that was growing alongside a boulder and built ourselves a handy wind break by taking advantage of this opportunity. Leonard scraped snow off the gravel while I moved over basketball-sized rocks. After 30 minutes, our wind shelter was built and we spent a few hours eating, relaxing and preparing or technical climbing gear. Leonard had hauled along three slices of pizza from the night before, and after climbing into our bags, devoured that while watching the sun slowly slip behind Rainier as the sky transitioned over to a wide array of orange, red and purple hues. Leonard managed to piss off a Marmot in what quickly became one of my favorite moments of the trip.

At 2am, my alarm went off and I crawled out of my bag. When you are cold in a sleeping bag, several things go through your mind. You want to believe that you can out-will yourself and just sleep through it. You want to figure out what you can do to get warmer. You curse yourself for not spending those ten short minutes that you debated on before bed to boil water and make yourself a hot water bottle. You wish it was time to get moving. You are glad you have more time before you need to get moving. Wow are those stars bright! Why am I looking at stars when I could be sleeping? Why am I even thinking anything at all? If I just let my mind go blank, I could drift back to sleep. Why is Leonard snoring? I really need to let my mind go blank. I’m hungry. Why isn’t my mind blank? Argh!” And then after endless hours of this, it is time.

Headlamp on, harness on, crampons on. Grab some quick food and pack up gear we would need for the summit. We slipped out of camp quickly and were well past Whitman Crest before sunrise.

As dawn approached, we noticed that we were just above the cloud line. This is such a fun place to be when climbing, especially when at 9,000’. Clouds zip by at 20 miles an hour and you catch faint glimpses of the oncoming sun, mountain before you, trail and surrounding terrain. Then the clouds come back and all that you were enjoying disappears back into a sea of endless white mist. On and off until you gain enough altitude to clear the clouds and see them lazily roll by under your boots. Crampons crunching in the frosty early morning snow, skies lighting up in Alpenglow and the summit seemingly within reach, we began our push up the 60 degree slopes of Little Tahoma on the Whitman Glacier. The good news with steep slopes is that you gain altitude- quickly. The bad news is that it can be slow going at times, can require protection, and is extremely steep. The higher you go, the more attentive you are to footing and ropework. As the sun rises higher in the morning sky, snow gets soft quickly- evermoreso thanks to an east facing slope with no shade to break the warming rays from making what was once hard crust into mush. Communicating regularly and routinely as a team allows for general understanding of what to expect as we climb higher and higher. Step after steep step results in the snow eventually giving way to rock gullies that require rock protection, not the aluminum pickets that anchor ropes to snow. From here, the route snakes its way up and around large rock buttresses caked in ice, now gleaming in the bright morning air. Partially snow, partially rock the route finally switches over to loose, crumbly volcanic tuff about 50 vertical feet below the summit.

And then, we were there. At the top of Little T you have a very different view than what unfolds on major peaks. Instead of being able to see in every direction, the whole west side of view is blocked by Mt Rainier. Looking over the north face, you are immediately filled with vertigo when looking several thousand feet to the glacier floor while updrafts of wind buffet and blast anything exposed. Truly, only the east and south views are available to take in the splendor of this unique mountain and it’s surroundings. Glaciers spread in all directions, clouds lazily roll by. Vivid greens of forest canopies are closer here that from other peaks, offering a unique view not often available of these remote forests riddled with rivers cascading off cliffs into valleys below. We spent close to 20 minutes at the summit- enough time to enjoy the view, take some pictures and swig down some Gatorade before preparing gear for our trip back home.

From the summit, it took us close to seven hours to carefully make our way back down off of the steep scree field, through the rock gullies and down a variety of snowfields. As soon as we hit Whitman Crest, we landed in a fairly solid whiteout that remained the entire route back to Meany Crest. Once there though, we grabbed a quick catnap and were ready to go within the hour. Down, down, down we went- at one point glissading in a volley of wet snow that went so fast that we covered 1,600’ in less than four minutes. Finally regaining the trail, we moved nonstop over the remaining four miles until arriving at the car where we could finally let our guard down and relieve shoulders that had been aching heavily since the day before. Big smiles and all in all, a truly fun trip.

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The Great Pyramids

The Giza Necropolis- more commonly called The Great Pyramids of Egypt, actually is an ancient temple complex of three large pyramids, three small pyramids, and the mighty Sphinx. Built in 2560 BC, it is also the only one of the Seven Wonders of the World that remains intact.. or somewhat, at least. Of the structures that make up this complex, The Great Pyramid of Giza is the tallest, the largest and the oldest. Originally built as the final resting place of Pharaoh Khufu in the Fourth Dynasty, it took 20 years to build and remained the tallest manmade structure in the world for 3,800 years- finally surrendering that title to the English Lincoln Cathedral in 1311 AD.

There have been varying scientific and alternative theories regarding the Great Pyramid's construction techniques. Most accepted construction theories are based on the idea that it was built by moving huge stones from a quarry, dragging and lifting them into place. Originally, the Great Pyramid was covered by casing stones that formed a smooth outer surface. What is seen today is the underlying core structure because in 1301 a massive earthquake ripped most of the casing stones free. Some of these stones that once covered the structure can still be seen scattered around the base, but essentially these stones knocking loose are what made climbing the pyramids possible. A goal of mine for many years, climbing one has been something I have read about but is inherently difficult and remains so for many reasons.

So one day while visiting Cairo, we set out to visit the pyramids. Arriving at the Giza Necropolis before sunrise and thanks to Muhammad the taxi driver, we were directed to some back alley which we learned later is a standard tourist trappy kickback to drivers. Turned around, a bit confused as to what was being pressed on us and ultimately still interested, we elected to see a bright orange sun rise on the pyramids from a nearby roof top and then hopped on horses with a guide named (yep) Muhammad who led us around the south side of the complex and up to the crest of an overlooking dune. There, we watched excited kids race horses back and forth haphazardly across the sand while shepherds tended to their flocks of sheep as they headed out to grazing fields further out from civilization.


Once the site opened for the mornings tourist rush, we said goodbye to Muhammad and waded into the masses that exist at the front of the complex. There we paid an entry fee that is 10 times what it is for locals, but in all truth, what can you do? It's not like you cab blend in.. and you want to see them. So you just deal with it, knowing all the while that you are getting ripped off but it's still only about 5 bucks in Egyptian Ribles.

Once inside, you aren't exactly immune. Throngs upon throngs of street urchins and "cultural sentinels", or whatever these guys claim to call themselves exist even past the ticketed entry point and were absolutely shamelss in their attempts to hit you up. Their goal: to milk you from as much of your money as possible. This was actually so bad that we routinely resorted to two methods that clearly slowed our cash flow to these people: One was to split cash in to no less than three pockets- large bills into one, medium into another, and then a final pocket to hold an assortment of smallish bills that could be doled out with a "sorry, this is all I have". Sometimes this wouldn't work- I had a kid actually pat my pockets when I gave him a low Rible note.

The other, better way was to respond to the universal 1st question of "where are you from" with a 3rd world nation. This being because the stronger the economy you throw out, the more you are hit up for in your local currency. Amazingly, these urchins also speak an unlimited set of languages for cash. Say you are from Italy? Italian flows from their tongues. French? Look out, they speak that too. I even bumped into a kid who knew enough Japanese to tell that I was warning some tourists- and respond back to me in Japanese. They are that familiar with Tourist Milk. So- the most sure-fire way of getting them to leave you alone?

"Where are you from?"
"Paraguay"
-silence-

.. walk-off.

Not only do they not know where Paraguay is- hence the inability to hit you up for any given amount of Euro, Yen, USD.. whatever, but they also don't know what language to talk to you in. In essence, a perfect formula.

Weaving our way through the unexpected crowds, we meandered over to the Sphinx- in many ways it is stunning to see this firsthand with your own eyes. There is so much history behind the Sphinx that seeing it elicits a bit of a unique response. Almost immediately, a dude on a camel came by and asked us if we wanted to ride. I'm pretty sure his name was Muhammad. It's so funny.. at first there was no way I was getting onto his camel- it just seemed too touristy. But Jon had his SLR handy and we all decided to give it a go. Despite all of the people just meters away, we still were able to capture ephemeral scenes that were right out of storybook Rudyard Kipling or Richard Burton lore.


All the while, I scoped out possible entry points to the complex. How do people scale these pyramids? Where do they get in? I have read several narratives and blog entries- the best time seems to be in the dead of night when you can slip in and then watch sunrise, to get busted on the way down, paying Paraguayan bribes to keep out of jail. Interestingly, climbing the pyramids used to be legal- even Mark Twain did it. But in the 1980s, Egyptian authorities put an end to the practice- for cultural reasons and specifically after several westerners slipped and fell. There are many stories about Japanese tourists who are particularly adept at avoiding guards and slipping up top in the middle of the night, but I didn't really have that luxury so this initial foray around the complex was also a bit of a recon of sorts.

We slowly made our way around the Pyramid of Khafre and south toward the Pyramid of Menkaure- a moderate sized pyramid that sits alongside the Pyramids of the Queens. As we wandered around this 200 foot tall pyramid, some Egyptian casually skulking by the far corner said quietly to us "hey.... do you want to climb?" and pointed toward the top. This stopped me dead in my tracks. Was he serious? His shifty narrow eyes darting over toward some police and back toward us made me realize that he definitely was.

"How much"
"What country are you from?"
"Paraguay"
"40 Euro"

There are many things in Egypt that cost 40 Euro but climbing 200' of pyramid under my own steam to what clearly was a bribe didn't make any sense to me. We moved on, but something in me wondered if that was an offer I shouldn't be turning down. Yet dressed in white and standing out like a sore thumb didn't make me feel like this undertaking at midday among hundreds of money grubbing "Cultural Sentinels" would keep me from seeing the inside of an Egyptian jail or completely clean me out.

We wandered on, but part of me still wondered. Was it worth it? To climb to the top and see Mark Twains, Alexander the Great, or other famous names etched into the summit block as rumor has it? Would it be better than this picture, taken on the first few steps of the Pyramid of Khafre? This one- while cool- still cost me $10 bucks and resulted in a feeding frenzy over that money between the Sentinels and some guards who clearly wanted in on the action.


I wondered aloud what it would cost if I got nailed on top. Everything in this park comes with a price, a bribe, and an equal secondary bribe. But why not? After all, to say that I had climbed a pyramid was well worth 40 Euro to me. It was set- I wanted to go back and take a shot.

The next day Chris and Jon headed off to sightsee at the Citadel and walk around the Old City while I grabbed a bunch of cash and headed back to the Pyramids. I negotiated a rate with a taxi driver outside the anti-terror barricade of the Cairo Hilton, and made it crystal clear that I was limited on time. My goal: Get to the pyramids. Climb one. Get to taxi. Get back to hotel. We fly out. The driver said he understood. He didn't care.

Instead, he drove me right back to the same little sketchy horse stable we were dropped off at that first morning. Wtf!? I jumped out, told him to get lost and headed straight to the ticket booth. I was immediately swarmed by urchins who actually followed me into the site but were easy enough to shake. I headed right back to the corner of the Pyramid of Menkaure and looked for the same kid who offered me to climb. Not around, some other dude kicked off bidding at 80 Euro. For a Paraguayan, this is pretty steep.

I declined, stated 40 Euro- and said that I had no more. He finally relented, seeing that 40 Euro was better than 0 Euro, which he was rapidly cruising toward. The caveat: "can you come back at 1:00?" We were heading to the airport at 12:30 so that was clearly out of the question. Apparently this is when the guards go on siesta, and when climbing a pyramid is possible.

"I can't. It has to be sooner"
"Ok ok. Come back in 30 minutes" he said, warily glancing over at three guards.
I did, and was told again that I had to come back in 30 minutes.

This happened two more times, and I was getting tired of this. The urchin was clearly aware of this, and finally asked "can you come back at 1?" Frustrated, I said "sure, I'll come back at 1." "You are going to come back at 1, aren't you?"
"Yes"
"Promise me"

Promise me? Is he serious? The guy that is looking to milk me out of my money, probably dime me out to a guard so he can get a cut, and has had me sitting around for close to 2 hrs?

"I promise. See you at 1."

With that, I turned, walked down past the Pyramid of Khafre, past the Giza Pyramid, past the Sphinx and out into the crowd. For now, the summit of a pyramid would have to wait.

Marine Antics
While on active duty in 29 Palms, CA, I worked with a Gunnery Sergeant named Ward Lemmons. A crusty salt who was at the end of his time in the Corps, he told me a story at one point about his Marine Security Guard assignments. American Embassies are guarded around the world by US Marines, whose charter is to ensure that embassy personnel and the actual grounds- deemed sovereign US soil are fully protected. The assignment typically involves a small team of Marines that work for 4 days on/ 3 days off or whatever, with the first Embassy being a "hardship" (I use that term loosely.. if you have ever seen State Department living overseas it is hardly a hardship) tour, then the second Embassy being a premier posting.

Gunny's first embassy was Cairo. On this posting, he said: "you know, those pyramids go way out there! Me and a few other Marines would hop in a Jeep and drive way, way out into the desert. Finding some random pyramid, we would climb to the top with a case of Heineken and sleeping bags. And those Heineken bottles are made of some tough glass too. We would roll the empties off the top, hearing them go 'clink clink clink' on their way down until you couldn't hear them anymore. We would pass out in our bags until morning when some British tourists, thinking they were going to have some spiritual experience would stumble onto us after passing all those empties on their way up. Thinking they were going to have some spiritual experience at sunrise, instead they'd find a trail of empties leading to bunch of passed out Marines."

He went on to tell me that during this posting he also managed to make it into one of the extensive catacomb networks riddling the Egyptian plain. There, he stole a human skull, tossed it into his backpack and brought it back to the Marine House where he would then pull it out from time to time for party-goers to inspect: "you can tell he was a grain eater because his molars are all worn down."

Two years later, Gunny Lemmons found himself and his Egyptian skull assigned to the US Embassy in Paris, where he met and married a local girl. His proposal came with only one demand: Get rid of the head. So, he concocted a plan with some fellow Marines. One quiet Sunday afternoon they all boarded the Métro de Paris with the skull in a brown paper bag. Sitting down, they put the bag under their seat, waited a few stops and then collectively disembarked. The bag and it's occupant kept going on it's merry way, finally to be discovered at some point down the line. The next morning's front page newspaper headline read: "Human Head Found in Métro" although it did seem to confuse everyone how a 3,000 year old head managed to get there in the first place.

The Muhammad's

If you have ever seen the coming-of-age movie "Superbad", one favorite story line comes when Fogel is proudly showing off his Fake ID to his friends. Seth and Evan comment on the name he has chosen for himself: McLovin, the Organ Donor from Hawaii. His friends get on his case until Fogel claims that his choice was between McLovin and Muhammad. Seth says "Why the F*@k would it be between McLovin or Muhammad? Why don't you just pick a common name like a normal person?" Fogel's response: "Muhammad is the most commonly used name on Earth. Read a f-ing book for once."

So here we are in Egypt, and everyone we meet is named Muhammad. Taxi drivers, Egypt Museum crappy tour guides, hotel bellhops. Even in this mob of kids- at least ten of them are named Muhammad.

Exiting the swarm of tourists and vultures at the Giza Pyramid main entrance, I track down a taxi driver who leads me to a side alley and his vehicle. Jumping in, I notice a solitary figure sitting alone on a storefront stoop diligently and carefully carving away at a piece of alabaster. "Hey Muhammad, can you wait for a second? I want to see if he is selling canopic jars." I crossed the street and approached this largish individual in man-dress and keffiyeh who immediately breaks out into a giant smile and strikes up a conversation.

"Hi, how are you my friend? My name is Muhammad."

"You don't say. I'm doing well, thanks for asking. Do you sell canopic jars?"

"Yeah I do."

Yeah? Hmm.. that's a little odd. The conversation wears on.

"Where are you from?"

Typically, this general question would have elicited my usual "Paraguay" response, but for some reason that I couldn't explain I felt ok and replied with "United States"

"What part?"

"Seattle."

"Quite rainy there this time of year."

Err? This response definitely wasn't normal. We continue talking.

"So do you hand make these?"

"Uh huh."

At that point I stop, turn around and look him in the eye. "Ok...Where. Are. You. From?"

"Hawaii. Big Island."

"Get the hell out of here."

We talk for the next ten minutes while I get his life story, which involves him growing up as a surfer outside of Kona, meeting an Egyptian woman (of course), falling in love and her convincing him to move to Egypt in the mid-90s, converting to Muslim along the way. He travels home every other year where the old gang remains the same and where he's still able to maintain the faint glimmer of Hawaiian Pidgin that he now feels ok to spurt fluently. There we are- two Americans who bumped into each other, half way around the world at the foot of four thousand year old pyramids and talking about surfing in Hawaii. So incredibly random. His smile grows larger and he laughs heartily when I tell him that my usual response to the tourist vultures of nationality is Paraguayan, then becomes saddened when talking about a drying of American tourism post-9/11. "It will come back though, I am confident!" he replies, pulling out his smile again. He insists that I not even consider haggling with him as he gives me bargain-basement prices on everything I want to purchase and then throws in a few pieces free of charge. We part ways, only after he insists a return to his store again when visiting Cairo next time.

I promise, Muhammad... because I need to get to the top of that pyramid one day.

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Ulu Temburong- Brunei Darussalam

The third largest island in the world, Borneo is a steamy hot, remote and far-off extension of the Asian mainland separated only through shallow seas from the Malay Peninsula. Sitting immediately adjacent to Sumatra and Java and barely above the Equator, the tropical archipelago is surrounded by warm, milky, silt-ridden waters of the South China, Sulu, Java, and Celebes Seas slopping gently against island shores. Hot and humid, temperatures remain fairly constant throughout the year at 90 degrees with annual rainfall averaging from 100 to 160 inches that typically arrive in heavy afternoon cloud bursts.

Three nations share this land, parsed out between Indonesia, Malaysia and the small, extremely wealthy nation of Brunei Darussalam. Only three hundred miles east of Singapore, this tiny nation is only 2,226 square miles in size with a total population of 333,000 people. It's pretty quiet here- no, wait.. it's really quiet here. Flipping through the Borneo Bulletin headlines, it's a who's who of local gossip and non-news: "4x4 Adventure to K'Lapangan Cancelled", "RBPF Sacrifice cattle in Aidiladha." Good in a way, I suspect.. much better than the other way around. But it does go to show that this place- even the thousand year old capital of 75,000 people making up the largest city in this Sultinate is an extremely quiet and well-managed place.

Under Muslim law, it is extremely strict. I'd put it on par with Malaysia and Singapore, all of whom have "DEATH TO DRUG TRAFFICKERS" on their immigration entry cards. While formed in 1984 as an independent entity when it broke free from British rule, understandably it is fundamentally and ideologically more aligned with it's Malay and Indonesian neighbors. All of this is clear when walking around the quiet streets of the capital. Well paved, sparkly clean and highly efficient, the absence of any sort of traffic makes this place almost uncomfortable during what should be Rush Hour.

Mosques dot the Bandar Seri Begawan skyline and afternoon prayers ring out across the heavy air as brightly colored birds zing by and distant lightening illuminates far-off thunderheads, silhouetted by orange sunsets. The most prominent of all structures here is the Sultan Omar Ali Saifuddin Mosque, built in 1958 but so well maintained that it appears to have been erected yesterday. Rising 171 feet from the surrounding plain that forms the origin of this nation, the main dome is covered in pure gold and can be seen from virtually everywhere in the capital city. Named after the 28th Sultan of Brunei, it is considered amongst the Bruneian people to be their major landmark and is also amongst the most spectacular examples of architecture in Southeast Asia. As a non-Muslim, you can even walk inside during daily visitor hours (or.. visitor hours actually = more like 30 minutes) and take in the mosaic stained glass and imported Italian marble. If any structure in this nation speaks to it's fantastic oil wealth, this one clearly does.

If you look at the island of Borneo, Brunei Darussalam is situated at the northern edge, and is actually cut into two distinct pieces. Bandar Seri Begawan is in the western, and much larger section of the country, while the Ulu Temburong National Park is situated in the rugged and much more remote eastern prefecture. Only a small number of jeep trails exist in the park, mainly connecting interior Indian villages. To get there is quite literally an expedition in itself. Located south of Temburong District, the park covers 550 square miles of pristine forest that is almost exclusively accessible by boat. As the only way to get there, that's how I went. How often is one on Borneo, after all?

One hot, muggy and stale-aired morning, I grabbed a taxi and rode the 10 minutes down to the central watertaxi jetty, straight across from the Water Village. In the Seventh Century, the first settlers of Brunei Darussalam set up shop here by erecting houses on stilts in communities along the Kampong Ayer in a tradition much similar to their way of life today. I could have walked, but I decided that if I was soon going to be stacked like cord wood into a decaying boat, I didn't want the spectacle of a white guy that towered over everyone to be even more entertaining by being covered in sweat. Me just standing still in that oppressive heat is usually more than adequate to start sweating profusely, and this was no different. So I didn't need any help in that category, but a short relief of air conditioning is always well received.


After ten minutes, a high speed boat came along and off I headed toward Bangar. Ringing the island of Borneo, the coast maintains a low, marshy belt between 10 and 50 miles wide. Most of this area is composed of mangrove swamp and it is precisely through this that the boat drivers quickly snake their way along over the next half an hour. The water taxi service is known as "penambang and is primarily used for transporting people and light cargo between Bandar Seri Begawan and Kamping Ayer. Our driver was so adept at navigating these tight passages that at times Mangrove branches would scrape the side of the boat as he cranked by. I just threw in my MP3 and resigned myself to a much different experience as we passed into a shared bay-like area situated along our area between Brunei and Malaysia.



Along the way, it is possible to see the reddish brown, medium sized Proboscis Monkey. Endangered, it is found only on Borneo, and we saw ours swinging around in clusters of 20 monkeys- essentially a Proboscis Monkey community of sorts almost across from the Sultan's palace. Not too shabby an existence. I wonder if they tell all the other monkey species on Borneo about how great they have it- show offs and all proud until they catch the other monkeys staring at their nose. Then they get all self-conscious I bet.

Males have a large and protruding Jimmy Durante nose that apparently attracts "da laidiezz" in the Proboscis Monkey world. Besides working to attract women, the nose assists as a resonating chamber to amplify warning calls. Or, to snore louder than my buddy Chris does after 5 weisbiers in Munich.


Finally, after an hour ride, the high speed water taxi arrives in lovely Temburong District. It took all of 5 seconds after the boat stopped for me to question this plan. It is so, so, so hot here! It makes me convinced that someone around here is going to spontaneously combust. This town is extremely small- perhaps three blocks total, not much in the way of tourist chotchkie shopping, and more of a stepping off point for Temburong National Park than anything.

It is also here that our group met Asman- a tour guide that was sent out by the Ulu Ulu Resort to collect us up and get us the last two phases and 2 hours of the trip. Asman, it turns out, is from a tribe of former cannibals and head hunters. He states that back in the early 80's one of the Sultan's mandates to independence that all the Borneo headhunters stop playing their Reindeer Games. No more cannibalism, says Asman- and then proceeds to go on telling us about an "unexplained" event against some cluster of local politicians that seemed to fall victim to a crime that seemed at first glance to be an old and familiar crime. He didn't say anything about anyone getting convicted, which made me chuckle thinking about how you can be put to death here for bringing in drugs, but local crimes by headhunter clans can go unpunished.

Before heading off in a park Land Rover across some well-paved and several poorly maintained roads, we meandered through a local food market. Not very big, but loaded heavy with regional fruits and vegetables. One of my personal favorites- more for the reaction it gets out of people who have never had it- is the Durian. Highly pungent, it is banned from airplanes and most hotels because people either love the sticky, almost rotting sweet smell, or they hate it with the passion of a thousand burning white hot suns. This pesky fruit has so many spikes on it that it can be dangerous. Once in Vietnam a few years back I was driving a motor bike and had one suspended from a plastic bag from my handle bar. The bag pendulum'ed forward, then the weight of the 10lb fruit pulled the bag backward and straight into my knee where it drew blood. Ya gotta watch out for these fruits all sorts of ways.

Driving overland, Asman regales us with stories. Someone honestly needs to tell these guys about what sort of stories are appropriate, and what aren't. Brunei is working feverishly to develop it's eco-tourism industry in Temburong, seeing the biodiversity of Borneo working in it's favor and looking to draw in the ever elusive tourist trade. So here's Asman, chirping away. "So, Asman- what did you do last night?" "Oh, Doug. two friends of mine and I went out with blow guns into the jungle and shot three Silver Leaf Monkey. We then cooked them and ate them in a BIG feast. We were very happy."

After a while, we arrived at the Temburong River, where a flat-bottomed boat was prepared to take the final leg up river to Ulu Ulu Resort. Barely held together yet somehow durable, these boats slip through the shallow river waters with the aid of only a severely chipped up propeller. This was definitely my favorite part of the trip to Ulu Ulu. Weaving in and out of rapids, water so shallow you could reach out of the boat and touch the riverbed below. Bumping, bouncing, lurching and getting wet the whole way, there is no other way of getting to Ulu Ulu. And it is one unique ride.

After another 45 minutes, the Ulu Ulu Resort filters into view. A highly ambitious private project to bring eco tourism to the region, I honestly had mixed feelings. It is modern, they are building like crazy, it is almost 1,000 meters from end-to-end along the riverfront, and.. we were the only guests. Literally.. the only guests. I get the need to make a really great place to draw in the tourists. But this place is so remote, Brunei is already so quiet, and the challenges of getting here to this spot, nestled almost in the exact center of the vast Ulu Temburong National Park.. it just doesn't seem possible. The extremely friendly staff talk about the near future where the hotel will be at 70% occupancy, but then I walk the quiet halls, these extensive structures completely abandoned- I'm immediately struck with what I felt the whole time I was there. Like I was watching an episode of the TV show "Lost".

The hotel winds up several hundred meters into the surrounding hillsides. Step after agonizing step continue up endless walkways to the tops of hills. It's not rarefied air here that makes you want to stop- it's the oppressive humidity that gives you a headache, has you burst out into fits of uncontrolled sweating, and mosquitoes giddy with excitement. Asman insists on no fewer than two "nature" walks before lights out, followed by two more tomorrow. After one, I'm ready for a nap and wondering aloud where I'm going to be able to wring out my sopping clothes in the middle of a rain forest.

Wildlife is everywhere. After all, it is Borneo- one of the most nature-rich habitats on the planet. And it is truly cool. We saw civet cats, tarantula, 8 inch long gecko, crazy moths the size of a dinner plate, bats feasting by dive bombing the cloud of mosquitoes that hovered around our heads and some crazy colored birds. Monkey were surprisingly absent, although given Asman's penchant for eating them, he probably cleaned out the local talent from the hotel area years ago.

At one point on a "nature" hike that to me was more of a forced march to make me sweat, we were stumbling about in the pitch black. All of a sudden, there are these mossy steps, followed by some stressed metal from the corrosive tropic air. Behind a mung-covered control panel, soft reddish and orangish bulbs glowed, and a creepy bridge appeared out of nowhere. Before I was reminded of the TV show "Lost". Only now I felt like I was actually living it. A strange, creepy feeling washes over me as the only sound outside of an occasional gecko is the noise we make in the pure blackness of only faint starlight penetrating the triple canopy jungle. Trudging along as sweat beads regularly and drips in a constant stream off my nose, I learn that the grounds of Ulu Ulu are littered with these things built for a much, much larger audience that won't ever come. So, maybe in a way the silence made these structures more "Lost"-like. But they were definitely brought up in conversation several times. "Hey Asman! Where's the countdown doomsday clock?" So weird..

One great highlight did come in the form of another painful jungle hike- this one initiated before the sun came up. With a knock on my hotel room door, I stumbled through a dehydration headache to compete with a cornucopia of insects over a watered down coffee breakfast. Then, movement to the start of what was billed as "a leisurely 271 meters to the jungle walk". 271 meters in my mind is 271 meters. To the Ulu Ulu team, 271 meters is actually closer to 450 meters up an almost purely vertical mud slope awash in army ants, spiders and other Borneo friends. Again, I arrive out of breath at the top of a very step hill, covered in grime and bathed in sweat. After one day, everything I own is wet.

But, I soon learn that it was worth every bit of it. Ascending to the top of the hill, we find a Erector Set ladder contraption that allows you to snake your way to the top very top of the jungle canopy. Twelve mini ladders wind their way 70meters up past vivid orchids clinging to tree trunks and finally to the tree tops themselves, where you can look out across slow mists blanketing the valley below. No noise other than macaws and howler monkeys calling out warnings. Gentle hues of oranges and purples extend out across the horizon. It was truly beautiful.

Above the trees, the canopy jungle walk extends for another 150 meters or so. En route, you can peer down into the rain forest to take a bird's eye view of the numerous vines, flowering plants and dense undergrowth that covers most of Borneo. From what I hear, occasionally you can see small leopards, rhino, orangutans and gibbons walk below, and even a possible python or cobra if you are lucky.

Finally, wobbling along on your canopy walk, you arrive at a sign pointing the way to Bandar Seri Bagawan and Mount Kinabalu. The island's highest peak at 13,455' and located in the extreme north, I guess you could say that I have had my eye on this peak for several years. But it's not easy to get to, and takes a level of effort that I am still debating to this day as to whether or not it's worth what goes into it.

Looking to the return to civilization, covered in bug bites and completely dehydrated, Asman chimes on and on about how much he is looking forward to that night's activities. No head hunting or cannibalism, unfortunately. No, that night, he and his friends we going out hunting again. "Maybe a few pythons! Those are tasty," he claims. "Want to have some?" If not those, then he'd go back after the monkeys. Eco tourism in Borneo.. long, long way to go.

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