Grahame and KK--Off on a Grand Adventure

Leopard in Africa (G. Dowling photo)

(It might not make sense, but this blog posting was written before the one up above...)

Grahame and KK are off on a grand adventure, and Grahame has taken me with them!  I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right.  My left leg did dangle out of the overhead compartment during the 14 hour flight-- but apparently, it was no cause for concern.  Grahame and his ‘carry on’ had already been vetted by airport security.  And then some!

Yes, two of my Australian friends are taking a 3 week vacation to Africa.  Their son Tony—a best-selling author of adventure novels set in the Dark Continent—lives there with his wife for six months out of the year. (Check out Tony at http://www.tonypark.net/.  You won’t be sorry!)  Grahame and KK have visited Tony and Nicola in the past, but this is the first time I’ve obtained a front row seat in the Land Cruiser.

See, Grahame recently purchased an iPad and he assured me that—once he bought a compatible ‘sim card’ in Jo-burg —he’d be able to email me directly from Africa and tell me of his adventures there.  For a woman whose idea of a ‘trip’ results in bruises and mild embarrassment, this is a wonderful opportunity to share in an experience which I’ll most likely never get to have, first-hand.  When I asked Grahame if he’d mind if I wrote about his African escapades, he glommed onto the idea like a slug to a petunia leaf.  (He describes himself as a bit of a ‘poseur’—and who am I to argue?)

The first missive I received was written from 28,000 feet while he was winging his way to Africa on a Qantas flight.  He described in detail his experiences with Immigration/ Customs, and I read his words with a combination of amusement and irritation. 

“We went straight through check-in and immigration/customs; very pleasing, no delays… but then I got pulled aside by a big beefy customs/security guy who gave me a printed notice to read, saying that they were going to frisk/search me and my ‘carry on’ bag… and that if necessary they would need to take a specimen off me (where from or what of was not specified) and if I objected to any of the process I would be taken to a room to be interrogated and/or ‘body searched’ if necessary....!!!

“I of course said ‘okay’ so I was frisked all over and patted down; I had to hold my arms out straight and have my armpits checked, my shoes were checked and then a hand scanner was run all over me and my bag, as well.

“All very exciting...I don't know why I was singled out as the only one from the people passing through but I wonder if my name is on their watch list after you tried to send contraband potatoes...very strange, very strange!

“I then asked if KK had to be checked out also and he said no—it was just me they were interested in.  Hmmm...  So I was obviously a ‘person of interest’ to them… and I can only think 'potato smuggler' (or I look suspicious; to which KK [when I asked what she thought] said I looked a bit shifty.)”

Hmmph!  If you knew of Grahame’s innate kindness and mild-mannered temperament, the very thought that he might be a danger to anyone would cause you to shake your head in wonder.  And he certainly doesn’t look like a suspicious character!  He is a good-looking, presentable bloke and I have it on good authority (his) that he only wears support hose when embarking on a long trip.

Regarding the unfortunate incident Grahame mentioned concerning potatoes and smuggling and ‘watch lists’….well, that’s ancient history.  A misunderstanding and nothing more.  I’ve long-since made up with the good people at Aussie Customs and have forgiven them for destroying the spuds of my labor. 

Grahame and KK arrived safely in Africa, but their 10:00 a.m. take-off was delayed for quite a long time.  The captain first reported that they were waiting for six passengers on a connecting flight from Melbourne that had been delayed.  Fifteen minutes later those passengers had been seated but due to the delay, the jet in line behind them was given their place in the queue.  The captain then reported that that plane had broken down on the runway (which could rattle the confidence of the calmest and most frequent of fliers) and it was going to have to be towed away before they could depart.  By the time it was hauled from the field, 11 more flights had jumped ahead of them in line.

At 11:20 a.m. the captain came over the intercom to inform passengers that they were ready for take-off and he instructed the crew to perform the ‘safety precaution drill’.  To add a bit of spice to the flight, the head steward then picked up the microphone and announced that ' due to a failure of our visual equipment the safety drill will not be able to be seen on screen, but we'll give instruction over the intercom while you watch the staff go through the drills.'

On the plus side, Qantas doesn’t skimp on the alcoholic beverages, and my friends were soon relaxing with ample amounts of Chardonnay at 5 miles up.

Grahame had reserved the ‘exit seats’ to ensure that he and KK had plenty of leg room during the flight.  He commented that it was ‘worth it’, even if there was one drawback. 

“They're next to the toilets, which is 'icky' when the line forms up in front of you-- but okay when you need to go yourself, as the door is only 3 steps away.”

As you can see, this adventure is sure to be fraught with excitement and danger and I’m thrilled to be living it vicariously and sharing it with you.  As of this writing, my friends have arrived at Tony and Nicolas’ home.  The first exotic African animal they came into contact with?  A bush baby.  One who eats mandarins—preferably pre-peeled.

Bush Baby at Tony's (G. Dowling photo)

Stay tuned.  Hippos and elephants have been spotted and Grahame and KK have already had some wonderful photos ops.  They’ve also been instructed on how to deal with baboons which are skilled at Breaking and Entering. 

Now, that’s more like it!

Sisterhood of the Traveling Poo

Young Bull moose in "Moose-nook-you-must-look"

It all began with moose droppings. 

My maternal grandmother started something, and that something was called “Maine Moose Movements”.

Yes, Mammy made collectibles out of moose poop.  Trust me when I say that folks ‘from away’ will buy anything if it is ‘authentic Maine’.  You just can’t get any more authentic than hand-picked, freshly scavenged moose droppings.

Sometimes Mammy’s collectible poops were oven-dried, shellacked and strung as beads on a necklace.  Sometimes feathers and wiggly eyes and pointy beaks were added…and then the poops were mounted on small branches or rocks, where they resembled birds. (Okay…they didn’t resemble birds at all.  They looked like oblong brown turds with feathers stuck on them! But what else in this world (besides a bird) has feathers?  Nothing!  So, using their imaginations, most folks got the gist of it…it was as simple as that.)

Mammy’s Maine Moose Movements sold like hotcakes--which should not be confused with cow pies.  (That’s a completely different market.)

However, Mammy couldn’t make or sell Maine Moose Movements without the raw material.  Mammy needed an inventory.  A warehousing system.

I was—and my children were—her top suppliers.  We never went for a walk in the woods without casting about for the cherished offal.  I got into the habit of stuffing a couple of plastic bags into my pockets when we left the house…just in case.   

Yep, when a moose did his business—it was good for Mammy’s.

When friendship blossomed between me and some wonderful folks from Australia, they were quite naturally interested in stories of North America’s largest mammal.  Just as I was morbidly fascinated with tales of their bazillion poisonous spiders and deadly snakes, and their man-eating crocs and their killer jellyfish and that wild, aggressive bird that pecks people’s eyes out….so they were enthralled with the perils inherent in living side by side with seven-foot-tall, thousand pound moose. 

Bull moose in Lexington.  Photo by friend Buck Simpson

Yes, that’s right.  Moose in the plural is still moose; not meese and not mooses.  

Goose, geese.  Moose, moose. 

Cow, cows.  Moose, moose. 

The American version of the English language is adorable, that way.

In an attempt to familiarize my Aussies with moose, I sent them photos.  Photos of moose in their natural habitat, and photos of moose poops in their natural state.  And then…photos of poops wearing hats and tiny feather boas.  Poops in piles…and poops dangling from earlobes. 

Rescued moose at Gray Animal Farm-Maine

Family heritage is a wonderful thing.

So when my friend Dozy in New South Wales went on safari in Africa, she asked me what I would like for a souvenir.  Naturally, I said “Elephant poop”.  It was a joke.  I knew if I couldn’t send an alpaca wool ornament from the U.S. to Oz, she wouldn’t be able to send elephant dung from Zambezi to Maine.

The good news is: I was wrong.  Dozy found the perfect souvenir—a greeting card made out of dried, compressed elepoo!  It was wonderful, hilarious… the ideal gift to receive from Africa. 

A year later, Dozy went to see the King Tut exhibit when it came to Melbourne.  Always thoughtful and generous, she asked me what I wanted for a keep-sake, this time.

“Mummy poo, of course!” I snickered, knowing that was an impossible request but also knowing Dozy would get a kick out of my answer.  Little did I comprehend the tenacity of this woman, though!  Ten days later, a bag of scarab beetles (a.k.a. DUNG beetles) arrived in the mail from my friend!  They weren’t actual scarabs, but they were replicas made in Egypt….replicas of bugs that ate…mummy poo.  I laughed and cried at the same time.  What a great gift!  I was so overwhelmed that I tried to eat one. 

But that’s the story for another day.

Before I knew it, sweet Dozy was planning a trip to New Zealand for a long-overdue visit to her best friend’s home.  Fleetingly, I wondered…would my dear friend spend part of her well-earned vacation shopping for a gift that was in keeping with our theme?

Sure enough, she did it.  Dozy rummaged the shops until she found…

Kiwi kucka. 

Kiwi.  The flightless bird of New Zealand whose poos are (according to the package) very strong-smelling; making them easy to find on the forest floor—which makes it easier to avoid stepping in them. 

Just in case you want to make necklaces out of them, you see.

Only Dozy could find such a stellar gift.  It was not only hilarious; it was nutritional and educational!  After all, until I received her package, I thought kiwis were round, green and edible.  But apparently, only their poo is marketed as a delicious confection. 

There’s no way I can ever find gifts for Dozy to equal those which she’s given me.  The woman has provided smiles to last a lifetime.  But I have to try, right?  I mean…this can’t be a one-sided relationship!  So, in keeping with our theme, I thought perhaps she might get a charge out of this unique ‘confection’ dispenser.  As you push up on the legs… the tail moves out of the way, and…

Aw, I don’t want to spoil the surprise, so I’ll let Dozy do the ultimate analysis. 

 

The Delta by Tony Park

I’m not sure that there is a whole lot of value in writing a review of a novel after it’s been on the market for several months. Nevertheless, I’m going to go ahead and spout a few words of praise for a work of fiction which I recently finished reading.

The Delta, by Tony Park, was such an excellent book that I’m taking the time to laud it.

As I’ve made my way through Tony’s novels, I’ve been impressed by his versatility. Yes, each novel is set in Africa. But the Dark Continent is a vast, mysterious land of diverse cultures, landscapes and ecosystems, and it’s apparent that this author hasn’t just read about the land—he’s experienced it, up close and personal. Africa isn’t just another continent—it’s a whole world, unto itself.

The Delta takes place in Botswana, in the Okavango Delta. As in all Tony’s novels, the reader is allowed to roam with the majestic creatures of the region; elephants, lions, impalas, hippos, and more. And as in all of Tony’s novels, the characters are deep, true to life and inherently human.

The Delta’s protagonist, Sonja Kurtz, is an enigma. A soldier, a mercenary, and a proficient killer, she is also a mother and a woman who is second-guessing the choices she has made in her life. Set up to take the fall in a botched assassination attempt, she finds herself on the run. But the land she is escaping through is the land of her childhood. The home which shaped her—inside and out, and for better or worse. Determined to find her first love, reunite with her daughter and throw aside her sinister past, Sonja heads for the Delta—and straight into another perilous battle.

The Delta is not just an adventure story with a little danger, romance and an exotic setting thrown in for good measure. It is a contemporary chronicle of the conflict between modernization and the status quo; between corporate interests, and the desire to preserve that which Mother Nature and time have created, molded and jealously guarded.

Sonja Kurtz is confronted with challenges. An unexpected reunion with her alcoholic father and a new family she never knew she had. An attraction to a handsome television star who seems more glitz than grit. An employer who holds her future in his hands. And a massive hydroelectric dam which threatens to forever change the essence of the Okavango Delta.

Author Tony Park presents a timeless issue in a contemporary setting. Man vs. Nature is the perpetual conflict, and the colorful characters and the fast-moving plot of The Delta engross the reader and make it impossible not to choose sides.

Grins for Silent Predator

Until my YA novel, Grumble Bluff, was published nine months ago, I never really imagined all that was entailed in being a published author. As an unknown, there is a lot of hard work involved in trying to direct readers to my novel. There are speaking engagements and book signings. Correspondence with fans. Networking with people in positions of power…purchasing power; because that is, in essence, what it all comes down to. An author needs to sell herself in order to be able to sell her novel.

It’s a lot of work, but it is FUN work, for an author enjoys nothing more than being able to write, and to talk with others about writing. It is a passion, and one that is not easily sated.

Thus far, the best part of this whole experience has been meeting other authors. Writers who, like me, have an enthusiasm for creating a tale that will engage, enthrall and even educate a reader. Each one of us is the sum total of our experiences and passions. We are as different as night and day. Tundra and tropic. East and west.

We are all just as human as can be.

I’d never before given consideration to the author of a novel while I was engrossed in the pages of his or her creation. Not only did the author seem to be out of reach, but almost irrelevant, too. After all, the author’s work was done by the time I held that bound treasure in my hands. It was his or her characters which were important, as well as the tale’s plot and setting. The author was just some shadowy figure whom I could envision pounding away at a keyboard under the light of a shaded lamp. A mystical conjurer of words, phrases and yes… a bit of magic, too.

But I’ve had the pleasure of meeting many other writers in the last few months. Added to that pleasure has been the opportunity to read their published works, as well as some of their unpublished ones, too. To know both the authors and their handiwork is a rare privilege, and it has allowed me to appreciate and respect the products of their talent and imagination more than ever. I’ve been a voracious reader all my life. And now, I’m finding that I have an even sharper desire to read a good book when I know the man or woman who is the mastermind behind the story.

And that brings me to the topic of this blog posting. I have just finished reading Silent Predator, a novel by Tony Park. Tony is a native of Australia who spends half of every year in southern Africa. He and his wife Nicola are living their dream, residing side-by-side with the natives of the ‘Dark Continent’…the four legged inhabitants, as well as the two. Tony has considerable writing experience--having been a newspaper reporter, a government press secretary, and a freelance writer. This man is not only experienced in assembling and arranging words to create a saga that is comprehensible and engaging, but he is obviously able to identify with the most basic of human sentiments. Sorrow and grief, lust and longing, expectation and despair…Tony infuses his characters with very real and believable emotions, and their actions and reactions are authentic and credible.

In my book, it takes genuine talent to pull that off.

Silent Predator takes the reader from the urban wilds of modern London to the primitive wilderness of Africa’s Kruger National Park, and back again. The author has driven these streets and hiked these trails, and his familiarity with these venues is apparent. Every page of Silent Predator percolates with realistic intrigue, plausible dialogue and credible conflicts and resolutions. It was a delight to read, and a bugger to put down when those responsibilities of home, farm, business and my own writing dared to intrude.

I am not a professional book reviewer, and Tony has a capable team assembled behind him to accurately synopsize his stories and promote his most exceptional tales. And so, I’ll let them take over from here. I encourage you to visit Tony’s website for summaries of his novels, including his newly released Ivory and his first non-fiction book written with Kevin Richardson, Part of the Pride. On his site you will also find information about how to acquire your own autographed copy. I purchased Silent Predator this way, and if I can do it, anyone can! (His link is over there somewhere to the right, as well as on my ‘links’ page on www.karenbesseypease.com.) In addition, Tony’s blog is a hoot, with his Legion of Fans adding their own creative remarks, critiques and comical commentary. His frequent entries from the road are full of inspiring and graphic details about his life amongst the people and wildlife of Africa--a place that most of us only dream of experiencing first-hand. I was a fan of the Ballantyne Series by Wilbur Smith back in the 1980’s, and I lived my African experience vicariously through his books. Now, in a new millennium and thanks to Tony Park, I’ve returned to that continent. And I most certainly am not disappointed in the trip.


I'm kifing an idea from Mr. Park, here, and having a contest to create a caption for the picture in the top right-hand corner of my blog. Just create a caption for the photo and add it as a comment on this posting. The contest runs until October 31st (Hallowe'en) and the winner will be chosen by a very good friend of mine. This friend does NOT know a certain fellow by the name of 'Ali g', so if that lucky gentleman wins again, we'll know he won fair and square! The prize? A custom poem written by Karen Bessey Pease. It can be for you, for a friend or loved one, for a special occasion or just for fun. It can be a Christmas gift, an 'I love you' or an apology. The winner chooses the theme or occasion, and we'll work together to create a poem made especially to suit you. Sound like fun? I hope so. Please tell all your friends to take a stab at it-- the more, the merrier!