Kweiyang, Winter, 1944-1945 Vintage gelatin silver print; 10" x 8"

Kweiyang, Winter, 1944-1945 Vintage gelatin silver print; 8" x 10"

In the early fall of 1944, I was shipped out from Norfolk, Virginia, with 10,000 other G.I.'s on a new troop ship. It was considered fast enough to outrun submarines, and therefore we traveled without escort. It was some cruise--42 days of dehydrated eggs and fraying nerves, taking us through the Panama Canal, around Australia, and then to Bombay.
The boulevard along the way is drab, the landscape somewhat between a construction project and a slum. There is traffic, but what a contrast to the bustle and life of Bangkok.
Kunming is still a "Thou-Shalt-Not" place. The only touch of sensuality is a pair of chic, good looking young women who are in our hotel elevator as we get in. The elevator stalls, then reopens, and framed in the door is a stunning Chinese gowned young woman stationed in front of the elevator bank. She speaks a few harsh words and a policeman appears and pulls the two, now frightened women, out. We then speed up to our floor, where stands the ever present watcher, hands folded primly in front of her face, the obsequious house cop making sure that we go straight to our room.
Kanchapara was the name of the tent camp near Calcutta in which the army kept soldiers who were waiting assignment. There were too many other men, sweating each day and freezing each night, as jackals stole the shoes from our tents and rooted in our garbage.

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