TRAVEL TIPS FROM YOUR INTREPID TRAVELER
Ladies and gentlemen. (ok, I don’t know any gentlemen), I have been traveling professionally for more than 50 years now. Wait…. I must be honest with you, that statement is a lie. I have been traveling professionally for maybe eight years, nine at tops, but the 50 sounded really cool. Sorta like I would have started out traveling when they were wearing pith helmets and using a monocle. What the hell is a pith helmet anyway? And why would you choose to travel anywhere that you need headgear? Where else could you go and find some provocative writer who is asking these important questions? Of course, I have no idea where to get these answers, but I am full of questions. I have been told I am full of more than that.
Sorry, I am way off subject. Today’s story is not a story; it is a collection of invaluable travel trips that I have gleaned from thousands of my fellow travelers over my 50 years of doing this. (not really, see statement above). I have logged more miles in the air, visited more continents, and eaten more exotic foods than any other dashing young man on a flying trapeze ever has. (editors note: author is not dashing, not young, and never been on a trapeze. This is a silly comparison. Please delete before publishing) So, read carefully, take notes, and remember this is copy righted stuff. I will sue you if this shows up as your work. What? Do you think I do this for free? Well, OK I do do it for free, but that does not entitle you to rip me off. It is my job to rip others off and hope you, or they, do not find out. It is a good system.
OK, let’s get started.
Travel documents. When traveling by air, always make sure you have all your travel documents. Since there is no way for you, the amateur traveler to anticipate what documents you will need for the countries you are visiting, you must bring everything. A valid Passport, an unexpired VISA for every country on the planet that has a runway, a Birth certificate (unless you are President Obama), your college transcript, shoe size, dental records (in case you are in a country that sells really cheap teeth), and perhaps an airline ticket.
Get to the airport early.
This gives you a chance to beg and plead with the ticket agent to give you emergency row seating. Even if you are 6’2” tall and devilishly handsome as is this Intrepid Traveler, you will not always score E Row seating ( I just made up the term “E Row” and it sounds pretty cool), You don’t want the person in front of you cranking their chair back in to your face. You need a contingency plan. Example: On a recent flight, the person ahead of me cranked her chair back all the way and crushed my knees. I made a pitiful little girl cry of pain. This is the universal sign of distress and was done to make that passenger aware that she was intruding into my personal space. The technique worked. She became aware. She looked back at me and smiled. But she did not change her chair position. I lost all feeling in my legs below my knees. Perhaps I need a more effective way to communicate.
If you get to the airport early you might be able to change your flight to avoid some of the nut cakes and weirdos that fly these days. First rule of traveling on a plane: don’t fly with a nun or anyone with a guitar because that plane is doomed.
Pack Smart.
Use a wheeled bag small enough to fit in the over head storage space. Bring everything you ever anticipate needing, but understand that the security people at the airport will probably have you throw 80 percent of it away before you can go thru the security gate. Also bring a smaller bag to hold the remaining stuff that the security guy did not make you toss out. This bag should be small enough to fit under the chair in front of you. But that’s where your feet go. The skilled intrepid traveler NEVER puts anything there. Instead, use your neighbor’s foot space in the chair next to yours. This is another reason to get to the airport early, to board early and claim space. If the person next to you makes a pitiful little girl cry, just ignore it.
Bring plenty to do.
This Intrepid Travelers does not consider any flight lasting under 8 hours a flight, it is merely a short hop. If you are jammed in a plane for 12 to 16 hours, you might want to do something other than pick your nose. Save that activity for the short hops. You could bring that novel you always wanted to read, except thick books are a pain to pack. Or maybe you bring your laptop and your last eight years of tax records. You could do a self audit and find mistakes you made on a tax return. The cash you saved might pay for this trip!.
All modern planes now have electric power plugs built in to the seats. “All” maybe a bit of an exaggeration. I know that Emirates Airlines has them. What? You have a problem with me only knowing about one airline? So I’m supposed to be an aviation expert as well as a travel expert? Sorry Bucko, this knowledge just doesn’t accumulate on its own. I have to get it the old fashion way, I ask my wife. Anyway, I digress.
Plan for comfort.
Since you will be jammed in to a tiny metal cylinder for what could be equal to two or three days in an office, you need to plan your comfort. Here is the most important tip you will ever read on this particular subject: steal your neighbor’s pillow and blanket. You put your pillow under one butt cheek and his under your other butt cheek. This takes the weight off of your tailbone. Trust me, after hours of sitting and not using this technique, you will think you grew a tail as large as a horse’s and you feel like you were kicked there by one too. And you take his blanket just to make him do the pitiful little girl cry again.
Also, wear a shirt with a pocket. You need to cram as much stuff in that pocket as possible. Reading glasses, mints, chap stick, ink pen, passport, college transcripts, etc. Having this pocket stuffed like a turkey makes you appear to others as a seasoned citizen and they will not want to talk to you for fear that you will bring out the grandkids photos. You don’t want to talk to anyone, you have taxes to do.
Drink plenty of fluids.
This is basic to flying long distances. If you drink lots of fluids, you will have to pee. You have to get out of your chair, normally, to do this. This gives you exercise, somewhere to go, and gives you something to look forward to. It helps break up the trip. On international flights, they serve beer and wine for free. You need to get all you can, but ask the flight attendant not to open the bottle. You can stockpile these little packages of joy for later consumption, or to sell on EBay.
Have somewhere to go to.
If you don’t have a destination, then actually doing everything that I have discussed above would be silly.
I hope you take these suggestions to heart. They could make your flight more enjoyable. Sorta like not eating spoiled fish. Bon Voyage and all the best wishes to you for a great trip. I just hope you don’t sit next to me. P.S. Don’t forget your pith helmet.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Man of Steel
Man of Steel
Greetings, Gentle Readers. Today’s story takes place in the heart of the Mid-west, specifically the state of Ohio. This is where my father’s ancestors decided, for better or worse, to procreate. Had they known that their brief carnal activity would continue the lineage that would lead to the birth of this author, they undoubtedly would have remained celibate. If my ancestor’s neighbors could have foretold the future, they would have wielded pitchforks and torches and chased my kinfolk out of the area before any marriage consummation could occur. But we cannot undo what fate and DNA hath wrought. The best way for me to do no further damage to my fellow man is to stay occupied writing this drivel rather than contribute to society.
One of the neat things about my job, in addition to standing shoeless on the cold linoleum floor of an airport security line, is getting to see sites that the ordinary citizen does not get to see. One of the highlights of the Ohio trip was getting to go inside the AK Steel Mill in Middletown, Ohio. I didn’t know we were going to make sales calls at a steel mill, so I did not bring my hardhat, safety shoes and fire retardant suit.. Silly me. So I had to borrow all this paraphernalia from my fellow salesman, who, luckily was also a tall person. He handed me a bright lime green fire-retardant jumpsuit. It fit OK, and the hardhat was adjustable, but the boots were another story. His steel toed boots were two sizes smaller than my feet. This might have been tolerable for a few steps but we ended up walking all over the steel mill for the next couple of hours. I had to learn to walk with my toes curled up under my feet, taking short, hoppy steps like a geisha girl walking on glass shards. I am sure I was the picture of professionalism. I looked like a giant scrawny Lima bean with a hardhat and bug-eyed goggles, limping delicately through the maze of stairs and walkways.
Inside the mill, it looked just like a science fiction movie set. The building was a gigantic rust colored hulk, about 5 stories tall. I was told it was two thirds of a mile long. We crawled over cat walks and under thousands of wires and pipes in the dim light. I half expected the creature from the movie Alien to drop down on me. I wore hearing protection but the mechanical noises inside the facility were still deafening.
In this mill they flatten large billets of steel into thinner plate. I saw one of the giant oven doors open up and spit out a monstrous slab of red-hot steel, about the length and width of a city bus, and a foot thick. It landed on a track of rollers and was headed to the rolling mills to be flattened further. This hunk of steel weighted 77,000 pounds and was traveling at 15 miles per hour along the rollers. It glowed like a caution light on a foggy night. As it traveled thru each rolling station, there was a set of fire hose-like nozzles that blasted the red hot steel with water. This high pressure water jet removed the surface impurities from the steel before it was rolled thinner. A massive steam cloud was produced as the water hit the hot metal. I wanted to follow the slab of steel to the next rolling station but my toes protested. I would rather be given a bikini wax from Leatherface than take any unnecessary steps so I watched the steel roll on thru the facility from a distance.
It was an interesting visit. I now feel like a real U.S. American. Watching real U.S. American men working in the heartland of U.S. America was quite a thrill. I now speak with a Yankee accent and sound like a dockworker. I hope to repeat the visit in the future.. My doctor says that some day the feeling may returns to my toes and the nails should grow back in. My ancestors would have been proud….unless they had seen the lime green jumpsuit.
Greetings, Gentle Readers. Today’s story takes place in the heart of the Mid-west, specifically the state of Ohio. This is where my father’s ancestors decided, for better or worse, to procreate. Had they known that their brief carnal activity would continue the lineage that would lead to the birth of this author, they undoubtedly would have remained celibate. If my ancestor’s neighbors could have foretold the future, they would have wielded pitchforks and torches and chased my kinfolk out of the area before any marriage consummation could occur. But we cannot undo what fate and DNA hath wrought. The best way for me to do no further damage to my fellow man is to stay occupied writing this drivel rather than contribute to society.
One of the neat things about my job, in addition to standing shoeless on the cold linoleum floor of an airport security line, is getting to see sites that the ordinary citizen does not get to see. One of the highlights of the Ohio trip was getting to go inside the AK Steel Mill in Middletown, Ohio. I didn’t know we were going to make sales calls at a steel mill, so I did not bring my hardhat, safety shoes and fire retardant suit.. Silly me. So I had to borrow all this paraphernalia from my fellow salesman, who, luckily was also a tall person. He handed me a bright lime green fire-retardant jumpsuit. It fit OK, and the hardhat was adjustable, but the boots were another story. His steel toed boots were two sizes smaller than my feet. This might have been tolerable for a few steps but we ended up walking all over the steel mill for the next couple of hours. I had to learn to walk with my toes curled up under my feet, taking short, hoppy steps like a geisha girl walking on glass shards. I am sure I was the picture of professionalism. I looked like a giant scrawny Lima bean with a hardhat and bug-eyed goggles, limping delicately through the maze of stairs and walkways.
Inside the mill, it looked just like a science fiction movie set. The building was a gigantic rust colored hulk, about 5 stories tall. I was told it was two thirds of a mile long. We crawled over cat walks and under thousands of wires and pipes in the dim light. I half expected the creature from the movie Alien to drop down on me. I wore hearing protection but the mechanical noises inside the facility were still deafening.
In this mill they flatten large billets of steel into thinner plate. I saw one of the giant oven doors open up and spit out a monstrous slab of red-hot steel, about the length and width of a city bus, and a foot thick. It landed on a track of rollers and was headed to the rolling mills to be flattened further. This hunk of steel weighted 77,000 pounds and was traveling at 15 miles per hour along the rollers. It glowed like a caution light on a foggy night. As it traveled thru each rolling station, there was a set of fire hose-like nozzles that blasted the red hot steel with water. This high pressure water jet removed the surface impurities from the steel before it was rolled thinner. A massive steam cloud was produced as the water hit the hot metal. I wanted to follow the slab of steel to the next rolling station but my toes protested. I would rather be given a bikini wax from Leatherface than take any unnecessary steps so I watched the steel roll on thru the facility from a distance.
It was an interesting visit. I now feel like a real U.S. American. Watching real U.S. American men working in the heartland of U.S. America was quite a thrill. I now speak with a Yankee accent and sound like a dockworker. I hope to repeat the visit in the future.. My doctor says that some day the feeling may returns to my toes and the nails should grow back in. My ancestors would have been proud….unless they had seen the lime green jumpsuit.
traveling to the Middle East from Singapore
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
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 a planning.
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
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 a planning.
Monday, September 27, 2010
DOWN BY THE RIVER
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| Warning: drunks on tubes! Do not approach! |
Greetings gentle readers. Today’s story begins with a warning. If you do not feel you should be exposed to adult situations you may wish to divert your eyes to something else. I would suggest a training video on treating chainsaw injuries or perhaps a film on slaughterhouse procedures. This story won’t be pretty. No story that features middle aged, wrinkled, flabby men, and the women who are stuck with them, can be pretty. Not with this group, anyway.
The story began several months ago when friend Donna scoured the internet looking for a good place to stay in the Texas hill country where we could tube in a river. Donna is a chronic over-achiever. I don’t know how she has time for anything extra like this. She has recently bought a medical practice and manages it. She is going to school to get her 3rd or 4th Masters Degrees, and she is also in the army reserve. She was recently promoted to Lieutenant Governor, or Vice Admiral or some high rank, and now we all have to goose step and salute her. You should see the epaulets on her bikini.
I’ve known Donnas’ hubby Dan for many years. He has a perpetual “I’m clever, aren’t I ?” grin on his face. He is one of those “engineer” types that wants to fix everything, especially if it aint broken. And he loves to argue with my wife just to get under her skin. This weekend’s topic for skin evisceration was that teachers should not get tenure, and society spends too much money on schools. Certainly both were polarizing opinions, but my wife, being a former teacher, knew the facts. She cannot stand to deal with ignorance, (Just how has she stayed married to me for 30 years?) , and is not bashful at giving her opinion to Dan. While she really just wanted to find a quite spot and read a book in peace this weekend, she had to defend her profession.
Another couple was Steve and Rene’. Steve is a cheerful fellow who never met a beer or a flatulence joke he did not like. Steve is quite a cook and claims some Cajun heritage. I believe his heritage has not necessarily assisted his culinary skills but it sure has helped him cultivate bodily function gags. Steve brought his lady friend Rene’, whom he grew up with. After many years of lost contact, they ran into each other at a Wal-Mart. Rene’ privately confessed to me that she will never set foot in a Wal-Mart again. (Too late) Rene’ is currently a teacher, Special Ed, I believe, and I am sure this helps her cope with Steve.
The fourth couple was Kirt and Cynthia, who are avid hunters. They put out corn each morning and evening to lure the deer near to our cabin. I was expecting Kirk to attack them with a dinner fork. Cynthia was in to hunting too. They are both planning an African Safari. I think they want to hunt down any living relatives of Barak Obama and bitch slap them. Cynthia wears glasses and I think I saw cross-hairs etched on her lenses. Cynthia had a compact digital camera that I believe had been surgically attached to her hand. She took photos of any moving object. The chip in that camera must have had more capacity than the Library of Congress.
We spent most of the first full day floating on the river on bright yellow fake inner-tubes. These were Disney-fied versions of large truck inner tubes. Real men wouldn’t normally use yellow inner tubes but the River Outfitter suggested them. These giant lemon- yellow floaties were embarrassing. Luckily we had the embarrassment antidote: several cases of ice cold beer. I began treating my embarrassment immediately with a cool one. I had my dignity to think of. Since we were going to be in the water, I was not wearing a shirt. And, of courses, my flabby, wrinkled, boney torso was much more unattractive than that yellow tube. (How I have flabby and boney together is a medical mystery)
We were carried up-stream by the River OutFitter (a cool sounding name for a guy who rents fake inner tubes and delivers them in a school bus.) We put in and wasted no time in consuming mass quantities of beer. This river has a limestone rock bottom. The algae growing on the bottom, in spots, is as slick as snot on a doorknob. Watching Dan and Steve fall out of their tubes, then try to stand up on the slick rocks to get back in again was quite entertaining. They looked like injured alligators in a death roll. America’s Funniest Home Videos should have been on location with us. I was fully inoculated with anti-embarrassment liquid by that time, so maybe their antics were not funny, just sad.
I was on my back in the tube the entire time I was in the water. I had put sunscreen on a few hours earlier but was really getting red. I looked like a steak that the cook forgot to flip. Kirk did just the opposite of me. He had to wear a long sleeve shirt and a hat while on the river. Apparently he will sunburn while watching re-runs of Hawaii 5-0
As I mentioned earlier, if you can remember reading that far back, each night a different couple prepared the evening meal. We ate like kings, except the night that Gwen and I cooked. I am severely limited in my cooking repertoire. Fajitas are about all I can make, but I could not find any fajita meat at the store. I used a thicker cut of meat, but it had not been tenderized and was too tough. If you could lose weight by chewing, I would have the perfect diet food. Gwen made peach cobbler for dessert in a Dutch oven. She is an expert at cooking that way, but the fire did not cooperate. Fortunately we had consumed enough beer to dull our delicate taste buds. I could have served prickly pear instead of that meat.
The rest of the three day weekend was about the same. River, beer, food, and football. Dan is a maniac when watching college football. He was switching back and forth so quickly between games with the remote that my brain started to have an epileptic seizure. Maybe Dan should try de-caffeinated beer. Sunday morning we cleaned up and headed back to the big city. None of us looked forward to the 6 hour ride, but it was nice to have gotten a long weekend away from home.
As a small momento of the long weekend, I took the leather couches and loveseats from the cabin. I don’t think those things will be missed, because I replaced them with yellow inner tubes. Turns out that yellow is a really good indoor color.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Summiting the Guad
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| Your Intrepid Traveler (L) and Andrew (not left) |
201009 SUMMITING THE GUAD.
I don’t recall when I decided to make it a personal goal to climb Guadalupe Peak. It might have been the result of a being over-served Tequila, or it might have been after I read the book “Seven Summits”. That was the book about a group of mild mannered, and rich, businessmen who set off to climb the highest mountains on each of the seven continents. After reading that, I figured that the highest mountain in Texas, all 8,749 feet of it, would be a worthy goal for me.
Guadalupe Peak is in the middle of Guadalupe Mountains National Park. This park is located at the base of the Texas Panhandle, where New Mexico joins it. To the south of the Guad, is “El Capitan”, which is perhaps the most famous peak in the state. Most people assume El Capitan is the taller of the two peaks, but it is better known only because it had a better publicist, and a troubled childhood. This area of North America was at one time covered by ocean. All the rock formations here are actually ancient reefs, exposed after the earth cooled, trapping water at the poles which caused the oceans to recede. Sorta like my brother-in-law’s hairline.
More than five years would pass after I considered making the climb before, I finally had the time and opportunity to try it. My daughter’s boyfriend, Andrew is an avid hiker and outdoorsman. He and I talked about making the climb together but I credit Andrew with setting the target date so we wouldn’t keep putting it off.
Andrew knew what we should take on the hike. As he was loading his backpack, Andrew brandished an all-purpose camping knife in my face. He told me he was ready if he had to cut off my arm, like the hiker in Yosemite did a few years back. Hmmm. I wasn’t quite ready for that level of commitment on this hike. His backpack held all the water for both of us for the day, along with tortillas, smoked turkey slices, mustard, packaged snacks, and fruit for energy. He also had packed soft drinks (in ice), a first aid kit, binoculars, sunscreen, extra shirt, and probably a fondue pot. Not to be outdone by the young upstart, I loaded my backpack with a compact digital camera, a piece of gum and a Chap Stick. For those of you who are thinking that my load was slightly less of a burden than my energetic friend’s backpack obviously does not realize the detrimental effect to an expedition that chapped lips can cause.
8 a.m. We were off. We signed the Park’s registration log to show that we were going up the mountain. Oh good. No one else had signed in ahead of us. This meant we should be able to get to the summit alone and enjoy a quiet moment of Zen with no one else to intrude on our accomplishment.
Even though it was Mid-April, in West Texas, the temperature had dipped to below freezing during the night. And it was still a brisk low-40s temperature as we began our assent. I started out strong and energized, but it was not long before fatigue crept over me. My boots felt like they had lead weights in them. I was hiking in slow motion. So slowly, in fact, that several groups of men, women, children, dogs, cats, and vegetables managed to dash right past us on the way to the top. Most disheartening to me was the guy in a bathrobe and slippers, carrying the morning paper under his arm, who sauntered by holding a steaming hot cup of coffee. Geez.
Andrew and I finally reached “base camp”. This is an area about a mile below the summit where overnight hikers can camp. We stashed our backpacks here in order to make the final assent easier. Funny, though, I did not feel any lighter without my backpack on. We plodded on up the trail.
The final half mile was torture. I knew we were nearly done, but my rubbery legs just did not want to take any more steps. The incline was getting more severe. I think I left claw marks in the limestone as I struggled to pull my boneless chicken legs along with the rest of my body. Andrew called encouragements down to me from above. I knew I could do it; I just didn’t know if I could do it in this lifetime.
The summit at last! I staggered up to a small level area of the limestone formation which meant I had finally reached the top of Texas. The summit was perhaps the size of a volleyball court. Placed in the middle, at the high point stood a 6-foot-tall stainless-steel marker. It was a four-sided elongated triangle, each side facing the four directions of North, South, East, West. (Not necessarily in that order). The photo accompanying this writing shows the author, on the left, and Andrew on the right of the Stainless-Steel marker. Up here we had a full 360-degree panoramic view of the state of Texas to the East, South and West, and could see New Mexico to the North. The view was spectacular. I could not speak. Perhaps it had something to do with trying to catch my breath. I sucked in the fresh, clean air as I collapsed and absorbed the awesome views.
There is a vast beautiful emptiness of desert surrounding these mountains. We could see for hundreds of miles nothing but creosote bush and cacti. There was only an occasional shiny glint which betrayed human activity. The most obvious evidence of man’s use of nature was the bright green saucers of color seen to the west. These were “pivots”, which are giant irrigation systems that pivot around a single water pump. Each pivot pumps out millions of scarce gallons of water on to the rich soil. These pivots were growing wheat and the contrasting hue of the green crop against the surrounding purplish brown desert fauna was surreal. There were dozens of pivots, arranged in tight formation. From our vantage point, it looked like a giant Twister game board.
We took photos and I called my called my wife Gwen to tell her of our success. She marveled that it only took us 4 hours to climb up the mountain. She asked what we would do for the rest of the day. I said, “check myself in to a hospital”. She laughed and said, “no, really”. I said “yes, really”.
Thirst and hunger prompted us to head back down to base camp to eat lunch. I was starving and needed to stretch out for a while. We gorged ourselves on Andrew’s bounty. I felt it was my duty to help him reduce his pack weight by eating as much as I could. After all, we were a team.
We rested a long while and eventually I felt ready to tackle the return. It is, after all, downhill. How hard can it be? I felt fine until I stood up. It was then that I knew this was going to be tougher than I imagined. We staggered down. An older, silver haired fellow, jauntily hopped by me as I paused on the trail. I was half expecting him to turn around and kick limestone dust in my face too. I muttered “show-off”, under my breath but I must have said it too loudly. He turned and gave me a go-to-hell look, but fortunately kept heading down the trail. I decided I’d better stop with the smartass remarks since I was too fatigued to defend myself. A nun with a ruler could have taken me out.
By this time, I had a lot in common with the walking zombies of Hollywood. I had their slow pace, their vacant look, and their cranky attitude. Sorta like a Democrat. As I trudged along, I noticed a flock of buzzards circling above. They gave me the final motivation needed to pick up my pace and get off the mountain.
I was disappointed in myself that I did not get better physically prepared for this trip. Here are a few suggestions for would-be mountain climbers and for the park service. First, if you are a middle-aged Gulf Coast Flatlander, like me, perhaps you should start a little sooner and work a little harder than I did to get physically fit for such a trip. And don’t do 8 miles of hiking the day before your mountain hike. And your toenails probably will grow back. And for the Park service: How about a few handrails along the way? Or a massage therapist at the top? And would an elevator hurt?
I am fully recovered now from my conquest of the tallest mountain in Texas. It was difficult, but worth the effort. And I know that, just like all great adventurers, I must find a new goal to concentrate on. Perhaps climbing the highest peak in each of the 50 states? That might be a worthy goal. I think I hear a tall sand dune in Florida calling my name. I need to schedule it with Andrew. And what did I do with that Chap Stick?
END
Friday, September 24, 2010
The country life for me
It has been a year since my wife and I moved to the country. It was a big decision to sell our house in Sugar Land and move to the family farm in Dacus, TX . The town with no official population. The entire town consists of one Baptist Church and one beer joint. Sorta the Yin and Yang of life. My wife decided to “retire” as a school teacher, so the only thing stopping us from living in Dacus was my 1 ½ hour commute to my office. Yuck. But since I “work” from home quite often, or I am traveling out of state or out of the country, that commute would not be a daily chore.
What has become a daily chore, is well…..the chores. There is no slack time around the old homestead. The house had been originally built as a weekend getaway, and I am sure that my Dad never conceived that any rational human being would actually want to live in it full time. This house was build out of scrap materials and teenage labor. (I was one of those teenagers, so I know the quality of the work that we did).
This house probably would qualify for some kind of Obama grant money for shovel ready projects. But I am afraid that anyone with the power to make that decision would just decide the shovel should be used to bury this place.
We’ve rebuilt the fences, the pump house, the stairs, the siding. We’ve painted, washed, added, removed, and we still have only made a dent in what needs to be done to make this place livable. If Alf and Ralph , from Green Acres, were not fictional, I would swear they had a hand in the results of what we are living in. But there is something quaint in having a house where you don’t know if the door locks will lock, or if the windows will open.
We will continue to make this place a home. And we are slowly adjusting to being in the country. I have been thinking that living in Dacus TX is sort or a lifestyle all its own. We have identified several indicators that you may live here:
• If you had to use the tractor mower to make a “rough cut” of the lawn grass, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If you have one riding lawn mower and four push mowers in the barn, and none of them start, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If you keep your tractor in the barn instead of your own vehicles, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If you keep a buddy’s boat in your barn instead of your own vehicles, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If your kitchen is upstairs, but the refrigerator is downstairs, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If, at the end of the day, one of your greatest pleasures is to relax in your inflatable kiddie pool, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If you wear your straw cowboy hat in the pool, and that’s all you are wearing, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If your idea of mowing the lawn is really just cutting pathways to the other buildings, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If you believe that goat weeds should be an endangered species, so you can’t mow, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If your closest neighbor has a habit of honking his car horn 30-40 times to announce that he has arrived home, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If you have developed, what some might consider, an unnatural pleasure in killing and dismembering Tallow trees, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If there are more wasps in your house than dollars in your 401-K, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If you have a large log in the side yard just in case company comes over and you need the additional seating, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If it takes 2 hours and $9 to get a Sunday paper. You drive in to town, and naturally have to get donuts and coffee; then go back into town since you forgot to get the paper, you might live in Dacus, TX
• And Finally…if you have the producer of “Extreme Home Make-over” on speed dial, you might live in Dacus, TX
What has become a daily chore, is well…..the chores. There is no slack time around the old homestead. The house had been originally built as a weekend getaway, and I am sure that my Dad never conceived that any rational human being would actually want to live in it full time. This house was build out of scrap materials and teenage labor. (I was one of those teenagers, so I know the quality of the work that we did).
This house probably would qualify for some kind of Obama grant money for shovel ready projects. But I am afraid that anyone with the power to make that decision would just decide the shovel should be used to bury this place.
We’ve rebuilt the fences, the pump house, the stairs, the siding. We’ve painted, washed, added, removed, and we still have only made a dent in what needs to be done to make this place livable. If Alf and Ralph , from Green Acres, were not fictional, I would swear they had a hand in the results of what we are living in. But there is something quaint in having a house where you don’t know if the door locks will lock, or if the windows will open.
We will continue to make this place a home. And we are slowly adjusting to being in the country. I have been thinking that living in Dacus TX is sort or a lifestyle all its own. We have identified several indicators that you may live here:
• If you had to use the tractor mower to make a “rough cut” of the lawn grass, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If you have one riding lawn mower and four push mowers in the barn, and none of them start, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If you keep your tractor in the barn instead of your own vehicles, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If you keep a buddy’s boat in your barn instead of your own vehicles, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If your kitchen is upstairs, but the refrigerator is downstairs, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If, at the end of the day, one of your greatest pleasures is to relax in your inflatable kiddie pool, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If you wear your straw cowboy hat in the pool, and that’s all you are wearing, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If your idea of mowing the lawn is really just cutting pathways to the other buildings, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If you believe that goat weeds should be an endangered species, so you can’t mow, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If your closest neighbor has a habit of honking his car horn 30-40 times to announce that he has arrived home, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If you have developed, what some might consider, an unnatural pleasure in killing and dismembering Tallow trees, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If there are more wasps in your house than dollars in your 401-K, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If you have a large log in the side yard just in case company comes over and you need the additional seating, you might live in Dacus, TX
• If it takes 2 hours and $9 to get a Sunday paper. You drive in to town, and naturally have to get donuts and coffee; then go back into town since you forgot to get the paper, you might live in Dacus, TX
• And Finally…if you have the producer of “Extreme Home Make-over” on speed dial, you might live in Dacus, TX
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Somewhere over Canada
Hello Gentle Readers,
I write to you from 35,000 in the air (AAAAAHHHH! ! ! ). Oh, I guess there is no need for hysterics. After all I am in a Government approved aircraft (but didn’t the government approve Vioxx?) over friendly skies (Canada??). But, more importantly, I am sitting right next to the emergency exit door. I’ll be the first SOB offa this plane if there is a problem, you can count on that. And I’ll take my handy seat cushion, which can be used for a floatation device, (what, for a hamster??) at the first sign of trouble.
I just finished my fine dining experience by masticating some type of meat in some type of sauce with some type of thin green vegetable matter on the side. It was a meal fit for coach class. I see that our beloved U.S. Government IS serious about American’s waistlines since they obviously approved of the packaging of the desert snack that was included in my meal. I normally don’t indulge in the sweets and cakes included in the airline meal, but since I have been up since 5am and didn’t get to eat this meal until about 3pm, I was willing to overlook my healthy diet because I was HUNGRY.
The packaging on this tiny bag of lemon sugar cookies was made of the same thin plastic/Mylar material that the alien spaceship in Roswell must have been made of. Toughest stuff I have ever encountered. Impervious to all my attempts at opening it. My teeth, fingernails, even a blowtorch (not really a blowtorch, just my bad breath),….nothing could break the seal of this tempting delicacy. I fought with it until embarrassment replaced the lust I had for this sweet delight. I gave up. The government must have wanted me to burn off lots of calories before consuming these cookies. I felt like an otter trying to break open clams on my belly without a rock. I even tried hacking my way through the edge of the pack with the cheap plastic knife (Government approved) provided with the meal, with no luck. At least on International flights they have the courtesy of providing you real metallic silverware. I guess they figure there are more domestic terrorists interested in taking over planes than on International flights. I don’t know. After a while, I gave up the dream of Lemon sugar cookies dancing in my head.
I noticed that the guy sitting next to me has not eaten or drunk ANTHING since he showed up on this leg of the flight (from Minnnnneapolis to Anchorage) In our conversation I have learned that he is a Continental pilot, dead heading back to his home after his scheduled flight time. What is it that he KNOWS about the food on these flights???? Should I get my stomach pumped upon arrival in Anchorage??. Should I just force myself to immediately puke in the toilet and forestall any potential poison that has entered my system? Should I call the Secretary of Transportation (government approved) to find out if I AM GOING TO DIE FROM EATING AIRLINE FOOD???.
I did what every thinking American would do….I curled up in a fetal position, and waited for this leg of the flight to be over.
I will resume this conversation when I have more to report.
Your intrepid, and hungry traveler, signing off for now.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Tiger Woods, don't blame me
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.
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.
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.
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