Tag: blogging

Third son of a Duke – The research behind the story – 3

All stories require some form of research, quite often to place a character in a place at a particular time, especially if it is in a historical context. This series will take you through what it was like in 1914 through 1916.

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The Unravelling Threads: Class, Gender, and the Dawn of a New Social Order in Edwardian England (Pre-1913 to Women’s Suffrage)

Abstract

This paper examines the profound social transformations occurring in England leading up to 1913 and culminating in women’s suffrage. It argues that the rigid, tripartite class structure (First, Second, Third) was in an advanced state of disintegration, driven by increased education, improved economic prospects for many, and a challenge to traditional hierarchies. Concurrently, women, empowered by growing educational and employment opportunities and frustrated by their subordinate legal and political status, increasingly rejected the confines of the domestic sphere. This paper charts the interconnected shifts: the erosion of aristocratic power, the rise of the educated and organised working man, and the burgeoning feminist consciousness that relentlessly pushed for political inclusion, ultimately securing the vote as a symbol of a fundamentally altered social landscape.

Introduction

By the autumn of 1913, England, seemingly secure in its imperial grandeur, was in fact undergoing a profound and irreversible social metamorphosis. The Victorian certainties of a hierarchical, class-driven society were fraying under the weight of economic change, educational advancement, and an increasingly vocal demand for social and political justice. The notion of a strictly defined “first, second, and third class” was disintegrating, giving way to a more fluid, complex, and contested social order. Concomitantly, the traditional role of women, once confined almost exclusively to the domestic realm, was being vigorously challenged. Education, employment, and a growing consciousness of their disenfranchisement spurred women to demand more than just children, hearth, and husband. This paper will explore these parallel and often intersecting trajectories, charting the general shift from a static, class-driven society before 1913 to the pivotal moment when women finally secured the parliamentary vote, demonstrating how these societal changes irrevocably altered the fabric of British life.

The Erosion of the First Class: Nobility in Decline

Throughout the 19th century, the British social hierarchy was ostensibly topped by the aristocracy and landed gentry – the “First Class.” Their power derived from inherited land, wealth, and a virtual monopoly on political office in both Houses of Parliament. However, by the late Victorian and Edwardian periods, their pre-eminence was under severe strain. The agricultural depression of the late 19th century drastically reduced rental incomes, diminishing the economic foundation of their power. Concurrently, the rise of industrial and commercial wealth created a new plutocracy that could rival, if not surpass, the traditional landed elites. New money, often earned through manufacturing, finance, or colonial ventures, began to infiltrate the upper echelons, sometimes through strategic marriages with impoverished gentry, further blurring the lines of inherited status.

Moreover, death duties, introduced and increased by Liberal governments (notably the “People’s Budget” of 1909), systematically eroded inherited wealth, forcing the sale of ancestral lands and estates. The burgeoning meritocracy, fuelled by expanding educational opportunities, also challenged the notion of inherited privilege as the sole determinant of leadership. While titles and social prestige still held currency, the aristocracy’s direct political power was diminished, especially in the House of Commons, and their social authority increasingly rested on an image of continuity rather than actual economic or political dominance. The shift was palpable: old wealth was struggling to maintain its footing against the surging tide of new wealth and new ideas.

The Diminished Ruling Classes and the Ascent of the Middle and Working Man

The “ruling classes” – traditionally comprising the aristocracy and the upper echelons of the gentry and clergy – found their influence diluted not only by the decline of old money but also by the rise of an expanded and increasingly professionalised middle class. This “Second Class,” encompassing industrialists, merchants, bankers, doctors, lawyers, and civil servants, derived its power from expertise, capital, and administrative competence rather than land. With the expansion of the empire and the burgeoning complexities of modern governance and economy, their practical and intellectual contributions became indispensable. They filled the ranks of local councils, managed vast commercial enterprises, and staffed the burgeoning bureaucracy, effectively taking over many of the administrative and professional functions once loosely held by the gentry.

Crucially, below them, the “working man” – historically considered the “Third Class” – was indeed forging ahead. The Elementary Education Act of 1870, followed by subsequent legislation, made education compulsory for all children, significantly raising literacy rates and opening doors to better-paid, skilled employment. This created a more knowledgeable and politically conscious populace. Improved wages, particularly for skilled workers in growing industries, meant a higher standard of living for many. The rise of powerful trade unions, such as the Amalgamated Society of Engineers and the Miners’ Federation of Great Britain, provided collective bargaining power that challenged the absolute authority of employers. Landmark legal victories, like the Trades Disputes Act of 1906, solidified their right to strike and organise.

Politically, the extension of the franchise through the Reform Acts of 1867 and 1884 enfranchised a significant proportion of working-class men, fundamentally altering the electoral landscape. This paved the way for the emergence of the Labour Party in 1900, which provided a distinct political voice for the working class, advocating for social welfare, workers’ rights, and a more equitable distribution of wealth. By 1913, the working man was no longer a silent, passive force; he was increasingly educated, organised, and politically assertive, demanding a greater share in the nation’s prosperity and governance. This shift from deference to demand was a cornerstone of the unravelling class system.

The Awakening of Women: Education, Aspiration, and Discontent

Parallel to these shifts in class structure, an equally profound transformation was occurring in the social expectations and aspirations of women. For centuries, the ideal of the “Angel in the House” confined middle and upper-class women to the domestic sphere, while working-class women often toiled in arduous, low-paid labour simply to survive. However, by 1913, this paradigm was collapsing under the weight of new opportunities and growing discontent.

The expansion of girls’ education was a primary catalyst. Institutions like the Girls’ Public Day School Trust, established in 1872, offered rigorous academic curricula, moving beyond mere accomplishments to genuine intellectual training. Crucially, the establishment of women’s colleges at Oxford (Lady Margaret Hall, Somerville) and Cambridge (Girton, Newnham) in the late 19th century, along with the admission of women to London University degrees, provided pathways to higher education previously unimaginable. Girls, increasingly, wanted better education prospects and the opportunity to go to university, not merely to become more accomplished wives, but to pursue professions and intellectual lives.

This educational revolution coincided with new employment opportunities. The late 19th and early 20th centuries saw the growth of “feminised” professions like teaching and nursing, as well as the burgeoning fields of clerical work (typists, secretaries) and retail. While these jobs were often lower-paid and carried less prestige than male-dominated professions, they offered financial independence and a public role beyond the home. Women were no longer content to have children, stay at home, and tend to their husbands; they wanted careers, intellectual stimulation, and a life of purpose that transcended domesticity.

Legal reforms also facilitated this shift. The Married Women’s Property Acts of 1870 and 1882 were revolutionary, granting married women the right to own and control their own earnings and property, rather than having them automatically revert to their husbands. This significantly improved their economic autonomy and legal standing, laying the groundwork for greater independence.

The Fight for Political Agency: From Social Reform to Suffrage

The growing educational and economic empowerment of women inevitably led to demands for political inclusion. Women, increasingly involved in social reform movements (temperance, poverty relief, public health), recognised the intrinsic link between their lack of political power and their inability to effect meaningful change. They observed that while male factory workers, coal miners, and agricultural labourers had been granted the vote, educated, tax-paying women remained disenfranchised.

The suffrage movement, which had roots in the mid-19th century, gained significant momentum in the period leading up to 1913. It is divided broadly into two wings:

  1. The National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies (NUWSS): Led by Millicent Garrett Fawcett, the “Suffragists” employed constitutional and peaceful methods – petitions, lobbying MPs, public meetings, and propaganda. Their arguments centred on equality, justice, and the idea that women’s unique moral insights were necessary for good governance.
  2. The Women’s Social and Political Union (WSPU): Founded by Emmeline Pankhurst and her daughters Christabel and Sylvia, the “Suffragettes” adopted more militant tactics from 1905 onwards. Frustrated by the slow pace of constitutional change, they engaged in civil disobedience, property damage (window smashing, arson), hunger strikes, and public disruption, famously employing the slogan “Deeds, not Words.” While controversial, their actions brought unprecedented publicity to the cause, forcing it onto the national political agenda.

By 1913, the suffrage movement was a powerful, albeit divided, force, having successfully articulated the fundamental injustice of female political exclusion. The arguments against women’s suffrage — that women were too emotional, intellectually inferior, or that their participation would corrupt politics and abandon the home — were increasingly seen as outdated and indefensible in the face of women’s demonstrated capabilities and contributions to society.

The Catalyst of War and the Culmination of Change (1914-1918)

The outbreak of the First World War in August 1914 temporarily halted the militant suffrage campaign, as the WSPU, in particular, threw its weight behind the war effort. This proved to be a pivotal moment. With millions of men going to the front, women stepped into roles previously deemed exclusively male: working in munitions factories (the “munitionettes”), driving ambulances, working on farms, conducting clerical work, and taking on jobs in public transport. Their indispensable contribution to the war effort shattered any remaining arguments about their physical and mental incapacity. The war demonstrated, unequivocally, that women were capable, patriotic citizens, essential to the nation’s survival.

The war also highlighted the practical absurdity of the existing franchise laws. Many soldiers at the front, having been away from home for extended periods, no longer met the property qualifications to vote. There was a political consensus that a new franchise act was necessary to enfranchise these returning servicemen. The opportunity arose to include women within this reform. The selfless service of women during the war, coupled with the strategic abandonment of militancy by the suffragettes, created an undeniable moral and political imperative for reform.

Finally, in 1918, the Representation of the People Act was passed. This landmark legislation granted the vote to women over 30 who met minimum property qualifications (either as householders or wives of householders, or as university graduates), and simultaneously enfranchised all men over 21. While not full universal suffrage (which would come in 1928, granting women the vote on the same terms as men), the 1918 Act represented a monumental victory. It was a recognition not just of women’s war effort, but also of the decades of growing educational attainment, economic independence, and persistent political agitation that had preceded it. The “first class” was largely gone, the “ruling classes” diffused, the working man empowered, and now, a significant portion of women had also gained a direct voice in shaping their nation’s future.

Conclusion

The period leading up to 1913 and culminating in the 1918 Representation of the People Act witnessed a seismic shift in English society. The rigid, inherited class structure, which had defined social and political life for centuries, was indeed disintegrating. The nobility struggled under economic pressures and a rising meritocracy, while the traditional “ruling classes” found their influence diluted by an expanding professional middle class. Concurrently, the working man, empowered by education, trade unionism, and the franchise, was forging ahead, demanding greater social and economic justice.

Crucially, these changes did not occur in isolation from the burgeoning aspirations of women. As girls gained unprecedented access to education and women increasingly entered the workforce, they rejected the narrow confines of the domestic sphere. This collective awakening, coupled with legal reforms and decades of organised political activism, laid the groundwork for the suffrage movement. The First World War acted as a powerful accelerant, decisively demonstrating women’s indispensable role in national life and making their continued political disenfranchisement untenable.

The granting of the vote to women in 1918 was not merely a legislative act; it was a profound symbol of a new social contract. It marked the formal acknowledgment that the old order, based on inherited privilege, patriarchal authority, and rigid class divisions, had irrevocably passed. England, by 1918, had moved significantly towards a more inclusive, albeit still imperfect, society – one where education, economic contribution, and gender, rather than simply birthright, increasingly defined an individual’s place and political agency. The threads of the old class system had unravelled, paving the way for a more complex tapestry of social and political identities, forever changing the landscape of British democracy.

Writing about writing a book – Research – 10

Background material used in researching the Vietnam war and various other aspects of that period

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The psychological cost of the war

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The Wounds That Wouldn’t Bleed: Ailments Ignored in the Vietnam War

The Vietnam War was a conflict unlike any other the United States had faced. It was a war fought without front lines, defined by relentless heat, suffocating humidity, and an enemy that could appear and vanish in an instant.

While the bravery of field medics (corpsmen and ‘Docs’) in saving lives under fire is unquestionable, the systemic priorities of triage—getting the wounded off the battlefield and stabilizing life-threatening injuries—meant that a massive spectrum of chronic issues, insidious tropical diseases, and rapidly developing psychological trauma were often minimized, misdiagnosed, or tragically ignored.

Here, we examine some of the most pervasive physical and psychological problems faced by soldiers in Vietnam that suffered from a profound lack of medical knowledge or understanding at the time.

1. The Invisible Enemy: Psychological Trauma and the Battle for the Mind

Perhaps the most significant failure of the medical system during the Vietnam era was the inability to properly recognize, diagnose, and treat the psychological toll of the conflict.

Battle Fatigue vs. Post-Traumatic Stress

When veterans returned from World War I, their trauma was called “shell shock.” By World War II, it was “combat fatigue.” In Vietnam, the terms were often minimized further, reducing severe psychological breakdown to simple “Malingering” or “Adjustment Reaction of Combat” (ARC).

The reality, which wouldn’t be formally recognized as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) until 1980, was that soldiers were enduring moral injury, existential fear, and chronic stress that profoundly altered their brains.

Why it was ignored:

  • Triage Priority: A bullet hole took precedence over a panic attack. Medics were trained to save life and limb, not treat anxiety or nightmares, which were often seen as a lack of fortitude rather than injury.
  • The Rapid Rotation: Soldiers served one-year tours. This quick deployment and extraction created a high-intensity, short-duration experience that left little time for psychological decompression. Soldiers were often back on the streets of the U.S. within 48 hours of leaving the jungle, carrying their trauma immediately into civilian life without systemic transition or monitoring.
  • Lack of Training: Psychological care was not integrated into frontline medical training. Soldiers complaining of severe depression, extreme paranoia, or panic attacks were often given mild sedatives and sent back to the line, perpetuating the cycle of trauma.

2. Jungle Rot, Immersion Foot, and Chronic Skin Ailments

The humid, perpetually wet environment of Southeast Asia was a breeding ground for infections that troops rarely, if ever, experienced in temperate climates. While many were treatable, they were often dismissed as minor annoyances until they became debilitating.

The Problem of Pervasive Fungi

Soldiers rarely wore dry clothes or dry boots. This led to a host of chronic dermatological nightmares:

  • Jungle Rot (Tropical Ulcers): Severe, deep fungal, and bacterial infections that often developed around minor scrapes or insect bites. These infections were intensely painful, slow to heal, and could leave deep, permanent scars. Because they were not immediately life-threatening, treatment was often limited to basic cleaning and topical creams, which struggled against the persistent humidity.
  • Immersion Foot (Trench Foot): Though more commonly associated with WWI, this condition was rampant. Prolonged exposure to wet conditions damaged nerves and blood vessels in the feet. If not addressed quickly, it could lead to permanent numbness, chronic pain, and in severe cases, the need for amputation.

Why it was ignored:

  • Normalization: Medics dealt with “wet foot” complaints constantly. The sheer volume of non-fatal skin issues meant that only the most severe cases were evacuated, forcing troops to fight on with chronic, festering wounds that impacted mobility and mental focus.
  • Medic Knowledge Gap: Tropical medicine was not a primary focus for most U.S. military doctors and medics, many of whom were trained for European or temperate environments. The tenacious nature of tropical pathogens was frequently underestimated.

3. The Crisis of Self-Medication and Substance Abuse

The stress, fear, and hopelessness experienced by many troops led to staggering rates of drug use, which peaked near the end of the conflict. This was not initially treated as a medical or psychological crisis, but primarily as a disciplinary problem.

The Opioid Epidemic in the Ranks

By the early 1970s, it was estimated that 10–15% of American troops in Vietnam were addicted to heroin, which was cheap, pure, and easily accessible. Marijuana and amphetamines (often called “speed” or “pep pills”) were also widely used to counteract fatigue, stress, or simply boredom.

Why it was ignored/mismanaged:

  • Punishment Over Treatment: The military initially approached substance abuse as a failure of discipline and a threat to combat readiness, leading to punitive measures (like dishonorable discharge) rather than therapeutic intervention. This discouraged soldiers from seeking help.
  • Lack of Resources: There were few dedicated military facilities or personnel focused exclusively on drug detoxification and addiction counseling within the war zone.
  • Systemic Blindness: The high command often struggled to acknowledge the extent of the problem, preferring to view it as a small behavioral issue rather than a massive systemic reaction to the trauma of a brutal and unpopular war.

4. Unrecognized Exposures: Lingering Toxins

While the full medical impact of exposure to chemical agents like Agent Orange did not become widely known until years after the war, troops were dealing with immediate, acute symptoms that were often misdiagnosed or dismissed.

Medics were not equipped to understand or treat the complex, long-term effects of dioxin exposure. Soldiers who developed severe skin rashes (chloracne), gastrointestinal distress, or chronic neurological symptoms were often treated symptomatically and sent back to duty, unaware of the devastating biological time bomb they were carrying.

The Cost of Ignorance

The failures in recognizing and treating these “invisible” ailments during the Vietnam War underscore a critical lesson for military medicine: the wound not bleeding is often the most dangerous.

The generation of veterans who returned home—many physically healed but mentally broken, struggling with chronic pain, addiction, or undiagnosed psychological scars—paid the steepest price for the medical system’s lack of knowledge, its focus on immediate trauma, and its reluctance to acknowledge the true, corrosive nature of a prolonged jungle war.

The legacy of Vietnam required the armed forces and the Veterans Administration to fundamentally alter their approach to mental health and chronic care, a painful evolution that continues today.

Writing a book in 365 days – 319/320

Days 319 and 320

Writing exercise – using other words for hate, run, disappointed, joyful, and frightened

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Hate is such a strong word, but then so are detest, abhor, and perhaps disgust.  The thing is, does everyone understand these other words?

I hated my parents, I hated my brothers, and I think at one particular time in my life, I hated the world.  I guess when everything you planned for just hot pulled out from under you, it’s easy to blame everything and everyone else.

At the time, there wasn’t another word strong enough.

So, when the world has taken you by the scruff of the neck and starts strangling the life out of you, what do you do?  You run.  Anywhere is better than where you are.

Isn’t it?

I’d it running though, or a strategic exit.  It depends on who you are.

Disappointed?  Hell, yeah!

To see a relationship that had been nurtured from the beginning of grade school to the end of high school, to have in place a plan for the rest of your life, and then in a few weeks before the Prom, and graduation, see it all thrown on the scrap heap because the new boy in town had swept the girl of your dreams off her feet, well that was devastation, and a dozen other ‘d’ words.  Disappointment didn’t even scratch the surface.

Stamping out all those years of joy, though, as I was reminded several times by well-meaning people, I wasn’t old enough time know what love, pain and the damn thing of life, it was better to get the love and loss thing over so that the next time, if there was a next time, I’d know what to do.

Wrong.

My next foray into a serious relationship lasted a few years but fell apart when she had an accident.  I wasn’t there at the time, but she had taken it upon herself to take on the hardest slope without telling me and got injured.

I went up with the rescue team, but it seemed the sight of me only made the accident far worse than it was: a broken leg, failing to take a tight turn, one I knew needed a little more practice than she had.

It didn’t matter that I was not judging or critical, only concerned for her.

She was taken by air ambulance to the hospital, and then I didn’t see her again.

I was starting to think that I was never meant to find the true meaning of joy, or being happy, or content, or just be comfortable in the company of that woman I was told was out there somewhere waiting for me.

Right.

I’d like to see that prophecy come true.

So, of course, the opposite of joy was despair, frightened that I was never going to find true love.

Just saying that out loud scares the hell out of me.

Frightened, scared, paralysed with fear, simply paralysed.

My job hadn’t found anyone suitable.  Dating girls at the office was a minefield, especially when it all goes south.  I’d seen it happen far too many times, with devastating results for both parties.

So …

What’s the story? My story, really, with a few embellishments.

It’s there in parts, a story I tried to write a few years back, but started pottering anew.

The disappointment, the girlfriend moving on, plans destroyed, and not being the son and an heir, having a father who expected more than a lesser son could give, forced him to reconsider his life.

Instead of going to a local college and being at home, he moved across the country to go to a better university, having attained the necessary GPA to do an undergraduate degree in Economics, and then an MBA.  Five and a half to six years.

Tried to come home one and got into a fight with the son and heir and left.

Perhaps others got to share his disappointment.

Another few years pass.  His sister asks him to come home to see a sick mother.  It’s Christmas.

He gets on the plane.

Had he finally decided to stop running?

It is time to put the hate aside and try to get along.

Can help stifle the disappointment.

Can he find the joy of living at home again?

What was it, in stepping on that plane, that brought back all the disappointment, all the pain, and no chance of ever bringing back that childhood that wasn’t all that bad until he hit middle school.

Christmas is the time for joy.

Will he find it again?

Sit back, relax, and enjoy the in-flight service.

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Edinburgh

Beyond the Castle: Unearthing Edinburgh’s Hidden Gems (The Road Less Travelled)

Edinburgh. The name alone conjures images of its majestic castle, the Royal Mile’s bustling crowds, and Arthur’s Seat’s iconic silhouette. And while these are undoubtedly must-sees for any visitor, what if you’re craving a taste of the city that goes deeper, a little off the well-trodden tourist path? If you’ve already ticked off the big hitters or simply fancy an Edinburgh experience that feels more personal and unique, then buckle up. We’re venturing down the road less travelled to uncover five fantastic, alternative experiences in this captivating Scottish capital.

1. Dive into the Artistic Depths of the Dean Village

Forget the galleries packed shoulder-to-shoulder. For a truly enchanting artistic escape, head to Dean Village. This picturesque oasis, nestled on the Water of Leith, feels like stepping back in time. Once a thriving milling community, it’s now a bohemian enclave dotted with stunning Victorian architecture, charming bridges, and lush greenery.

Why it’s off the beaten path: While it’s a beautiful spot for a stroll, many visitors overlook it in favour of more central attractions.

What to do: Wander along the river, admire the intricate buildings of Well Court and the former mills, and soak in the tranquil atmosphere. Keep an eye out for resident artists working in their studios (some even have open days!). It’s a photographer’s paradise and a balm for the soul.

2. Uncover Literary Secrets at the Writer’s Museum

Edinburgh is a UNESCO City of Literature, and while the National Library is impressive, the Writers’ Museum offers a more intimate and characterful glimpse into the lives of Scotland’s literary giants. Housed in a beautiful 17th-century tenement building off the Royal Mile, this museum is dedicated to the lives and works of Robert Burns, Sir Walter Scott, and Robert Louis Stevenson.

Why it’s off the beaten path: It’s tucked away on a side street, and its smaller scale means it’s often bypassed by those seeking grander institutions.

What to do: Explore the rooms filled with personal belongings, manuscripts, portraits, and furniture belonging to these iconic writers. You can almost feel their creative energy lingering in the air. It’s a deeply personal and inspiring experience for any book lover.

3. Explore the Fascinating Underbelly of the Real Mary King’s Close (Beyond the Main Entrance)

Okay, so “Real Mary King’s Close” is a popular attraction, but hear us out. Instead of booking a standard tour, seek out some of the specialist tours or historical reenactments that occasionally run. These often delve deeper into specific aspects of the Close’s history, focusing on social history, specific residents, or even ghost stories with more dramatic flair.

Why it’s off the beaten path: While the main tours are well-marketed, these niche offerings cater to a more dedicated historical interest and have limited availability.

What to do: Look for advertised events or inquire at local historical societies. These tours can offer a more immersive and less crowded experience, allowing you to truly connect with the stories of those who lived and died beneath the city.

4. Take a Tranquil Escape to the Hermitage of Braid Nature Reserve

Need a break from the urban buzz? The Hermitage of Braid Nature Reserve offers a surprisingly wild and peaceful escape within the city limits. This beautiful wooded glen, also along the Water of Leith, is a haven for wildlife and a perfect spot for a contemplative walk.

Why it’s off the beaten path: It’s further south from the city centre and less advertised than the more accessible parks.

What to do: Follow the winding paths through ancient woodlands, discover charming waterfalls, and enjoy the abundant birdlife. There’s a small, historic Hermitage building and a lovely walled garden to explore. It’s the ideal place to recharge your batteries and reconnect with nature.

5. Indulge Your Sweet Tooth (or Savoury Cravings) at the Stockbridge Market

While Edinburgh has plenty of great restaurants, for a truly local and vibrant food experience, head to the Stockbridge Market. Held every Sunday in the charming Stockbridge neighbourhood, this bustling market is a food lover’s paradise, showcasing a diverse array of local producers, artisanal bakers, and talented street food vendors.

Why it’s off the beaten path: It’s a local’s favourite and attracts a more discerning crowd than the typical tourist markets.

What to do: Sample delicious Scottish produce, from artisan cheeses and freshly baked bread to gourmet baked goods and international street food. Grab a coffee, enjoy the lively atmosphere, and perhaps pick up some unique souvenirs. It’s a fantastic way to experience the city’s culinary heart and support local businesses.

So, the next time you find yourself in Edinburgh, dare to stray from the familiar. These five hidden gems offer a different perspective, a chance to discover the soul of the city beyond the postcards. Happy exploring!

What are your favourite “off the beaten path” spots in Edinburgh? Share them in the comments below!

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Lisbon

Lisbon Beyond the Postcard: 5 Things to Do When You’ve Already Mastered the Classics

You’ve done the pilgrimage. You’ve braved the crowds on Tram 28, queued for pastéis de nata in Belém, and navigated the steep, melancholic streets of Alfama. You’ve seen the sunset from a crowded miradouro, and you’ve felt the history radiating from the Jerónimos Monastery.

Congratulations. You’ve seen Lisbon.

But the true magic of the Portuguese capital doesn’t lie on the postcard; it thrives in the quiet corners, the industrial chic neighborhoods, and the views reserved only for those willing to wander a little further.

If you’re ready to move past the tourist checklist and dive into the real Lisboa, here are the next top five, road-less-travelled experiences waiting for you.

1. Get Lost in the Green Lungs: Parque Florestal de Monsanto

What it is: Lisbon’s massive, sprawling answer to Central Park, covering over 10 square kilometers of forest, trails, and panoramic views.

The moment tourists step off the plane, they head east toward the castle or south toward the river. They forget that the city is hugged by a surprisingly wild, untamed forest park to the west. Monsanto is where locals go to truly escape the urban bustle.

Forget the crowded views from São Jorge; Monsanto offers dozens of quiet, breathtaking overlooks. The ultimate gem here is the abandoned Panorâmico de Monsanto. Once a glamorous restaurant and viewing deck built in the 1960s, it now stands as a vast, graffiti-covered ruin.

While officially decommissioned, the views from this concrete shell are genuinely jaw-dropping, offering a 360-degree perspective of the entire city, the Tagus River, and the Atlantic beyond. It requires a bus or short taxi ride to reach, making it inconvenient enough to keep the crowds away.

  • Why it’s “Less Travelled”: It’s outside the central walking zone, requiring dedicated transport.
  • The Insider Tip: Go for sunrise or sunset. Bring good walking shoes and a tripod for unforgettable photos from the Panorâmico.

2. Sail Across the Tagus for Seafood Bliss at Cacilhas

What it is: A quick, inexpensive ferry ride across the Tagus River to the industrial-chic municipality of Almada, offering arguably the best views of the Lisbon skyline.

While the famous Vasco da Gama Bridge and the 25 de Abril Bridge dominate the skyline, taking a short trip on the iconic orange Cacilheiros ferry from Cais do Sodré is a true local experience. The destination, Cacilhas, feels a world away from the busy, boutique-lined streets of Chiado.

Instead of monuments, you find authentic, old-school Portugal. Head straight for Rua Cândido dos Reis, a street lined with incredible, reasonably priced seafood restaurants (marisqueiras). Dining here means indulging in freshly caught fish, grilled to perfection, and avoiding the tourist mark-up found in the city center.

Don’t miss the chance to walk a little further to the 110-meter-tall Cristo Rei statue. While Belem Tower is beautiful, viewing the city skyline with the entire Lisbon waterfront framed across the water is a perspective few tourists ever seek out.

  • Why it’s “Less Travelled”: Tourists rarely leave the Lisbon side of the river unless heading to the main beaches.
  • The Insider Tip: Try the restaurant Ponto Final for stunning riverside dining right on the water (reservations essential) or Solar dos Nunes for a cozier, highly authentic experience.

3. Explore Tile-Soaked History at the Museu Nacional do Azulejo

What it is: The National Tile Museum, housed in the magnificent former Convent of Madre de Deus, dedicated entirely to the history and artistry of Portugal’s defining cultural expression: the azulejo (painted ceramic tile).

While every street corner in Lisbon is adorned with beautiful tiles, few visitors dedicate the time to understand the profound history behind this art form. The Azulejo Museum may not sound as instantly thrilling as a castle, but it is essential to understanding the city’s identity.

Located slightly off the beaten track in the eastern suburbs (near Santa Apolónia), the museum showcases five centuries of ceramic evolution, from Moorish influence to Baroque grandeur. The real highlight is the stunning Great View of Lisbon—a 23-meter-long panel of tiles dating from 1738, depicting the city’s skyline before the devastating earthquake of 1755.

Walking through the ornate church and the quiet cloisters of the convent offers a peaceful, meditative experience far removed from the crush of the central museums.

  • Why it’s “Less Travelled”: Its location is slightly inconvenient, requiring a short taxi or specific bus route.
  • The Insider Tip: Take time to admire the stunning, gold-leaf-laden chapel inside the former convent—it rivals those in Belém.

4. Discover the Industrial Grit of Marvila (Lisbon’s Brooklyn)

What it is: A rapidly gentrifying, formerly industrial neighborhood east of the Parque das Nações, now home to warehouses converted into craft breweries, contemporary art spaces, and cutting-edge gastronomy.

If you’re looking for Lisbon’s hip, creative heartbeat—the neighborhood where young artists and entrepreneurs are truly setting up shop—it’s Marvila. It lacks the historic charm of Alfama but makes up for it with raw, industrial energy.

This is the perfect spot for the craft beer enthusiast. Marvila boasts a strip of excellent breweries operating out of converted warehouses, including Musa and Dois Corvos. Unlike the tourist taverns, these spots offer excellent local brews, complex menus, and a true sense of community.

Beyond the beer, Marvila is home to massive art galleries and unique cultural hubs that are constantly changing, reflecting a contemporary Lisbon that is dynamic and forward-looking.

  • Why it’s “Less Travelled”: It’s still transitioning and is primarily a local destination, far from the central tourist loop.
  • The Insider Tip: Visit on a weekend afternoon to enjoy the buzzing atmosphere at the breweries when they often have food trucks or live music.

5. Trade Sintra’s Fairytale Crowds for the Coastal Calm of Ericeira

What it is: A traditional fishing town located about 45 minutes north of Lisbon, designated as Europe’s only World Surfing Reserve.

Sintra is spectacular, but during peak season, it can feel more like an amusement park than a historical site. For a coastal day trip that delivers beauty, tradition, and relaxation, head to Ericeira.

While it’s internationally famous among surfers for its diverse reef and beach breaks, the town itself maintains an incredible, whitewashed village charm. Here, you’ll find narrow, winding streets, blue-and-white houses, and excellent local bakeries selling regional specialties (ouriços and tâmaras).

The atmosphere is noticeably slower and more authentic than that of the tourist hub of Cascais. Spend the day watching the surfers at Ribeira d’Ilhas, wander through the historic center, and enjoy a spectacular ocean-view meal featuring the freshest catch of the day.

  • Why it’s “Less Travelled”: It requires a dedicated bus journey (or car hire) and is often overlooked in favor of the more marketed Sintra or Cascais.
  • The Insider Tip: Have lunch at a traditional marisqueira near the fishing port to ensure the fish was caught that morning.

The Next Chapter of Your Lisbon Story

Lisbon is a city of layers. Once you peel back the vibrant, initial layer of historic landmarks and Fado-filled taverns, you discover a deeper, more rewarding experience.

These five spots are not just alternatives; they are invitations. They invite you to slow down, cross the river, explore the urban edge, and understand the real, living pulse of one of Europe’s most exciting capitals.

Have you explored any of these hidden Lisbon gems? Share your favourite road less travelled experience in the comments below!

Writing a book in 365 days – 319/320

Days 319 and 320

Writing exercise – using other words for hate, run, disappointed, joyful, and frightened

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Hate is such a strong word, but then so are detest, abhor, and perhaps disgust.  The thing is, does everyone understand these other words?

I hated my parents, I hated my brothers, and I think at one particular time in my life, I hated the world.  I guess when everything you planned for just hot pulled out from under you, it’s easy to blame everything and everyone else.

At the time, there wasn’t another word strong enough.

So, when the world has taken you by the scruff of the neck and starts strangling the life out of you, what do you do?  You run.  Anywhere is better than where you are.

Isn’t it?

I’d it running though, or a strategic exit.  It depends on who you are.

Disappointed?  Hell, yeah!

To see a relationship that had been nurtured from the beginning of grade school to the end of high school, to have in place a plan for the rest of your life, and then in a few weeks before the Prom, and graduation, see it all thrown on the scrap heap because the new boy in town had swept the girl of your dreams off her feet, well that was devastation, and a dozen other ‘d’ words.  Disappointment didn’t even scratch the surface.

Stamping out all those years of joy, though, as I was reminded several times by well-meaning people, I wasn’t old enough time know what love, pain and the damn thing of life; it was better to get the love and loss thing over so that the next time, if there was a next time, I’d know what to do.

Wrong.

My next foray into a serious relationship lasted a few years but fell apart when she had an accident.  I wasn’t there at the time, but she had taken it upon herself to take on the hardest slope without telling me and got injured.

I went up with the rescue team, but it seemed the sight of me only made the accident far worse than it was: a broken leg, failing to take a tight turn, one I knew needed a little more practice than she had.

It didn’t matter that I was not judging or critical, only concerned for her.

She was taken by air ambulance to the hospital, and then I didn’t see her again.

I was starting to think that I was never meant to find the true meaning of joy, or being happy, or content, or just be comfortable in the company of that woman I was told was out there somewhere waiting for me.

Right.

I’d like to see that prophecy come true.

So, of course, the opposite of joy was despair, frightened that I was never going to find true love.

Just saying that out loud scares the hell out of me.

Frightened, scared, paralysed with fear, simply paralysed.

My job hadn’t found anyone suitable.  Dating girls at the office was a minefield, especially when it all goes south.  I’d seen it happen far too many times, with devastating results for both parties.

So …

What’s the story?

It’s there in parts, a story I tried to write a few years back, but started pottering anew.

The disappointment, the girlfriend moving on, plans destroyed, and not being the son and an heir, having a father who expected more than a lesser son could give, forced him to reconsider his life.

Instead of going to a local college and being at home, he moved across the country to go to a better university, having attained the necessary GPA to do an undergraduate degree in Economics, and then an MBA.  Five and a half to six years.

Tried to come home one and got into a fight with the son and heir and left.

Perhaps others got to share his disappointment.

Another few years pass.  His sister asks him to come home to see a sick mother.  It’s Christmas.

He gets on the plane.

Had he finally decided to stop running?

It is time to put the hate aside and try to get along.

Can help stifle the disappointment.

Can he find the joy of living at home again?

What was it, in stepping on that plane, that brought back all the disappointment, all the pain, and no chance of ever bringing back that childhood that wasn’t all that bad until he hit middle school?

Christmas is the time for joy.

Will he find it again?

Sit back, relax, and enjoy the in-flight service.

“The Things we do for Love”, the story behind the story

This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 72 this year.

Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.

Why, you might ask.

Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne

At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.

I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.

Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them

Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.

I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.

Damn!

So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years

I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.

It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey.  Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.

Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.

So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.

Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.

It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there.  She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.

And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions.  Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.

Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.

But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.

As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life

If only I’d come from such a background!

And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.

I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.

One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.

Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.

It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife.  Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.

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lovecoverfinal1

Third son of a Duke – The research behind the story – 2

All stories require some form of research, quite often to place a character in a place at a particular time, especially if it is in a historical context. This series will take you through what it was like in 1914 through 1916.

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A Tale of Two Worlds: The Divergent Realities of Edwardian England and Australia for Emigrants of the Second and Third Classes in 1913

Abstract: This paper examines the starkly contrasting lived experiences of individuals classified within the second and third classes of Edwardian England in 1913, and how these experiences would have been amplified and transformed for emigrants seeking a new life in Australia. It argues that while social stratification was a defining feature of Edwardian society, the opportunities, challenges, and very definition of “class” itself were reshaped by the colonial context. For those in the second class, emigration to Australia offered a potential upward mobility and access to a less rigid social hierarchy, albeit with the loss of established comforts. Conversely, third-class emigrants faced a more precarious journey and a future in Australia that, while potentially offering escape from absolute poverty, was characterised by strenuous labour and persistent class divisions, albeit with different manifestations than those in England.

Introduction:

The year 1913 stands on the cusp of profound global change. The Edwardian era in Britain, a period of apparent prosperity and burgeoning modernity, was underpinned by a deeply entrenched social hierarchy. While the aristocracy and upper classes enjoyed unparalleled privilege, the majority of the population navigated the complexities of a class system that dictated access to education, employment, housing, and social standing. Simultaneously, the vast Australasian continent, still very much a product of British colonialism, presented itself as a land of opportunity and a potential escape route for those seeking to improve their fortunes. This paper will delve into how the specific realities of the second and third classes in Edwardian England would have translated and transformed for individuals embarking on an emigrant journey to Australia in 1913. We will explore the economic, social, and cultural landscapes that defined these classes in both nations and analyse the differential impact of emigration on their prospects.

Defining “Class” in Edwardian England, 1913:

Understanding the emigrant experience necessitates a clear definition of the social strata under consideration. In Edwardian England, class was a multifaceted construct, encompassing not only wealth but also occupation, education, manners, and inherited status.

  • Second Class: This broad category typically encompassed the upper-middle and lower-upper classes. Members of the second class were often professionals (doctors, lawyers, successful merchants), landed gentry (though not necessarily those with vast estates), and those with inherited but not immense wealth. They likely enjoyed a comfortable standard of living, with access to private education, servants in the household, leisure activities like travel and country pursuits, and a degree of social respectability. Their homes would have been well-appointed, and their social circles largely confined to those of similar standing. While not immune to economic anxieties, they possessed a degree of financial security and a strong sense of social entitlement. Their lives were marked by adherence to social etiquette and a commitment to maintaining appearances.
  • Third Class: This encompassed the working classes and the poorer segments of society. This included manual labourers, factory workers, agricultural labourers, domestic servants (those not in the privileged positions of lady’s maids or housekeepers), and the unemployed or casually employed. Their lives were characterised by hardship, long working hours, meagre wages, and often overcrowded and unsanitary living conditions. Access to education was limited, often confined to elementary schooling. Leisure time was scarce, and their social lives were largely localised within their communities. While a strong sense of camaraderie and mutual support often existed within working-class communities, their opportunities for social advancement were severely restricted by their economic circumstances.

The Pull of Australia: Motivations for Emigration:

The decision to emigrate was rarely taken lightly, especially for those in the lower strata. For individuals in both second and third classes, Australia offered a variety of perceived benefits:

  • Economic Opportunity: This was the primary driver for most emigrants. Australia, with its expanding industries, agricultural potential, and ongoing infrastructure projects, promised jobs and the possibility of acquiring land. For the third class, this offered an escape from the cyclical unemployment and low wages of industrial England. For the second class, while perhaps not driven by immediate destitution, it offered a chance for greater financial independence and a less competitive professional landscape.
  • Land Ownership: The dream of owning land was a powerful allure, particularly for those accustomed to renting or living in cramped urban environments. Australia, with its vast open spaces, seemed to offer a realistic path to achieving this aspiration.
  • Escape from Social Constraints: For some, emigration represented an opportunity to shed the rigid social expectations and limitations of British society. This was particularly true for those who felt stifled by the class system or who sought a fresh start.
  • Adventure and a “New Life”: The romanticised image of the rugged, untamed Australian landscape, coupled with a sense of pioneering spirit, certainly played a role in the decision-making process for some.

Life in Edwardian England (1913) vs. Australia for Second-Class Emigrants:

The experience of a second-class individual emigrating to Australia in 1913 would have been a significant, though not necessarily catastrophic, departure from their English life.

  • Economic Realities:
  • England: Secure, comfortable income derived from professions, investments, or inherited wealth. Possibility of maintaining a household with domestic staff, enjoying leisure pursuits, and accessing quality goods and services.
  • Australia: While opportunities for professionals and those with capital existed, the initial adjustment could involve a reduction in immediate disposable income. The cost of living, particularly for imported goods, might be higher. Professional qualifications might not be recognized immediately, requiring a period of re-establishment. The dream of owning land was attainable, but it required significant upfront investment and considerable physical labour, a stark contrast to the life of a gentleman in England. They might find themselves engaging in more hands-on management of their affairs than they were accustomed to.
  • Social Landscape:
  • England: A well-defined social hierarchy. Access to established social clubs, networks, and prestige based on lineage and profession.
  • Australia: A less rigidly stratified society, particularly in the burgeoning colonial towns and rural areas. Social mobility was theoretically greater, and status was often earned through enterprise and success rather than solely inherited. However, a distinct colonial elite, often mirroring British class structures, still existed. Second-class emigrants might find themselves interacting with a wider range of social groups than they were used to, which could be both liberating and challenging. The absence of established familiar social institutions could lead to a sense of isolation.
  • Daily Life and Opportunities:
  • England: A life of routine, comfort, and established social obligations. Access to cultural amenities, established educational institutions, and a predictable social calendar.
  • Australia: A more rugged and practical existence. Daily life would likely be more focused on establishing a livelihood, whether through professional practice, managing a farm, or investing in nascent industries. Housing might be less grand initially. Access to sophisticated cultural offerings would be limited compared to English cities. However, opportunities for entrepreneurship and innovation were abundant. The “bush” lifestyle, while romantically appealing to some, would demand significant adaptation and resilience.
  • Key Differences: The most significant difference for a second-class emigrant would be the dilution of inherited privilege. While they might retain their education and professional skills, the automatic social deference they received in England would be less pronounced. They would need to prove themselves in a new context. The physical environment and the pace of life would also be a major adjustment, demanding a greater degree of self-reliance.

Life in Edwardian England (1913) vs. Australia for Third-Class Emigrants:

For third-class emigrants, the journey to Australia represented a more drastic transformation, offering the potential for a radical improvement in their material circumstances, but also presenting significant challenges.

  • Economic Realities:
  • England: Barely subsisting on low wages, facing chronic underemployment, and living in poverty. Limited access to nutritious food, adequate housing, and healthcare. The spectre of the workhouse loomed for many.
  • Australia: While wages might not be astronomically high, they were generally higher than in England for similar manual labour. The availability of work was often more consistent, especially in growing industries and agricultural sectors. Opportunities for land settlement, often with government assistance, were a key draw, offering a path towards self-sufficiency and eventual ownership. This was a stark contrast to the perpetual rented accommodation of their English lives.
  • Social Landscape:
  • England: A rigid class structure that severely limited social mobility. Interactions largely confined to their own class, with clear demarcations from those above.
  • Australia: While class distinctions certainly existed in Australia, they were often expressed differently. The shared experience of pioneering and hard work could foster a sense of egalitarianism amongst the working classes, at least in the early stages of settlement. Opportunities to interact with individuals from different backgrounds were more common in a less populated and developing society. However, established colonial society did attempt to replicate British class norms, and social hierarchies based on wealth and occupation would still emerge.
  • Daily Life and Opportunities:
  • England: Gruelling and often unhealthy working conditions, long hours, and limited leisure. Life was a constant struggle for survival.
  • Australia: Demanding physical labour, often in harsh environmental conditions (heat, drought, isolation). However, this labour was often rewarded with better wages and the prospect of owning land or establishing a small business. The concept of “mateship” and mutual support among fellow workers was crucial for survival and social connection. Daily life would be centred around hard work, but with the tangible reward of building a future for oneself and one’s family. Access to education might still be limited, but the opportunities for vocational training and on-the-job learning are present.
  • Key Differences: The most profound difference for third-class emigrants was the potential for tangible self-improvement and a sense of ownership. While the labour was arduous, it offered the promise of a better life, free from the grinding poverty and lack of prospects that defined their existence in England. The concept of “making something of yourself” was a more attainable reality in Australia, even if it required immense sacrifice. The sense of community would shift from the familiar, often insular, working-class neighbourhoods of England to a new reliance on fellow emigrants and settlers.

The Journey Itself:

The emigrant journey also served as a crucible, shaping the experience of class.

  • Second-Class Emigrants: Likely travelled in superior accommodation, with more comfortable berths and better food. The journey might have been perceived more as an extended holiday or a grand adventure, albeit with a purpose.
  • Third-Class Emigrants: Travelled in steerage, facing cramped and often unhygienic conditions for months. This shared hardship, however, could forge strong bonds and a sense of solidarity amongst fellow travellers, laying the groundwork for future community building in Australia. The journey itself was a harsh introduction to the realities of their new life.

Conclusion:

In 1913, the prospect of emigration to Australia for individuals from the second and third classes of Edwardian England offered vastly different trajectories. For the second class, it was a calculated risk, a stepping stone to potentially greater prosperity and a less stratified social existence, albeit at the cost of established comforts and social deference. They were trading one form of privilege for the potential of another, earned through enterprise. For the third class, emigration represented a more desperate gamble, a chance to escape the suffocating grip of poverty and lack of opportunity. While the physical labour would be immense and the challenges significant, Australia offered a concrete possibility of self-sufficiency, land ownership, and a future beyond the daily struggle for survival. The very definition of “class” in Australia, while not devoid of its own hierarchies, was often more fluid and dependent on individual effort and success. Ultimately, emigration to Australia in 1913 was not a uniform experience; for those from the second and third classes of Edwardian England, it was a divergence of pathways, each shaped by existing social structures and transformed by the promise and the reality of a new continent. The emigrant journey, therefore, served not only as a physical relocation but as a profound redefinition of class and opportunity.

Writing about writing a book – Research – 9

Background material used in researching the Vietnam was and various other aspects of that period

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Saigon in the sixties – heaven or hell

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Saigon’s Neon Oasis: Where Soldiers Found Solace Amidst the Vietnam War’s Peak

The Vietnam War was a brutal, relentless conflict, a landscape of jungle, mud, and unimaginable hardship. But for those serving, there were moments, brief and precious, when the war receded, replaced by the artificial glow of city lights, the clink of ice in a glass, and the distant thrum of rock and roll. This was Saigon, the dynamic, often chaotic capital of South Vietnam, a city that, at the peak of the war, became a paradoxical oasis for weary soldiers seeking escape.

Saigon was a city of stark, poignant contrasts. On one hand, it was the administrative and logistical heart of the war effort, a place of military compounds, constant vigilance, and ever-present tension. On the other, it pulsed with a vibrant, albeit often artificial, civilian life, offering a dazzling array of “entertainment” spots where GIs could, for a few hours, pretend they weren’t in a war zone.

Let’s take a stroll through the Saigon of the late 1960s, a city that learned to cater to the needs of soldiers desperate for a moment of normalcy.

The Gritty Glamour of the GI Bars

The most immediate and common escape for soldiers in Saigon was undoubtedly its bustling bar scene. Streets like Tou Do (later Dong Khoi) and Nguyen Hue were lined with establishments ranging from dimly lit dives to multi-level discos, each promising a temporary reprieve.

  • Hostess Bars: These were perhaps the most iconic. Girls, often dressed in traditional ao dai or fashionable Western clothes, would sit with soldiers, chat, dance, and encourage them to buy “Saigon Tea” (often watered-down drinks at inflated prices). The atmosphere was a potent mix of camaraderie, loneliness, longing, and sometimes, genuine connection amidst the transactional nature. Places like “The Caravelle Bar” (not the main hotel bar, but smaller adjacent spots), “The Blue Door,” and countless nameless establishments served as noisy, smoky havens.
  • Live Music Venues: Rock and roll was king. Bands, often local Vietnamese groups with surprisingly good English, belted out hits from the Rolling Stones, Beatles, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and Jimi Hendrix. These places were a cacophony of sound, laughter, and the clinking of bottles – a direct link to the world they’d left behind.
  • “Relaxation” Spots: Beyond the main drag, smaller, shadier alleys held a myriad of establishments offering various forms of “stress relief,” from massage parlors to more illicit activities. These spots catered to the darker side of desperation and the sheer animal need for comfort or oblivion.

A Taste of Home, A Taste of Elsewhere: Restaurants & Cafes

Food was another critical component of the escape. After weeks or months of C-rations, a proper meal was a luxury.

  • American Eateries: Many restaurants sprang up catering specifically to American tastes, serving steaks, burgers, fries, and milkshakes. These provided a comforting taste of home, a tangible link to a world without war.
  • French Influence: Saigon still bore the indelible mark of its French colonial past, and this was evident in its sophisticated dining scene. Soldiers could find excellent French cuisine, from rich stews to delicate pastries, and enjoy strong, aromatic Vietnamese coffee in elegant cafes.
  • Local Delights: For the more adventurous, the city offered an explosion of local flavors. Pho stalls, bustling street markets selling grilled meats and fresh spring rolls, and family-run restaurants serving traditional Vietnamese dishes were everywhere. While some soldiers stuck to what they knew, many embraced the opportunity to savor authentic local fare.

R&R: A Slice of Luxury and Normalcy

Beyond the quick escapes, many soldiers sought longer periods of Rest & Recuperation (R&R). While some went to destinations like Bangkok or Sydney, Saigon itself offered significant R&R opportunities, particularly for those on shorter breaks.

  • Luxury Hotels: The Hotel Caravelle, the Rex Hotel, and the Continental Palace were beacons of relative luxury. With air conditioning, swimming pools, attentive service, and fine dining, these hotels offered a temporary return to civilian life. Soldiers could shed their uniforms, don civilian clothes (often custom-tailored in Saigon’s famous tailor shops), and enjoy amenities that felt worlds away from their daily realities.
  • Shopping: Saigon was a shopper’s paradise. GIs could get custom-tailored suits or dresses made almost overnight, sending them home as gifts or wearing them during their R&R. There were also markets bustling with vendors selling silks, lacquerware, “gucci bags” (often fake, but still coveted), and trinkets of all kinds.
  • Movies & Bowling: For simpler diversions, Saigon had cinemas showing American films and even bowling alleys, offering familiar pastimes that helped to momentarily erase the war from their minds.

The Ever-Present Shadow

Despite the neon lights, the music, and the fleeting moments of normalcy, the war was an ever-present shadow. The sound of distant artillery, the occasional explosion from a VC attack, the sight of wounded soldiers being transported, and the sheer number of uniformed personnel served as constant reminders. The “entertainment” in Saigon was less about genuine joy and more about coping, about finding a temporary mental refuge from the relentless pressure and trauma of combat.

For soldiers at the peak of the Vietnam War, Saigon was a place of profound duality: a chaotic battlefield and a desperate sanctuary, a city that offered illusions of escape while continuously reminding them of the grim reality just beyond its glittering facade. It was a place where humanity, in all its complexity, struggled to find moments of solace, however brief, in the heart of conflict.

Research for the writing of a thriller – 1

Background material used in creating a location, an explosive situation, and characters to bring it alive – the story – A Score to Settle

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The premise

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The Powder Keg Conference: When Irony Meets Incitement in the Republic of Azmar

The world of international politics often serves up a certain dish of absurdity, but occasionally, the ingredients align for a truly catastrophic meal. We are witnessing such a geopolitical culinary disaster right now, brewing in the fictional Republic of Azmar.

Azmar is, by all measures, a textbook example of modern authoritarianism: a military dictatorship, financially and politically shielded by a major superpower, and helmed by President General Kroll, a man whose personal wealth seems to increase inversely to his country’s freedoms. The regime’s human rights abuses—disappearances, rigged judiciary, suppression of dissent—are not simply allegations; they are an open, festering secret among global watchdog organizations.

And yet, this week, Azmar is throwing a party.

The Irony Convention

In a move that strains the very definition of chutzpah, the Kroll regime is hosting the Global Summit for Progressive Human Rights Advancement.

The contrast is dizzying. While political prisoners languish in overcrowded, secret facilities, the capital city has been scrubbed clean. Banners proclaiming “Justice Through Dialogue” hang from lampposts. The state-run media is ecstatic, broadcasting endless interviews about Azmar’s commitment to “international transparency.”

The goal, of course, is not dialogue. It is legitimization. The conference is a Potemkin Village, a meticulously constructed facade designed to convince foreign investors and, more importantly, the regime’s international patrons that Azmar is a stable, reforming nation.

And perhaps the most volatile element of this stagecraft? The roster of attendees.

The Ethical Tightrope Walk of the Keynote Speaker

The event has attracted truly renowned figures: Nobel Laureates, celebrated international lawyers, and veteran human rights defenders. These are people whose careers have been defined by fighting the very abuses Azmar exemplifies.

Why are they here? For some, it is the genuine belief that dialogue must occur, even with the devil. For others, it’s the hefty speaking fees and the promise of a global stage. Whatever the motivation, their presence offers the Kroll regime exactly what it craves: a veneer of institutional approval.

When a celebrated author stands at the podium, criticizing abstract concepts of oppression while simultaneously shaking hands with the architect of that oppression, the lines between principle and pragmatism blur dangerously. Their words, intended as a critique, are instead absorbed into the regime’s propaganda machine: “See? Even the world’s greatest thinkers endorse Azmar’s path forward.”

It is a tense, ethically compromised theatre. But the real drama is about to erupt just outside the conference hall.

The Return of the Ghost

For years, the domestic unrest in Azmar has been a low, continuous rumble—a simmering resentment against Kroll’s corruption and brutality. The memory of the previous government, the democratically elected administration deposed in the violent coup fifteen years ago, lingered like a ghost, kept alive only by hushed whispers.

That ghost has just materialized.

Simultaneously with the arrival of the international luminaries, news has swept through the Azmari underground that Elias Mendieta, the long-missing son of the deposed and disappeared president, has returned home.

Elias Mendieta represents everything President Kroll is not: legitimacy, democratic mandate, and the promise of a free Azmar. His return is not just political news; it is a profound symbolic act. It transforms simmering discontent into active incitement.

The Collision Course

The timing is either impossibly unlucky for President Kroll or perfectly calculated by Mendieta’s supporters.

Think about the dynamics now at play:

  1. Maximum Global Focus: The world’s major media outlets and human rights organizations are all focused on Azmar due to the conference.
  2. Maximum Internal Tension: The regime has poured all its resources into maintaining a facade of tranquility, meaning security forces are stretched and focused on keeping the peace in the capital’s diplomatic quarters.
  3. Maximum Ideological Threat: Elias Mendieta, the embodiment of popular resistance and democratic history, is now mobilizing supporters in the streets.

This is not a political confrontation that will play out in press releases. This is a dramatic, high-stakes collision.

If Mendieta attempts to make a dramatic public appearance, the regime faces an impossible choice:

  • Option A: Allow him to speak. This instantly delegitimizes the conference and risks igniting mass protests that could turn revolutionary.
  • Option B: Arrest or silence him violently. Doing so while Nobel Laureates are debating “the future of free expression” literally blocks away would shatter the carefully constructed facade and invite global condemnation, potentially forcing the major power propping up Kroll to finally step back.

The Republic of Azmar has prepared a gilded stage for a dialogue on human rights, but what is truly about to commence is a revolution.

What could possibly go wrong? Everything. And we are all watching the fuse burn down.