Perhentian Islands, Malaysia

Perhentian Islands, Malaysia

My ticket included a van ride and a transfer to a speedboat. We were dropped off at the pier for the Perhentian Islands an hour or so south of Kota Baru. From the Taman Negara I boarded a mini van with the four French and another man who spoke German, French, English all very well, I don’t know where he’s from to be honest, and we all headed off to the coast. We picked up another pair of French along the way and then two German ladies at another stop. The van was full. I moved to the front seat and plugged in Jimmy Hendricks while I watched in amazement and horror at the seemingly endless Palm Oil Plantations in various stages of growth including mountains and foothills stripped of jungle and terraced with dirt roads for future planting and extraction. On the way we took a short break and some logging trucks happen to be there. The Palm Oil problem is getting bigger with jungle disappearing at an alarming rate and with it goes animal habitat and animals that will never come back, ever. PepsiCo is a big investor in Palm Oil and I’m hearing they have less than adequate standards. Palm Oil goes by many names mostly to camouflage its true identity to consumers like you and me. My advice, don’t buy processed foods at all, none, and that is very difficult to do in this day and age. I stopped buying bags of chips, tubes of Pringles, Snickers Bars, and all restaurant fast foods. I haven’t been in a McDonalds or any other fast food joint for that matter in over two decades. I’ve been told by many not to buy Palm Olive soap or connected products. Since entering Malaysia I’ve seen very few birds, almost no butterflies, and no bees. I don’t hear monkeys in the trees or see signs of wild boar rooting around in the underbrush, nothing. That’s not to say they aren’t there, I just didn’t see any.

Under the pier for the Perhentians I saw numerous plastic water bottles of various sizes filled with used motor/machine oil. The bottles were floating or resting at the tide line while a monitor lizard hunted crab between the rocks. Fifteen minutes later a black kitten curiously ventured down to the waters edge. I looked for the monitor lizard, known to eat kittens, and found it 50 meters away. The kitten was safe for the time being and I called it back off the beach with a kitten call I learned as a kid. The kitten scampered up the beach and back onto the main walkway looking for its kin. I didn’t actually know which Island I wanted to go to yet and one of the Germen ladies standing near me smiled and just said, “Go with the flow.”

When it came time to tell the boat captain where I was going I followed the German ladies. The word ‘ladies’ makes them sound old. I’m now done with the respect portion of their introduction; they are in their young 20’s and traveling for a little while together but staying usually in different places. We all go to Coral Bay on the smaller island. A large Muslim masque could be seen from far away on the smaller island and stood at the edge of the sea in the middle of a small fishing village. It was beautiful and impressive. The ride out was a little bumpy due to the afternoon wind and waves but only took 45 minutes of gut slamming to get to the big island where we dropped off the four French on a floating square dock. As we sped off to the next drop point I took a shot out the back of the boat. Talk about having fun.

The boat captain dropped us off and again I followed the ladies up to Perhentian Tropicana Inn where the girls were looking for a dormitory for cheap lodging. I got a single room for three nights expecting to maybe jump islands. The dorm was full so I had a beer and offered to watch the ladies bags while they searched Coral Bay’s many high and low-end lodging options. I paid 80 Ringgit/night ($20 USD) and the Germans returned with a 50 Ringgit/night bungalow at the south end of the beach called ‘Butterflies’. Their bungalow was on concrete stilts overlooking the bay. One of the girls decided to stay in a tree house a little further down the trail. She was interested in doing her advanced open-water course because the prices are still reasonable. Diving prices are still low but very few places on the planet beat www.asia-divers.com on Koh Tao for quality instruction in many languages and price. Within a few days I recognized two distinct personalities. Once this girl did her advanced, she told me of her wish for continued diving plans and was headed down to Indonesia. I told her about Lembongan Island off the coast of Sanur, Bali, Indonesia and www.bigfishdiving.comand my future dive plan that we will get to soon enough. In parallel, she wanted to dive Komodo and some of the class dives in the area. We had a couple mango shakes and I told her all I know and she wrote much of it down. When I was done, her eyes were sparkling with inspiration and she is in Bali now headed for some of the best diving her trip will offer. I also make a point to drop a card for further information if people need it or are curious about options or some of the places we talk about.

The French couple from an island near Mauritius and the European dude all stayed in other places but we did hook up the following day for a 5-hour snorkel trip for 40 Ringgit/person. I wanted to go to check the visibility before paying money for diving. Lee, our snorkel guide and boat driver, took us to numerous snorkel spots, Shark point where I saw a black tip reef shark, Turtle point where we swam with two large turtles, Romantic Beach which was a beautiful beach but all the coral was dead. We went to some other spots where my French friend, let’s just call him ‘Captain Morgan’ saw another shark resting on the bottom for some time before it moved on. We took a lunch break next to the large Masque in the fishing village where we saw a sign preserving Muslim culture meaning no bikinis or men in shorts. Lee lived here with his wife and baby girl said we would be okay because it wasn’t Friday, their prayer day. This is something you should remember when coming to a Muslim country. They have Friday and Saturday off and don’t be surprised if the banks are open on Sunday.

After the snorkel trip we all went our separate ways for showers and I drifted up and over to Long Beach on the opposite side of the island. I sat at the ‘Sun Preacher Bar’ with a group of foreigners that were almost local. The waves were coming in 20 meters from the bar and I realized I hadn’t seen waves since San Sebastian, Northern Spain. I knew I ‘d be in these waves the next day. The currents here are pretty interesting swinging left to right with the tide and pushing between the two islands. Apparently the average count of deaths by drowning is around 3-4 per year. Growing up in California and playing at the edge of riptides all my life these currents didn’t faze me. So far so good on the death toll this year but the season just started, August is peak season and then drops into monsoon season and the beach and island pretty much shut down. It’s a tempting place to ride out the monsoons because the waves are steady and the rain passes quickly because the islands are small and the clouds blow right over them and are gone. Be prepared to have a lot of boiled noodle packet that you bring with you and a plug-in kettle for water for noodles, tea, etc.

One night on Long Beach I walked into a chill bar with a pair of men from Holland, one of them kindly nicknamed me ‘Polar Bear’. A woman standing next to me at the bar ordering a bottle of something and all the fixings for a couple cocktails looked at me. She is dark skinned with brown curly hair with bleach blonde ends from the sea and sun. She carried a small traveling guitar case; I don’t know what you actually call the instrument. She stared at me for a second and said, “I know you”. I vaguely recognized her but with all the travels and travelers I’ve experienced and met I couldn’t place where I met her just yet. She invited me to a nearby dive shop where she and a Malay man were playing music. ‘Joe-Joe’ and Rob and I sat down and they had a pint of Vodka with coke while I worked on a couple beers all the while my head spun around this woman’s words. It came to me; she played a set in Mabul, off Semporna, Borneo at Jeff’s Dive Shop two years ago. I was rather impressed with myself actually having the memory at all. We reloaded and went to the dive shop where she was playing and I said to her, ‘Mabul, Jeff’s Dive Shop.’ Her eyes lit up with the acknowledgement. Her playing reminded me a bit of Tracey Chapman or maybe it’s that she played a Tracey Chapman song, both good. This young girl is dancing on her stool to my music while solving Sudeko. (sp?)

Long Beach is where many foreigners go for a dance party on the beach. There are many bars on the beach and the ‘Beach Bar’ has a dance floor in the sand. It starts heating up around 9 pm and rages on until 2 am or so, depending on the crowd. The one thing to know about Long Beach is there is not a lit path from Coral Bay to Long Beach so people who have been having A LOT of fun tend to stray from the path and end up in an awkward position on the unleveled ground to the side of the path. A torch, flashlight, is a good thing to carry. Booming dance music can be heard far away until the wee hours even with more construction of higher end bungalows and hotels continue on the periphery.

The sunset’s on the Coral bay side and many people sit out in front of the Muslim restaurants, they don’t serve alcohol or go out on the pier and take photos of the beach and sunset when the light is right. I personally spent more time during the days on Long Beach due to the waves and less boat congestion. I offered to play some of my music at the Sun Preacher Bar and the boss liked it enough to want a band list and songs. The rest of speakers on the beach would start up around 6 pm and that was usually time to go to Ewan’s Restaurant, it’s behind Coral Bay on the walkway to Long Beach. The food is good and cheap and the service outstanding. Another attribute was that it had the strongest Internet signal on the island. I ate almost all my meals at Ewan’s except when there was a cool movie at Ombak’s Restaurant but the prices there are outrageous and I never stayed longer than the movie. Some people would just buy a bottle of water and take a break.

I ended up staying on this little island for 7 days and never considered going to the other island again. I figure I might as well save some adventures for another time because I’m sure to come out this way again. I could have stayed longer but something was calling me back to Tioman Island to the south, I think it was diving. I wanted to see what is there since the visibility here wasn’t good. My round trip off the island was open ended and got up early one morning, packed and headed for the Coral Bay Pier for the 8 o’clock speedboat back to the mainland. The ride wasn’t so bumpy this time and very few people on the boat.

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The Women of Cho, Two Sample Chapters and Kindle Connections

http://epubco.com/samples/978-1-68181-591-6sample.pdf


Click on the link to have a sneak peek at the first two chapters of the book and a kindle connection if you are interested. Some people like to hold a book in their hands and others like a library of books in their possession that a Kindle offers. This is the sequel to Cale Dixon and the Moguk Murders. David C Dagley.


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Women Of Cho (shot)

Cale drove passed Victoria’s house and around the block before pulling in a parking spot down the road. He turned off the engine of his Volvo and sat watching the activity on the street in front of her house and in the rearview mirror, looking at each parked car for other people waiting and watching. A few minutes past before Cale got out of the car and walked to Victoria’s house. As Cale walked up the stairs to the front door he noticed an unopened newspaper in a plastic bag on the porch near the front door. He picked it up and checked the date through the bag. Cale pushed the doorbell and backed up a few steps and surveyed the street again looking into cars and trucks for any kind of odd movement. He watched the house windows across the street for a curtain flutter, a door ajar, anything. Cale played with Victoria’s key in his pocket. There had been no word from Victoria and the search through out San Francisco was on. Every patrol car had her picture on their screen as they made their rounds. He pushed the doorbell again and glanced up and down the street then pulled out the key and opened the front door. He walked in closing the door behind him. “Victoria? It’s Cale.” Cale walked through the living room towards the kitchen looking for her phone message machine. He hoped it was blinking with a message from her. On the kitchen counter sat her phone machine flashing away. Cale pushed the button and listened skipping down the messages from her family members, the precinct, to the end. There was no message from her. Cale grabbed a glass and filled it with tap water. Trying to figure what he would do if he was running from someone, where would he go if he left his building down the back stairs? The only place out back is Lombard Street, a few bars on Chestnut Street and the Palace of Fine Arts. Cale went to the door and as he opened it as Victoria burst in slapping the door against the wall.

            “Do you have a gun?” she exclaimed.

            “No.”

            “Get a knife out of the kitchen. Take your photo chip, here.” Victoria pulled the photo chip out of her pocket and tossed it to Cale.

            Cale caught it and turned into the kitchen and pulled a large knife out of the collection on the table. “What’s going on? Who’s after you?”

            “I don’t know! He shot at me at your place. He’s about 6’2”, blonde hair, blue eyes, fit, and he’s got an accent. But I don’t think he killed Paula Henderson. He looked around your apartment like he had never been there before and some of the things he said. I need a knife!”

            Cale grabbed another knife, “Got two.”

            “He’s coming. He’s been chasing me relentlessly since your flat. I can’t get away. He keeps showing up everywhere. I can’t shake him. I didn’t have my keys to get in my house till I saw your car. He’s coming. Call the precinct. We need back up, now!”

            Cale picked up the landline and the phone was dead. “He’s here. He cut the lines. Lock everything.” Cale pulled out his own phone and flipped it open and dialed his precinct number, “This is detective Dixon; I need back up immediately. I’m at Pacific and Divisadero Street at officer Victoria Shorts house. I’m going to leave my phone on and I want you to continue recording.”  Cale put the phone down on the counter and left it on and open. “Is everything locked?”

            “Always. I’m a single woman in one of the most violent states on the fucking planet. Give me a knife, get me two.”

            The door blew open off the hinges in pieces knocking Victoria to the ground. A gun barrel walked in the door followed by Victoria’s blond European hunter. He stepped on the door pinning Victoria waist down to the ground.

            Cale went silent with four knives in his hand and moved to the blind spot near the entryway of the kitchen and listened.

            “You are one fast lady. Now, give me the chip.”

            “I don’t have it anymore.”

            The man shot through the door between Victoria’s legs. “Where is it?”

            “I gave it to a cop.”

            “Dixon?”

            Victoria didn’t answer.

            The man shot through the door and caught Victoria’s calf.

            Victoria screamed.

            Cale turned the corner and hurled a knife at the man. The knife struck the man in the upper right shoulder.

The man stepped back and pulled the knife out and pointed his gun towards Cale.

Cale slammed the kitchen door and locked it. His only way out was a second story window and in his condition that was not an option. Cale had nowhere to go. He was trapped.

            The man started shooting at the doorknob and lock. Cale heard the door rock on the floor and on Victoria as she screamed again. He came to the kitchen door as a siren sounded outside, and then another. Victoria was swearing and moaning. A shot rang out and the man ran down the hall to a backdoor to Victoria’s little walled backyard. Cale heard the interior screen door as it slammed on its spring hinges and then slapped closed again softer. A patrol car pulled up with its siren quieting and then intermittent radios. Another siren grew louder as it closed in on their location.

            Cale opened what was left of the kitchen door as two police officers entered the front door with guns drawn. “Detective Dixon here. I’m unarmed. Officer down. Call an ambulance!” Cale came out with his hands first and his identification in one. “The guy has a knife wound on his upper right shoulder and went out the back door! It’s a fenced in yard. He’s armed. Blond, 6’2”, possibly European.”

            Recognizing Cale, one officer changed his gun aim down the hall and asked, “Are you hit?”

            “No. Victoria Short has been shot.”

            One officer scurried down the hallway and the other officer helped Cale get the door off of Victoria. Victoria was limp with blood pooling below her leg. Cale checked her pulse at her neck and looked for bullet wounds. One bullet had struck her leg and a rose red welt formed on the side of her head as it filled with blood.

            “I’ll wait with her for the ambulance. You go get that son-of-bitch!” yelled Cale.

            The officer grabbed his radio and requested an ambulance as he hurried down the hallway.

            Victoria moved her head and raised her hand to her head, “What the . . .?”

            “Don’t move, you’ve been shot in the leg and walloped on the head. An ambulance is on the way. Just stay still.” Cale grabbed a pillow off the couch and put it under her head and looked down at her blood soaked leg. “You’re going to be alright. They’ll be here in a few minutes, just stay still.” Cale grabbed another pillow and went into the kitchen and grabbed a couple dishtowels. When he returned he picked up Victoria’s shot leg a few inches and put the pillow underneath her foot.

Victoria hit Cale with a weak backhand, “What are you doing? That hurt.”

“I’m trying to stop the bleeding. Just try and relax.”

Victoria winced as Cale wrapped her leg snugly in dishtowels and held on with two hands, one palm on top and one palm underneath the wound. The bullet had gone clear through and into the floorboards.

More police arrived followed by an ambulance, an EMT unit and a fire truck. The vehicles blocked off the road and police diverted traffic at both ends from coming down the street.

The Women of Cho (Lost)

It was turning dusk as Monica sat in a tea garden drinking green tea and reading The Korean Times introducing herself to South Korea’s current state of affairs. Large manicured Red Pines shaded stone paths to tea gazebos. Bonsai trees stood motionlessly aging, a meandering Koi fish pond lead to a larger pond with an arching wooden bridge, and towering bunches of creaking Bamboo stood near the pond’s edge and gave the garden a much bigger appearance. A massive collection of birds offered tranquil background music. Monica read an article about a government official on trial for laundering funds and another article about North Korea’s recent military and scientific progress and a projection into the future. She looked to the sports to see how the Washington Redskins were fairing. Periodically she’d look up from her paper and over the tea garden wall to watch vendors pull or push their carts into position for the night market or along the edge of the sidewalk. Once in place the men and women would go about unpacking boxes and hanging cloths on hooks or stacking different knick-knacks about the surface of the cart or firing up a coal burning BBQ and placing chicken, beef, pork, fish, shrimp, or corn on the grill. Some of the carts were set up with a deep-frying wok making dumplings or pastries. The smell of BBQ beef, Garlic and kimchi began to fill the air before moving into the wind and being replaced by another scent riding a waft. It was a crisp evening with infrequent gusts of winter chill pushing through the corridors of the city buildings. It was going to get cold and Monica didn’t have a coat so she flagged the waiter and paid thinking she would get something to eat from the stalls as she returned to her hotel.

The waiter returned with her change and Monica thanked him in Korean, “Khum-sam-nida.”

The waiter bowed slightly, smiled and moved on to his other duties.

Monica didn’t know if she should leave a tip or not. She decided to do so this time then ask someone later what is customary. As she walked out of the tea garden she looked at everything on the carts from brass doorbells to pink pen cap dolls to dried squid to larvae in a cup to chicken satay. People were exiting buildings in droves getting out of work as others began strolling slowly along the carts chatting in small groups of friends. The sidewalks filled up and the traffic came to a standstill. Monica stopped at a chicken and beef BBQ stall with a few people ordering and others eating. When it was her turn she pointed to a chicken skewer and then raised two fingers, “Two, jusayo.”

“Dugae?” The cook raised two fingers and nodded.

“Dugae ju-say-o.” Monica nodded with a smile. She held herself as the dry wind turned into a dust devil in the intersection swirling the street dust and garbage of the day into the air. The wind toppled loaded garbage cans sending paper into the air and cups cartwheeling down the street along the gutter. She turned her back to the wind and watched people parade towards her in bent stance squint their eyes and cover their mouths with hands, shirts and coats. Neon lights flashed and blinked in sequences overhead. The stall owner put a large pot lid over everybody’s chicken or beef then reached for a packaged cotton facemasks and before handing it to Monica he imitated putting it on and held it in front of his face.

“Khum-sam-nida.” Monica removed the wrapper and held the facemask over her mouth and nose with her hand while dust and debris blew momentarily passed.

The cart owner handed out masks to anybody else that held their hand out or requested one.

The gust and debris moved on and Monica watched some of the older Koreans eat kebabs. She noticed they never had to touch it. The man reached out and handed Monica her two bamboo skewered chicken wrapped in a napkin resembling 2 long stemmed flowers. He bobbed his head and reached for a calculator to punch in the price and show it to Monica.

Monica reached for her purse and wallet.

A man standing behind Monica spoke out, “It’s 2000 won, Miss.”

Monica turned her head and glanced at the man, “Thanks.” She retrieved 2000 won and handed it over the cart. “Khum-sam-nida.” Monica turned to look at the man behind her; black hair, brown eyes, chiseled muscular face, gray over-coat, black suit with subtle pinstripes, black vest, white shirt, gold and cedar red on a dark blue background paisley tie, 3-button suit, black pants, polished black shoes. “Your money is called won?” Monica moved to the periphery of the crowd trying to maintain eye contact.

“Yes.”

“What’s it mean?”

“It’s the name of our currency.” The man placed his order of 5 beef skewers and the man at the cart grabbed a napkin and began making an arrangement.

Monica talked over the three people between them, “Aren’t there people here in Seoul named Won?”

The man half turned and looked at her; black hair, almond brown eyes, clear complexion, high check bones, a shade of pink lipstick, dark blue cable-knit V-neck sweater, light blue oxford button down shirt, black belt, fitted blue jeans, and white with red converse tennis shoes. He then glanced around the immediate crowd with a forgiving smile on his face, “Give me a minute here and I’ll come out there. Eat while it’s hot.” The man turned with 5000 won in his hand and retrieved his beef skewers wrapped like a gift.

Monica had begun eating, biting a piece of chicken and sliding it off the end and into her mouth. The succulent pieces of chicken had been dipped in a light honey marinade and sprinkled with sesame seeds. It melted in her mouth as the man broke through the edge of the crowd forming in the midst of a surge of bodies collecting in the streets and night markets on a Friday night. Monica looked around skittishly realizing and shocked by the sheer numbers of people on the move.

The man waded through the current of people that had formed instantaneously between himself and Monica. As he approached he tried to look over the crowd and turned to Monica, “There’s a park bench over there, lets see if we can grab it?”

“That’s fine. Lead the way.”

The man walked into the blur and Monica followed his every step towards the road where car lights flew by, horns intermittently blared, people walked, biked, and motorcycled by in pulsing droves. Monica thought of platelets coursing through veins with purpose. As they arrived at the curb the green walk sign illuminated and they walked without breaking stride crossing into the road en mass. The man walked through the crowd timing his steps to traverse the intersection. Monica followed the gray coat to the bench where the crowd died down on the wide sidewalk.

As they arrived at the bench the man turn with his hand out, “Hi, I’m Mark.”

“Hi, Monica. Nice to meet you.” She reached out and shook Mark’s hand. Monica realized Mark wasn’t only Korean. There was something about the eyes. Monica looked down the sidewalk at two elderly men walking slowly past with their hands comfortably clasped behind their backs, heads tilted slightly forward talking quietly between themselves. They both looked at Monica for a few seconds with keenly piercing eyes before turning away back to the ground before them and resuming their conversation.

Mark and Monica sat down and Mark asked, “So what’s your question Monica?”

“What do you know about the Won family and is there a correlation between them and the name of your currency?”

“There is no correlation that I know. Won is the name of our money or currency. The won replaced the Yuan, Chinese money. Won was a series of coins of different value correlating with the Japanese Yen. After 1910 War with Japan the won became our currency. The Won family name has been around long before our money.”

Monica had slid another piece of chicken off the end of the bamboo skewer and as it melted away she asked, “That doesn’t really answer my question but, what about the Won family name? Who are they?”

Mark shrugged, “I don’t know but there are stories, like fables of warriors, legends. We hear the stories as children at bedtime, at least my family did.”

“Okay, how far back are we talking here?”

Mark raised his eyebrows trying to size up an answer as his mind drifted effortlessly over main events in Korean history, “Let’s see, ah, before Korea was much bigger and whole, before the Three Kingdoms Period, before the Mongolian invasions, probably around the Hun invasions.”

“That long ago. Okay, do you know the Won family?” Monica finished one of her chicken skewers.

“No, but I work in the same field as one of the Won’s, he’s a lawyer here in Seoul.”

“Are you a lawyer?”

“I’m in Contract Law. Mr. Won is in Corporate Law.”

“Um, so really different fields in the legal department.”

“That’s right. And you, what do you do?”

“I work in D.C. for a congressman. I’m just taking a break.”

“Are you Korean-American?”

“Yeah.” Monica looked at Mark’s face again and noticed a pronounced second eyelid and guessed, “Korean-Mongolian?”

“Korean-Mongolian-American. America is where part of the family immigrated to around the end of the Korean War. My father claims full-blooded Korean and my mother claims Mongolian.”

“So do all Korean’s know their history because I know nothing of mine. Like you, how far back can you tell your family history?”

“Well, I’d have to confer with my father and mother before answering that question. I should confer with them anyway, they’re getting on in age and health issues arise more frequently.” Mark stood up and presented Monica with his business card and suggested, “Would you be interested in meeting me here tomorrow at noon and I’ll tell you all about it or I can take you to the library where we can get facts for you about your family?”

Monica stood and accepted his card and responded, “I have nothing planned and its close so, why not?”

“See you tomorrow then?” Mark paused and asked, “Which way are you traveling now?”

Monica pointed over the road and beyond the carts on the other side of the street and swept her hand to the left.

“Sorry, I’m going the other way. It was nice meeting you and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it. It was nice meeting you too.”

Mark waved and began moving away and into the flow of bodies and disappeared in the dark cloths and the darkness beyond the neon jungle before her. Monica threw her skewers and napkin in the garbage can and confidently joined the mass gathering in front of the crosswalk.

When the green walk light lit up, the mass moved and Monica began her migration through the crowd at an angle. Between stutter stepping and bounding forward Monica made it to the other sidewalk and began walking with the crowd down the sidewalk. She didn’t notice right away that the carts were now on her right. The road turned following the monument wall to a three-story concrete structure with restaurants lining the ground floor and in the middle was a night market in full swing. Monica walked down one of the isles and found a basket of pig heads, many basins filled with different sized turtles for sale, stacks of chicken feet in bundles of 10, warm larvae in a cup, meat of all forms, vegetables, fruits, and flowers all separated into clusters of like kind. Monica’s nose was inundated by the combination of death and spring. She turned around and realized nothing looked familiar. Monica back tracked out of the market and out from under the concrete structure and saw two streets going in almost the same direction with carts lining the left side. She looked at the building orientation and chose a street. As she walked she tried to find something she recognized but it was impossible to tell where she saw what. After two blocks she decided to turn right and catch the other carted street. She thought it shouldn’t be too far away and she walked down a street of restaurants and clothing stores. Four blocks passed before she stopped again still looking forward. She saw no more carts and again nothing recognizable. Thinking the road she came in on should be right up ahead decided to walk on a few more blocks. 

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