The Goddess Speaks
The Goddess Speaks
I was 23 years old, single and traveling the world alone on a shoestring budget when I arrived in Thailand in 1969. I had only $90 in my wallet. The man who I thought would marry me in Bangkok turned out to be a scoundrel with a Vietnamese girlfriend in Hawaii and a Thai girlfriend in Bangkok. Many travels,
many memoriesWhen I discovered the truth I moved from his home to the YWCA. To support myself, I taught English at Thammasat University, AUA Language Center and Voice of America.
I turned misfortune into fun. A Thai prince loaned me one of his violins and I was invited to play in the Pro Musica Orchestra, which rehearsed at the German embassy and performed at German functions. A love of classical music was reborn in me.
Because I held a tourist visa, I had to exit the country every three months by crossing the Mekong River into Laos, where my passport was stamped for re-entry into Thailand. Laos was known for its opium dens and open market where marijuana was sold for $1.50 a kilo.
Ten months later, I traveled to London, then to Paris. One morning in Zurich, I looked out the window and wondered, "Why is the rain so white?"
An old woman replied, "Haven't you seen snow before? Doesn't it look like sugar? Go outside and taste it?"
I went out and stuck out my tongue. It was my first snowfall.
ON a night train to Rome, I shared a cabin bed with a laborer who reeked of cheap wine. With every turn of the tracks he rolled toward me. Repeated requests to the conductor to tell the man to stay on his side of the bed were futile.
Finally, I got up and sat on my suitcase in the hall. An Italian air force captain invited me to his cabin. We sat opposite each other and chatted. Then, he said, "You are tired. Why don't you lie down and rest?"
No sooner had I dozed off when I felt his body on mine. I pushed him off just as the train stopped. "Please have breakfast with me in Bologne and then I will put you on the next train to Rome," he begged.
I steadfastly refused. Finally, he jumped off the train just as it was pulling out of the station.
In Munich, a Hungarian geologist approached me at the opera. He wined and dined me for a month before suggesting that I accompany him to a casino in the Alps. His reason? To make his Hungarian ex-girlfriend jealous. This was the stuff of Harlequin romances. I left the geologist at the restaurant and never saw him again.
In New York City, I encountered a Juilliard cellist whose eyes met mine while he was on stage and I was in the audience. Two weeks later he saw me at Columbia University's student center. "You're the girl in the audience," he said, giving me a ticket to a concert in which he and 49 other cellists would be performing in an orchestra conducted by Pablo Casals.
The cellist was an interesting man so I was sorry to see him return to his home in Yugoslavia three months later. I remained in New York for the next five years, studying music at Columbia while supporting myself as a legal secretary.
After seven years abroad, I returned to Hawaii. The beauty of the turquoise sea, the fragrance of plumeria and the taste of Hayden mangoes make me wonder why I ever left.
I am happily married now. But sometimes I yearn to be 23 again, single and traveling the world on a shoestring budget.
I've passed the torch to my oldest daughter, who will spend the summer in Korea. Who knows what adventures await her?
Glenda Chung Hinchey is a library assistant at Liliha Library.
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