Dateline: 17 January, 2019; Telenești, Moldova — By God’s grace the hiatus is over. I cannot remember when I wrote my last travelogue, but it has been five years. I had three main “cheerleaders” for my posts. One was my oldest sister, Kathy. She shared them with her coworkers at work in Sacramento, California. She died in July of ’15 and that kicked much of the wind out of my sails. I miss my big sister.

My second “cheerleader” is my mother. Her cognition has slipped to the point she may or may not even know who I am. I miss that vibrant, open-hearted woman who sought to brighten every life within reach. The Bible says, “Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days.” I pray people whose lives she touched will at least remember to pray for her. She will be 96 in June and lives in a nursing home in Butler, Kentucky.

My third “cheerleader” was my dear Aunt Winnie, my mother’s baby sister. She fell asleep on December 4, 2017, in Maryland. She kept a notebook of my blogs and would write me often. So much like my mother in personality, in love, in caring.

I will not with this post seek to resurrect the twists and turns of my last few years, although some points need to be highlighted. Traveling has continued to be my main occupation. It seems my life has settled into a pattern. Winter/Spring will be Eastern Europe. I have such great friends over here. Romania, Moldova, Ukraine, Russia, Bulgaria, Turkey, Serbia, Croatia, Bosnia Herzegovina, Macedonia, Montenegro, along with trips to Italy and other EU countries. Summer I will be in Alabama for at least three weeks. August - October finds me in Japan and November in South America, mainly Bolivia.

Since the last post I have moved from Alabama to Kentucky, back to my old stomping grounds. I now live less than an hour from my college alma mater, Campbellsville. Many of my college friends still live in Kentucky and I am able to get together with them every once in a while which is always a blessing. But not much else has changed. I travel seven plus months in a normal year. When I am home I work on finishing my home in the woods. It is a simple home, a pole barn actually, with 16 windows, two outside doors and five inside doors. It is totally off-grid. I cook and heat with woods, but also have a propane stove for the hot weather. I have a solar system with a 4000 watt inverter ready to power my LED lights and whatever else I choose to plug in. Frankly, it is the way I prefer living.

I began this blog two weeks ago and now its February 1 and I am no longer in Telenesti. I did a week of meetings in Moldova at two different venues each night, which is rather taxing. The weather was very cold and snowy which I usually enjoy. But I became chilled traveling to my Moldovan home base and from there to Ivesti, Romania, where I did three meetings and then consulted on the opening of a sanitarium there this summer. I was invited back in June to train the sanitarium workers. That will be an intense month.

I am now back in the Carpathian Mountains of Transylvanian area of Romania where I am recovering from the bad cold I developed as a result of the chilling. It is a good place to “chill” here as I have good friends, a comfortable room, beautiful scenery. Sunday I travel to Podis, near Bacau to begin 3+ weeks of lectures.  More to come.

God bless,

Don Miller

Dateline: February 27, 2014; Jamaica, New York--On the road again. The last few months have alternated between Good news and Bad news, although bad news is relative. I might say between My plans and God’s plans. My current situation began last August.

Each August I participate in a seminar at Andrews University in Michigan. After speaking there last August, I was invited to participate in a seminar in Sao Paulo, Brazil in the winter (our winter, their summer). That was good news and I readily accepted. From Michigan I went on to Japan for my yearly to months there which I greatly enjoy. As most of you know, I finally climbed Fuji-san just three months after my bike accident in which I received seven broken bones; five ribs, right clavicle and multiple fractures of the pelvis. It was great. But by the rime I left Japan in early October, I still did not have an official invitation to Brazil; no so good news as I like to plan my schedule at least half a year in advance, but I still had time. 

From Japan I flew on to Bucharest, Romania. There is a new school at Podis, near Bacau, where I had been asked to do some lecturing as well as address their patients. I love talking to patients and since I never have the opportunity at Uchee Pines, I jump at the chance in Romania. While there I was invited to speak in Milan, Italy in June; more good news. But now in February the official invite has not arrived; not such good news. Had a great month in Podis and then went to Moldova.

The purpose of Moldova was to encourage two former Uchee Pines students and my former students/co-workers at Sarata Noua in Moldova. It was great news to see Olga and Cristina again. Cristina had had a Vitamix she had worked hard to purchase misappropriated from her (not such good news) but she was in great spirits, which characterized her. I also visited my friend Roman and his wife Olga, former staff at Sarata Noua which was good news although they were in dire straits, not so good news. Things are very hard for some people and it perplexes me to hear people complaining about their poor lot in life when I have seen how some people live in Moldova, Romania, Zambia, Zimbabwe, etc. But my God grace I was able to be of come encouragement to this family before heading to Bulgaria and then on to Croatia via Serbia. But in all tis time I did not have a firm invitation to Brazil. Good news, it arrived in December.

Knowing the longer you wait the more expensive tickets become, I jumped on the cheapest ticket I could find; just over $1300. Atlanta-New York-Sao Paulo. Now I was ready. Then I received an email from Delta saying, “We see you are going to Brazil; you need a visa.” Bad news, I had no visa and was still in Eastern Europe but good news, I still had nearly two months.

I wrote to my host in Brazil telling them I needed an official letter of invitation stating where I wold be staying and how I would be managed. received an email back that my host was on vacation and could not obtain that information right away. Good news that he was on vacation but bad news that I had to delay my application for the visa past my arrival time back in the USA.

When the invitation arrived I bundled it and all the other requirements (one being a return trip voucher which is sort of a Catch-22; they advise not to buy the ticket until the visa is secured but you can’t apply for the visa without a return voucher. Sure, you can but a refundable ticket but that costs double) and FedEx’ed the package to Travisa in Atlanta. I just didn’t have time to make two or three trips to Atlanta to do it myself. But now the application was in Atlanta about a month early; real good news.

Then the snows came to Atlanta. You have to live in the deep south to appreciate total ineptitude in navigating on slippery surfaces. Although I have lived most of my adult life in the deep south (and somehow managed to still pronounce sky “skī” and not “skah” and pronounced pie as “pī” and not “piah”), I still marvel at the total state of panic and havoc, much less wide-eyed wonder when it snows or ices. The Brazilian Consulate did not come to work for five days, which is real bad news for all of those wanting to escape winter’s assault for summer’s embrace. I waited and waited with no word. Then I began calling Travisa. They were most comforting and understanding (good news) not told me there were some people still waiting days beyond their flight dates (not so good news).

Deciding to go right to the top, I wrote the consulate, apologizing for our unBrazil-like weather, explaining my predicament, and pleading for mercy. I was to fly on February 26 from Atlanta at 2:55 PM.

On the morning of February 26, yesterday, I awoke before 4 AM after going to bed just before 11 PM to finish preparing my home to receive guests for the OCI retreat. Now, I had packed LAST WEEK for this trip to Sao Paulo, Brazil. Yes, you heard correctly, Don Miller actually packed a week early. Even I can't believe that. That is GREAT news. I was ready for anything, but still did not have a visa or a passport. Not so great news. I called Travisa and they told me they had dispatched a person to the Consulate to try to plead my case, but held out no guarantees that mission would be successful.

I had been pondering how to exercise more faith in this matter. Don't be anxious, don't worry, don't consider canceling the flight will cost $300 to rebook plus a new ticket was nearly $2000 and I would pay the extra $700 over the $1300 I had already paid. Just have faith. But then the thought came to me, If you really want to exercise faith, head for the airport NOW even thought there was no assurance my passport would be released. That is faith with shoes on and suitcases packed.

So I called my dear friend Benny. Brothers and sisters, I am so thankful there are people I can call on at any time with confidence for any matter and receive a positive response. Benny said he would drive me so off we went to the airport at about 11 AM for the 2:55 flight. As I approached the airport I called Travisa; Terrie was at the Consulate and did not have a passport yet. Not such great news so we parked in short term parking and went into the airport and began the indeterminable wait. Hunger gnawed at my bowels having not eaten since breakfast but I had to be ready at all ties to jump and run. As we neared the time for my 2:55 flight, I took my plight to a desk attendant. Carolyn H, may God bless your days for she was good news to me. She said to be a no-show would cost me dearly so she rebooked me on a later flight even without a passport, just to cover me and told me to report back when I had the passport...if I had the passport. There was a flight to JFK leaving at 5:45 but it arrived there at 8 PM; my flight to Sao Paulo was due to depart at 8:02 PM which wold be too late for me to catch. There were two flight to LaGuardia, one leaving at 3:45 and one at 4:45 which would require a taxi ride the 11 miles between LaGuardia and JFK, which is never good news. 

Finally Travisa called me with the good news the Brazilian Consulate had worked hard and my Passport with visa was in Terri’s hands, She would return to Travisa and devise a plan to deliver the necessary documents. When she called back she informed me they would be there by 4 PM; bad news for the, 3:45 flight but there was still the 4:45 flight. True to their word, a car pulled p right at 4PM gave me the Pasport with visa and would not even accept a tip; I had paid for FedEx delivery already. I love honest people. 

Rushing back in to Carolyn, another man arrived just before me with his problems; not good news. When it was my turn, Carolyn took care of me like I was her son. She massaged the keys on her keyboard, wheeling and dealing, seeking an finding. The 4:45 to LaGuardia was all that was available but it cost $250 to change airports… but she wold only charge me $50; good news. She couldn’t check my luggage through to Brazil obviously, but I was TSA pre-checked and she gave me an emergency exit row on this well booked flight; more good news. 

Making it onto the plane in good time, the seat was great as was the flight. It was due to arrive at LaGuardia at 7 PM but made it in a half hour early...good. When I arrived at baggage claim, my bags were the first out...amazingly good. I caught a cab right away but the traffic was horrific...not so good. In spite all of this, I was at JFK at 7:30 PM. Paying the $38 fare (ouch!) I was at the automatic checkin within a minute...good news. Scanning my passport, the message came, “Too late.” Real bad news. I was told the gate was locked one hour before the flight was due to depart. One half hour late after all this.

Heading for rebooking, I could only rebook for the same flight the next night, tonight. Cost to rebook: $250. In past years I would have spent the night in the airport, draped over my luggage and trying to sleep, but at 66 I have decided such adventures are for the chronologically young. So I booked a hotel room ($100), had a great night's rest and will fly tonight from JFK to Sao Paulo. 

More to come on this great adventure. I feel as if I am ending this with a “All is real good.”

Blessings...Don

Ivesti and the home of Gypsies

The street…seems not worthy of the houses

Might be for a family of four.

Main hallway, balcony above.

Bed with gold nightstands.

Dateline: Ivesti, Romania; November 1-3, 2013--On 27 October I was invited to speak before all of the pastors and elders from the Moldavian Conference in a large hall in the city of Bacau. Moldavian is not Moldova; there are various zones in Romania, somewhat like our states or counties in the USA. There is Moldavia, Transylvania, Dobrogea and Ardeal and probably a few more. I was told there were over 500 people attending the meetings. When I finished my talk and before I could leave the hall, I was invited to speak in the village of Ivesti the following weekend.

Let me first explain ”village.” Eastern Europe is sown liberally with these gatherings of buildings and homes insulating short stretches of highways in otherwise farm country. There will be no traffic signals, no crosswalks, no street lights; just a corridor of walled yards and occasional stands offering excess produce for sale. ALL yards have either a fence or more commonly a solid wall of either stone or metal. But attached to nearly every wall there is a bench. When I was growing up every house had a porch and people sat on them and greeted neighbors as they passed by or watched the children play. Over here the old folks sit and talk about what old people talk about, mostly the past I am sure as there isn’t much future left for most of them. On summer evenings, everyone is out.

Growing up we had some “burgs” that approximated these quaint throwbacks from a more pastoral time. Chasetown, the last gathering of dwellings before our farm was one of them. Mt. Orb another. But today, whereas there are some in the USA, they are the rare exception. I tell people over here their rural areas remind me of America 50-60 years ago. And frankly, this is a compliment.

Ivesti is one of those villages. I was guest in a lovely home with a young son who spoke very passable English so I had a good companion. Friday night I spoke in one church and Sabbath morning and evening in another. After the evening meeting, a group of five Gypsies came to me and invited me to speak at their church the next morning. You see, four of them were Pentacostals and they apparently enjoyed my talk. I have heard the gold is missing from Ft. Knox but I think I found some of it. I have never seen a whole mouth full of golden teeth. It is quite startling and I had to concentrate on looking them in the eye, not the eye teeth.

About Gypsies, they have two types over here...at least. One person told me there are Gypsies with houses and Gypsies with horse-drawn caravans. Someone else told me there are Gypsies who wear broad-rimmed black hats, and others who do not wear hats. Then there are Gypsies who live in opulent extravagance and some live in unspeakable squalor. I have seen the squalor but never the opulence. This trip I did.

I spent hours preparing a message for a Pentecostal, Sunday-keeping Gypsy church; no easy task. Early Sunday morning I was told they had forgotten the church was having the Lord’s supper that day and so my services were not needed. But that afternoon my host took me to the Gypsy side of own.

Three houses, one each for two brothers and one for dad.

I have been in some nice houses in America and other parts of the world, some even veritable mansions, but nothing could have prepared me for this. The road was not paved but rather paved with well-packed gravel. And on each side, from behind intricately constructed wrought-iron fences, loomed Bel Airesque edifices giving mute testimony that not all Gypsies are raggedy vagabonds looking for mischief. To add to the surprise, I was welcomed as a valued guest. After all, how many Americans wander down this street in Ivesti with a look of dumb wonder all over the face. Then I was invited into one of the homes, then another and then another. With this post I have included a few pictures. The first is a street scene, the second of an unfinished home, the third of a front yard of three homes belonging to two brothers and their father. Then there are some indoor pictures. While talking to a gathering of the Gypsies on the street, I was introduced to the king of the Gypsies. A very influential man indeed.

The furnishing in the homes, and the one brother who was showing us through his home, would rattle off the cost and origin of the furnishings. A dining room suite, hand crafted in Italy, 25,000 Euro. A bed and night stand, 8,000 Euro. The base of the night stand was gold. Of course not solid, but plated. The marble pillars, the intricate curtains, the exquisite inlaid tile flooring; it was all overwhelming.

Ivesti was great but viewing those mansions made me wonder just how much more wonderful the mansions in heaven will be, and God has one for every person who accepts the payment price for those mansions and our souls; the blood of His Son, Jesus Christ. God grant that we all might be there soon.

Dateline: Podis, Romania; November 1, 2013--What a month October was. On the 1st we had just completed a Phase 3 school in Japan. On the 6th we held a cooking school in Harajuku, Tokyo, and then had a lecture for over 100 people at a special elementary school in another part of Tokyo. On the 8th I flew from Narita to Cincinnati. The time difference is 11 hours and I am normally wasted for a few days following such a transition. But not only did I have to transition from night to day, I had to transition from summer into winter. Traveling as I do can present many interesting challenges. Returning to Alabama would have been hazardous to my health as I had driven in July from Uchee Pines to Andrews University then returned to the Cincinnati area where I left my car and flew on to Japan. Driving many hours totally jet-lagged is not a great idea.

From Cincinnati I drove a few days later to Maryland where I prepared to fly on to Romania. While in Maryland I had to do a total overhaul of my suitcases. Japan is always a sauna when I arrive in August and is still just bearable by the time I leave in October. Across the pond in Romania it can be quite cool in October and in many parts they had always had snowfall in October. So, winter coat, gloves, heavy socks, warm pullovers. And a leather jacket.

I have been looking for a good leather jacket for some time. Normally I check eBay and while in Japan I saw the very one I wanted so “clicked” the Buy It Now button. It was then I noticed the only payment method was PayPal and I no longer use that service. This seller only accepted PayPal so I was in trouble. Finally, after a lot of correspondence between the seller, eBay and me, it was resolved. I may be down as a deadbeat bidder with ebay but what can I do? So, while in northern Kentucky I decided to drive up to Cincinnati to what had been a favorite Goodwill store. Since my last visit the store had moved to a much more commodious and accessible location. Entering the store, right in front of my eyes was a was a spiral suit rack with nothing hanging there but leather jackets. Kid in a candy store! The first one I examined was a Wilsons Leather that fit me like a glove, looked brand new and was the perfect style. And the price was only $37. Sold! To me. But there was another jacket, this one being 3/4 length which is great for wearing over a suit. It was $47. The one drawback with this one was it didn’t take genius to ascertain why the previous owner probably gave it up; he didn’t. His survivors gave all of his tobacco smoke saturated clothing to Goodwill after he died of lung cancer. We are talking here about stinking so bad I asked them to place the article in its own plastic bag. We are talking so strong a pipe stem would smell like wild azaleas in the springtime by comparison.

Getting it home, I Fabrized it, covered it with baking soda, wiped it down with vinegar, hung it out to air and now have it confined to a sealed plastic bag with an odor candle in the bottom. We’ll see what three months in solitary confinement will do for its interpersonal relationships.

Soon it was time to fly on to Bucharest. It was a good flight, albeit a bit rambling. Baltimore to Atlanta to Paris to Bucharest. But the travel is part of the mystique of the overall trip. It is when I have some of the most unique experiences. In and of itself the flight was not particularly noteworthy. Once in Bucharest, that changed slightly. 

A friend had intimated that he might meet me at the airport and take me to my first destination, Podis which is near Bacau, so I hung around the airport a while not wanting to miss this possible ride. When my friend did not materialize, plan B was put into action. Arriving too late to catch a 3:15 train to Bacau, I now focused on the 5:45 train. But Bucharesti Nord, the train station, is downtown so a taxi had to be acquired. You can be taken on two types of rides in taxis; one to your destination, one deep into your pockets. Once in Moscow, having flown into one airport and needing to fly out of a different one, my only option was a taxi. Turned out the taxi fare was more between the two airports in Moscow than the flight had been from Perm, near the Ural Mountains, to Moscow. So what would this one cost me?

You can order a taxi in the Bucharest airport merely by pushing a button so I did and went outside to await my surprise. Within minutes a cab pulled up to the curb and a Romanian cabbie hopped out. Before allowing him to load my luggage, I asked how much the fare would be from the airport to the train station. Taxi drivers have to be at least vaguely familiar with English because most people know some of our common phrases. Turns out this man knew English rather well and told me the fare wold be around 30 lei. That’s pretty good, the exchange rate being approximately 3 lei to one dollar. So we loaded up and began the approximately half hour ride to the trains.

The cabbie had visited Oregon. I am amazed at how many people from Eastern Europe settle on the West Coast when they immigrate to the States. But he spoke well and at the end of the trip, charged me the 30 lei as promised. It is always great to meet honest people when traveling. I asked him if I could pay him extra to help me with the ticket purchase, but he had to drop me and run as a policeman was walking toward his cab, so I was left with wrestling my three pieces of luggage into the station. 

“Why so much luggage,” you might ask. When I come over here, or really go anywhere, I ask ahead of time, “Can I bring you anything?” Since I was planning on working in two Romanian locations, one Bulgarian location, visiting one special Moldavian location, and visiting friends in Croatia, I was loaded. Practically one whole suitcase was filled with requested items. I look more like an upscale Gypsy when I travel.

As I was trying to wrestle my bags up an incline, a helpful Romanian bărbaţi came to my rescue, taking possession of two of my bags without my solicitation or permission. But I knew I needed help so followed him into the station, ready to drop my one bag and chase him down if need be. You just never know. He helped me acquire the proper ticket for thankfully I had it all written down. Then he found the right track at which to await the train. Then came the reason for his helpfulness.

“That will be $70, thank you,” he said with a perfectly straight face. And that was dollars, not lei. Seventy lei would have been too much for 10 minutes work, but $70 was totally out of the question. I pulled out a handful of crisp one dollar bills. He changed his demand to a mix of euros and lei. We went round and round until, tired of the drama, I gave him $20. He was a help and who knows, he might really need the money.

It was a long wait for the train but the afternoon was pleasant and I was, in a real sense, going home. I have so many dear friends over here who really love me and anticipate my arrival. Trouble is, for this night, they had no idea when I would be arriving. Somehow I needed to call them.

The train arrived and I found my compartment. There are six seats in these compartments and five became occupied. People like to chat away over here and got right into it as we pulled away from Bucharesti Nord. One turn to me and reeled off a lovely and completely unintelligible query of some sort. Now, I can say “I don’t speak Russian” in Russian, “I don’t understand in Russian and Ukrainian,” but so far Romanian has eluded me. So I normally put on my “I comprehend every thing you just said” face and say, in perfect English, “I have no idea what you just said but I appreciate being a part of this discussion.” At that point I become invisible.

But I needed to make a call to Podis. It is hard for me to ask favors, even from people I know. But the prospect of waiting till after midnight to be picked up was not appealing to me, so, using arm and hand signals, I asked if the woman sitting across from me could make a call to Podis. I wrote my name, destination station and arrival time and phone number to Podis down and handed it to her. She made the call, arranged for the pickup and all was well. Then I made the faux pas. I offered her five euro. She drew back in shock. The old man at the end just shook his head slightly and gave me the “you poor foreigner” look. But when we arrived at the station, the whole compartment helped me shuffle my menagerie of thrift store luggage to the station platform. We parted in good humor.

[I have been woefully neglectful with my posts and for this I am sorry. I write this on December 9 from a place called Hagota in the Carpathian mountains of the Transylvania region of Romania. The snows have come, winter is here, and I am enjoying myself, albeit missing much some of my closest friends back at Podis. But between Podis and here, I have traveled to Moldova, Bulgaria, Serbia, Croatia and Hungary. Have God, Will Travel.

On the road to Japan

Dateline: Tansho, Japan; October 7, 2013--This post is a bit late given that I have been on the road since the end of July. I suppose I can attempt to excuse my dilatoriness owing to the fact that my August and September schedules are about the same year after year and I am therefore not as excited about sharing what is happening. But along the way, there are some special moments and I want to share some of those. But first, some background.

On May 21 of this year, I was speeding on my Gravity mountain bike back to my office from visiting a guest at our lifestyle center. The route takes me down a gravel road with a blind turn at the bottom. I always begin the decent with a fair amount of caution, but let gravity propel my Gravity the last part of the hill. Then I take the right turn wide left, fly over the small space of flat land before really pumping it up the challenging hill to my office, gravity working against my Gravity all the way. This day I had a surprise at the bottom of the hill.

I have ridden this route hundreds of the times, but that day, for the first time, I met an oncoming vehicle at the bottom. The only option was to squeeze the rear brake, which I did. I remember the bike felt as if it were falling apart. The next thing I know I am lying on my left side in the middle of the road completely enveloped in pain. I don’t know why it is, but at times like that, most of us can’t even open our eyes. Everything hurt. I heard my friend in the vehicle say, “I’m going for help,” and he drove off. I must have been a sight. I had many abrasions on my head (no, I was not wearing my helmet), which is very vascular so I was pretty bloody.

Well, I will skip all the details except to say I had the presence of mind to ask that they not call 911. Ambulance rides are very expensive and I had two excellent doctors attending me in the road. So they scooped me onto a board, loaded me in the back of a van and off we went to a hospital in Columbus, Ga. Every turn, every bump, every anything caused pain to wash over me like a restless tide. And every time they moved me from one board/gurney/table/bed to another, the pain in my groin area was worse than I had ever experienced. In the trauma unit I was told I had six broken bones; my right clavicle and five ribs. This was Tuesday evening. It took until Sabbath afternoon for them to finally discover I had multiple fine fractures of the pelvis, thus the labor pains every time they moved me.

I was discharged one week later. During that time I had two head wounds become infected, also one on my shoulder and one on my elbow the same way. The needle entry point for my IV was also infected and I had begun to develop a bed sore. All that for $25,000. 

Now, why tell you all of this? On the night of August 26,27, I at last climbed Fuji-san, or Mt. Fuji. To me this is a miracle of God. I could barely walk in June, used a cane in July, and was still walking a bit gingerly in August while at Andrews University. But I was able to at last climb that iconic mountain.

You read it right, “on the night of….” They say it is best to climb at night so you can catch the sunrise at 12,200 feet. Catching the last bus to Station 5 with two friends from Australia (7800 feet), we began the climb at 22:45 in pouring rain. Our goal was station 10 by sunrise. At each station there is a guest house with beds at $50 each, and it is just a platform and nothing else. As we climbed higher and higher the rain came down heavier and heavier and the wind blew harder and harder and the temperature fell lower and lower. It was absolutely miserable. Very few people were climbing that night, unless you count the ones coming down, and there were many of them. The trail up what appears from a distance to be a graceful, smooth incline, is a treacherous, ankle challenging, rock strewn moonscape which doubles as a stream bed when such a monsoon hits. My friends disappeared into a guest house at level seven but three things drove me on. One, I have failed at many things in my life, but I was not going to fail this night. Success has to begin somewhere. Two, I had no excuse but discomfort to stop, and discomfort I can handle. And three, $50! For a pallet in nothing more than a barracks? Not this guy. So on I pushed.

My Aunt Winnie had given me a gossamer raincoat a couple years ago, the disposable kind you buy for some wet attraction. I bought one in China to explore the Great Wall. I was so thankful to have this raincoat although the wind was trying to tear it from my body, which it almost did near the top. But what could be, was soaked, and still I climbed higher. Then I realized it was no longer raining, although the gale had not slacked a bit. I looked up and there were the stars. It was wonderful. 

Around 3 AM I looked back down the mountain and from far below came a writhing body of lights, slowly snaking its way up Fuji-san’s tortured back. The cabins were disgorging their rested and warm denizens, each trying to summit before the sun lit the eastern blackness. I arrived at the summit at 4 AM not being able to remember being that cold for a long, long time. My body’s attempt to generate heat had me shaking to the point of convulsing. The Japanese know how to dress for such occasions and all seemed fairly oblivious to the freezing temperature.

As soon as the sun rose, I turned my steps downward, which was  almost as hard as the climbing up had been. Believe me, this is not a nice comfortable trail. But it was Fuji-san… at last. And one of the great things about climbing Fuji-san is you don’t have to do it again.

Now, as great as the climb was, that has not been the highlight of this trip. This has been a great year. Our classes for the most part have been large and some of the changes people have made is amazing. One woman went home and took her TV to a second hand store and threw out all of the sugary foods. A woman was advanced breast cancer had a cessation of pain and discharge and a tumor begin to shrink. And many people are studying the Bible which is a rare thing here in Japan. In our Phase One class we had 15 members, a large class, and every one bought an anatomy and physiology book which means they will be a part of Phase Two next summer. The course is a three phase program.

But now I am packed. In the morning I make my way to Narita, the airport near Tokyo, to begin my return flight to the USA. But I will merely be skipping through America on my way to Eastern Europe. There are some new schools opening and my services are requested. So Romania, Bulgaria, Moldova, Serbia, Croatia and perhaps Montenegro will soon feel my tread. They say it is snowing already in Romania. Thankfully I do have good cold weather clothing at my sister’s home in Kentucky. It will be there I will repack, replenish, recover and resume my journey. More about that later. Blessings.

Hawaii Paradise, Japan Perplexity

Dateline: Honoka’a, Hawai’i; November 18, 2012--Yesterday I delivered my last lectures of this current trip. Five and a half hours to a full and very interested audience. Where I am staying, in the highlands of the Big Island, is right next to paradise. My housing is an old shipping container retrofitted as an apartment and I love it. Hawaii has lots of rats, compliments of the early and then later explorers and profiteers. Later the mongoose was purposely introduced as a way to control the rodent population. Trouble is, rats are nocturnal and mongoose are diurnal and never the twain shall meet. So the indigenous birds of Hawaii were decimated day and night. Back before Captain Cook and crew discovered the Sandwich Isles, Hawai'i had only one native land mammal, the Hawaiian Hoary Bat.

Now, living in a shipping container might sound just a bit spartan, but let me introduce a few balancing factors. Behind the container are orange trees heavily laden with fruit sometimes rivaling the size of grapefruit and so juicy they have to be eaten with a paper towel standing by. To the left of the humble dwelling is a small grove of avocado trees with fruit the size of Florida avos but with the a texture and taste surpassing that of the Hass variety. Between them and the oranges are the bananas. To the front, on the other side of the fellowship hall where I prepare my meals, are more avocado trees and macadamia trees. If you happen to arrive before the interloping rats find the nuts, you can gather a bounty of the horny-shelled treasures. It is amazing to see all the shells littering the ground with a small hole gnawed through the seemingly unyielding protective barrier and every speck of the tender meat gone. On the hillside up toward the church is a pomelo tree. With the 30’ long fruit picker I have been provided during my stay here, fresh fruit is not a problem. And before coming here I was supplied bountifully with large purple avocados that were the best I have ever eaten along with a stalk of blue bananas. Yep! Really roughing it.

But back to Japan for a few tidbits. I was invited to speak in Kobe and Osaka on the same weekend. As they are a very short train ride apart, it was convenient to speak in Osaka on Friday night and Sabbath and then travel to Kobe Saturday evening and speak in Kobe on Sunday. As usual I was going to be flung into the kanji abyss, a taller than average traveler made even more conspicuous by wrapping myself in a misty “where am I?” aura. But on the way to the train station I ran into three lovely Indonesian students who had attended my lectures and they were more than happy to accompany me all the may to my destination station, an accomplishment that can be very daunting when traveling solo.

I had been told my ride would pick me up on the mountain side of the station. Ever notice you can’t see mountains in the dark? But I know the mountain range in Japan forms a veritable spine up the entire west side of the nation. As my angels of mercy took the escalator back down to the rail lines, I headed in the opposite direction of the east exit. East is ocean, west is mountains. This was easier than I thought it would be...I thought. You have to understand, there were exits on the north, south, east and west sides of the station and probably a few SSE’s and WNW’s thrown in for tourist amusement. But I learned long ago, find a spot, claim it and don’t move from it. As soon as you move, the person looking for you has done the same and you will miss each other big time. It rained off and on, people came and went, time went on and on. I probably stood there for two hours looking from the dark mountains to every car pulling up to the curb. For as much as senses told me to stay put, sensibility told me something was amiss. Finally I decided to explore new venues. Within two minutes of exiting the east exit, my dear friends, Keith Watanabe and his great singer wife pulled up across the road and hailed me over. The east side was the mountain side. Learn something new every day.

Packing right now but will try to post again before leaving Hawaii.

Blessings,

Don

Hawaii, First Class

Dateline: Honoka’a, Big Island, Hawaii; November 14, 2012--So much has happened since last I posted to my blog. I have not been as faithful in blogging as I should have been. Much has happened and for those who are interested, I will, over the next few days, relate some of the high points. But let me begin with the transition from Japan to Hawaii.

Sunday morning, October 28, the team from NKK drove to Harajuku. You have to know the area to appreciate the ambiance of Harajuku. The place is goth city. I suspect many tourists coming to Japan never leave this area. Entertainment walks down the street in every wave of almond-eyed Mary Pickfords and raven-haired Shirley Temples. But the team conducts a cooking school at the International and Central SDA church there. Each year we begin with a lecture. This year I spoke on a subject near and fearful to most hearts; radioactive isotopes and selective uptake. Lot of good news there if you are willing to make a few major changes. I believe Japan is ripe for some major changes.

After the lecture the people get on with their cooking and then we eat what they cooked. It was a real treat as they made something typically American; mashed potatoes and gravy. I was transported, it was so good.

Two of us were flying out that very evening. Marilene was flying back to Australia at 7 PM and I to Honolulu at 9 PM. We were driven to the heart of Tokyo which is misleading as Tokyo is too big to have just one heart. For all I know we caught an airport bus at the liver or pancreas of Tokyo, but in any case, we had a quick and comfortable ride to Narita. Marilene departed at Terminal 2 and I went on to Terminal 1. One of my suitcases had been shipped ahead so I retrieved it and went to the check-in area. It seemed as if every Oriental in the area was heading for Taiwan via Delta and there was a conga line of inscrutable travelers wrapped beyond my view. Like I tell everyone, I don’t do lines, had plenty enough lines in the military. So I found a comfortable spot and waited over an hour. 

By then the line was gone and I breezed through. Checked my two bags (really helps having an elite status), made it through security (had to drink my can of juice in front of them) and made my way to Gate 25. I was about three hours early but that was okay. Better to be three hours early than one minute late. Those at my gate were flinging off to a forgotten destination in the Middle East while down at gate 24, another Delta flight, in conjunction with Vietnam Air, was also heading for Hawaii. The thought flitted across my consciousness that it might be nice to leave early but then I considered the fact I had the best seat in economy. I always choose the same seat, the one near the exit door with no seats in front. I can stretch my long legs out, strap on my broken pair of Bose QC2 headphones (had a good set but TSA relieved me of them two years ago in Hawaii while no one was looking), and enjoy the flight.

Finally the last few passengers scurried aboard flight at Gate 25 and I was left complete alone. Periodically I heard them calling for passengers for the Gate 24 flight. Why do people wander away when their flight is due to leave I will never understand. I had it made. Computer plugged in, no crowds, quiet end of the airport. Just before 7 PM, a woman tentatively walked up to me and asked where I was going. I told her Hawaii. Then she asked, “Would you mind leaving now rather than 9 PM? And would you mind if we put you in business class?”

Would I mind? I have never worked so fast trying to stuff everything back in my backpack. “Oh, no problem, I would be happy to fly now.” I tried not to act giddy else they think me deranged and cancel their offer. But the woman was helping me, unplugging the power cord to my computer and rolling it up. We went to the gate and four women went to work feverishly trying to make this happen. The strange thing was, they kept thanking me for being willing to sacrifice my economy seat for one in Buiness Class. I was holding my breath, hoping the reason for this blessing wouldn’t evaporate with the arrival of the late passenger. They were making calls, typing away on their computer trying to have my luggage moved. Finally they handed me my boarding pass but it was in row 80. Never had I heard of business class being in the tail of a plane. I was the last one to enter the plane and rather than being directed to the rear of the plane, I was pointed up the stairs. I have always wondered what was up there, what was it like? Now I was climbing into a world I have only dreamed about.

This could not have been business class. Along each side of the cabin were a single row of cubicles. Once inside you were in your own apartment. The seat had more adjustments than an excessive-compulsive chiropractor. One turned it into a bed. Noise canceling headphones were available, as was anything and everything I could have asked. This was first class. There was a wide screen monitor, a place to power up my computer. It was a dream. Two years ago, when I flew from Narita to Honolulu, I was also upgraded. Back then I was Gold Elite; this year I was only Silver Elite but status had nothing to do with it. I believe my heavenly Father just wanted to give an extra assurance that He was looking out for me. It was a dream flight.

When we landed in Honolulu, I was the first off the plane, breezed through customs, and was at baggage claim in record time. As it turned out, my bags had not been transferred but again, I had a quiet place to collect my thoughts and make further preparation on the talk I was to give in a few hours in Puna on the Big Island, the island which is actually called Hawaii. It was to be a memorable day. It was still October 28, still Sunday. So, I delivered a lecture in Tokyo Sunday morning, October 28. Then I flew to Oahu, on to Hawaii, and delivered another lecture in Puna on Sunday afternoon, October 28. Good old International Dateline. I love God’s surprises.

Next post I will finish some business in Japan. Until then, hang loose.