I just got word from a reliable source that Tiger Woods, after having just finished reading my most recent post on this blog ran out of his house at 2 in the morning, screaming blasphemies. He jumped into his expensive SUV, raced out of his exclusive private driveway, and then attacked a fire hydrant and tree with his vehicle.
Please, for the safety of all concerned citizens, do not read and drive. Friends don't let friends read this blog and get behind the wheel.
This is a public announcement.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Mexico
MeIt is time for another installment of my riveting ravings from the roads traveled south of the border. (for you that are clueless, hapless and map less, I am referring to the Republic of Mexico). (Author’s note: you may want to print this page and save reading it for a night when you are having difficultly sleeping)
This adventure actually started several weeks ago when I traveled on business to the sleepy industrial town of Del Carmen on the southern gulf coast of Mexico. This town did not have decent hotel accommodations until just a couple of years ago, but due to the oil boom, which much activity is handled in this town, the selection has doubled. Now there are two hotels!
The area is definitely tropical. There are lizards roaming around everywhere. They vary in size from tiny pinkie finger size ones to giants that are the size of house cats. They probably dine on house cats. And why not, since house cats taste like chicken.
I was amazed at the enormity of some common vegetation found here that we use for houseplants in the U.S. Everyone has probably owned and eventually killed a potted Ficus tree. They usually are a few feet tall and look green and lush until you bring them home from the garden center. Then they promptly loose their leaves and die. Well here, the Ficus grow to enormous proportions. Three grown men holding hands would not be able to encircle the trunk of some of these specimens. Why three grown men would be compelled to assault a tree in this manner is for others to contemplate; I shall go no further into speculating on that activity. It rained every morning we were here and the street flooding was common. Eighteen inches would accumulate in the intersections. I was told the area has good drainage and I guess it is true since the water seems to readily drain into the street.
I saw professional landscapers at work everywhere. Since we know that all good landscapers are of Mexican heritage, I was hoping to learn firsthand how they perform their duties. It seems their tool of choice is the machete. Their form of grooming and shaping plants might appear to the uninformed as hacking and slashing. But it is amazing what a good, sharp machete, a skilled arm, and liberal doses of Mescal will do to brush and weeds. These are dedicated workers. I watched in amazement as one young man, on cleanup duty, wielded a professional looking stick with a professionally sharpened nail in the end. He wielded this professional device as if he were a majorette leading a marching band.
I saw him spot an offending bit of debris on the side of the road, a plastic soft drink bottle. He repeatedly jabbed at it, as if it were a flounder he was gigging. The plastic bottle would just recoil off of his pointed stick and bounce a few feet forward.
I am not making this up, and I would swear on Dave Barry’s syndication check, that the young man, rather than show to be an amateur and bend over and pick up the bottle with his hand, chose to use his professional tool and trail the offending bottle all over the area. He chased this debris until he was no longer in sight. I had more culture to absorb so I walked on and never saw the outcome of his endeavor. I can only hope he was successful.
Fast forward a few weeks to my current trip to Mexico City. Ahhh, the metropolitan exuberance of big city life! There are 25 million citizens living here where 45 years ago there were only 1 million. And they all share one slightly stick of deodorant. Wait! Shame on me. I forgot for a moment that I was not in the Middle East. That comment was uncalled for. I am SURE there is more than one deodorant stick in this city, but I digress…
Twenty five percent of the entire nation’s population is in this one city. I guess Catholics everywhere are prolific breeders, not just the Kennedy clan. The traffic congestion is like LA or Houston on a bad day. It took us an hour of fighting and dodging other vehicles to get to one meeting. And this was at a building which was close enough that I could see it from my hotel before we left.
After my work was done, I had time to engross myself in the culture of this ancient land by going to the Anthropology Museum. It is a vast store house of knowledge telling the tale of the development of the peoples of the world. It is a wonderful showcase which begins with the origins of early pre-humans on to our evolution to modern man. I learned that when man learned to cook meat, this softened the texture of the food and helped him gain more protein per meal. Raw meat would take five hours to chew whereas cooked meat could be eaten in one hour. This gave him more time for leisure activities such as picking lice off of neighbors. I never knew the evolutionary benefit of cooking food until now. I just thought it was invented by Al Gore in order to give us something to do at tail gate parties.
Other strange and wonderful facts about this country that I bet you thought you would never learn: The official national vegetable is the Mexican Jumping Bean, the official bird is the pink flamingo, the official medicine is Maalox, the gross domestic product is measured in cubic feet of flatulence, the largest export item is “guest labor”, and coincidentally the official sport is swimming, by doing the wetbackstroke. (and you thought reading this would be a waste of time).
My secret intention for the trip to the museum was to repatriate the Texas flag which was taken from the Alamo after the Mexican siege during the war in 1836. The Mexican Government has refused to give it back to Texas for over 150 years now. My plan was to challenge the Curator of the Museum to feats of strength with the winner being able to keep the flag. However, negotiations broke down when I could not understand the language. The entire population of this country talks in some odd gibberish, comically referred to as “ES PAN YOLE”. I did, however, comprehend the not-to-subtle message given to me on my forehead by a museum guard’s nightstick. It left an indelible impression on me. I have decided it makes me a better man to allow Mexico to continue housing the Texas flag until such time as my language skills improve or my skull gets tougher.
For anyone wanting reprints of the full catalog of Intrepid Traveler Reports, you should be psychologically evaluated. Then send only $49.99 to “DaveBarryWannabe”, attn: Inmate number 14435, Texas Prison System, Huntsville, TX. Or just ask the author for a freebie.
This adventure actually started several weeks ago when I traveled on business to the sleepy industrial town of Del Carmen on the southern gulf coast of Mexico. This town did not have decent hotel accommodations until just a couple of years ago, but due to the oil boom, which much activity is handled in this town, the selection has doubled. Now there are two hotels!
The area is definitely tropical. There are lizards roaming around everywhere. They vary in size from tiny pinkie finger size ones to giants that are the size of house cats. They probably dine on house cats. And why not, since house cats taste like chicken.
I was amazed at the enormity of some common vegetation found here that we use for houseplants in the U.S. Everyone has probably owned and eventually killed a potted Ficus tree. They usually are a few feet tall and look green and lush until you bring them home from the garden center. Then they promptly loose their leaves and die. Well here, the Ficus grow to enormous proportions. Three grown men holding hands would not be able to encircle the trunk of some of these specimens. Why three grown men would be compelled to assault a tree in this manner is for others to contemplate; I shall go no further into speculating on that activity. It rained every morning we were here and the street flooding was common. Eighteen inches would accumulate in the intersections. I was told the area has good drainage and I guess it is true since the water seems to readily drain into the street.
I saw professional landscapers at work everywhere. Since we know that all good landscapers are of Mexican heritage, I was hoping to learn firsthand how they perform their duties. It seems their tool of choice is the machete. Their form of grooming and shaping plants might appear to the uninformed as hacking and slashing. But it is amazing what a good, sharp machete, a skilled arm, and liberal doses of Mescal will do to brush and weeds. These are dedicated workers. I watched in amazement as one young man, on cleanup duty, wielded a professional looking stick with a professionally sharpened nail in the end. He wielded this professional device as if he were a majorette leading a marching band.
I saw him spot an offending bit of debris on the side of the road, a plastic soft drink bottle. He repeatedly jabbed at it, as if it were a flounder he was gigging. The plastic bottle would just recoil off of his pointed stick and bounce a few feet forward.
I am not making this up, and I would swear on Dave Barry’s syndication check, that the young man, rather than show to be an amateur and bend over and pick up the bottle with his hand, chose to use his professional tool and trail the offending bottle all over the area. He chased this debris until he was no longer in sight. I had more culture to absorb so I walked on and never saw the outcome of his endeavor. I can only hope he was successful.
Fast forward a few weeks to my current trip to Mexico City. Ahhh, the metropolitan exuberance of big city life! There are 25 million citizens living here where 45 years ago there were only 1 million. And they all share one slightly stick of deodorant. Wait! Shame on me. I forgot for a moment that I was not in the Middle East. That comment was uncalled for. I am SURE there is more than one deodorant stick in this city, but I digress…
Twenty five percent of the entire nation’s population is in this one city. I guess Catholics everywhere are prolific breeders, not just the Kennedy clan. The traffic congestion is like LA or Houston on a bad day. It took us an hour of fighting and dodging other vehicles to get to one meeting. And this was at a building which was close enough that I could see it from my hotel before we left.
After my work was done, I had time to engross myself in the culture of this ancient land by going to the Anthropology Museum. It is a vast store house of knowledge telling the tale of the development of the peoples of the world. It is a wonderful showcase which begins with the origins of early pre-humans on to our evolution to modern man. I learned that when man learned to cook meat, this softened the texture of the food and helped him gain more protein per meal. Raw meat would take five hours to chew whereas cooked meat could be eaten in one hour. This gave him more time for leisure activities such as picking lice off of neighbors. I never knew the evolutionary benefit of cooking food until now. I just thought it was invented by Al Gore in order to give us something to do at tail gate parties.
Other strange and wonderful facts about this country that I bet you thought you would never learn: The official national vegetable is the Mexican Jumping Bean, the official bird is the pink flamingo, the official medicine is Maalox, the gross domestic product is measured in cubic feet of flatulence, the largest export item is “guest labor”, and coincidentally the official sport is swimming, by doing the wetbackstroke. (and you thought reading this would be a waste of time).
My secret intention for the trip to the museum was to repatriate the Texas flag which was taken from the Alamo after the Mexican siege during the war in 1836. The Mexican Government has refused to give it back to Texas for over 150 years now. My plan was to challenge the Curator of the Museum to feats of strength with the winner being able to keep the flag. However, negotiations broke down when I could not understand the language. The entire population of this country talks in some odd gibberish, comically referred to as “ES PAN YOLE”. I did, however, comprehend the not-to-subtle message given to me on my forehead by a museum guard’s nightstick. It left an indelible impression on me. I have decided it makes me a better man to allow Mexico to continue housing the Texas flag until such time as my language skills improve or my skull gets tougher.
For anyone wanting reprints of the full catalog of Intrepid Traveler Reports, you should be psychologically evaluated. Then send only $49.99 to “DaveBarryWannabe”, attn: Inmate number 14435, Texas Prison System, Huntsville, TX. Or just ask the author for a freebie.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Planes, Trains, and Automobiles
Planes, Trains and Automobiles
Hello friends, loved ones, colleagues, and creditors,
This is the second report of the travels, trials, and travails of your intrepid traveler in the wilds of Southeast Asia. This report could be titled "planes, trains, and automobiles", or "Where to go and how to go if you want to disappear from your creditors"
As you know, gentle readers, I flew into Singapore a few months ago to begin this journey. I was in town just long enough to sweat through my first set of clean clothes and then it was off to Balikpapen, Indonesia by way of Jakarta, by air. We drove thru the "rainforest" and put on presentations to customers, some of whom actually spoke some english and may have understood a few of my comments. Then it was off again to another location by air. Ever since the Sept. 11th attack there is lots of security in the airports, as you can imagine. In Indonesia, however, they seem to have taken it a step further. Once you get into the airport, you continually have these xray machines set up every thirty yards or so. As if you had time to slip some explosives in your bags between examinations. I don't really know what they were protecting us from, since the metal detectors that the people walked thru didn't seem to be plugged in.
We flew back to Singapore to make another training session on valves, and then took a ferry boat to Batam, Indonesia. Every time we go back to Singapore we change time zones from Indonesia, so it is really difficult to tell what time it is. So, then it was off to Pekanbaru, on the island of Sumatra, to see Caltex. It was a 2 1/2 hour drive on one of the worst roads I've ever been on. Along the way we passed thru some terrible poverty where people were eeking out a living in the former rainforest. (fomer because they have cut down all the trees and planted palm oil trees everywhere. All along the roadway there was everything imaginable for sale in little huts that looked like something a child had built. Everything from fried pork skin snack food, to jugs of stolen gasoline, to small animals. On one stretch of road I saw three cages of Green Parrots for sale. Who would be buying them and for what purpose, I don't know. They were sold as pets, watchbirds, or perhaps lunch.
We made it back in one piece from that trip and I congratulated our driver on us cheating death again. He did not understand. Apparently he felt no danger from the logging trucks passing us in front of oncoming vehicles. I am convinced that the bravest people on the planet must be the pedestrians who wander aimlessly in between vehicles in the Indonesian roadways. The drivers certainly don't give them any consideration. The very last thing an Indonesian driver will do in use his brakes. In fact, I think they are optional equipment that they don't bother to purchase with a vehicle. The accelerator and the horn are the only two essential items.
After tramping around the cities of Indonesia, I made it back to Singapore a last time and had a day with no calls to make. So I took the electric train all over the city. They have a simple, cheap, and effective means of public transportation, but it would never work in Houston, since we would never agree to live in 20 story high rise apartments, like nearly all the Singaporeans do. I even took the sky lift to a resort island, and then took a monorail line all around that island.
So, the only local transportation I didn't care to take was to ride on the back of a motorcycle. I will leave that to the more adventurous souls who either love the smell of two cycle engine fumes in the morning, or want to stare death and truck treads in the face.
I will end for now, gentle readers, with the hope that further reports will be from a computer terminal and not a hospital bed, jail, or the jungle hut of some headhunter
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Trinidad
TRINIDAD Nov 17, 2004
Hello Gentle Readers,
Time for another installment of timely tidbits from your Intrepid Traveler.
I am in the country of Trinidad & Tobago, which for you geography neophytes is just north of Venezuela. Trinidad is the larger of the two islands and is roughly twice the land size of Houston with about 1.5mil in population (of humans) and about 150 billion of insects. The good news is that only about half of those have lethal stings. (I am referring to the non-humans) I can’t speak for the percentage of lethal stings available from the humans. As I write this there is something attacking the skin between two of my toes. The little devils know just where the weak spots are in humans. It is always a troubling sign, my non-traveling friends, to arrive in your hotel room and see, prominently displayed in your room, a giant aerosol can of insect killer. At least there were no chalk outlines on the floor from deceased guests, so the bugs must not be THAT bad. (I keep telling myself….) but I digress.
So, why am I here in Jamaica Lite? Well, mon, let me tell you. (said in your best fake Jamaican accent, please). There are opportunities in them thar hills. Actually, waves, since there is a lot of offshore drilling going on in the region. So, always willing to go the extra miles to find an opportunity, I am here to promote my products.
One of the benefits of travel to a tropical paradise like Trinidad is watching the sun glistening on the water from the balcony of your cozy villa. All the rooms in this elegant old world design (read: 70’s style, doubtful to pass building codes, type construction) hotel have magnificent views of the Caribbean. All except mine. If I squint when I sit on my bed I can see a few feet of ocean horizon framed between the peeling masonry wall of the room next to mine and some scraggly bushes. My room is at the very end of a vast network of walkways, stairways, alley ways and wrong ways that I still have yet to navigate successfully from lobby to room. This hotel is built on the side of a hill and seems to be inspired by the “Anti-gravity room” at Six Flags, where you can’t tell which way is up. I need to release a trail of pheromones, like an ant, to be able to find my way back to the lobby. The upside is that since there is no exercise room, I am getting a workout from going up and down the wrong stairways multiple times.
Alcohol can only improve this situation so I am sampling the local brew, Carib Beer. It is their version of Corona. But if you order a Carib with lime, they want to bring you a Corona. What is the deal here? Lime equals Corona? Is that what Corona means? “Beer with a lime”? I sense no country pride in their homegrown beverage. Sad. I will do what I can to improve sales of the local product.
I realize I may come across as a bit negative about Trinidad, but it is actually quite a pleasant place. It cools off at night and the ocean breezes keep the air fresh. There are low, rolling hills and lots of greenspace. It is a lush environment. And the poultry industry must be quite good. I see numerous hand painted signs along the road advertising fresh chickens for sale “with free plucking and gutting!” How can you beat that?
This is quite a departure from the trip I made only last week. I was in the Netherlands and Norway. It sleeted and snowed the days I was in Norway. Going from 30F to 90F in a week is a bit unusual even for this intrepid traveler. But I love the challenge of adaptation. Darwin is my idol. I am planning to evolve into a functional human being any decade now. My lovely wife has been patiently waiting for that to occur. And it seems these insect stings may be hastening the process. I am feeling the need to molt my hard, protective carapace and become a sensitive, caring, male human being. Or….. maybe I just need to order another Carib.
Your intrepid traveler,
Bill
For anyone wanting reprints of the full catalog of Intrepid Traveler Reports, you should be psychologically evaluated. Then send only $499.99 to “DaveBarryWannabe”, attn: Inmate number 14435, Texas Prison System, Huntsville, TX. Or just ask the author for a freebie.
Hello Gentle Readers,
Time for another installment of timely tidbits from your Intrepid Traveler.
I am in the country of Trinidad & Tobago, which for you geography neophytes is just north of Venezuela. Trinidad is the larger of the two islands and is roughly twice the land size of Houston with about 1.5mil in population (of humans) and about 150 billion of insects. The good news is that only about half of those have lethal stings. (I am referring to the non-humans) I can’t speak for the percentage of lethal stings available from the humans. As I write this there is something attacking the skin between two of my toes. The little devils know just where the weak spots are in humans. It is always a troubling sign, my non-traveling friends, to arrive in your hotel room and see, prominently displayed in your room, a giant aerosol can of insect killer. At least there were no chalk outlines on the floor from deceased guests, so the bugs must not be THAT bad. (I keep telling myself….) but I digress.
So, why am I here in Jamaica Lite? Well, mon, let me tell you. (said in your best fake Jamaican accent, please). There are opportunities in them thar hills. Actually, waves, since there is a lot of offshore drilling going on in the region. So, always willing to go the extra miles to find an opportunity, I am here to promote my products.
One of the benefits of travel to a tropical paradise like Trinidad is watching the sun glistening on the water from the balcony of your cozy villa. All the rooms in this elegant old world design (read: 70’s style, doubtful to pass building codes, type construction) hotel have magnificent views of the Caribbean. All except mine. If I squint when I sit on my bed I can see a few feet of ocean horizon framed between the peeling masonry wall of the room next to mine and some scraggly bushes. My room is at the very end of a vast network of walkways, stairways, alley ways and wrong ways that I still have yet to navigate successfully from lobby to room. This hotel is built on the side of a hill and seems to be inspired by the “Anti-gravity room” at Six Flags, where you can’t tell which way is up. I need to release a trail of pheromones, like an ant, to be able to find my way back to the lobby. The upside is that since there is no exercise room, I am getting a workout from going up and down the wrong stairways multiple times.
Alcohol can only improve this situation so I am sampling the local brew, Carib Beer. It is their version of Corona. But if you order a Carib with lime, they want to bring you a Corona. What is the deal here? Lime equals Corona? Is that what Corona means? “Beer with a lime”? I sense no country pride in their homegrown beverage. Sad. I will do what I can to improve sales of the local product.
I realize I may come across as a bit negative about Trinidad, but it is actually quite a pleasant place. It cools off at night and the ocean breezes keep the air fresh. There are low, rolling hills and lots of greenspace. It is a lush environment. And the poultry industry must be quite good. I see numerous hand painted signs along the road advertising fresh chickens for sale “with free plucking and gutting!” How can you beat that?
This is quite a departure from the trip I made only last week. I was in the Netherlands and Norway. It sleeted and snowed the days I was in Norway. Going from 30F to 90F in a week is a bit unusual even for this intrepid traveler. But I love the challenge of adaptation. Darwin is my idol. I am planning to evolve into a functional human being any decade now. My lovely wife has been patiently waiting for that to occur. And it seems these insect stings may be hastening the process. I am feeling the need to molt my hard, protective carapace and become a sensitive, caring, male human being. Or….. maybe I just need to order another Carib.
Your intrepid traveler,
Bill
For anyone wanting reprints of the full catalog of Intrepid Traveler Reports, you should be psychologically evaluated. Then send only $499.99 to “DaveBarryWannabe”, attn: Inmate number 14435, Texas Prison System, Huntsville, TX. Or just ask the author for a freebie.
zoned out
Zoned Out
Traveling to the Middle East from Singapore
Another report from your intrepid traveler...
I have now changed time zones for the 6th time on this trip. I was supposed to return to Houston May 22nd but my Middle East office asked me to come to Dubai, in the United Arab Emirates, to put on a presentation with a potential customer. And hey, I was in the neighborhood, just 7 hours and $700 away by Emirates Airlines (fondly known as Air Jihad to some people), so I delayed my trip home. As a side note, on one of my in-flight meals I was provided with eating utensils, as would be expected. But with all the security concerns that abound in the airline industry, it seemed strange to me that they provided all plastic forks and spoons EXCEPT a metal knife. I figured it was a trick so I did NOT commandeer the plane with my knife. But I digress...
I am now in sunny Dubai, where it is a balmy 42 degrees centigrade IN THE SHADE. (That's 108 degrees F to you roundeyed westerners) But, THERE IS NO SHADE since nothing will grow in this gawd-awful land of ragheaded, sheet wearing, camel jockeys. To illustrate just how hot it is, there was an automobile company, Citroen, who sold their first car in Dubai which featured a sloping windshield that allowed sunlight to cheerfully fill the vehicle. The problem was that, with all that glass, the heat building up in the car caused the dash board and the steering wheel to melt like cheese in a microwave oven. So much for style over function.. I wanted to try the old "fry an egg on the sidewalk trick", but the chickens here all lay hardboiled eggs...
I got up at 5AM this morning to drive to Abu Dhabi, the capital of the seven Emirates (a loose confederation of city states) to see the customer that this segment of the trip was dedicated to. We ate breakfast in Abu Dhabi, at a very nice hotel restaurant. They think a little differently here in the Middle East...maybe it's the heat, but I saw a big poster of an upcoming festival....celebrating Asparagus. Yes, this tasty vegetable sensation has it's own holiday weekend here in Abu Dhabi. Too bad my dance card is already filled or I would work this timeless bit of heaven into my plans...
The customer did actually like what I told him and they have need of over $1million in valves for some projects coming up. He wants to use our product, so I believe the extra time, effort and expense may have been worth it. I later met with the owner of my company, who happened to be in Dubai this week also, and he wants me to plan a trip to Cairo, Bangladesh, Syria, Palestine, ......hey!!!, is he trying to get rid of me??
Anyway, I am done in the Middle East for this trip, and my flight BACK to Singapore leaves bright and early at 2:45AM tomorrow morning. I get the pleasure of spending some quality time with my knees which will be tucked under my chin. I then stay in Singapore for a half a day and then fly to Tokyo and on to Houston. Life just doesn't get any better than this. Of course, I also like rancid milk....So Gwen, please pick me up at the International Terminal "D" at Bush, on Tuesday, May 28th at 1:45PM. Please have some crowd control arranged for. I know how Houstonians love to greet a returning hero. I will try to call you from Tokyo to reconfirm that you are still married to me. It will probably be in the middle of the night for you, so tell the sailors to expect a call.
This may be the last report from your intrepid traveler, dear reader, unless something interesting happens. But why should things change now? I took a few photos during this adventure and hope to create a photo essay of the trip. I am sure a Pulitzer is in there somewhere. So it is onward and upward on Air Jihad.
Signing off for now, Bill
P.S.I have lost my cell phone and a credit card on this trip, so if bad things happen in threes, I can hardly wait for the third thing. Maybe my wife....Gwen has been very patient with me up until now.... Before this trip came up, we had planned to take a short vacation after she got out of school for the semester and before her summer school started. Well, the day she got out of school I left on this trip and now I won't get home until her summer school starts. So I guess I'll start planning on doing some "Esplainin" to her.
Another report from your intrepid traveler...
I have now changed time zones for the 6th time on this trip. I was supposed to return to Houston May 22nd but my Middle East office asked me to come to Dubai, in the United Arab Emirates, to put on a presentation with a potential customer. And hey, I was in the neighborhood, just 7 hours and $700 away by Emirates Airlines (fondly known as Air Jihad to some people), so I delayed my trip home. As a side note, on one of my in-flight meals I was provided with eating utensils, as would be expected. But with all the security concerns that abound in the airline industry, it seemed strange to me that they provided all plastic forks and spoons EXCEPT a metal knife. I figured it was a trick so I did NOT commandeer the plane with my knife. But I digress...
I am now in sunny Dubai, where it is a balmy 42 degrees centigrade IN THE SHADE. (That's 108 degrees F to you roundeyed westerners) But, THERE IS NO SHADE since nothing will grow in this gawd-awful land of ragheaded, sheet wearing, camel jockeys. To illustrate just how hot it is, there was an automobile company, Citroen, who sold their first car in Dubai which featured a sloping windshield that allowed sunlight to cheerfully fill the vehicle. The problem was that, with all that glass, the heat building up in the car caused the dash board and the steering wheel to melt like cheese in a microwave oven. So much for style over function.. I wanted to try the old "fry an egg on the sidewalk trick", but the chickens here all lay hardboiled eggs...
I got up at 5AM this morning to drive to Abu Dhabi, the capital of the seven Emirates (a loose confederation of city states) to see the customer that this segment of the trip was dedicated to. We ate breakfast in Abu Dhabi, at a very nice hotel restaurant. They think a little differently here in the Middle East...maybe it's the heat, but I saw a big poster of an upcoming festival....celebrating Asparagus. Yes, this tasty vegetable sensation has it's own holiday weekend here in Abu Dhabi. Too bad my dance card is already filled or I would work this timeless bit of heaven into my plans...
The customer did actually like what I told him and they have need of over $1million in valves for some projects coming up. He wants to use our product, so I believe the extra time, effort and expense may have been worth it. I later met with the owner of my company, who happened to be in Dubai this week also, and he wants me to plan a trip to Cairo, Bangladesh, Syria, Palestine, ......hey!!!, is he trying to get rid of me??
Anyway, I am done in the Middle East for this trip, and my flight BACK to Singapore leaves bright and early at 2:45AM tomorrow morning. I get the pleasure of spending some quality time with my knees which will be tucked under my chin. I then stay in Singapore for a half a day and then fly to Tokyo and on to Houston. Life just doesn't get any better than this. Of course, I also like rancid milk....So Gwen, please pick me up at the International Terminal "D" at Bush, on Tuesday, May 28th at 1:45PM. Please have some crowd control arranged for. I know how Houstonians love to greet a returning hero. I will try to call you from Tokyo to reconfirm that you are still married to me. It will probably be in the middle of the night for you, so tell the sailors to expect a call.
This may be the last report from your intrepid traveler, dear reader, unless something interesting happens. But why should things change now? I took a few photos during this adventure and hope to create a photo essay of the trip. I am sure a Pulitzer is in there somewhere. So it is onward and upward on Air Jihad.
Signing off for now, Bill
P.S.I have lost my cell phone and a credit card on this trip, so if bad things happen in threes, I can hardly wait for the third thing. Maybe my wife....Gwen has been very patient with me up until now.... Before this trip came up, we had planned to take a short vacation after she got out of school for the semester and before her summer school started. Well, the day she got out of school I left on this trip and now I won't get home until her summer school starts. So I guess I'll start planning on doing some "Esplainin" to her.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
In the Rust Belt
In the Rust Belt.
Here I am, in a cab, going from Detroit’s Metro airport to Utica, Michigan. The cab driver is a foreigner. Based on his accent, the cut of his clothing, the spelling of his last name and other subtle clues, I have used my world traveling experience and my powers of deduction to conclude that this chap is originally from India. Also, he told me he was. The driver is wearing a turban. I have always wondered if those things had any functional value or are they just for looks?, like parsley. He is using a Garmin GPS that is speaking English. That is a good sign, but you’d think it would have an Indian accent. I expected to hear it say “turn right in one mile. Why would I lie to you?” This cab driver must not buy his own gas. He has no clue about conserving fuel. He does not understand the concept of slow acceleration or deceleration. It is either full throttle or full brake. It is amazing that I can continue to type on my laptop while the cab is turning on two wheels as we change lanes.
His name tag says he is Rastaffahdullah Shiknoterluciferous. I can’t tell if that is a name, a location, a religion or a no smoking sign. This driver is definitely from India. Or was trained there The traffic is fairly heavy and he is multi-tasking by using his cell phone, the two-way radio, and punching the hotel address into the Garmin, all while nimbly dodging trucks and other cars. Oh, and he is also snacking. Wait a minute. I might have been too hasty in guessing this driver’s origin. He just used his turn signal. That driving technique is unheard of in India.
The road signs all mention locations which sound familiar, even though I have never been up here for business before. I see signs for “Lansing”, “Dearborn”, and the Ford Museum and stuff that I have heard of. But here’s a shock; there is apparently an entirely different country up here, very close by. They call it Canadia. It is full of Canadianns. They are very grumpy, I hear. They have a ritual of throwing out perfectly good coffee to signal the end of the work day. I would be grumpy too if I lived in a country where the national dress code specified wearing a cap with wooly earflaps.
I have been keeping my eye peeled for the Harold Ploegstra Museum, but have not spotted it yet. Harold is my father-in-law and he grew up in the state. Perhaps they do not advertise the museum in order to keep the crowds manageable. This is the state that Harold made famous with his description of the weather: 10 months of winter and 2 months of poor sledding. But today is lovely. 75 degrees and sunny. And no visible air pollution. I guess that is the upside to zero economic activity here in the Rust Belt. This must be Al Gore’s dream city. One giant carbon offset for the rest of the nation.
I am here to add some economic activity of my own. Hoping to sell a few valves to the evil oil companies that have pipelines in Michigan and Canadia. There is that other country’s name again. It is a wonderful thing to be able to exploit the masses that depend on petroleum and other toxins. I sell the equipment that controls the flow of that stuff to them. I can cut off the supply of oil or gas in a moments notice if I get word from the fat cats on Wall Street that there is an ounce too much product available in the marketplace.
We have been amazed ourselves that the public didn’t change their driving habits until the price of gasoline got to $4.00 a gallon. Geez. Had we known this, we would have jacked the price up years ago. All of us Big Oil men have even colluded on wind energy. We are quietly buying up all the rights to wind farm acreage, then plan to press congress for tax credits to develop an energy source that is completely uneconomical. Just like we did with corn ethanol. Life is good when congress is in session.
I need to wrap up this report so I can continue develop my plans to exploit the poor and gullible. And I need to tell Rastaffahdullah Shiknoterluciferous what exit to take. I don’t trust his GPS. Now that I have had a closer look at it, it turns out to be a video game. This guy really can mulit-task.
Here I am, in a cab, going from Detroit’s Metro airport to Utica, Michigan. The cab driver is a foreigner. Based on his accent, the cut of his clothing, the spelling of his last name and other subtle clues, I have used my world traveling experience and my powers of deduction to conclude that this chap is originally from India. Also, he told me he was. The driver is wearing a turban. I have always wondered if those things had any functional value or are they just for looks?, like parsley. He is using a Garmin GPS that is speaking English. That is a good sign, but you’d think it would have an Indian accent. I expected to hear it say “turn right in one mile. Why would I lie to you?” This cab driver must not buy his own gas. He has no clue about conserving fuel. He does not understand the concept of slow acceleration or deceleration. It is either full throttle or full brake. It is amazing that I can continue to type on my laptop while the cab is turning on two wheels as we change lanes.
His name tag says he is Rastaffahdullah Shiknoterluciferous. I can’t tell if that is a name, a location, a religion or a no smoking sign. This driver is definitely from India. Or was trained there The traffic is fairly heavy and he is multi-tasking by using his cell phone, the two-way radio, and punching the hotel address into the Garmin, all while nimbly dodging trucks and other cars. Oh, and he is also snacking. Wait a minute. I might have been too hasty in guessing this driver’s origin. He just used his turn signal. That driving technique is unheard of in India.
The road signs all mention locations which sound familiar, even though I have never been up here for business before. I see signs for “Lansing”, “Dearborn”, and the Ford Museum and stuff that I have heard of. But here’s a shock; there is apparently an entirely different country up here, very close by. They call it Canadia. It is full of Canadianns. They are very grumpy, I hear. They have a ritual of throwing out perfectly good coffee to signal the end of the work day. I would be grumpy too if I lived in a country where the national dress code specified wearing a cap with wooly earflaps.
I have been keeping my eye peeled for the Harold Ploegstra Museum, but have not spotted it yet. Harold is my father-in-law and he grew up in the state. Perhaps they do not advertise the museum in order to keep the crowds manageable. This is the state that Harold made famous with his description of the weather: 10 months of winter and 2 months of poor sledding. But today is lovely. 75 degrees and sunny. And no visible air pollution. I guess that is the upside to zero economic activity here in the Rust Belt. This must be Al Gore’s dream city. One giant carbon offset for the rest of the nation.
I am here to add some economic activity of my own. Hoping to sell a few valves to the evil oil companies that have pipelines in Michigan and Canadia. There is that other country’s name again. It is a wonderful thing to be able to exploit the masses that depend on petroleum and other toxins. I sell the equipment that controls the flow of that stuff to them. I can cut off the supply of oil or gas in a moments notice if I get word from the fat cats on Wall Street that there is an ounce too much product available in the marketplace.
We have been amazed ourselves that the public didn’t change their driving habits until the price of gasoline got to $4.00 a gallon. Geez. Had we known this, we would have jacked the price up years ago. All of us Big Oil men have even colluded on wind energy. We are quietly buying up all the rights to wind farm acreage, then plan to press congress for tax credits to develop an energy source that is completely uneconomical. Just like we did with corn ethanol. Life is good when congress is in session.
I need to wrap up this report so I can continue develop my plans to exploit the poor and gullible. And I need to tell Rastaffahdullah Shiknoterluciferous what exit to take. I don’t trust his GPS. Now that I have had a closer look at it, it turns out to be a video game. This guy really can mulit-task.
the very first Intrepid Traveler report
Sat, 18 May 2002
The very first Intrepid Traveler story. (subtitled, “you should have stopped me before this got outa control”)
Hello everyone,
I am still alive in the Far East, at least I think so. I have been gone so long that I'm sure the kids, wife and animals will have forgotten me. At least the VISA card people will remember me. They get messages from me every day. It is expensive in Singapore, but not so bad in Indonesia. I spent 395,000 Rupes in Indonesia for a first class hotel. The exchange rate made it come to about $40 U.S.
The food has been good with one exception. I was served deep fried chicken feet, which were not very good. I was told the fried duck feet would have been better...I'll take their word for it. I've not seen a single dog, cat or even any road kill. Makes me wonder about the food sources in the restaurants.
The poverty, dirty air and 14 million people that live in Jakarta make me think that Mexico isn't such a bad place after all. If ANY "poor" American ever complains about their own living conditions, we should send them, with one-way airfare, to Indonesia. They would learn that they live like kings compared to many people in the world.
Well, time to go. I must look for some roadkill, er, dinner.
Bill
The very first Intrepid Traveler story. (subtitled, “you should have stopped me before this got outa control”)
Hello everyone,
I am still alive in the Far East, at least I think so. I have been gone so long that I'm sure the kids, wife and animals will have forgotten me. At least the VISA card people will remember me. They get messages from me every day. It is expensive in Singapore, but not so bad in Indonesia. I spent 395,000 Rupes in Indonesia for a first class hotel. The exchange rate made it come to about $40 U.S.
The food has been good with one exception. I was served deep fried chicken feet, which were not very good. I was told the fried duck feet would have been better...I'll take their word for it. I've not seen a single dog, cat or even any road kill. Makes me wonder about the food sources in the restaurants.
The poverty, dirty air and 14 million people that live in Jakarta make me think that Mexico isn't such a bad place after all. If ANY "poor" American ever complains about their own living conditions, we should send them, with one-way airfare, to Indonesia. They would learn that they live like kings compared to many people in the world.
Well, time to go. I must look for some roadkill, er, dinner.
Bill
My Omaha Cab Driver
My Omaha Cab driver.
Hello Gentle Readers, Your Intrepid Traveler reporting…
I flew into Omaha the other day and was picked up by a cab to take me to the hotel. The taxi driver was a friendly black man named Max. This fellow was a dead ringer for the actor Samuel L. Jackson. He asked what brought me to Omaha. I told him that Warren Buffet was desperate for some investment advice, so I came up to council him. As soon as Max heard that, his head whipped around, his white eyes got as large as hotel soap bars. His mouth was pooched like a guppy. He was instantly frightened and confused. I could see in his face that he was thinking “If Warren Buffet, the richest man on the planet, is asking for help, the economy must be much worse than I thought!” I quickly allayed his fears. No, I was just kidding. Warren Buffet didn’t ask for my help. Warren just wanted me as his new bridge partner. His normal partner, Bill Gates was out of town. Max must have laughed for five minutes, I was afraid he was going to run off of the road. That would have served me right. Max confirmed my thinking that cab drivers are just insane people with car keys.
As Max spoke, I could not place his accent. Max said he was from Burkina Faso, a small nation in Africa. As all of my readers know, I am a world traveler. I have been to more than 25 countries, from the most cosmopolitan locales in Europe to the dreariest mud holes in Asia. I am intimately familiar with the global map, and can even spell MAP, when pressed to do so, But, I had never heard of Burkina Faso. Max said the country of Niger (pronounced Ny-Jer) borders Burkina Faso, (pronounced Burkina Faso). He said that perhaps I was not familiar with it because it has been recently renamed. The former name was Upper Volta. Ahh yes, good old Upper Volta. I wonder how Lower Volta is doing these days? I am not an expert on languages, but if the name Upper Volta, needed to be changed it does not seem to me that Burkina Faso is an improvement. Why not come up with something simpler, like “Arm pit” or “Not Nigeria” or perhaps “Formerly known as Prince”?
Speaking of Nigeria, Max said his country is located near Nigeria. He was not too keen on the place. “Nigeria is a hotbed of corruption and lawlessness”. He did not use those exact words, more like “it is a bery, bery bad place, Mon”. Max asked if I had ever heard of a Prince in Nigeria who desperately needed to send funds to my checking account. He warned me that it was a scam. A scam originating from Nigeria? Impossible!
Max also told me of the time the Burkina Faso (formerly known as Prince) National Soccer team was delayed 5 hours at the airport in Nigeria. It seems that while their plane was on the ground, someone stole one of the engines out of the plane! How does one do that? Didn’t it take a rather large wrench to loosen it? And no one saw it being removed? His story got worse. Max said the perpetrators realized they could not get away with the stolen article, (Duh!) so they abandoned it. Airport personnel found the engine, put it back in the plane and they took off! Who on earth would get on a plane that the engine had just been stolen and then put back in? This may be one of the worst airline stories I have ever heard, even worse than trying to cut airline meat with those plastic knives.
I would rather share a Leopard print Snuggie with Barney Frank than fly to Nigeria. Max drove on. It was getting chilly. And I imagined being wrapped up in a leopard print Snuggie. Might be a good look for me.
Hello Gentle Readers, Your Intrepid Traveler reporting…
I flew into Omaha the other day and was picked up by a cab to take me to the hotel. The taxi driver was a friendly black man named Max. This fellow was a dead ringer for the actor Samuel L. Jackson. He asked what brought me to Omaha. I told him that Warren Buffet was desperate for some investment advice, so I came up to council him. As soon as Max heard that, his head whipped around, his white eyes got as large as hotel soap bars. His mouth was pooched like a guppy. He was instantly frightened and confused. I could see in his face that he was thinking “If Warren Buffet, the richest man on the planet, is asking for help, the economy must be much worse than I thought!” I quickly allayed his fears. No, I was just kidding. Warren Buffet didn’t ask for my help. Warren just wanted me as his new bridge partner. His normal partner, Bill Gates was out of town. Max must have laughed for five minutes, I was afraid he was going to run off of the road. That would have served me right. Max confirmed my thinking that cab drivers are just insane people with car keys.
As Max spoke, I could not place his accent. Max said he was from Burkina Faso, a small nation in Africa. As all of my readers know, I am a world traveler. I have been to more than 25 countries, from the most cosmopolitan locales in Europe to the dreariest mud holes in Asia. I am intimately familiar with the global map, and can even spell MAP, when pressed to do so, But, I had never heard of Burkina Faso. Max said the country of Niger (pronounced Ny-Jer) borders Burkina Faso, (pronounced Burkina Faso). He said that perhaps I was not familiar with it because it has been recently renamed. The former name was Upper Volta. Ahh yes, good old Upper Volta. I wonder how Lower Volta is doing these days? I am not an expert on languages, but if the name Upper Volta, needed to be changed it does not seem to me that Burkina Faso is an improvement. Why not come up with something simpler, like “Arm pit” or “Not Nigeria” or perhaps “Formerly known as Prince”?
Speaking of Nigeria, Max said his country is located near Nigeria. He was not too keen on the place. “Nigeria is a hotbed of corruption and lawlessness”. He did not use those exact words, more like “it is a bery, bery bad place, Mon”. Max asked if I had ever heard of a Prince in Nigeria who desperately needed to send funds to my checking account. He warned me that it was a scam. A scam originating from Nigeria? Impossible!
Max also told me of the time the Burkina Faso (formerly known as Prince) National Soccer team was delayed 5 hours at the airport in Nigeria. It seems that while their plane was on the ground, someone stole one of the engines out of the plane! How does one do that? Didn’t it take a rather large wrench to loosen it? And no one saw it being removed? His story got worse. Max said the perpetrators realized they could not get away with the stolen article, (Duh!) so they abandoned it. Airport personnel found the engine, put it back in the plane and they took off! Who on earth would get on a plane that the engine had just been stolen and then put back in? This may be one of the worst airline stories I have ever heard, even worse than trying to cut airline meat with those plastic knives.
I would rather share a Leopard print Snuggie with Barney Frank than fly to Nigeria. Max drove on. It was getting chilly. And I imagined being wrapped up in a leopard print Snuggie. Might be a good look for me.
Introduction to the Intrepid Traveler
It was a dark and stormy night....
Well....it's not very dark. And it's not stormy, but as I write this, it is night. It is actually quite nice here in south east Texas, in my secret lair, where I sit and create this first blog post. Like Al Gore inventing the internet, I am sure that this night will soon be forgotten.
Blog. Now who came up with such a term? I feel I need to wash my hands after typing it. The name sounds like something that it is oozing up from beneath the toilet. Something is oozing up from our toilet but I would rather work on this blog post than deal with that problem.
Now, as an explanation of why the heck these little stories are written, you must understand that I do not have much of a social life. And when I travel for business, I have nothing fun to occupy my mind. Therefore, I observe and record for my own pleasure, the things that occur when I travel. It is therapeutic for me but unfortunate for the you, the reader. Oh well. no one said you had to read this drivel. Take that as a warning.
I began writing these stories as a way to communicate back home, to my loved ones, about my trips and my safety. When all this started, we did not have cell phones that had international reach, so email was the only convenient way for me to stay in touch with them. As all things do, this started out as short email messages telling them where I was and what was going on. It was fine. And then these stories took on a life of their own and suddenly got out of hand. It is always fun until someone gets hurt.
These stories probably date back to the beginning of this century. Damn, that makes it sound like I must have written the first ones on parchment. But I didn't. Since I am a confirmed Conservative, and don't like change, I used a clay tablet. I remember writing the first story as if it were yesterday (cue the wavey lines and violin music).
I will post the actual stories when I have time. Maybe in the next century.
Well....it's not very dark. And it's not stormy, but as I write this, it is night. It is actually quite nice here in south east Texas, in my secret lair, where I sit and create this first blog post. Like Al Gore inventing the internet, I am sure that this night will soon be forgotten.
Blog. Now who came up with such a term? I feel I need to wash my hands after typing it. The name sounds like something that it is oozing up from beneath the toilet. Something is oozing up from our toilet but I would rather work on this blog post than deal with that problem.
Now, as an explanation of why the heck these little stories are written, you must understand that I do not have much of a social life. And when I travel for business, I have nothing fun to occupy my mind. Therefore, I observe and record for my own pleasure, the things that occur when I travel. It is therapeutic for me but unfortunate for the you, the reader. Oh well. no one said you had to read this drivel. Take that as a warning.
I began writing these stories as a way to communicate back home, to my loved ones, about my trips and my safety. When all this started, we did not have cell phones that had international reach, so email was the only convenient way for me to stay in touch with them. As all things do, this started out as short email messages telling them where I was and what was going on. It was fine. And then these stories took on a life of their own and suddenly got out of hand. It is always fun until someone gets hurt.
These stories probably date back to the beginning of this century. Damn, that makes it sound like I must have written the first ones on parchment. But I didn't. Since I am a confirmed Conservative, and don't like change, I used a clay tablet. I remember writing the first story as if it were yesterday (cue the wavey lines and violin music).
I will post the actual stories when I have time. Maybe in the next century.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)