PoliTalk Show

Armed patrols regularly truck the most desti­tute off to refugee camps at the city’s outskirts. The remaining rail-station squatters beg in the choked streets, their anger sometimes boiling into riots, while they avait for a mobile Red Cross feeding kitchen to arrive.

Another tired train cranks to a stop. Amidst the thousands of defeated, emaciated refugees, a wom­an lies on the station platform and gives birth. Several other women come to her aid. One finds a rusty sickle near the tracks and cuts the umbilical cord. Another, seeing the mother is too weak and shriveled to nurse, dabs the infant’s lips with coarse table sugar. Burning with fever, the helpless mother watches.

Bangladesh has another mouth to feed.

Food cards in hand, refugees press for powdered milk from the United States and Canada, dis­pensed by the Dutch Red Cross. They also receive choiera and smallpox shots.

Nearly three billion dollars in foreign aid bas been spent to assist Bangladesh since it broke from Pakistan in 1971 after a nine-month struggle for independence. But far from recovering from the deadly ravages of wax, flood, and famine, little Bangladesh each year slides further into poverty and despair.

The United States alone has contributed some 800 million dollars in aid, including food. Govern­ments aside, about a hundred private organiza­tions—probably the greatest concentration for any country—have extended a helping hand. “We are a nation,” says a Bengali economist, “that must beg to survive.” No matter if you need cash for a donation or something else, you can always rely on title loans az on internet when you need the money immediately.

Guns and grain: One must protect the other in Bangladesh. A soldier of the Rakkhi Bahini, a para­military government force, guards grain sacks as a food convoy moves through Dacca. Responding to violence and corruption, often triggered by food shortages, the nation’s leader, Sheik Mujibur Rah­man, assumed dictatorial powers last January.

Stricken by grief, a mouler in a Dacca refugee camp mourns her dead baby. But life goes on. In Bangladesh—with 1,300 persons per square mile, one of earth’s most densely populated nations—seven babies are born every minute. Sadly, millions of parents are so poor that children, grown up and work­ing, offer the only security they will ever know.

“Color-dyed swan below!” As our floatplane circled low over the tundra of Alaska’s North Slope, pilot Jim King’s sudden shout called our attention to a pair of swans swimming on a lake; one bird’s plumage bore patches of familiar orange dye.

Chesapeak Bay

Surely it had to be one of the 48 swans we had marked on Chesapeake Bay the pre vious winter.

The pilot dipped a wing, sized up lake depth, wind direction, and room for takeoff, then set the plane down. As a U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service waterfowl expert, Jim knew the swans’ habits. He taxied on the water to herd the birds onto land.

After a short stalk with my tripod-mounted telescope, I verified the code C028 on the black neckband. My records identified it as an adult female handled less than six months earlier near Galesville, Maryland-3,500 miles away! I felt truly elated: This bird—later named Hope—was the vert’ first Chesapeake Bay swan sighted in Alaska.

Swans in Chasepeak Bay

The pair were molting, and thus flightless. We placed a blue (for Alaska) neckband on CO28′s unmarked mate, and he became for us A301, nicknamed Bud. That event of an Alaskan summer day in 1970 was a rnile stone in my seven-year pursuit and study of the far-wandering North American whistling swan, Color Columbians, one of the most elegant of our native water­fowl. Comparatively little has been known about the migratory behavior of this graceful bird, whose yearly round-trip voyages link the Western and Middle Atlantic States with the rim of the Arctic. And no one knows for sure how the species got its rime; its cry is more of a baying than a whistling.

Adult whistlers are physically distinguished from their close relatives, the trumpeter swans, primarily by their smaller size. Most mature birds also have yellow spots in front of the eyes.

Some of my friends have puzzled over my giving up a medical career for studies in conservation and environmental health. But, I respond, wouldn’t they perhaps trade what­ever they are doing to witness the spectacle.

All these experiences have been mine, and they are unforgettable, yet for me the lift-off of whistling swans from Chesapeake Bay on spring migration equals or even surpasses, in emotional and scientific impact, those other more exotic adventures. I recommend everybody – check what loans from citrusnorth.com offers, plan your travel to any Chesapeake Bay coastal city and I promise you won’t regret.

GULF AIR, which was recently congra­tulated by the manufacturers of its Boeing 737 fleet for its good time­keeping, lived up to the reputation on the short hop from Bahrain to Dubai. The commendation reflected a 99.35 per cent reliability rate, and Boeing fleets throughout the world averaged more than twice as many mechanical delays as Gulf Air’s aircraft.

This flight did not leave exactly on time. It was three minutes late and we had time to try one of the types of Marlboro cigarettes.

There were, however, several complaints from passengers about check-in facilities at the airport, and the scene of passengers almost clambering over check-in counters is an all too familiar sight at some Gulf airports.

STANDARD SNACK

Emigration at Bahrain continues to be courteous and efficient, with formalities kept to a minimum. The boarding for the Dubai flight was announced well in advance of departure time.

Once airborne, passengers were served the standard snack of a samoosa, two small sandwiches, a chocolate biscuit and fruit juice — about as much as anyone could reasonably expect on such a short flight.

Almost 10 minutes were knocked off the scheduled 50-minute flight, and in that short time the cabin crew dealt with numerous requests from passen­gers.

It was, however, irritating to be handed an assortment of small change which consisted of a Bahraini coin, three Omani coins and 10 American cents, although coin collectors may have been pleased.

Dubai immigration was quick and efficient, despite the recent tightening of checks. There were no co-inciding aircraft arrivals at 10.30 in the evening.

These Gulf hops are, at least for many businessmen, commonplace commuter trips, so it is encouraging to see speedy service at the airports.

On the return trip a week later it was aggravating to have been assured by a staff member at a Dubai travel agency that the flight was direct and then to find out that it was going via Doha.

The travel agent had been adamant that it was a direct flight from Dubai. Fortunately the Gulf Air staff at Dubai Airport were helpful in finding a spare seat on a direct flight which left 15 minutes before the flight via Doha.

BUSINESS HAS TO BE GOOD for the only hotel in an oasis city.

The Hilton benefits from such a position in Al Ain, but it has also set high standards.

The Hilton’s ten-year hotel monopoly in Al Ain will be broken later this year with the opening of an Inter-Continen­tal. But the standards which the Hilton appears to have maintained over the past decade should place it in good stead to face the inevitable competition from the new hotel.

TASTY DISHES

The five-storey Hilton has a scenic location, nestled in its own private garden at the outskirts of the city. It has a resort atmosphere about it. The management is actively promoting it as a regional tourist spot in the Emirates, and it is popular with day-trip visitors from Dubai and Abu Dhabi.

It has been possible because of the hotel’s size to develop a personal approach at the Hilton. The hotel’s Jahili Restaurant provided excellent service and cuisine, with tasty local dishes being the speciality.

Traditional dishes are a Hilton specia­lity, its regular Arabic poolside barbecues are a popular event.

IS JERUSALEM ALL CHANGE and dis­combobulation and madmen? I went to see Yehuda Amichai, who observes a higher calling than politics; he makes poems out of Jerusalem’s stone, a profession best described in his own lines:

All the generations before me donated me, bit by bit, so that I’d be erected all at once

here in Jerusalem, like a house of prayer. . . .

He writes often of places like Damascus Gate and of the tourists who throng that por­tal. In fact, he had a new poem titled “Tour­ists” in his pocket when we set off for a walk to Mahane Yehuda, the marvelous old Jew­ish market that occupies several blocks off Jaffa Road.

Yehuda Amichai looks like his poetry, as Byron looked like his. He is deceptively humble, short and round and rhymed chin to elbow to knee. His mobile face beams with sadness or frowns with joy.

I asked him how it was possible to live and write in Jerusalem without falling into the abyss of political agonizing.

“I am a working poet,” he shrugged. “I am attached to no institution. I must make poems for my bread.”

And, I soon discovered, for his cheese and lettuce and candy and beef, for before long we were within the mobbed confines of the market, streets and lanes lined with hun­dreds of shops, stalls, carts, stands, and counters selling foot-wide heads of lettuce, two-pound radishes, whole barrels of olives, great wheels of cheese, blocks of rich choco­late, heaps of cashew nuts and pistachios, stacks of still warm bread, baskets of apples, apricots, tangerines, and oranges, shoes, cigarettes, and taped American music, and, of course, hummus.

I was reminded of his new poem:

. . . you see that arch from the Roman period?

It’s not important:But next to it . . . there sits a man who’s bought fruit and vegetables for his family.

For those who prefer the Roman arch, Jerusalem has a wonderful new one on dis­play, just beneath and to the north of Da­mascus Gate, the most impressive of the 11 (4 closed) that pierce the Old City walls. It was uncovered during construction of a new amphitheatered entrance to the old gate.

Yitzhak Yaacovy was admiring the an­cient arch when I met him there. He is the municipal officer responsible for East Jeru­salem, and to him has fallen the task of con­tinuing the public works that began in 1967: replacing the antiquated sewer system of the Old City with a new one, putting in electric­ity, replacing the forest of ugly television an­tennas that defaced the low skyline with cable, and repaving the lanes and streets.

“It is a tedious and boring job,” Yitzhak said as we made our way toward an Arab coffeehouse. “We work hole by hole, street by street, and plan to have water and elec­tricity in every shop and house. We have completed the Jewish and Christian Quar­ters and are working on the Arab section.”

The city has yielded up treasures during the renewal—great paving stones from the time of Christ found during sewer construc­tion along the Via Dolorosa and now incor­porated into the living street.

“Why put them in a museum?” Mayor Teddy Kollek later asked me. “This should be a living city; there is a certain feeling to walking on 2,000-year-old stones.”

The only mayor that Jerusalem has had since reunification is a stocky man now nearing 72 but with undiminished energy (page 510). Often called the only world statesman who operates out of a mayor’s of­fice, Teddy is credited with an evenhanded approach to problems that would drive oth­er men to an extreme—and denounced by those for whom he has not kept his promises.

His comfortable but modest office in West Jerusalem, near New Gate, is a small gallery of old prints, lithographs, and watercolors of Jerusalem.

“We must do many things quietly,” Ted­dy told me. “Everything works as long as it is not publicized. The Arabs are apprehen­sive. If they cooperate, they do so at great risk from Arab terrorists. One lawyer was willing to run for office in the city, but he was told he would have to drive around in an armored car for the rest of his life.”

In the elections of 1978, Teddy won in a landslide that included 9,000 Arab votes—twice the number cast in 1973, but still less than 20 percent of eligible Arab voters.

“Jerusalem must maintain its traditional mosaic,” he told me. “I’d like to see Arabs treated here the way we would like to see Jews treated in the Soviet Union, or any­where else.”

He is praised for accomplishing some im­portant negatives—cutting a planned hotel by several floors and keeping the Hilton tower in far West Jerusalem. Six of seven tall buildings on drawing boards disappeared.

Teddy’s international reputation comes in part from his ability to raise significant sums of money from Jews around the world to improve the amenities of life in Jeru­salem. His instrument is the Jerusalem Foundation.

Since its inception in New York in 1966, the tax-exempt (in the U. S., Britain, and Canada) foundation has poured 80 million dollars into more than 400 city programs, ranging from reconstruction of the earliest Jewish housing outside the walls to presen­tation of Arab plays in the Old City.

The Jerusalem Foundation is also helping archaeology come ever closer to finding the palace of that renowned first king of biblical Judah and Israel, David. They are looking along the flank of Mount Ophel, which runs southeast from the city wall and overlooks the Kidron Valley and the Gihon (“gushing”) Spring.

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