Archive for the 'Travel' Category
Trip Log: Bali 4
March 13th, 2011I was woken up this morning by the following events in succession, starting at 2am:
Rain
I’m not talking about a gentle shower, I’m talking torrential downpour with thunder and lighting. As many people know, I am afraid of thunderstorms, mostly because I hate being startled unexpectedly, least of all in the middle of the night. This storm was so loud I half expected the raindrops to break through this thatch roof and pour directly on me.
Rumble
Less than an hour after the rain eased up, I felt subtle movements in my bed. Subtle, but definitely present. The movements got much stronger in amplitude over a few seconds, and I realized this was actually an earthquake. Normally I don’t mind earthquakes, being from California and all, however, here on this tiny island, I was concerned the quake would bring my bungalow crashing down. Also who knows, maybe this richter 3.0 earthquake (or whatever it was), was actually a 9.0 out in the middle of the Pacific, and a tsunami was on its way soon to drown Bali. I identified where I kept my diving mask and snorkel (just in case), and tried to get back to sleep.
Rumble again
The time has come. Shortly after the quake I thought I felt the start of an aftershock, but I was feeling movements only … down there. I tried to walk it off, but things only got more painful and crampy and violent, and I realized I was bathroom-bound very soon. These things felt like contractions, people. I have been slacking on my Pepto Bismol regimen since I arrived, so maybe I should starting being more compliant.
Rooster
This thing needs to die. Enough said.
Anyway, later in the day I was at a bar with a TV showing this:
Looks like I was right … unfortunately. And pretty spot-on with my predictions too. Those live shots of the massive destruction occuring in Japan are actually very frightening, and I hope the waves don’t make it anywhere near my little island chain. So as of now now, the list of things that are threatening me in Indonesia are as follows:
- Active volcanos
- Rabies
- Vocal roosters
I guess I should add “tsunami” now.
Trip Log: Flores
March 14th, 2011Greetings from the island of Flores. This tiny island is east of Bali and is quite under-developed. Their main street is very similar to a back alley in America.
This morning a few of us rented a boat for a day trip to Komodo Island, home of Komodo National Park, itself home to the famed komodo dragon. These ugly beasts might appear slow, slothy, and boring in photos, but in reality … they’re exactly the same. They don’t move or do anything exciting. But they do have viciously sharp talons and very powerful tails that can snap goats in half. Unfortunately we didn’t see any of that action, and I wasn’t even allowed to get next to him for a photo.
On the way back we had our boat stop at one of the tiny islands for beach and snorkel time. Islands like these are abundant here, and nearly all have untouched white sand and luscious green flora. They are also completely uninhabited. The one we stopped at, pictured below, would have taken us at most 15 minutes to walk around its perimeter.
After a good snorkel we made our way home in our boat, which I should mention may possibly be the slowest thing ever to move on water; I think ducks were swimming faster. Not a problem, however, since we all sprawled out and fell asleep with ease. As we docked, we were greeted by an army of very young, very short, and very naked local children … all of whom enthusiastically rushed our boat, climbed aboard, and tried to impress us by jumping into the water. Definitely the most amusing part of the day!
One of the little guys showing us his skillz.
That evening, we recovered from this tiring day with lots of beer and cards.
Trip Log: Flores 2
March 15th, 2011Island life is very stressful so I took it easy today. Here is what I did from dawn till dusk, hanging out with Mardie, a fun solo Dutch traveler I met who arrived on Flores the same time I did. (In addition to everything below, I also took three cold showers to wash off the intolerable humidity.)
Started the day off with breakfast of champions: mango fruit juice and a plate of fresh cut tropical fruits.
After sitting around reading and relaxing, it’s time for lunch. The hotel girl fires up the grill,
cuts open the fish I just selected,
and prepares what was truly the juiciest and best-tasting fish I’ve ever eaten, really.
Then more sitting around.
We decide to be productive, and ended up finding a completely secluded beach to the north, with very warm water and this great view.
I now sit here in The Lounge, drinking an arak ginger (essentially a Moscow Mule but with locally produced alcohol), eating a pizza covered with chilis, and enjoying the tropical rainstorm outside.
Trip Log: A Day in Denpasar
March 17th, 2011Out of Flores and back in Bali — but just for the day. Before flying to my next island I had nine hours to kill at the airport, so I decided to venture into the heart of Denpasar, capital city of Bali. It’s just another overly congested, polluted, and noisy city, one that even Lonely Planet says has no compelling reasons to visit. Here I tr to cross the street without getting hit by a motorbike or ten.
However, there is good food here apparently. According to LP, the best dish in Bali can be found in a tiny restaurant deep inside Denpasar, and another well-reviewed one is nearby. Descriptions for both sounded great and I couldn’t make up my mind … so why not go to both?
First stop, Cak Asm, where allegedly I can find the island’s tastiest meal — calamari in a salty garlic sauce. After the taxi driver and I both struggle trying to locate it, we finally arrive. I enter this modest little restaurant, which was filled mostly with government employees.
I order the famed dish, which was much easier said than done, since they don’t speak English in this non-touristy area. With little regret he informs me they are out of that dish (it’s only noon though!), so I order what I think is the next best-sounding dish, calamari in chili sauce. Out it comes, and while simple-appearing — an oval plate full of large calamari circles, in a sauce – it was quite tasty. I could have eaten a bowl of just that sauce alone.
Off to destination two, Ayam Goreng Kalasan. The dish to order here fried chicken (ayam goreng), marinated in a lemongrass sauce for just over forever. As I walk in, the restaurant supervisor spots me and runs over to greet this tourist. He suggests which dish to get, and lucky for him it’s the same one I already had planned. I play dumb a little bit just to humor him — Is the chicken good here? Is this a chair? So what country are we in? — since I really seem to be the first white person to enter this place in ages. I then take a seat under the staring eye of every customer there.
Out comes the dish that will soon become my favorite meal in this country so far … along with a small bowl of water for washing my hands. Finally, I can eat with my hands! However, I start worrying about how to attack this food with my bare hands. While I may be the master of Indian naan and Ethiopian injera, I’ve never eaten rice with my bare hands … and not only that, just the right hand (the left hand is forbidden as it wipes your, you know, poop hole). I’m afraid I’ll embarass myself by having just to throw the rice at my face in hopes of getting some in my mouth, so I start staring at other peoples’ eating habits to come up with a strategy of my own.
Out comes my food: a super crispy piece of fried chicken with the great aroma of lemongrass, a handful of fried coconut shavings, a small mound of rice cooked in coconut milk, and sambal (chili sauce).
I jump right in, grab some rice, and miraculously deliver it to mouth with one smooth movement. Turns out I’m a natural. (the trick: use your thumb and push the rice along your fingers into your mouth.) Here is Dr. Schricker during and after his initial bites of food. Note the people staring at me, including the miniature thugs outside trying to sell me bootleg DVDs.
And afterwards, with a big dopey grin:
The rest of my meal was pure joy. I had an extremely enjoyable time eating, and in a stunning upset over the meal at Cak Asm, this was easily my favorite meal of the trip … and for less than two dollars!
With a satisfied belly, I head back to the airport, not at all aware I wouldn’t be eating until the next day.
Trip Log: Shithole
March 17th, 2011So much for what started out as a good day. Satisfied but exhausted from three flights, hours walking around, and many different airports, I arrived on the island of Sulawesi in the town of Manado. I have to spend the night here before taking a boat to the tiny diving island of Bunaken tomorrow. I didn’t make any reservations for this night since I assumed that wouldn’t be an issue.
Well I was wrong. This is the only room that was available in this town. Yes you’re seeing the entire thing.
Let me start with its positives:
- It still has a ceiling
- It costs $4.
Other than that, this is a perverted little jail cell that barely fits me and my backpack. It is a microscopic box that has exactly the following: a desk, a window, a skinny bed, and a pillow. Did you hear me say towels? That’s because it doesn’t have them. Did you hear me say a fan? No, because it doesn’t. Did I say it had blankets? No, I did not.
I’m not too pleased with the environment either. There’s a guy moaning down the hall; someone is breaking glass bottles on the street outside; and to make things completely bizarre, there are a few white guys in orange HAZMAT suits walking around outside (no joke). What the hell is going on here?
And to top it off, I just pissed all over my feet in the public hole in the ground they call a toilet.
Good night.
Trip Log: Bunaken
March 18th, 2011Greetings from the tiny tropical island of Bunaken. This island is a one-hour boat ride off the island of Sulawesi, home of the crappy hotel room. Here we are on the boat, my poor North Face bag dwarfed next to a big pile of rice (or something).
Bunaken is a very small island — it’s L-shaped, with each leg 3 miles long — and has two beaches that are filled with tourist accomodations; the rest is filled by the native villagers. This is the shore as we near it with the boat.
I am staying at Living Colour, by far the island’s most upscale resort, which is run by a Finnish married couple. This place boasts the best service and meals. More importantly, they run the island’s most professional dive trips with the best equipment. This is the main entrance to the resort, which is accessed directly by incoming boat (I’m standing in water for the picture). Off to the left are some very useful hammocks, and to the right is the Safety Stop bar, cleverly named after the stop one needs to take ~15 feet below the surface, when ascending from a dive.
My huge terrace:
And the view from that terrace:
Days are pretty routine here since most are here to dive. We eat breakfast at 8am (three delicious home-cooked meals provided daily), go for two dives, return for lunch, go back for another dive, relax, and then have dinner. This is what I do after my dives and before dinner, putting both hands to good use:
Staying here is a cross between the Swiss Family Robinson and summer camp, given the layout of the bungalows within the trees and the (semi) regimented way the days are run. But really, in terms of accomodations, service, diving, and food, you cannot find better on this island. If you like diving or relaxing, I highly recommend it.
There were some additional activities after dinner tonight since it was a special night for two reasons. First, it was Friday so there was a live band of local resort employees:
and I got a cake because it was my birthday.
Fun times here in Bunaken!
Trip Log: Bunaken 2
March 19th, 2011Time to dive finally. Indonesia, in particular Bunaken, features some of the world’s best diving and I was lucky to get several consecutive rain-free days to enjoy its underwater beauty. This is us walking to the dive boat in the morning:
In three days of diving I did eight dives, which was a lot for me. The first day I did a refresher dive as it had been two years since my last one, followed by two normal dives; the next day we did wreck diving; and the final day we took a day trip to the nearby Bangka Island for a very pleasant change of underwater scenery. Overall I got to experience several new types of dives, including the following. (I don’t have an underwater camera, but one of the divemasters took these photos for me.)
1) Wall dive — Where you dive along a wall of a large and seemingly bottomless hole. You move around keeping the wall of coral to one side of you while looking up and down at the sights. A little scary looking down, but beautiful scenery at your side. Here is a view from one of those dives:
2) Wreck dive — We visited a World War II Japanese cargo boat that was sunk by the US Navy in the 1940s. Coral has since grown all over the boat, creating a miniature reef. This was a deeper dive, at 31m (102 feet) below. This was a spectacular experience. As the wreck came into view while we descended, it felt just like a National Geographic documentary, as usually there’s no other way to see sights like this. At this depth good photos were hard to achieve.
Here are me, Juliet, and Alistair sitting on the wreck.
Here is the wreck with angelfish swimming around coral growing on the ship:
Here you can find me at the edge of the wreck, apparently doing jazz hands:
3) Muck dive — An unusual dive that takes place in murky brown waters to explore the unusual sea life there. Visibility was very poor — ~5 feet — and the dirty brown water felt like I was swimming in sewage. At least it was warm. I never had interest in a dive like this, but I’m glad I did it. While it wasn’t my favorite dive, it was interesting to see a different set of sea life.
Diving in Indonesia was close to ideal. The water was very warm (the temperature at depth was around 30° C!), and it features a wealth of sea life: beautiful fish swimming alone and in large schools, colorful hard and soft coral, and other creatures such as shrimp, eels, rays, and sea turtles. This majestic guy was about four feet long:
Some clownfish relax in their home:
Diving in Bunaken was a great to wrap up my trip (slowly). Next order of business: buy an underwater camera … time for more moonlighting.
Trip Log: Bunaken 3
March 21st, 2011Some additional diving-related stories.
- More on that underwater wreck that we explored. The ship was named the Myoken, a Japanese transport ship that was used during World War II. It was sunk off the coast of Sulawesi by the US Navy by the USS Swordfish in 1942, using a torpedo that apparently didn’t detonate, based on available evidence and leftover wreckage material. Getting the historical background makes it so much more interesting when seeing it in person.
- By far the most beautiful sight of the trip was just after I finished one of my dives. I was floating on the surface, waiting for the boat to pick me up when I spotted — at about 100 feet away — a big fin coming out of the water. And then another one. I nearly shat my pants (ok, wetsuit) because I thought they were sharks and this was gonna be it for me … Indonesia was where it would all end. But then I saw 5, 10, and then maybe 20 more fins, all moving in an arc-like motion above water. I realized this was a small school of dolphins traveling at the surface, in and out of the water. It was the most amazing sight, being next to this large group of dolphins swimming so gracefully and beautifully through the water. I just wish I had my camera with me.
- Speaking of soiling my wetsuit, a few minutes into my first dive I realized I had forgotten to pee … so, I just went in my wetsuit. Yeah, we do that. And there’s no sensation in the world that’s simultaneously so soothing but so utterly disgusting as the warmth that fills up your wetsuit during this activity. (I just realized this is the second time this trip I’ve described peeing on myself. I should probably stop that — both doing it and writing about it.)
Trip Log: Bunaken 4
March 21st, 2011Sadly it’s time to leave Bunaken … but not without working for it. I paid a nice sum of euros for my resort to arrange a boat to take me back to the mainland, so I expected a red carpet rolled out to my front door. Well, I thought I thought.
Someone arrived to fetch me and right away offered to take my backpack. Normally I don’t like to give my work to other people, but today I felt generous and so I handed it right over … but in exchange he handed me two big empty water-cooler jugs to carry. Apparently this is the boat that takes the recyclables from Bunaken to the mainland, so I was expected to help. No big deal, so I grabbed them.
We then walked into the jungle – I thought we’d walk towards the water, but whatever — when another man joined us, this guy carrying eight of these huge jugs. I felt guilty for carrying only two, so I offered to take two of his. Up to four jugs now … no big deal still.
Finally the guys decide to head towards water. Because it was low tide, the boat couldn’t come up directly to land, and so to reach it we had to walk into the water. But first came the quicksand. I walked towards the water and immediately sunk down to my shins. I tore my feet out of the ground but the sand had swallowed my flip-flop, and so I had to put my four jugs down (and being empty they started floating away) and sent in my hand after my flip-flop. After rescuing it, I took both of them off and carried them in hand. Some sand-dwelling parasite must have latched on to my bare feet and is now inside me.
I ventured on, still in quicksand, watching the water get deeper with each step. Soon I was in a mess of mangroves, seaweed, and starfish, with the water now up to my groin — of my normal clothes, not swimming trunks. The only thing I cared about was my camera, so I used whatever fingers I had left to hold up my left pant sleeve; I let my right pant sleeve — with my money– suffer. Things I’m holding now: four huge jugs, two flip-flops, and one pant leg. The locals found me amusing to watch.
Once I got to the boat I finally emptied my arms … but then was put to more work moving cases of beer. Ten of them. No problem, I thought, since empty bottles can’t be too heavy. Turns out these were full bottles, and when I picked one up the cardboard was so soggy from the rain, 24 green bottles of Bintang came crashing down. All this for a ride to the mainland.
One hard-earned boat ride later, I now sit confined to my hotel room, waiting for my pants and money, spread out on the bed, as they try to dry.
Trip Log: Bali 5
March 21st, 2011It’s the final countdown. I’m back in Bali for 24 hours since my flight home departs tomorrow afternoon. I’m in Ubud (old friend) and while I’m in no rush, I am on a mission: to hit up three specific restaurants before I leave. I was ready to set out immediately, as it was noon and I was famished — afterall, I haven’t eaten lunch since yesterday.
(While I refer to all these places as restaurants, they really are warungs, simple open-air eateries that typically make one dish really well.)
Restaurant #1: Nasi Ayam Kedewatan
Recall this place from last week, where I walked 2.5 miles there — and 2.5 miles back — only to find them out of food. By hitting this place at noon I’d avoid that rookie mistake today. I arrived and saw it was full of food, including the famed sate lilit, minced chicken sate that is an order of magnitude tastier than any other I’ve had here. The chicken seemed doubly ground, filled with spices and lemongrass, molden onto thick bamboo skewers, and then grilled. This was also the first eatery I’ve ever been to where the server picked up the food not with utensils, but her bare hands. I started with four skewers (but ordered two more afterwards) and another tasty dish she just referred to as “chicken”. You may see fork and spoon here, but rest assured I dove right in with my hands.
Restaurant #2: Warung Igelanca
This is a temple for noodle-lovers, and being a noodle-lover I had to eat here. Actually, re-eat here, since I ate here last week. I ordered their standard, a noodle stir-fry in a curry sauce, and when it arrived I loaded it full of sambal (chili sauce), took a table near the street, and ate that big bowl of noodles as hundreds of motorbikes buzzed by. I was starting to get a little full at this point.
Restaurant #3: Bambu
The food sweats started hitting me, so I needed to go home and nap. My planned 15-minute nap turned into two hours, but afterwards I was ready to continue the battle, at Bambu. They serve good traditional Balinese dishes, and of note are the lawar (coconut and green bean salad), ayam pelalah (spicy shredded chicken with chili and lime), and sambal goreng udang (prawns in a tangy coconut-milk sauce). I really was torn which one to get, so I ordered all three. Not my wisest moment perhaps, but it was my last day here. As one dish was brought to the table, I took my time eating it, and awaited the next one. Three dishes and three bowls of rice later, I was very satisfied, and full … and maybe a little bit regretful of ordering all of them. I definitely could be banished to the third circle of Hell (gluttony) for this behavior. The spicy shredded chicken:
Walking back home — very slowly and also slightly hunched over — I sensed trouble. I felt … something … and realized this was the real deal. I picked up the pace, and by the time I got within view of my place I was nearly sprinting. This was taking away my enjoyment of the food by a lot. Needing my room key A-SAP, I asked the hotel boy to get me the key quickly, but he was shining his motorcycle calmly and without a care in the world. I urged him to hurry and he took his sweet time until I finally had to yell “TOILET!” He tossed over the key, I ran into my room, threw off my clothes (sorry, it’s what I do in really hot weather, a la George Costanza), scrambled to find something to read (gotta do that too) but was unsuccessful, and so I just ran into the bathroom.
Now, I’m relaxed as can be … and, despite not having proper reading material, still a little smarter. I learned all there is to know about Procter & Gamble from the shaving cream bottle, and I also discovered my bathroom has a mini-fridge.
I think it’s time I go home now. USA home, that is.
End of Indonesia
March 23rd, 2011Back home now, safe and sound after 18 hours of flying.
Thanks to everyone who read along. Till next time … (I’ve got big plans, people, big plans)
Post-Indonesia Thoughts
March 30th, 2011I had a great time in Indonesia, and it’s definitely a country to which I’d return in the future. A few post-trip thoughts:
- I was surprised how friendly the Indonesians people were. However, much of this was probably because I was expecting the people to be similar to the rude, unfriendly, and aggressive Moroccans I encountered on my last trip. How pleasant it was to turn down people on the street soliciting taxis, services, etc. just once and have them retreat immediately … and with a polite “thank you.” Morocco, you on my shitlist.
- I finally finished Eat Pray Love. While the last section (”Love”) was enjoyable to read, probably because it was describing Bali while I was there, the first two were difficult to endure. She dedicated only about three paragraphs to eating in Italy (out of 100 pages), and then her account of India was monotonous and too unbelievable. She conveniently achieved all her goals: to perfect meditation, learn to love a dreaded morning prayer, and also find God (spoiler alert: He’s everywhere apparently). How convenient. Reading those sections of Eat Pray Love made me want to Choke Gag Barf.
- This country was committed to not letting me sleep in. If I wasn’t woken up by a rooster at 5am, it was by the early morning sunrise prayers wailing out in Arabic. I kinda forgot this was an Islamic country.
- On the topic of traveling solo, that concept is only strange for Americans. You encounter a lot of European travelers when you go international, and none of them will ask “why are you traveling alone?”, mostly because half of them are traveling alone. Answering these questions gets annoying quickly. While I still prefer traveling with a buddy, there definitely are benefits to going solo.
- For the entire two weeks I was in Indonesia, I really feel I was the only person there who did not smoke. Well, me and the children. (Well, me and most children).
Introducing Antarctica
December 1st, 2011It’s time to travel again, peoples. This year’s destination? Earth’s coldest, windiest, and driest continent … Antarctica. However, before reaching the southernmost continent, we will first drop by South America and play around for awhile.
The idea to travel to Antarctica was planted realistically in my head for the first time during my trip to Indonesia earlier this year when a Canadian traveler I met said he’d just visited the continent. And if a Canadian can do it, anyone can … so here I am.
Itinerary
The travel plan is as follows:
1) Buenos Aires, Argentina — A country filled with great steak and Malbec.
2) Rio de Janeiro, Brazil — Paradise and world-famous beaches.
3) Ushuaia, Argentina — The southernmost city in the world and where we embark on our ship.
4) Antarctica — Home of the penguin.
This trip takes us to the sunny beaches of Brazil, but then a few days later to the freezing Antarctic ice. Such variety in climates makes for an exciting trip but also for difficulty packing the appropriate clothes for each place. I’m sad to say that for the first time I need to leave my trusty backpack at home and instead travel with, yes, a suitcase. Now all I need is a wife and 2 1/2 kids.
Participants
Here’s a thorough list of everyone going, including photos, names, and nicknames (each with a nod to our respective ethnic backgrounds)
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| Wilkie “Pu-Pu Platter” Yu | Amir “The Camel” Schricker |
Wilkie is a friend from college who lives in the SF bay area, and I’m lucky that he has the time, travel interest, and resources (he owns an iPod) to join me.
Preparation
To get excited for Antarctica I watched “March of the Penguins”, and now I really want to pet one (without being attacked) … maybe even bring one home. Then to learn about Brazil, people told me to watch “Hostel”. I did, and two things: 1) The movie had absolutely nothing to do with Brazil, and 2) I’m afraid to leave home now.
Next, I had to re-stock my first-aid kit. I went a little crazy with the Immodium (anti-diarrhea) pills this time; I bought a family pack of 24 from Target, only to realize I already had a pack of 12 at home … so here I sit with 36 pills. Obviously I hope to remain healthy for the duration of my trip, but the thrill-seeker in me hopes for terrible GI problems so I can take advantage of my excellent preparation skills. Or maybe Wilkie will get diarrhea; that would be the best of both worlds. I also loaded up on Ativan and Ambien…if I do this right, I’ll be asleep for the entire month of December.
To sum up
This trip should be … legendary. See you on the other side.
Travel Journal: Buenos Aires 1
December 7th, 2011Hola!
We arrived safe and sound to Buenos Aires, but not without Wilkie having his fun. At the airport he thought it would be funny to yell “terrorist!” near the security checkpoints. And ticket lines. And bathrooms. I was about to board my first flight, and even though we both checked in together, just as I was about to step onto the plane I was directed to a special desk where they wanted lots of extra confirmation of my identity. And going through security I was randomly — but as expected — pulled aside to undergo more thorough screening. They locked me in a phonebooth-sized chamber, wiped a wet rag over my hands and arms (I still don’t know why), and then, um, searched me. I guess I should now reset the clock on how long it’s been since I’ve been with a woman.
Wilkie and I aren’t on good terms for now. Also I want to revise a statement from my last post where I said “Wilkie is a friend from college… “. That should now just read “Wilkie is a guy who went to college…”
Recoleta Cemetary
We visited the Recoleta Cemetary, which contains the impressive graves of Buenos Aires’ most rich, elite, and well-connected. This is a city of the dead, as each memorial site contains either a huge statue or mausoleum. Past presidents, military heroes, and celebrities are buried here, and the living are dying to secure their place here.
This is also where Evita (aka Eva Peron, the glamorized wife of a former Argentinian dictator) is buried, and people are still leaving flowers for her today.
Tango
Tango defines Argentina. Argentinians are born knowing how to tango, and you’ll find tango shows everywhere from theaters to street shows. We decided to go to a tango show, and ended up at Cafe Tortoni, a small cafe with an intimate feel that has been around Buenos Aires for over 150 years. It was a great and lively show, but unfortunately they were very strict about not allowing any photos by the audience … so here it is before the show began.
Never fear, though. The next morning I found some street tango dancers and skillfully squeezed the guy out…and myself in. I don’t think she even noticed.
Looking good in those shorts, Dr. Schricker.
Travel Journal: Buenos Aires 2
December 9th, 2011Wilkie went to Uruguay for a day trip today, and I went on a surprisingly entertaining but interesting walking tour. It was put on by bafreetour.com, a great organization that puts on free walking tours of Buenos Aires. Tours are offered daily, and anyone who is interested shows up here, at the plaza outside the congress building, at 11am.
Our tour guide (below, center, in green) was a very animated and energetic girl who knew more about a city than anyone I’ve encountered. This is our group, in front of a statue that looks like Rodin’s Thinker, which is in front of Argentina’s congress building.
While strictly not part of the tour, we saw this tall building with Evita’s face painted on it, and on the way back, the opposite side of the building had another picture of her, this time with her singing with a microphone. Or, as someone from the group said, “that dude eating a sandwich.”
Below is the Palacio Barolo building. It wasn’t particularly impressive, but then I learned it was originally built to house the body of Dante (as in Dante Alighieri, of Divine Comedy fame); I’m reading The Inferno right now so I actually found it timely and interesting. His body ended up remaining in Italy, but the building was still built according to the Divine Comedy “standards”: it is 100 meters high (one meter for each canto of the Divine Comedy) and the 22 floors are divided into three sections, one each representing hell, purgatory, and heaven. Neat. OK let’s move on.
This is the Plaza de Mayo, the main square in Buenos Aires, which since the revolution in the 1800s, has been a spot of intense political protest. The photo below shows some structure surrounded by white symbols on the ground. The symbol is the shawl of the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, a group that to this day still meets here every Thursday to protest the 1970s military regime that made 30000 people — anyone with real or suspected leftist ideas — disappear (they were kidnapped, tortured, then murdered). They are known as Mothers since some of these 30000 were babies who were simply related to the suspected activitists.
Finally, pictured below, is the street leading to the obelisco. Or, as I like to call it, a miniature Washington Monument. Weighing in at a whopping 200 feet high, this is the main source of pride of portenos (Buenos Aires residents).
Overall this was a really cool experience, and I feel the need to plug bafreetour.com again, since they only operate on tips and rely on word-of-mouth. Join them next time you’re in BA!
Travel Journal: Buenos Aires 3
December 10th, 2011Still having fun here in BA, although our one complaint is that it’s so damn hot here. The temperature is at least in the 80s or 90s every day, and the sun is bright and blazing until 7pm. I ran around the dikes today (that’s not code for anything; I simply went for a run around the long row of water-filled dikes) but had to wake up at 7am just to beat the heat. And Wilkie can’t take two bites of any meal, let alone walk one block, without beads of sweat forming over his entire face. My peoples are built for the desert, so I’m doing just fine (except that I’m not).
La Boca
La Boca is a unique neighborhood that lies at the southern end of Buenos Aires. It is known as a very blue collar area that is notorious for street crime against tourists, even in daylight. You may be safe on the current street, but just one street over might be a dangerous one. However, the neighborhood is also known for its colorful buildings and lively street scene.
La Boca is also home of the Boca Juniors, the Buenos Aires football (soccer) team. Here, just outside the stadium where they play, is a star on the ground for each of their current and former players. This is the star for probably their most well-known player, the now disgraced Diego Maradona.
Nightlife
Buenos Aires has a very thriving nightlife, unfortunately it starts so late! Dinner is typically eaten 10 or 11pm; if you go around 8 or 9pm, you’re more likely to be eating with other tourists (not that there’s anything wrong with that). And once a few hours haave passed after dinner, only then do the locals really go out. People here love live music and clubs. We got lucky and were able to watch a fantastic live performance by one of the very popular local bands:
Below is Milion (shown in front and from the back), an awesome lounge built inside a vacated 3-story mansion.
One night Wilkie and I decided to check out a club, but we had to kill several hours in various bars just waiting until 2am, when the clubs opened. Once 1am hit, we were yawning and struggling to remain energetic for this whole endeavor. After we completely ran out of topics to talk about, couldn’t drink anymore, and got tired of each other’s faces, to stay awake we resorted to playing hangman with crayons on the tablecloth. The bar was not amused. Anyway, once we got inside the club, it was so packed we just left for home (not before having a few drinks, of course).
(fans of the show Big Bang Theory will be amused by something here)
In other news, when Argentinians ask where you’re from, they don’t like it if you respond “America.” Apparently South Americans think they’re from “America” too. The nerve…
Travel Journal: Rio de Janeiro 1
December 11th, 2011Ola!
We are now in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. My initial thoughts about this country were not pleasant ones, and it began as early as applying for a visa. First, they make all applicants apply in person, and if you have a family member or friend apply for you, they charge you extra money. Next, they don’t allow married women to travel without her husband. Finally, they have strict instructions on your visa photo (with respect to what to wear, where to look, and lighting). They kindly provided a sample photo as an example:
So, I dutifully followed their instructions and had my photograph taken.
But now that I’m here, I’m actually loving this city. It’s a very beautiful and energetic place. From the long expanses of scenic coastline, to the friendliness of the locals (noticeably absent in Buenos Aires) and amazing cultural diversity and finally the hotness of the locals, this really might be the Cidade Maravilhosa (marvelous city).
The moment we arrived here, we went immediately to eat feijoada, a distinctly Brazilian stew composed of slowly-cooked black beans and a variety of meats that is traditionally served only on Saturdays, and is always served for two people. Also, it is usually enjoyed with a cold caipirinha (think of it as a Brazilian mojito).
We are staying in Ipanema, the cool kid’s neighborhood. It’s where the young and rich tend to live; unfortunately I’m neither, but I can play the part for a few days. I woke up early-ish this morning and went for a run. On Sundays, the street closest to the beach in Ipanema are closed for people to walk, run, bike, rollerblade, or walk their dog. This was my beautiful view.
Off to the beach for the rest of the day. So who are these men in speedos, and more importantly, why the heck am I taking a photo of them? This is the sport of futevolei and it is a very common sighting on the beach. It is essentially volleyball using only your feet, chest, and head. It looks incredibly difficult, and I can’t believe these people keep the ball in the air for as long as they do.
By the way, the people here are very serious about football/soccer… some people just walk around on the streets with a soccer ball. I’m not sure what they’ll do with it, but I’m already intimidated. Finally, as the afternoon winds down, I cool down with a refreshing agua de coco.
Peoples, this may be the last post from me … forever. A girl we met here invited us tonight to a party in a favella. Favellas are the shanty towns here, essentially slums that are run by drug lords. She claims it is for some journalistic piece she’s doing for back home in Boston. In the interest of doing what the locals do, we’re gonna go to it. A friend from back home predicted I’d get decapitated on this trip. Who knows, he might end up being right.
Travel Journal: Rio de Janeiro 2
December 13th, 2011Holy crap.
It began when a girl invited us to a street party at a favela. She was an American college student studying Latin American music and was invited by one of her connections, one who lives in a favela. Let’s call him Christopher. And let’s call her Laila, because, well that’s her real name.
Even though we knew well what favelas were, we decided to attend for the sake of doing as the locals do. I comforted myself by noticing that many local hotels were advertising similar favela funk parties…so how dangerous could they be if entire groups of tourists were attending?
Apparently there was a slight difference. Some favelas are “pacified”, meaning that there is a strong police and military presence enforcing peace and the law — some have even made the news very recently. The vast majority (there are >600 favelas in Rio) are unpacified, and thus keeping the peace is left unto to the favelas themselves. The hotel-organized parties were at the few pacified favelas. The one we’d be going to, however, was not. I comforted myself by believing that it’d be unlikely for anyone to harass two American tourists. I also deemed Christopher as somehwat trustworthy if Laila trusted him, and Laila herself she was American, and a student at a semi-reputable American college no less.
That night at 10pm we met Laila, who took us to meet Christopher and another guy. Christopher was British and living and working here as a photojournalist, and the other was a local who lives in a nearby favela. The commute involed a subway ride to the end of the line, a long trek through what appeared to be an uninhabited neighborhood, and the eventual arrival at the outskirts of the favela. Then Christopher delivered terrible news when he said photos were strictly forbidden.
Streets slowly transformed into small, dark alleyways, which then became narrower and narrower. The buildings were small units the size of sheds, each two stories high and with no room between it and the neighboring unit. Streetlights disappeared and were replaced by random strings of blinking Christmas lights (probably there all year), over bar-covered windows. And every telephone pole contained masses of tangled wires knotted together and running across the alley, just 10 feet above our heads. Every minute a young kid whizzed by on a motorbike, and very few people were walking around. It seemed like the “projects” back home, but everything was smashed much closer together.
We finally reached the entrance to our destination. A large wall blocked the rest of the alley, except it didn’t fully reach the other side thus creating a door-sized passage to what lay beyond. At this entrance were two young guys: a friendly-looking grinning one was standing and the other was sitting and holding a large, clear plastic bag filled with money. Christopher handed a wad of cash to him and the standing guy invited us in. As I went in to shake his hand I noticed he was wearing a backpack…and a large machine gun. I took my hand back, soiled my pants just a little, and kept walking.
As an unpacified favela, police don’t even bother intruding. Not only are there not enough officers, but the alleys are too narrow for the police cars and too maze-like for non-residents to navigate. Thus there are designated people in the favela who carry the guns and maintain security. At this point we were notified of a few ground rules:
1) Do not fight. Girls who do get their hair and eyebrows chopped off on the spot; guys get beaten with wooden sticks until the sticks break.
2) If you want to hit on a girl, first ask if she has a boyfriend. (And if she says no, make damn sure she’s not lying, because if she is you’ll soon see a red laser dot swirling around your chest.)
Newly educated, we walked in. The other side of the wall turned out to be a massive wall of speakers. Because it was only midnight and the party hadn’t yet started, we walked down the street to look around. Along the way I saw at least a dozen kids all with big guns resting on their back. Christopher identified the one we saw earlier as an AK-47. As the night went on, we’d see uzis, M16s, bazookas, and one called a FAL. I’d never heard of it so he told me a little about it. (Double checking things on Wikipedia this morning, it turns out he was right, down to the size of its shell (7.6mm)) Also, there was an occasional sniper on the roof. All the gun-toters looked very young and seemed way too happy to have a big gun.
Meanwhile Christopher, although responsibly looking out for us, was checking his phone every 15 minutes and then wandering off for a few minutes. We didn’t know what he was doing until we caught him in an alley handing over a small baggie of some drug in exchange for some cash…to someone who looked no older than 14. He made a lot of deals that night. The San Diegan in me hoped it was meth; unfortunately it was only marijuana.
Hours passed and the street packed with young people, the wall of speakers started to blast Brazilian funk that that blew painful sound waves through your clothes and ear drums (far louder than any bar/club I’ve ever been to), more young kids were buying drugs, and of course more grinning people walked by with guns bigger than they were.
Christopher luckily stayed close by us the whole time, which is what kept the locals from harassing us. Had he stepped away for awhile, the situation would have become grim. This was City of God meets Training Day meet Hostel. Why did I watch that movie before I left?
Despite all this craziness though, I actually felt very safe the entire night. At least for these six hours everyone in the favela was very well behaved, no fights broke out, and the gun obsessed didn’t abuse any of their powers. (Well except for the very end. As we were marching out, a group of machine gun-strapping motorbikers drove by us and one of their guns was shoved inches from Wilkie’s face. Also on the way out, one laughing idiot with a drink in one hand and a shiny silver weapon in the other spun around in a goofy fit and his AK-47 practically entered my nose. First, in our country drinking and gunning is frowned upon. Second, please get your fucking machine gun out of my face!)
We left safely and without any new holes in our body. Looking back, this was an eye-opening and enlighting experience for me and everyone. I’d never seen this many guns loose on the streets before, and the best part was that no organized tour could have provided such a raw look into true favela life.
I’m now looking forward to the next time someone points a gun to my face so I can finally say “Sorry, this isn’t the first time I’ve had a gun pointed at my face.”
Travel Journal: Rio de Janeiro 3
December 15th, 2011We’ve spent the last several days enjoying Rio in bright sunshine. Unfortunately it’s been pouring rain non-stop for the last two days, but luckily we already got to visit Rio’s main attractions.
Rio de Janeiro’s most identifiable landmark is Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer), a 130-foot statue of Christ set atop a mountain overlooking the entire city. If you look up from almost anywhere in the city you can see it in the distance.
We rode to the top of the mountain in a taxi, as the train that usually runs up there “ran out of energy” that day (apparently Newton’s laws don’t work everyday in Brazil). Once at the top, you see the big man himself as well as all the idiots taking photos like this:
All the idiots…
Jesus Christ, what an amazing statue.
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One day while exploring the variety of unique neighborhoods in Rio, we found ourselves in Lapa, which features the Lapa Stairs. They don’t look like much when viewed from above:
But from below they look pretty nice decorated with lots of colorful tiles.
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One morning we hopped into this cool Land Rover…
…and drove to the top of this mountain…
…saw this ramp overlooking the city and water…
…and then jumped off of it.
Travel Journal: Ushuaia
December 18th, 2011Hello from the southernmost city in the world!
We arrived here in Ushuaia and were ecstatic to hear that our booking company found us another Antarctica cruise. This was extremely exciting news, especially since our new cruise runs close to the same days as our original one. Our new ship is named the Ushuaia (creative, huh) and it’s a smaller boat, with a capacity of 88. But we’re still embarking/disembarking from Ushuaia, still going for ten days, and most importantly still planning for lots of penguins.
The city of Ushuaia is a small, peaceful town and a nice change from the big cities we’ve already been on this trip. Its main role is to act as the key access point for the South Atlantic and Antarctica. Here is a view of part of the port, at 11pm. Incidentally it stays light outside until about 11:30pm, which confuses my simple mind.
Looking down on the town during the day:
Because Ushuaia is the southernmost city in the world, there are many other records being set here on a daily basis. Here is a sampling.
This is the southernmost beer produced in the world:
This is the southernmost Goodyear shop in the world:
This is the southernmost haircut in the world:
This is the southernmost restaurant sign insulting your mother in the world:
And this is the southernmost conversation with a penguin in the world:
It certainly is exciting to witness such milestones.
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(To anyone at a certain southern California cath conference…you’re welcome.)
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OK peoples, I’m off to Antarctica tomorrow. There is no internet aboard the ship, so I’ll talk to you if/when I return!