Lego Cities

By Mark W. Danielson

From thirty-five thousand feet, farmed fields become tapestries, cars move like ants. At night, Australian outback fires and Japanese fishing fleets look like cities, the aurora borealis dance, and constellations blend into the Milky Way. Up here, political borders are recognized only by their airspace restrictions.  Lego cities abound. I call them Lego cities because from my vantage they resemble stacked blocks. You can find high rise cities throughout Europe and Asia, but in the more remote areas of Russia, Kazakhstan, and China, the outline of some these industrial cities resemble Medieval walled cities.

 Many cringe at mass housing developments, but high rise cities are actually quite efficient. Their concept dates back hundreds of years when walled cities protected citizens and used the surrounding land for farming. Modern adaptations of this lower energy costs, require less infrastructure, and minimize commutes because people are closer to their work place. A side benefit may be a greater sense of community. No doubt Lego cities would cease to exist if they didn’t work.

Of course, the US has cities that fit this description. Manhattan certainly qualifies, and Boston’s row houses precede The Revolutionary War.  Mass housing works well in these cities because both encourage inner city living with convenient transportation, and nearby theaters, restaurants, and corner markets. The demand for inner city living has spread to many others cities, which has led to redeveloping abandoned warehouses as loft housing. Younger people crave these apartments not only because of their convenience, but because downtowns have become such happening places. What a great way to preserve historic buildings.

 In many cases, cities must go vertical development because there is no more available land. An island city such as Hong Kong (pictured above) is a prime example. Of course, this would apply anywhere that topography limits development. Paris is among those cities that perfected mass housing centuries ago and has minimally strayed from that course. Their concept of standard height courthouse buildings set the bar for beautiful architecture while remaining functional. High rise apartments may not suit everyone, but they can certainly be a model of efficiency.


No doubt more cities will go vertical because there is no room left to expand, but the amenities in these communities rival some resorts. Next time you’re surrounded by high rises, sit down and take note of how this microcosm functions. It might be helpful if you’re writing an inner city story.

(Hong Kong image courtesy YouCities)

When in doubt -- look it up!

Even a writer of cozies has to do research. You don’t realize how little you know until you start to write. I had a hassle this week with Google and the pink bollworm, but finally took care of it with a long distance phone call.

Then I checked out a web site mentioned by Janet Rudolph on her blog Mystery Fanfare (http://mysteryreadersinc.blogspot.com/) that kept me tied to the computer for an hour.

It’s at TeachingTips.com, and lists 100 Unbelievably Useful Reference Sites You’ve Never Heard Of -- “Beyond Google, Wikipedia and other generic reference sites, the Internet boasts a multitude of search engines, dictionaries, reference desks & databases that have organized and archived information for quick and easy searches. In this list, we’ve compiled just 100 of our favorites, for teachers, students, hypochondriacs, procrastinators, bookworms, sports nuts and more.”

It doesn’t mention writers, but the list can be “unbelievably useful” for writers, too.

One handy little site is www.freedict.com, a free online dictionary with translations. Need a Hungarian word for “lover”? Never mind. “Sweetheart”? Apparently you can’t say that in Portuguese. “Wife” in Spanish turns up “esposa” which sounds about right. In Italian it’s “maglie, femmina, signora.” I’d go for “signora.” “Maglie” sounds too much like “magpie.” “Femmina” sounds like a hygiene product.

More useful to writers of crime fiction might be a site called Who’s Alive And Who’s Dead (www.wa-wd.com). One segment lists all of Playboy’s Playmates of the Month who have died.

There are a LOT of them, going back to Marilyn Monroe who made her first centerfold appearance in 1953. She died at age 36, from a drug overdose listed here as “accidental/suicide/murdered?” Will we ever know?

The list ends with Elisa Bridges, a 1994 centerfold, who died at age 26 after an overdose of “heroin and three others.” Between Marilyn and Elisa are quite a number of Playmates who died by drug overdose, cancer, murder or suicide. There must be a novel in there somewhere.

But back to Google and the pink bollworm. In going over drafts of my work-in-progress I stopped short at a scene of a farmer on a tractor, plowing down remnants of his cotton crop “to discourage the pink bollworm.” I wrote that scene maybe four or five years ago, just before I left California. Looking back at it now, I felt a moment of panic. Did I dream the “pink bollworm” stuff?

All Google gave me was listing after listing of restricted research papers on eradicating it with pesticides.

Hells, bells. For 50 years I watched cotton farmers plow down their fields every winter before planting a new crop, and somewhere I heard or read that it was to discourage the pink bollworm. I went to The Fresno Bee online and searched their archives. Plenty of articles on cotton and such, but they want $2.95 for each article you download. Fie on them.

Then I called the U.S. farm service bureau in Hanford, where I used to live, and asked the woman who answered. She knew the answer. Yes, the plowdown is to discourage the pink bollworm. Hanford takes it seriously. If a farmer messes around and doesn't get it done by January, his name might appear in the paper as being derelict in his duty.

All that sturm und drang for 3 sentences in my manuscript:
"I passed a field where ribbons of white terns trailed a farmer on a tractor. The terns wheeled and darted, picking up bugs and worms while the farmer turned under remnants of his cotton plants. It was a winter ritual, plowing down the old plants to discourage the pink bollworm."

On a different note, my favorite California cotton story comes from my trip to China in 1989. We picked up a topnotch tour guide in Beijing, and had wonderful local guides in other places. We had been told to take small gifts for our main guide and bus driver. For him, I had a baseball cap. For her I had a huge picture book on California.

In the middle of the book was a double-page photo of California. I don’t remember now whether it was an aerial photo or what, but it laid out the state as plain as day – the mountains on the east, the ocean on the west, and in between the long, golden San Joaquin Valley.

I put my finger on the spot we came from. Our guide gave me a thoughtful look and said, “I know that place. We buy cotton from there.”

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

By Mark W. Danielson

Personally, winter isn’t my favorite season, nor is it for many Americans who live in colder climates. After all, it’s much easier staying inside, basking in the warmth of our homes. The adventurous may drive to the mall. The less adventurous only go out to retrieve their mail. But overseas, winter takes on a whole different light. The cold doesn't bother the city residents; it merely provides different scenery.

Last Sunday was a chilly day in Paris, but the sky was clear and the wind mild. Since my Montparnasse hotel is located a couple of miles from the River Seine, I don’t walk there as often as I did when our hotel was near the Louvre, but after enjoying lunch in the Latin district, I decided to take the long way back to Montparnasse. It was a wonderful experience.

After crossing the Seine, I made my way through the Louvre area, past the embassies near Place Concorde, and on to the Pont Alexander III Bridge. (Photo above.) Everywhere you look, Paris is magnificent, but this isn’t about its monuments. Rather, it’s about its people. Thousands of them were out enjoying the day in spite of the chill. Children rode Merry-Go-Rounds, played on swings, and ice skated at an outdoor rink while couples walked hand-in-hand, smooching. The parks were full, and smiles abundant. It is truly magnificent seeing so many people outside, enjoying their day off.

On my way past The Invalides, hundreds of roller bladders were out on a different kind of adventure. Their two-city-block procession was being chased by an ambulance and police vehicle. This well-organized event allowed its participants to skate comfortably enough to take pictures and shoot video as they rolled. It was another marvelous display of locals shunning winter. Monday brought snow, which is rare for Paris, so the school kids were out tossing snow balls and making snow angles. No, sir, Old Man Winter won't keep these people inside.

But such enthusiasm for the outdoors isn’t limited to France. I saw plenty of people walking in Almaty (see above) where the temperatures were significantly lower. Night time is play time over there, and the cold is just a way of life. It's the same in China, so what keeps Americans from taking a walk in the winter? I suppose everyone has their own reasons, but the next time you’re bored, rather then stay cooped up inside, why not take a walk through your own winter wonderland? Go visit a park that you haven’t seen in a while. Chances are good that there won’t be many people out, but that shouldn't keep you from enjoying it. Besides, you just might burn off a few of those holiday calories.

A Tale of Two Cities

By Mark W. Danielson

Few places I travel to have greater contrasts than Shanghai and Almaty, Kazakhstan. Almaty rates high in natural resources, and yet looks much the same as it did when it was part of the Soviet empire, whereas Shanghai has reinvented itself to become one of the world’s premier cities in the last two decades. The contrast between the two cities is as steep as the mountains that rise above Almaty. So, why are they so different?

I believe the answer lies within the people as much as the infrastructure. China welcomes foreigners, and is eager to show off its cities. The people of Shanghai smile and take photos of each other. They wear colorful clothing, fuss over their children, pack shopping malls, and publicly display their affection. Their hotels are world class, and their employees seem genuinely enthusiastic to serve. The city is a plethora of brilliant colors; on buildings, signs, parks, and temples. There is clean public transportation, fine restaurants, and neatly trimmed parks. Music plays from street speakers. Flowers are common. It’s always a pleasure taking walks here. I can go anywhere in Shanghai, day or night, and not feel threatened. Oddly, in spite of Almaty’s mixed Anglo/Mongol population, I can blend easier in Shanghai.

With few exceptions, everyone in China has a job, and doing it well seems important to them. Sentries on airport ramps stand at attention, laborers hand-wash sidewalks and hang decorations; still others deliver goods on bicycles. And while there is diversity in Shanghai’s wealth, it is evident that poverty is limited, and that working brings a purpose to their lives. There is pride is everything they do. The Beijing Olympics is a grand example of this.

By comparison, Almaty appears to operate as if the Cold War never ended. The run-down buildings I saw six years ago are even worse now. While there is some new construction here, it is minimal by comparison. There is a cold feel to this place, and it’s echoed throughout its people. With the exception of those working within the service industries, most carry dour expressions. When I walk the streets, my smiles aren’t returned. Shopping malls are few; their customers scarce. There is constant noise from blaring horns, squealing brakes, and grinding engines. A thunderstorm cleansed the air so I saw Almaty’s mountains for the first time. Only five miles from my hotel, these majestic peaks rise over sixteen thousand feet. I enjoyed this view for over an hour until darkness swallowed them. Sadly, the smog returned a day later and they were no longer visible.

In spite of its external appearances, there is plenty of money in Almaty. Their amazing night clubs, stretch limos, beautiful women dressed in fur coats, and Mercedes dealerships, all vouch for that. On the way to my hotel, my van passed a convoy of white Mercedes that were following a stretched Hummer limousine. All of these vehicles were dolled up for a wedding that few can afford. The night clubs, which are reserved for the beautiful people, are protected by the mafia.

The faces of the people on city busses tell a different story from those driving cars. It isn’t desperation that I see, though. It’s more like apathy. Stone faces press against the windows while others stand in packed buses. But this isn’t to imply their lives are forsaken. These people are the laborers; the lower class, as in any city. As with Shanghai, I have never witnessed any poverty here, and everyone I see is well dressed. They’re just not colorful as in Shanghai.

Our security briefings highly discourage us from walking alone here, and when we do go out, we must supplement our passports with a “Get out of Jail Free” paper, which is written in Russian. Numerous airline crews have been shaken down by the local police who force them to pay fines for made-up violations. We are easy targets here, with little recourse. It’s easier to pay the fine than risk an international incident. Even so, I doubt this money is accounted for at the end of the day.

Like Shanghai, Almaty has some beautiful sights, but most require a cab ride to get there. Cabs are plentiful, but their prices vary significantly. Curiously, any civilian car can pick up passengers up for a fair. It’s risky, but plenty of people do it. It’s helpful if you speak Russian because not many people speak English.

The world is shrinking, yet Almaty still feels desolate. I spent more time writing there than in any other location. On this trip, I wrote over 170 pages in the 76 hours I was here, and I’m grateful I had that opportunity. Seeing Almaty’s beautiful mountains was the highlight of my most recent trip. Walking its streets with three other pilots was uneventful. Flying into Communist countries always provides interesting insights, and I am privileged to have a job where I can share this part of the world.