Following My Father

I still attended City College because I needed to finish some required courses in order to get my AA degree. I still took 18 units a semester. I still worked at the Oxford Hotel. I still drove my clunker of a car. Abdul and I still maintained our passionate relationship and interesting lives.

One thing that was different was that Sylvia now lived part time with Winnie and me in Parkmerced. We all got along in those days, so it worked out fine.

My third year would prove to be even busier than my second year. Toward the end of the year, Abdul and I decided to get married. I embarked on the whole shebang -- ordering invitations, hiring a photographer, figuring out what we were going to wear at the wedding, and so on.

The thing that made things easier was that Sylvia and Mom helped me a lot. Sylvia found a photographer and visited him together. She and Bill arranged for us to use the community center in their complex in Danville for the wedding. Mom helped me address invitations in her beautiful penmanship.

I decided to make our clothes for the wedding. I chose rich gold polyester fabric that draped gracefully. I selected a pattern for my dress in a long empire style with a high neck.

Abdul's shirt was loose and long, with long sleeves and a collar.

I made both of us vests in rich red, embroidered velvet with gold braid trim.

Our wedding outfits turned out beautifully. They were a lovely blend of western and Pakistani-style design.

The other event coming up was a trip to Pakistan after the wedding. That meant I needed clothes and supplies. Women in Pakistan do not show their legs, so I made a long skirt. I was fond of long skirts, anyway, and had a few.

My skirt was a tricky pattern. Diagonal panels of orange, yellow, and pink calico swirled around the skirt.

Parveen and I returned to the discount fabric store on Mission Street. She offered to make me some Pakistani clothes, and wanted me to pick out the fabrics.

Pakistanis dress similarly to East Indians. There are some styles seen in India, and not in Pakistan, though.

Women wear saris or shalwar kameez, which both men and women wear.

Shalwar kameez are outfits with long, loose tops and baggy pants that tie at the waist. Men's shalwar kameez are most often white, at least they were when I was there. Women wear brightly-colored clothing with embroidered and/or embellished designs.

In those days, women used scarves to cover their breasts. The long scarves were worn draped in front with ends hanging down the back.

Sometimes the scarves were worn over one's head, as well.

I found it interesting that while women covered their breasts, they also wore low-cut tops. And, the short tops worn with saris leave their midriffs bare.

As in western countries, large breasts are regarded as more desirable than smaller ones.

Salwar kameez are wonderful in the hot Pakistani summers, as their looseness allows air to circulate and sweat to be drawn away.

You are undoubtedly aware of how saris look. Long, wide pieces of fabric are draped over the shoulder and around the waist. They are worn over a short top.

I was given a sari that was incredibly beautiful. It was made of bright cobalt blue silk with a wide embroidered band in metallic threads. I only wore it for dressy occasions. I hung onto it for years. Somewhere along the line I lost it, much to my regret.

In order to travel to Europe and Pakistan, I needed to be vaccinated against diseases we no longer have here. In those days the list included typhoid, cholera, and yellow fever. In addition, I needed to take tablets to prevent malaria.

To get my shots, I went to a clinic near the Golden Gateway, a time-consuming trip to fit into my busy schedule.

I needed a passport, of course. Nowadays you can get one at a post office or online; but then you had to go to the Federal Building. In San Francisco that was downtown near the civic center, another long trip.

Passport photos were not available in drug stores and other places, like they are now. There were photographers who took them near the passport office.

In order to get a passport, I had to declare US citizenship. Before that I was a dual citizen because I was born in Canada.

I found a tiny print shop where I could have wedding invitations printed on Bush Street just off Chinatown. I chose a design with room for a photo on the front with an embossed frame. A friend took a black and white picture of Abdul and me at a restaurant that fit the bill.

It took about six weeks for the invitations to be ready, so I had to plan ahead. Things are available so much more easily and quickly than they were in the 1970s, and for a long time after that.

We invited about a hundred people to the wedding, most of whom RSVP'd yes. It was a lot of work to address and send those invitations!

As the wedding approached, the gifts poured in. Where to put them was the question. I think they went to Sylvia and Bill's in Danville.

Food at the wedding was to be cooked by Parveen and Sylvia. A long row of tables would hold trays, platters, and buffet servers.

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Abdul took me to Shreve's & Company jewelry store on Post Street downtown to buy our wedding rings. Shreve's is one of the finest jewelers in the US. The store was established in San Francisco during the Gold Rush Era in the mid-19th century.

So, buying our rings there was an unbelievable treat. I chose a gold ring with a wavy pattern along the top. Each opening held a diamond. Abdul chose a simple gold band.

So, those were the preparations for the wedding and the trip. We again scoured department stores for gifts to take with us.

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I did a really stupid thing that year. One of my bosses at the Oxford, Mr. H., asked me to dinner. Not thinking much about the inappropriateness of it, I went. He took me to an exclusive restaurant on an alley in the financial district called Alfred's Steakhouse. The dining room was small and intimate and elegant.

On the way to Abdul's apartment, Mr. H. started making moves on me. I felt so betrayed and shocked, and demanded that he hurry up and get me home. Fortunately, he did.

Abdul was naturally upset with me for even going out with me. I did not tell him about Mr. H.'s inappropriate behavior, as I didn't want Abdul to confront him.

So, what was I thinking to accept the invitation? I guess I wasn't thinking, that was the problem. And, what was Mr. H. thinking? Did he intend to carry on an affair with me, his twenty-one-year-old employee?

Of course, the times were very different then. The term sexual harassment was years away. Women had little recourse. We were rarely believed, even rapes were often not prosecuted, mainly because women were afraid to report them -- they did not want to risk their reputations. The societal attitude was that if a woman was assaulted, it was because she asked for it.

Had I not needed the job so badly, I would have quit.

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Abdul and I got married in the middle of June. Before the wedding, Mom, my bride's maid, Dona, and I got ready at Sylvia's house, a couple of blocks away from the community center.

I met Dona in eighth grade at Presidio Junior High when my parents and I moved to San Francisco briefly six weeks before the school year. She was a tall and extremely skinny young woman, with even smaller breasts than mine.

We were stunned when Mom handed Dona a rolled up pair of socks and said, "Don't you want to use these?"

Poor Dona. We were all used to Mom's tendency to blurt out tactless things to us, but still, we were always taken aback. Dona still brings the incident up these 47 years later! We laugh about it.

The wedding started off awkwardly because we women of the wedding party took so long to get ready, We were an hour late!

I felt so bad. During that hour, Bill periodically returned from the community center to inform us that people were getting restless.

I don't remember what the hang up was. I'd gotten my hair put up at a salon, complete with a wreath made of fresh flowers, so it wasn't my hair. I really don't know, except that Mom was chronically late to events.

At any rate, walking into the hall was monumentally embarrassing. The guests were seated and looking forlorn. The Ravi Shankar tape had played ad nauseum. Poor people.

The rest of the ceremony went fine. Abdul and I wrote our own vows, and repeated them after the man. I can't remember who he was. He was not a minister. Perhaps he was someone from the Islamic Center. It was a completely secular service.

Looking back, I find that quite astonishing. Abdul and his family definitely regarded themselves as Muslims. That they could be so tolerant and open speaks highly of the kinds of people they were.

The food tasted scrumptious, and the guests expressed how good it was. People must have been absolutely starved by our delay!

During the dancing, Abdul and I took off for Pacific Grove, where we had reserved a room at the Butterfly Trees Lodge, a motel my family stayed at many times when I was a kid.

Pacific Grove is a small town on the Monterey Bay. To its north is Monterey, site of Cannery Row, made famous by John Steinbeck; to the south is Pebble Beach. A scenic drive takes you along the coast past the rocky shoreline and Lover's Point, where there is a small cove and beach.

Pacific Grove was founded in 1875 when l and was donated for a Chautauqua retreat. The Chautauqua movement, a nondenominational Christian organization started by Methodists, was highly popular in the late 19th and early 20th centuries that spread throughout rural US.

Entertainment and culture was provided, and everyone was welcome, as long as they were white Christians, I'm sure. Speakers, teachers, showmen, musicians, preachers, and specialists presented their offerings. Teddy Roosevelt called it "the most American thing in America."

Robert Louis Stevenson wandered into the campgrounds in 1879 after everyone left, and said, "I have never been in any place so dreamlike. Indeed, it was not so much like a deserted town as like a scene upon the stage by daylight, and with no one on the boards."

Pacific Grove is dreamlike, with its intense natural beauty and serene atmosphere.

At the end of a sort of peninsula is Point Pinos, with its historic lighthouse. At the south end is the Asilomar Conference Center, a rustic site with cabins and a lodge, and a long, white sand beach. Adjacent to that are the Links at Pebble Beach, where major golf tournaments are played.

Butterfly Trees Lodge, now called Butterfly Grove Inn, was near the Monarch Butterfly Sanctuary.

Pacific Grove's nickname is Butterfly Town, U.S.A. because of the unique sanctuary. Monarchs arrive in October from their summer home in the Rocky Mountains to overwinter in the town's mild winter climate.

The butterflies literally cover the pine, cypress, and eucalyptus trees. They stay put because they are unable to fly when the temperature is more than 55 degrees Fahrenheit. Their brown folded wings look like dead leaves.

Abdul and I could not have picked a more romantic spot. Sadly, we had to leave the next morning to finish packing for our flight the next day. Before we left, we sat on huge boulders on a point overlooking the water. A fellow visitor took our picture for us. In it I lean against Abdul. Both of us convey how much in love we were.

Back at Abdul's place, we stuffed the rest of our things and gifts for family and friends into humongous suitcases. Khaliq helped us carry them down to the car.

My family saw us off at SFO for a festive farewell.

The first leg of our journey took us to Orly Airport in Paris, where we lugged those phenomenally heavy suitcases to a the . From Orly, we lugged them to the Paris Metro.

In Paris, we lugged those dastardly suitcases several blocks down the Rue St. Germaine to our little hotel on a tiny alley.

By that time, we were irritable with each other, I do not remember why. The whole trip we had episodes of irritability, and a few outright fights!

Abdul sped down the sidewalk, leaving me to hurry after him.

Hôtel Saint Germain des Prés is a charming little place. In the bathroom was the first bidet I ever saw. I asked Abdul what it was for!

The view from our room was captivating! Across the alley rooftops of old buildings stretched for a long way.

Along Saint Germain were boulangeries and boutiques with French clothing and goods, very stylish. We walked to the Seine River and along the walkway. We watched the tour boats and quaint barges.

A friend of my family lived in Paris. Michael lived in a tiny room in an old building. He built a bed across from wall to wall and worked at a desk underneath. He was a freelance translator, something he did in other European countries, as well. Years later he moved to Malaga, Spain.

We met him one day and ventured to Versailles. What a magnificent place!

We toured the massive, over-the-top palace and the marvelous and extensive grounds. By the time we were done, we were exhausted and our feet hurt, but still awed.

Versailles was built by Louis the XIII in 1624. The first building was a simple hunting lodge in dense woodlands 12 miles from Paris. By 1734 it had been expanded into a brick and stone chateau, still used as a hunting lodge.

Louis XIII died in 1643, leaving the monarchy to the four-year-old Louis XIV. When he came of age, he added kitchens, stables, gardens, and apartments. By 1677, he started work on the palace and grounds. Five years later, he moved the French government and the royal residence to Versailles.

He married the ill-fated Marie-Antoinette, and built her a hamlet for her amusement.

In May 1789 Louis and Marie-Antoinette were forced from the palace by the French Revolution that succeeded in replacing the Ancien Régime with a constitutional monarchy. Louis was executed in January 1793. Marie-Antoinette's head was cut off on October 16, 1793, and put on public display.

Eeew.

Versailles was forgotten about for ten years, during which time most of the filigreed and gilded furniture was stolen or sold. Fortunately, many of the paintings were preserved. They were taken to the Louvre in Paris.

After King Louis XVI was guillotined, the Palace of Versailles was forgotten for almost a decade. Most of the furniture was either stolen or sold at auction, though many of the paintings were preserved and brought to the Louvre.

Forgotten again, it wasn't until 1804 that Napoleon Bonaparte, the newly crowned emperor, moved the government back to Versailles. He did not stay long; only until he was defeated at Waterloo and sent into exile on on Elba, and island in the Mediterranean.

The palace was improved upon and renovated numerous times in the centuries up to the late 19th century when Pierre de Nolhac, a curator, and later from 1952 to 1980 patron Gerald Van der Kemp revived the estate.

Millions of tourists visit the palace and nearly 2,000 acres of gardens every year. Much of the art and furniture that was stolen was recovered over the centuries.

Abdul and I ate at many of the outdoor cafes in Paris. It was there I discovered delicious French baguettes. Somehow we didn't mind the traffic whizzing by.

Exploring the old neighborhoods was fascinating. There were many charming, narrow alleys near the Seine. Huge and elegant shops of famous designers and perfumeries lined the quai des Tuileries as we walked to the Arc de Triomphe and the lovely Jardin des Tuileries.

We rented a funny little French car. Driving in Paris is something else! Round and round I went as cars whizzed by. Drivers there are maniacs!

We drove to the Eiffel Tower, that marvelous structure that stands as the landmark and iconic image in Paris.

To ride up the 188 feet in the elevator and to see the view from the glass platform is a heady experience!

Built for the 1889 Universal Exposition, it ushered in the industrial age.

It's nickname is La Dame de Fer, "the Iron Lady." Five billion lights cause the tower to shine as a wonderful beacon.

The Eiffel Tower weighs an unbelievable 10,000 tons. Twelve thousand components and 2.5 million rivets hold the tower together.

We ate dinner at a fancy little French restaurant on Quai Voltaire. French food is served in small portions with flavorful sauces and delicious breads.

I read French Women Don't Get Fat a few years ago. French people take their time eating, and savor one food at a time. They do not alternate between foods on their plates, but finish one before moving on to another.

One night we walked to the Rive Gauche, or Left Bank, where in an earlier era, was where the artists, writers, and philosophers lived and worked. In Rive Gauche is Montparnasse, a butte where houses, cafes, and shops line a steep street. A bohemian atmosphere is preserved there.

At the foot of Montparnasse stands the Moulin Rouge, or "The First Palace of Women." A red windmill identifies the cabaret, where the can can originated, with its risque leg lifts and whoops.

I wish we had taken in a show. It would have been fun.

Underneath the Left Bank are the catacombs, site of old quarries, later used as ossuaries, containers or rooms in which the bones of the dead are placed. The Catacombes de Paris hold the remains of more that six million people in a tunnel network. It was created to eliminate Paris' overflowing cemeteries.

Started to be prepared after a series of gruesome Saint Innocent-cemetery-quarter basement wall collapsed in 1774. From 1786, processions of covered wagons transported remains every night from most of the cemeteries to a mine shaft near the Rue de la Tombe-Issoire.

Another thrill Paris offered was Notre Dame Cathedral. Wow, what a phenomenal place!

Started in 1163, during the reign of King Louis VII, it took 200 years to complete.

King Henry VI of England was crowned there in 1431 after he was declared King of France by the Treaty of Troyes. His crowning allowed him to marry the daughter of the King of France.

At one point the cathedral fell into disrepair and close to demolition when Napoleon restored it. He was later crowned Emperor there in 1804.

When I was two, I was traumatized when my parents took me to see the movie Hunchback of Notre Dame. In it, Charles Laughton convincingly plays a hunchback, who has a deformed face, and who lurches around. As I remember it, he does not speak.

The story is set in 1482, during the reign of Louis XI. A gypsy named Esmeralda is wildly popular among men of competing factions.

Basically, the story, after a lot of other conflicts, involves Quasimodo, the hunchback, who is madly in love with Esmeralda, being saved by her from the gallows; then Quasimodo saves her from them by swinging down on a rope from the bell tower.

I felt so sad for Quasimodo, and upset when he was beaten.

But, the plot became even more traumatic when Archdeacon Claude Frollo, Quasimodo's guardian, hands Esmeralda over to soldiers, and she is hanged.

Frollo laughs when Esmeralda is hanged. This enrages Quasimodo, who pushes him off the top of the cathedral.

Quasimodo vanishes. His skeleton is found many years later in the charnal house, a mass grave for the destitute and criminals were thrown. Before he died, he found Esmeralda's skeleton, and lay down beside it. Guards try to pull the skeletons apart, but they crumble to dust.

What were my parents thinking to take me to a movie like that?

We returned to Orly to catch our flight to Pakistan. We were on the plane for more than eight hours. Many of the 3,815 miles is over flat, brown, deserted terrain. What a long distance that is!

As I experienced when I flew over mountain ranges in Canada and Alaska on my way to Anchorage, the distance over inhospitable terrain sobered and freaked me out.

When we landed in Karachi, we were met by Abdul's brother-in-law, who worked for the airport. He sped us through customs, and a taxi took us to his home not far away.

The neighborhood impressed me as brown: brown dirt streets, brown stucco houses. It was unbearably hot.

Abdul's family was extremely nice. Their house was typical of most of the ones we stayed in, built around a central courtyard open to the sky. The women sat on their haunches to cook on small propane stoves set on the floor. A large tub for washing clothes and dishes was embedded in the floor.

The small living room doubled as a bedroom. We sat on "couches" that were primitive beds made of wood with woven tops. These were set on their sides against the wall when the room was not being used for entertaining.

The windows had no glass. Wooden shutters were opened or closed, depending upon the weather.

Abdul and I stayed in a large upstairs room in the house across the street. It had many windows, and because it was upstairs, got what breeze there was, and so was cooler.

A room nearby held a sink and a "toilet." The toilet was a hole in the floor, next to which stood a small water pitcher. No toilet paper was used.

The first day in Karachi, I got a severe headache from the heat that lasted for hours. After dinner, I lay in our room in Abdul's cotton robe. His sister and niece came and massaged me. This made me feel worse, but I didn't want to tell them for fear of offending them. Instead, I told them I wanted to get up.

Abdul's youngest sister, Z., suggested we go out for a walk, as it would be cooler. I asked her if I should change. She said it was not necessary.

We walked to where men stood around a fire set in a round cement structure in the middle of the street. Abdul was there, and when he saw me was furious, not with Z., but with me, for being out in a robe.

This was the first of several rude surprises I had during the six weeks we stayed in Pakistan.

Ordinarily, Abdul treated me well: he supported my endeavors, tolerated my quirks, and patiently taught me things I knew little about. Plus, he was madly in love with me!

In Pakistan he seemed to take on some of the male chauvinism so prevalent in that culture. Perhaps he felt concerned that I would inadvertently offend people, which I had done by wearing the robe in public. To me, because Z. told me it was okay, it seemed like I was no more exposed than I would be were I wearing a robe over a bathing suit.

In truth, my thinking left a lot to be desired. If women did not even show their legs, how did wearing only a robe fit into that?

The bright spot of Karachi for me was Abdul's young nephew. He took it upon himself to wait on us hand and foot with such a cheerful disposition I was charmed.

All day and into the night, an imam blared religious exhortations through a loudspeaker on a tall tower. This felt unbearable to me.

The next day my headache was better, and we took a tour of Karachi. I was astonished to see how recklessly the men drove. There were no traffic lanes, and that was definitely evident!

The other thing that caused me a lot of discomfort was that men stared at me as they drove by or as we passed them on the street. I asked Abdul why. He said that I looked like their standard of beauty, with my light skin and reddish hair. He told me women from the Punjab province were considered that most beautiful, and I looked like them.

The thing was, the men didn't just stare, but openly stared. It was disconcerting.

A fascinating phenomenon to me were the tiny "rickshaws" on the street. These were funny little vehicles used as taxis. The drivers propelled them by pedaling bicycles.

The rickshaws, as well as the buses, were sometimes painted in intricate designs in bright colors, and usually sported fringe. Men hung along the sides of the overcrowded buses.

There were a number of things on the streets of Karachi that we didn't see in the States: men packed so tightly into cars that some have to lean out the window; masses of beggars; and water buffalo!

Those lumbering beasts of burden pulled carts or moved along urged on by their owners. Water buffalo are also milked. Males have huge horns that curve down, up, and out. Their large ears twitch. They are pretty cute.

We stopped to look at some shops downtown. These were open to the street, with corrugated metal doors that rolled down when the shops closed.

Tables piled high with beautiful carpets struck my eye. The vendor pulled whatever ones I was interested in out for us to see. The rich colors and intricate patterns were astonishing in their quality and variety.

Textile shops operated similarly. The vendor pulled out fabrics I showed an interest in. I have always loved fabric and am a connoisseur of color, so our explorations there were a wonderful treat.

That night we took a drive through another part of Karachi that was being built up with wide boulevards and fancy hotels and other buildings. I was experiencing pretty intense culture shock and homesickness, so when we passed by Europeans entering and leaving the Intercontinental Hotel, I thought "You have no idea what Pakistan is really like."

They stayed in rooms with air conditioning and toilets and showers and toilet paper and beds with soft mattresses!

They could swim in the pool! Oh, how I wished I could go swimming!

Abdul never learned to swim, as most people in Pakistan did not. Few had access to a pool, and the waterways were not necessarily clean enough in which to swim.

They could order food that wasn't spicy!

I did like Pakistani food. The meat was either goat or chicken, mainly goat. Abdul's sisters cooked me curries and other dishes that were not too spicy. Even so, their conception of spicy and mine were very different!

I loved chapatti, a flat bread patted out and fried. It was used instead of a fork to pick up the food.

There are some scrumptious desserts, such as Gajar halwa, a carrot pudding. Pudding's are also made of rice, such as Chalwal ki kheer. The rice is cooked in sweetened milk with cardamom seeds, and topped with chopped pistachios. Sometimes gold or silver leaf is placed in little strips on top of puddings. They taste quite good!

One hot day Abdul and I took a taxi a long distance to go to a beach, where it would be cooler. Most of the way, we traveled along dirt roads through the same kind of brown landscape I observed from the plane.

The beach spanned a long distance with its white sand. Along the edge were vacation homes with balconies. The Indian Ocean was warm and calm.

I left my sandals on a rock at the edge of the beach, like I did in California. We spotted a man with a camel in the distance, and Abdul beckoned him over.

The camel wore a brightly-colored "outfit" with pom poms and bells. A wooden saddle lay under a blanket.

Man, camels are mean! They spit and roar and bare their teeth, and do not like to kneel down so the can be mounted.

After we got on, the camel lurched up, then walked along docilely. I sat in front of Abdul, my bare feet hanging down. The ride was a lot of fun.

When we headed to the car, I discovered that my sandals were stolen! That was really not surprising. Pakistan is a poor country, where many people have few possessions and live in hovels, even in cardboard boxes.

On the way back from the beach, the driver took a road that swung around a slum. My God, was I stunned by the sight. A muddy flat was filled with hovels made of scraps, fabric, metal, corrugated tin, and cardboard boxes. The people gathered whatever they could find to make their shelters.

Beggars sat on the street or gathered around us as we walked in the city. One horrifying sight were women sitting on cloths with their limbless infants in front of them.

Later, at the train station in Lahore, I would reach my limit of tolerance for the beggars' beseeching cries and outstretched arms. Many times they touched my clothes. I felt so intruded upon. Abdul never gave them money. He said that if we did it would attract even more of them.

For the next leg of our trip, Abdul hired a driver to take us to a small village where another sister lived. It was a long drive past agricultural fields and villages. Flat land lay for mile after mile in all directions.

The village lay about two hours away from Lahore, Pakistan's capitol and the site of its university. Abdul studied there.

Abdul's brother-in-law managed a cotton mill, and arranged for us to sleep in a little cottage there. The cottage had a western bathroom! It must have been built by the British when they occupied the land, which was then part of India.

The brother-in-law was a large man with terrible manners. As we sat in the small living room, he spat on the floor! He also bossed his wife around and smoked a hookah incessantly.

As we sat there in front of the windows, I heard the voices of excited children behind me. When I looked around, I saw the neighborhood children crowded together to get a look at this strange American woman!

Were I not so uncomfortable in the heat and smoke, and suffering from diarrhea that left me weak, I might have merely smiled and said hello. Instead, I turned back around and sat in miserable silence.

Abdul's sister and nieces asked me to put on a wedding costume. It was a richly embroidered shalwar kameez in red, with a gossamer scarf bordered in a wide band of gold embroidery for my head. I wore masses of gold jewelry -- a necklace, long earrings, and multiple bangles.

When we developed the film after our trip, I could see just how awful I looked. And that was before another four weeks of diarrhea!

Abdul took me to the roof of the house and told me about flying kites with the neighborhood boys from there when he was a kid. They coated the kite strings with bits of glass and tried to cut each others' strings. It made for exciting kite battles.

That night as soon as we lay down and turned the light out, we were bombarded by something that landed on the bed and made a fwop sound. Boll weevils were falling from the ceiling! I covered my head with the sheet, but the noise drove me crazy and kept me from sleeping.

The next day we left for another village where another sister lived. The family lived down a narrow alley. The only bathroom was in a building across the alley. As I stooped down with diarrhea, I felt someone staring at me. I looked up to see neighborhood children peering through the slats in the wooden door!

Abdul and his sister's parents must have been buried in the village cemetery because we went there. I felt unprepared for just about everything in Pakistan, but the cemetery's bare dirt mounds shocked me more than almost anything.

I had such an ethnocentric perception, despite my anthropology course. They had no grass because they had too little water, of course.

This was kind of what it looked like.

From that village we drove to Lahore, a big city in the Punjab province in the northeastern part of Pakistan. Only Karachi is larger. Lahore is now the 26th largest city in the world, and the wealthiest, most liberal, progressive, and cosmopolitan city in Pakistan.

Archeological findings indicate that Lahore Fort and the surrounding region were settled as early as 2,000 BCE. It was ruled by many religions and factions in its history.

The old walled city has seven massive gates. The Ravi River runs through the western part of the city.

Today Lahore is the center of publishing the literary scene. Seven universities are located there. Lollywood, the Pakistani film industry, is also located in Lahore.

Two famous mosques and the Shalamar Gardens offer beautiful sights. Abdul and I went to the gardens. Really peaceful and gorgeous. When we went, we were the only people there.

The Shalamar Gardens were designed as a Persian paradise garden to represent an earthly utopia during the Mughal Empire in 1641. The site was chosen due to its ample water supply. They only took eighteen months to complete! They are now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The gardens symbolized harmony between humans and nature, and a poetic connection between heaven and earth.

In Lahore we stayed in the only air conditioned house of our entire trip. What a relief that was! I had developed painful prickly heat from sweating so much that the oil was stripped from my skin. I truly was in agony between that and my ongoing diarrhea.

The house was extremely fancy and modern, with marble everywhere.

Abdul took me to the old walled city to look for a jewelry set for me, to take me to a doctor for my diarrhea, as well as to visit a matchmaker. Our main goal of the trip was to find Z. a husband.

On a small alley, we entered the doctor's office and waited for me to be seen. The female physician handed me some medicine wrapped in a bit of newspaper.

The matchmaker worked in a small office in a rickety old building. I sat in the waiting room while Abdul talked with her -- I don't know why I was not included. Unless they spoke in English, and I doubt they did, I couldn't have understood them, anyway.

Z. was very particular about her future husband. In addition to being a well-educated professional, which was what the family expected, he had to have light skin, be good looking, and not have buck teeth!

From the matchmaker, we visited a family who lived off an alley close to the river. Their home was tiny. We sat on the floor and drank tea set out on a cotton blanket. They were all very sweet.

Along the river were ancient, ramshackle buildings. Washer women worked along the water. Dusty, muddy water buffalo stood nearby.

Not far away was the jewelry shop. In India and Pakistan women wear 18 carat gold jewelry. Even relatively poor women own a bangle or two.

Pakistan's mining industry is major. Not only are there gold mines, but many other minerals and precious and semi-precious stones are deposited there. These minerals include copper, coal, chromite, mineral salt, bauxite, and others. The gems and stones include aquamarine, peridot, ruby, topaz, emerald, quartz, and other rare-earth minerals.

The jewelry I selected was a set with a necklace and earrings. The necklace had several tiers, with rubies set in the gold. The matching earrings were elaborate. The set came in a red leather box.

In addition, Abdul selected for me a large ring in bright gold. It was shaped like a bubble, and tiny blunt spikes stuck out from an open space.

For some reason, Abdul took me to an old tomb outside Lahore. It stood forlornly in the dusty dirt. I found it sad and disconcerting.

On another day, we visited a carpet manufacturing shop. In a room worked young boys who stooped on the floor weaving the intricate designs on a huge loom.

The boys, as all the people I met in Pakistan (except that obnoxious brother-in-law!) were friendly, gracious, and sweet.

Abdul was interested in buying some carpets to sell in the States. He arranged to have several medium-sized carpets sent to him, and bought two to fold into his now-empty-of-gifts suitcase.

I still have one in a Bokhara pattern. It measures 4 feet by 6 feet, with a rich wine background and designs in white, black, and gold. The pile is thick and dense, very soft.

We were invited to a luncheon in a complex once built by the British. The pink-toned limestone main building was set within gated grounds with palm trees. It spread back from an arched colonnade.

The neighborhood was quiet and filled with similar properties. Being there was a relief from the crowded city proper.

White tablecloths spanned long tables set in a square around the large room. At the tables were laid platters of appetizers. These included pakoras, a fritter with thinly sliced vegetables in a seasoned gram flour batter; and gol gappa, a round fried shell of semolina filled with potato, onion, chickpeas, tamarin chutney, and flavored with a mix of spices.

Pakoras and gol gappas were also sold at street stands, but Abdul did not buy from them, fearing food poisoning or contamination.

Waiters in white aprons brought out bowl after bowl of spicy foods, such as rice and meat dishes called pulao, colored with saffron and flavored with whole cardamom and golden sultana raisins; korma curry, made with mutton or goat; saag, sautéed mustard greens; and tikka kebab, marinated meat grilled on skewers.

Lassi, a sweet or salty drink made from milk or yogurt, and tea were served with the meal. Lassi is thirst-quenching, and a welcome beverage in the heat.

Near the complex was the train station. Abdul and I drove over to buy our tickets for Rawalpindi. On the platform, beggars thronged around us. Little children and adults grabbed at my clothes. The rapid beseeching in a language I did not understand sounded like a swarm of bees.

By that part of the trip, after almost five weeks in Pakistan, I felt disoriented with my inability to understand Punjabi or Urdu.

One day we ate dinner at a Chinese restaurant down the street from, of all things, MacDonald's Golden Arches! I anticipated a delicious meal.

We sat at a booth. For my first course, I ordered egg drop soup, my favorite. Was I surprised when instead of tasting strands of egg in a clear broth, the broth was viscous and slimy!

The rest of the dishes tasted different from what I expected, and I did not enjoy that meal.

Besides the variance in preparation, it could have been the water. Everything in Pakistan smelled and tasted very different from California.

Had Abdul prepared me for the trip, I would have had an easier time of it, I think. Almost everything came as a shock. I missed western civilization!

Our 4 hour train ride gave us a welcome reprieve from the heat. Rawalpindi is in the very north of Pakistan, about 161 miles by air. There we stayed with another of Abdul's sisters, her husband, and their new baby girl.

Khalida was a gorgeous, gracious, sweet young woman. Her husband was stocky and extremely nice. Z., who had stayed in Karachi until then, rejoined us there.

Rawalpindi is a city adjacent to Islamabad, the capitol of Pakistan. It is an ancient city in an area of the Punjab that was once the site of large Buddhist settlements. Northwest of Rawalpindi at least 28 Buddhist monasteries, 9 temples, artifacts, and 55 stupas have been found.

Stupas are commemorative monuments that generally house sacred relics associated with the Buddha or other saints. They are shaped like mounds or are hemispherical in shape.

Some stupas are carved with religious figures and symbols.

Early stupas contained Buddha's ashes. They were located in sites associated with his life or with mythology around his life, such as where he was born, and where he reached Enlightenment, and where he died.

The mound of dirt with the ashes of the Buddha, was thought to be activated with his energy. The shape symbolized the Buddha as he was seated in meditation.

Islamabad was built in 1960 as a planned city, with a mixture of modern and traditional Islamic architecture. Many parks, twenty universities, and more features exist in Islamabad. The Faisal Mosque is there. It is the largest mosque in South Asia, and the fifth largest in the world.

Islamabad is home to many embassies. We visited the US one that stood at the north edge of the city with the foothills of the Himalayas rising behind. I took a picture with our black taxi with its yellow top sitting in front of the foothills as heavy fog came over the top of them.

Abdul hired a driver who took up on a long drive along steep and windy roads through barren country to a resort in the mountains.

The resort was built by the British when they ruled the area. Cabins surrounded a central green. The main building and dining room overlooked the mountains.

It was cooler in the mountains, for which I was thankful. The humid summer heat in Pakistan is oppressive. My prickly heat was better, but I was concerned it might return.

The elegant dining room with white tablecloths and linen napkins served European foods. That was a nice change for me.

Back in Rawalpindi, one afternoon I asked Z. for blankets because I was freezing. She looked at me in disbelief until she saw my shivering. I lay on one of the beds, and she piled on one blanket after another as I asked her for more.

She sent for Abdul, who sent for his brother-in-law, who took me on the back of his scooter to a doctor several blocks away. The monsoons sent down a dense patter of rain as we drove through flooded, muddy streets with open sewers.

The medicine I received helped me get over my fever, but my diarrhea returned. It would be with me for the next several months.

We never did find Z. a husband, so Abdul arranged to have her come to the States. She would follow in a few weeks.

We returned to Lahore, where we boarded a the Karachi Express. The ride took about 18 hours. The train compartment was so cold, I shivered.

To get to our compartment, we passed through 2nd class cars. They were not like any in the States. Passengers sat on rows of hard wooden seats. Hard to imagine how uncomfortable 18 hours sitting on those would be.

When we got back to Karachi I felt dejected that no letters awaited me. For weeks I sent letters squeezed onto pale blue international mailers, and so hoped for words from home.

Soon we left for England. At the airport I was held in customs. Turned out Abdul's (and my) brother-in-law neglected to have my passport stamped as he rushed us out.

Oh man. I so much wanted to leave the country I was so miserable in! After a long wait, during which I feared our plane would leave without us, our brother-in-law showed up, bribed someone, and I was allowed to leave.

Traveling by air seemed to always cause Abdul to become angry with me. This time was no exception. I sat on the plane in silence, angry in turn with Abdul. How could he want to make me more miserable than I already was?

But, as soon as we landed at Heathrow, Abdul was over his anger. We waited for our suitcases at the crowded baggage carousel, lugged our suitcases to the front, We boarded the Piccadilly tube to London.

In London we took the tube to a distant part of the city where friends of Abdul's lived. Their brick house stood in a small yard with rose bushes scattered around.

Nice people, they showed us to our upstairs bedroom. I was once again pleased with how welcoming Pakistani people are.

After a few days, we lugged our baggage back to London proper. There we stayed in a house owned by other friends. They were away, but had left the key with neighbors.

The kitchen's two outer walls had paned windows that looked out onto a pretty garden and yards beyond. Everywhere were beautiful roses that we gazed at as we ate our toast.

We went sightseeing. When we got hungry, we bought burgers at stands. The first time, I could not understand the Cockney speech of the vendor. Finally, Abdul took over, as he felt I offended her.

Downtown London's buildings were often black from the coal used in the Industrial Age. My ethnocentrism showed its ugly head as I wondered why they didn't clean them.

We walked along Regent Street for quite a way. Regent Street, named after Prince Regent, was completed in 1824. It is the site of flagship stores, theaters, hotels, and Piccadilly Circus.

We rode atop the upper deck of a narrow red bus for a tour around the area. The area's large buildings impressed us.

We got off the bus at Piccadilly Circus. The fountain in the center of the square was crowded with young people, who sat on the wide steps, so we couldn't sit there.

Off the square lies Soho, the Bohemian district that offers shops, restaurants, and buzzing nightlife.

During the 20th century, Soho was one of the areas offering brothels and streetwalkers.

Soho was developed on farmland by Henry VIII in 1536 and used as a royal park during the Tudor era. "Soho" was used as a hunting cry, hence the district's name.

We searched for what seemed like hours for a restaurant that was not so crowded that we would have to wait too long. We bought tickets to a play of Shakespeare's Hamlet, and didn't want to be late.

When we found a restaurant, we only had time to hurry through it.

In those days I had trouble following many movies and plays, especially Shakespearean ones. The accents and language presented me problems in comprehending what was going on.

One day we visited the Tower of London, which stands near the rampart along the Thames. What a dreary place! It was the site of many gruesome executions.

In a heavily guarded room in the Jewel House the Crown Jewels are on display in a glass case. As we walked around it, I marveled at the extravagance, as well as the beauty, of the jewels.

The kings and queens of England have worn these objects during coronation ceremonies since 1066. Each one has its symbolism, and together they symbolize royal authority.

The tower's full name is Her Majesty's Royal Palace and Fortress of the Tower of London. Like many sites in England it is an ancient complex with a long and often tumultuous history.

The complex was founded in 1066 during the Norman Conquest. William the Conqueror built the White Tower in 1078. Native Brits resented it because they saw it as a symbol of oppression by the new ruling elite. In its early history the palace served as a royal residence.

Among its other functions were its use as a fortress, The Royal Mint, and weapon storehouse.

From 1100 to 1952 the castle was used as a prison. In that time it went through expansion by Richard I, Henry III, and Edward I.

The Tower Bridge is an impressive sight. Its twin towers support a roadway that lifts to let ships pass. It is not a drawbridge, but a bascule and suspension bridge that operates using hydraulic power.

The bridge opened in 1894 after eight years of construction. The twin piers were designed in Neo-Gothic, or Revival Gothic style that was popular from the mid-19th century into the 1930s.

Their foundations were sunk into the riverbed. The framework of the bridge required 11,000 tons of steel. The framework is covered in Cornish granite and Portland Stone.

After our visit to the Tower of London, we walked to the financial district. Men in black suits and hats looked serious as they hurried past us. But in a pub the atmosphere changed to one of noisy joviality.

We went into a pub that looked quite a bit like this one. Inside was dominated by rich reddish wood. The place was packed! Going for a pint seems to be almost a social obligation in England.

London is so full of places to visit that you could spend weeks there just to see the highlights. European history is so much more extensive than our own. I would have liked to go to Hyde Park and the Kensington Gardens, to Buckingham Palace to see the changing of the guards, to the National Gallery and the Tate Gallery, to the British Library, and Big Ben. I would have liked to take a cruise on the Thames.

One interesting place we visited was Harrod's department store. It is just huge!

In 1824, a young man named Charles Henry Harrod opened a drapers shop. He expanded it into a grocers. Later, his son expanded the business to offer fruits and vegetables, medicines, stationery, and perfumes. By 1881 he employed a hundred people.

The store he built is massive, with an ornate façade. It offers just about anything a person might want to buy. Harrods began to extend credit to its best customers. These included people like Charlie Chaplin, comedian and actor; Noel Coward, playwright; Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh, actors; A.A. Milne, who wrote Winnie the Pooh; the Royal Family; and Sigmund Freud.

We rode a bus to Dover Castle. Man, the overpowering and acrid smell from the bus station spread for blocks. Every time in the future that I smelled bus fumes, it reminded me of that station.

Dover Castle, like all castles, is made of stone, and its rooms are huge, with high ceilings. In the cold rooms, I admired the huge tapestries.

Tapestries served two main functions: to warm up the drafty rooms, and to depict scenes from everyday life. Subjects included hunts; great feasts; important battles; religious themes; lives of everyday people; and art for its own sake. Portraits of famous people and characters from literature began to be done.

The weaving methods resulted in differences in colors, depending upon the viewing angle and lighting conditions. In the medieval and renaissance periods tapestries were woven in different materials, such as wool, cotton, silk, and linen. Colors were available in a greater range. Tapestries became more affordable.

Because of the method of weaving tapestries, they give a different perspective of colors from different angles and lighting conditions. Tapestries became well know works of art all by their selves and are valuable.

Tapestries are valuable sources for understanding history during those eras. Without them, some of what we know today would be lost.

Many drafty outdoor corridors led from one part of the castle to another. One we walked down was used for prisoners on their way to execution. Pretty creepy.

The castle stands above the beautiful White Cliffs of Dover.

The cliffs are stunning as they rise 350 feet straight up from the channel.

The cliffs are made of chalk formed from mud consisting of fragment of coccoliths -- skeletons of tiny algae that floated on the surface of the sea. The deposits also contain several ocean floor species.

Dark flint bands contain fossils of sea creatures, such as sea sponges. They hardened into microscopic quartz crystals.

Other bands are composed of soft gray chalk known as hardground complex. These are older chalk.

The cliffs were submerged in a shallow sea about seventy million years ago. When the Alps were formed, it raised the sea floor, exposing the cliffs. This eventually cut England off from the European Continent, and formed the channel.

We boarded a hovercraft for Calais in Dover. These crafts are much faster than ferries. Rather than the 75 to 90 minutes a ferry takes, they made the journey in thirty. We returned to England on a ferry, and the trip seemed very long.

The huge hovercraft we took held hundreds of passengers and cars. They are no longer used on that crossing, partly because not as many passengers traveled after the end of duty-free service in 1999. In 2000 the route closed, in part because rail service began through the Channel Tunnel.

Sitting high above the water and gliding along the surface was a memorable, exciting experience!

Calais is gorgeous! It was tremendously exciting to spot the city as we approached the harbor.

The port at Calais has been used since the Middle Ages for transport and trade in tin, lead, lace, and wool with England.

Calais also serves as a fishing center.

We boarded a train for Paris. Traveling through green fields and vineyards as we passed through northern France made me wish to live in one of the quaint farmhouses and beautiful wineries that stood in their white beauty in the distance.

We visited friends of Abdul's who studied at Collège de Sorbonne. That place is huge! I remember walking across a central courtyard that seemed to take forever to cross.

His friends lived in one of the huge dormitories. It took us a while to locate his room as we strolled along the long corridors.

The day came when we lugged our suitcases onto the Metro and out to Heathrow Airport. Once again, Abdul got inexplicably angry with me.

To make matters worse, the plane was a Boeing 747. The seats were narrow and set in long rows. We had the misfortune to be seated in the middle of the center row. It made for a cramped and uncomfortable six hour flight, especially when Abdul and I were not getting along.

When we arrived in New York to change planes, Abdul was impatient with me for not moving fast enough while lugging my suitcase. As he had in Paris, he walked ahead rapidly.

Another miserable flight later, I was monumentally relieved when we landed in San Francisco. For one thing, I wanted to get away from Abdul. I did not understand why he was so angry, and ticked off that he cared little for the fact that I felt weak from being so sick in Pakistan. I demanded he take me to my house, not his apartment.

When I showed up that afternoon, Sylvia was taken aback at how I looked as I headed straight up the stairs to my bedroom. I slept for 24 hours.

After I woke up we talked. She naturally wondered what was going on between Abdul and me. It was good to get it off my chest, as confused as I felt by Abdul's behavior.

Summer ended, and I started San Francisco State University, which was only three short blocks away. I no longer worked at the Oxford for two reasons: one, Mr. H.'s prejudice in relation to Abdul was something I no longer wanted to put up with; and, two, I did not have the energy.

My trip to Pakistan was hard on me, physically and mentally. Plus, no longer attending City College, I needed to adapt to a new school, one I found I did not like.

I was on Abdul's Kaiser plan, so I made an appointment to get my diarrhea checked out. That was no fun, as I had to have a sigmoidoscopy, a dreadful procedure where you lie face down on a table that splits and tilts, leaving your bum available for the doctor to probe it.

Fortunately, I had not picked up any parasites. I was given medicine, but it still took three months to cure the problem.

I lost fifteen pounds on my trip. This made me extremely skinny.

Sylvia told me later that when she saw me she thought I looked like a corpse.

Gee, thanks.

Abdul convinced me to move with him. We chose another townhouse in Parkmerced, this one on the other side of the development on Vidal Drive. The rear of the apartment looked onto a wide swath of lawn and the eucalyptus and pine trees along Brotherhood Way.

Mom told me that the library system in Daly City was giving its employment exam, so I filled out the written part, then was called back for an interview.

I had never encountered a group interview before. There was me, and across the table were three interviewers. I remember the interview took place in a room overlooking Daly City, which, as usual, was foggy and gray.

I started work shortly thereafter at the Westlake Library. Problem was, I did not have a car, having loaned my Impala to Sylvia and Bill for the summer. They, however, made no mention of it. I was too angry and depressed to ask them to return it to me.

To make matters worse, Abdul did not seem to think it might be appropriate to either help me get my car back or buy me another one. His schedule was not conducive to giving me rides. There was a bus to Westlake, but it would have taken me too long to fit that time into my busy schedule.

I was fortunate to make friends with a co-worker named Hal. He offered to drive me to and from work. He and I became good friends, but the relationship presented one problem: Hal was married, unhappily. Plus, he was attracted to me. He never pushed himself at me, though, which I appreciated.

The apartment was dark and damp. I became disillusioned because Abdul showed no interest in our decorating the place. I ended up buying white lace drapes for our bedroom window. I became fond of them when in London. Problem was, when I installed the curtain rod, the brackets soon fell off because mildew made the wall crumble.

Frustrated, I dumped the rod and curtain on the floor, where it lay for days.

Two other events occurred that made for an increasingly unbearable situation for me. But, those are for another story.