ravel History and Memory – The Lost Tickets of the Titanic
For the enthusiastic travelers, there’s almost nothing like the feelings that come with the discovery of a long-lost ticket of the Titanic. That excitement welled up inside me, and I began to walk toward the sound — not knowing in advance that I was running into history.  สล็อตเว็บตรง

I had met people who had been to that magnificent tragedy only hours before, but none of them had come across that great tragedy in living memory. Except for my father, my mother and a few close friends, I had never learned of the great tragedy of the Titanic.


I was lucky, because my father had a job that pretty much took him around the world. So whenever he got a little time off, there was plenty of opportunities to travel to places of historical interest.

One place that he was going to Russia to attend a sales convention in Vladivostok, a good 100 miles south of Moscow, in 1894.

At that time, there was no Internet, no television, and no radio. The new technology wascalled telegraph, and it was quickly gaining popularity. At the time, only about two-percent of the world’s population had access to the Internet. By this century, most countries had reliable Internet connections.

But even when the Internet became widespread, people didn’t use it except for some specific businesses. In Russia, it was usedlegally only for government agencies. It was not until 1999 that the general public became aware of the sites and services.

My father traveled a lot – often several times a year – to many different countries. He never traveled using the Internet. This was an era of telegraph telegraphs, and his conversations were garbled by the receptionists, who had to speak English to please the guests.

Even when he visited Russia, his conversations were translated by the Russian his family always had in stock.

There was never a running narrative — at home he called the next-door farmhouse “the far side of the moon.”

He never sent word of the details of his journeys. He never sent packages. He just asked. He might haveongholders of the trip, but he didn’t need them.He sent his postcards, expecting people to arrive at his door with letters and packages in exchange for deals on fur seals or pelts.

When he spoke, he usually related stories about his travels. He told of trips to Nevada, where he had looked for trapper’s nests and gold mines. He mentioned a pinky-sized Zebra he’d seen on a rancher’s property that was now fast asleep in the roadside ditch.

I remember the particulars: the Zebra’s skin was still glistening from the ranchers’ pond, the rancher’s grill, the pumpkin patch. But there was one problem with the ranchers: they had no cannons. Those days, before travelers from throughout the world arrived in force, they couldn’t rely on the troops to protect their homeland and hence they felt vulnerable. Butter proved to be the first line of defense, a line of resistance that often relied on ignited bubblers instead of large guns.

Travelers had to be resourceful and have foresight to avoid the mines and the heavy ones were often placed on the front door of houses. Once people were identified as potential victims, they would bewesternizedor Bundled off to the side of the road. There would be a large tin can, one man with a torch, and one or two armed guards, maybe a woman soldier and a cook.

Sometimes a whole village or more would be attacked, days after the torches were placed under the doorways. We took refuge in the woods, we saw one of our neighbors being bundled off to a ramshackle building that resembled a Boston University laboratory, where she was being humanely cremated.

After our neighbor was safely out of the car, we would proceed to light our own torches and march up to the door of some one’s house, being very discreetly bundled up to our chests of clothes. If we were lucky, we might happen upon a chest of drawers fitting to a woman’s torso. The would inevitably be taken to the smelly outside toilet before they could be opened to remove the treasures.

Locked up in some cottage or cabin, with treasures of all kinds, would be a great disappointment, and the joy of the holiday would vanish. So it was decided we would try to avoid being trapped in kitchens as well as bedrooms by closed curtains. At first, our treasure trove consisted of baseball cards, ancient coins, seashells and dried figs. We still have them all, tucked safely in corners.

Clothing was essential. We packed a pair of beige flared jeans, cut straight into the thigh high rubber seacoastals.