From Aug 31st to Sept 15th I will be unreachable, as I will be on board the Ital Oceano, a freighter traveling from Savannah, Georgia, to Taranto, Italy. Reactions to this news have run the gauntlet.
“WHAT!?!?!?!” was the common response.
“That’s terrific! You’re going to have such a great time!” sometimes followed.
“Oh my god, you’ll be bored out of your mind!” was the other most common follow-up.
In polling my friends, about half of them thought I was crazy. The other half though I was crazy too, but wanted to hear all about it.
The normal conventions of travel do not exist as surprises pop up at every turn of the whole process. For instance, my ticket was printed in German. Regarding luggage, I was told “Take only as much as you can carry. It is 1-2 miles from the terminal to your ship and you’ll have to walk.” “Oh, and by the way, your Antwerp trip was canceled. But we can rebook you to Italy”.
Friends would hear me talk about this and exclaim with amazement that I was still interested in going.
“But its two weeks of peace and quiet,” I would argue. “No internet, no cell phone.”
“I would rather go to a beach and turn off my cell phone,” they would counter.
“Do you get sea sick?” they would inquire.
“I don’t think so. I’ve never been motion sick before.”
“But you realize it will be hurricane season?”
“Aren’t you worried about pirates?” some would ask.
“Uh, no? They are more of an issue off the coasts of Nigeria and Somalia. I’m going through the Straight of Gibraltar.”
“Dude – do you also go through the Bermuda Triangle?”
“Um…yes?”
So here I am, the day before boarding. Truth be told, I am a tad nervous – no one has told me what language the crew speaks. I wonder if I brought enough books. Whatever happens, it is sure to be an adventure.
http://www.vesseltracker.com/en/Ships/Ital-Oceano-9300984.html
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Roadtrip Second Half Report
There is a popular map of the world that NASA publishes of the entire world at night. You can see the outlines of the continents as cities light up the darkened earth. Upon close inspection of the USA, there is a distinct line in the middle of the country. If you look east, there are large clusters of lights next to large clusters of lights. If you look west, there are sporadic pinpoints, until the solid sheet of light that makes up the California coast. There are not many people in this middle area that make up the Great Plains and the Rocky Mountains. This was the second part of the road trip.
The rural nature is obvious. Kadoka, SD, the closest large town to the South Dakota Badlands has a whopping 5 hotels. Gas stations on the interstate are separated by 40 miles or more. You’d think you couldn’t get any smaller, but then you hit Lost Spring, Wyoming, population 1. Yes, one, lone person. Literally, you miss it in a blink as it is merely a sign next to a house. One can only imagine what sort of industry can be sustained by a population of 1. In fact, the population itself isn’t even stable. It needs at least two.
Some small cities are able to profit on being a tourist trap. Wall, SD is one of these places. The world’s largest drug store is in Wall, covering a city block. But when you walk in, you quickly realize that this is no ordinary drug store. A robotic T-Rex next to the gem sluice roars as you walk to the restrooms. Billboards advertising for Wall Drug start all the way in Minnesota, and there are subsequent ones at least every ten miles. The first few billboards scream of “tourist trap!” especially when they tout their media exposure on Oprah. But when that is all you see for the next 300 miles, you wonder, “is that all that’s out here?” By the time you reach Wall, you feel obligated to at least stop in and take a look at the Western Orchestra, made out of wax figurines. If you’re wondering, yes, they will fill your prescriptions too.
The Bonneville Salt Flat was eerie. It was flat and white. In most of my travels, I have visited cities or natural parks that have some topology – mountains, trees, lakes, valleys. The salt flats are formed when large deposits of salt water evaporate, leaving behind miles and miles of salt that follows the natural curvature of the earth. Even Kansas, scientifically proven to be flatter than a pancake, cannot compare to the pure flatness of the salt flats. It is white for as far as the eye can see. The salt crystals are huge, formed in its natural environment. But what makes it eerie is that it is dead. Death Valley, by its namesake, is dead, but every year, after a spring shower, wild flowers shoot up for a few short weeks and spread their seeds before succumbing to the brutal environment. Death Valley is called that because life does not usually grow. But nothing can grow on salt. The flats are eerie because there is no choice for life.
What amazes me the most about America is the amazing extremes the country has to offer. Twenty-four hours after the salt flats, I drove through the San Joachim Valley of California, home to some of the best fruit crops. At the Casa De Fruta store, there were dried mangos, kiwis, strawberries, cherries, apricots, along with a dozen different nuts roasted a dozen different ways, such as tequila walnuts, chili pistachios, and guacamole almonds. But be careful. This too is a tourist trap. After being welcomed by the parking lot peacock, you can go to Casa de Restaurant for meals, Casa de Sweets for candy, and Casa de Choo Choo for the kid that lives in all of us.
Thus I arrived at my destination, having visited majestic mountains and urban jungles, harsh deserts and fertile farmlands. I feel rested and full of memories of people, places and things. My favorite moment was staring at the sky in the Grand Tetons, seeing the Milky Way and thinking how we are being whipped around the galactic core at thousands of miles per second and the only thing keeping us from flying off into oblivion is a force called gravity. Then I fell asleep. My friends along the route, thank you for your hospitality; my country, thank you for sharing your beauty; and my car, thank you for not overheating.
The rural nature is obvious. Kadoka, SD, the closest large town to the South Dakota Badlands has a whopping 5 hotels. Gas stations on the interstate are separated by 40 miles or more. You’d think you couldn’t get any smaller, but then you hit Lost Spring, Wyoming, population 1. Yes, one, lone person. Literally, you miss it in a blink as it is merely a sign next to a house. One can only imagine what sort of industry can be sustained by a population of 1. In fact, the population itself isn’t even stable. It needs at least two.
Some small cities are able to profit on being a tourist trap. Wall, SD is one of these places. The world’s largest drug store is in Wall, covering a city block. But when you walk in, you quickly realize that this is no ordinary drug store. A robotic T-Rex next to the gem sluice roars as you walk to the restrooms. Billboards advertising for Wall Drug start all the way in Minnesota, and there are subsequent ones at least every ten miles. The first few billboards scream of “tourist trap!” especially when they tout their media exposure on Oprah. But when that is all you see for the next 300 miles, you wonder, “is that all that’s out here?” By the time you reach Wall, you feel obligated to at least stop in and take a look at the Western Orchestra, made out of wax figurines. If you’re wondering, yes, they will fill your prescriptions too.
The Bonneville Salt Flat was eerie. It was flat and white. In most of my travels, I have visited cities or natural parks that have some topology – mountains, trees, lakes, valleys. The salt flats are formed when large deposits of salt water evaporate, leaving behind miles and miles of salt that follows the natural curvature of the earth. Even Kansas, scientifically proven to be flatter than a pancake, cannot compare to the pure flatness of the salt flats. It is white for as far as the eye can see. The salt crystals are huge, formed in its natural environment. But what makes it eerie is that it is dead. Death Valley, by its namesake, is dead, but every year, after a spring shower, wild flowers shoot up for a few short weeks and spread their seeds before succumbing to the brutal environment. Death Valley is called that because life does not usually grow. But nothing can grow on salt. The flats are eerie because there is no choice for life.
What amazes me the most about America is the amazing extremes the country has to offer. Twenty-four hours after the salt flats, I drove through the San Joachim Valley of California, home to some of the best fruit crops. At the Casa De Fruta store, there were dried mangos, kiwis, strawberries, cherries, apricots, along with a dozen different nuts roasted a dozen different ways, such as tequila walnuts, chili pistachios, and guacamole almonds. But be careful. This too is a tourist trap. After being welcomed by the parking lot peacock, you can go to Casa de Restaurant for meals, Casa de Sweets for candy, and Casa de Choo Choo for the kid that lives in all of us.
Thus I arrived at my destination, having visited majestic mountains and urban jungles, harsh deserts and fertile farmlands. I feel rested and full of memories of people, places and things. My favorite moment was staring at the sky in the Grand Tetons, seeing the Milky Way and thinking how we are being whipped around the galactic core at thousands of miles per second and the only thing keeping us from flying off into oblivion is a force called gravity. Then I fell asleep. My friends along the route, thank you for your hospitality; my country, thank you for sharing your beauty; and my car, thank you for not overheating.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Hiking in the Grand Teton National Forest
Dave and I were finally going to be climbing Jackson Peak in the Teton National Forest in Wyoming. This 10,700 peak is south of the national park and gives a grand view of the mountains in the horizon and the valley and buttes below. From a distance, you could see snow on parts of the mountain through the rugged terrain. Our plan was simple. On the first day, we would climb up to Goodwin Lake at 9000 feet and set up camp. From there, we would take the second day to summit the peak at 10,700.
To guide us through the harrowing journey, we hired a local sherpa, Dawa, to lead the expedition. He had safely taken many people up to the summit before and we felt confident that he would be able to lead us safely. He spent much time warning us of the dangers of what we were attempting, but we were determined. After agreeing to help us, Dawa rounded up an expedition of 10 men along with a full complement of horses and mules. He purchased nearly 2 weeks worth of food and supplies, including fresh basil for cooking and a glockenspiel for the evening’s entertainment. Confident that we had everything we need, we set off on the journey.
As we started off on our hike, tragedy struck. One of our horses was not shoed properly and quickly lost her footing on the rocky path. She fell over and was in no condition to continue. Determined to overlook this temporary setback, we set off on our journey. Two long hours later, we arrived in a daze at the Goodwin Lake campsite. The first part of the journey was much more difficult than any of us could have anticipated. A wandering bear had attacked our group and took out two sherpas before we were able to subdue it with the most blunt of force. They were the masseuse sherpas for we had hoped to rest our aching muscles at base camp that night. Along with them went a few of the horses that carried scented perfumes and oils. The odor of the broken bottles attracted a herd of attack chipmunks that crossed our path. There were too many of these little pests such that our machetes were of no use. Dawa commanded us to out-run them and so the crew took off on a sprint. When we stopped to catch our breath, we found that 3 sherpas lost their nerves and ran back to the starting point, 4 were still with us, and one was unaccounted for. Animalwise, we had lost a total of four mules and two more horses.
Goodwin Lake, named for its discoverer, Goodwin, appears calm on the surface. Its crystal clear water flows from snowmelt in surrounding mountains. Nestled between several hills, it is protected from the harsh winds and is somewhat of a sanctuary in the wilderness. The pine trees grow calmly and quietly and reflect in the water below. As the sun set, the surrounding hills turned deep red and the sky turned an ominous blue. As night set in, we sat outside, staring at the Milky Way and surrounding visible stars, clear of air pollution and light pollution. Dawa, playing the glockenspiel, brooded about the hike. “This not right. Stars is not right. Wind is not right. Trouble for climb tomorrow. Better rest well tonight.” He then got up and went into his tent and left us with a haunted feeling that maybe we were over our head in what we could handle.
The next day, we awoke to two more horses missing. When we questioned Dawa, he quickly said, “Never mind horses! We need to get moving before worse happen!” Up and up we went, hiking through forests, scaling boulders and occasionally passing though patches of snow. Every once and awhile, we would take a rest in a meadow before continuing our upward trek. It was a strenuous hike – one of the sherpas collapsed in exhaustion and slid down a rocky side of the mountain.
The scene was beautiful. Across the low-lying valley, the snow covered Grand Teton mountains rose majestically in the distance. Clouds hung effortlessly above us and were close enough that you could seemingly touch them in the next mountain range. Green meadows, pine trees, snow and rocks littered the surrounding mountains to make a beautiful collage of colors and textures. Words can describe the world as it unfolded to us but it cannot capture the emotive beauty of the moment. As we looked around, we saw Goodwin Lake from above and understood the reason for Dawa’s haste in leaving in the early morning. There was a giant eel-like creature swimming in circles. What had looked like gnarled tree branches were in actuality digested bone fragments form this horrible creature!
When we returned to camp, we understood what happened to the animals last night. Dawa had left them tied up next to the lake as an offering, hoping to satiate the lake monster such that it would leave us alone. Tonight, we helped Dawa and his crew perform the same gruesome task. We only had two horses left, but Dawa was adamant. “Tie both next to lake!” he demanded. “Better them than us!” We went to bed fearful of any sound that came out of the woods.
The next morning at sunrise, we were awoken with a “whoosh” off in the distance. Dawa ran out from his tent to the lake just in time to see the tail of the giant eel disappear into the lake. The horses were nowhere to be seen. Dawa ran back to camp. “Quickly! Leave now! Monster feeds in the morning!” We immediately began to break down the tents and put away our gear. Fear was in the eyes of our remaining Sherpas. “No more time! Must leave now!” Dawa yelled. We took what we had put into our packs and ran off on foot as fast as we could. As we approached the trail near the lake, we saw two giant eyes looking at us and we took off on a sprint. Behind us, we could hear the yell of two of our sherpas that lagged behind a bit too long and a few more seconds later, silence, except for the crackling of branches below our feet.
Dawa, Dave and I, the only three left on the expedition, slowed down to catch our breath once we were a good distance from the lake. “Good job”, said Dawa, huffing and puffing, more tired than we’ve seen him this entire journey. “I have seen that monster eye to eye many times. Each time he scares me. Do not tempt monster.” We were proud that we performed so well in the face of such danger. We stumbled the rest of the way down the hill. Just as we were about to turn around the clearing to where the car was parked, Dawa collapsed.
“Dawa!” I exclaimed. “You cannot stop now! We are almost at the car! You can almost see it from here!”
1301
1505
Dawa shook his head as I held his hands. “It is too late for me. I have seen it in the creature’s eyes. He had claimed me. It is my time to go.”
“Dawa! No!”
But it was too late. With one last nod, his head ceased to move and his body became a lifeless mass.
Somberly, Dave and I made it the rest of the way to the car with no problems. As we drove off down from the parking lot, we could not but think back and remember our brave sherpa guide, his crew of able-bodied men, and the spectacular views and scenery that unfolded before our eyes. Photos can only act as memory beads to the weekend’s events. And for as long as I live, I shall never be able to look at a glockenspiel without remembering this story.
A suspiciously calm looking Goodwin lake. Who knew danger lurked below?
The Grand Tetons mountain range as seen from Jackson Peak, a treacherous hike.
To guide us through the harrowing journey, we hired a local sherpa, Dawa, to lead the expedition. He had safely taken many people up to the summit before and we felt confident that he would be able to lead us safely. He spent much time warning us of the dangers of what we were attempting, but we were determined. After agreeing to help us, Dawa rounded up an expedition of 10 men along with a full complement of horses and mules. He purchased nearly 2 weeks worth of food and supplies, including fresh basil for cooking and a glockenspiel for the evening’s entertainment. Confident that we had everything we need, we set off on the journey.
As we started off on our hike, tragedy struck. One of our horses was not shoed properly and quickly lost her footing on the rocky path. She fell over and was in no condition to continue. Determined to overlook this temporary setback, we set off on our journey. Two long hours later, we arrived in a daze at the Goodwin Lake campsite. The first part of the journey was much more difficult than any of us could have anticipated. A wandering bear had attacked our group and took out two sherpas before we were able to subdue it with the most blunt of force. They were the masseuse sherpas for we had hoped to rest our aching muscles at base camp that night. Along with them went a few of the horses that carried scented perfumes and oils. The odor of the broken bottles attracted a herd of attack chipmunks that crossed our path. There were too many of these little pests such that our machetes were of no use. Dawa commanded us to out-run them and so the crew took off on a sprint. When we stopped to catch our breath, we found that 3 sherpas lost their nerves and ran back to the starting point, 4 were still with us, and one was unaccounted for. Animalwise, we had lost a total of four mules and two more horses.
Goodwin Lake, named for its discoverer, Goodwin, appears calm on the surface. Its crystal clear water flows from snowmelt in surrounding mountains. Nestled between several hills, it is protected from the harsh winds and is somewhat of a sanctuary in the wilderness. The pine trees grow calmly and quietly and reflect in the water below. As the sun set, the surrounding hills turned deep red and the sky turned an ominous blue. As night set in, we sat outside, staring at the Milky Way and surrounding visible stars, clear of air pollution and light pollution. Dawa, playing the glockenspiel, brooded about the hike. “This not right. Stars is not right. Wind is not right. Trouble for climb tomorrow. Better rest well tonight.” He then got up and went into his tent and left us with a haunted feeling that maybe we were over our head in what we could handle.
The next day, we awoke to two more horses missing. When we questioned Dawa, he quickly said, “Never mind horses! We need to get moving before worse happen!” Up and up we went, hiking through forests, scaling boulders and occasionally passing though patches of snow. Every once and awhile, we would take a rest in a meadow before continuing our upward trek. It was a strenuous hike – one of the sherpas collapsed in exhaustion and slid down a rocky side of the mountain.
The scene was beautiful. Across the low-lying valley, the snow covered Grand Teton mountains rose majestically in the distance. Clouds hung effortlessly above us and were close enough that you could seemingly touch them in the next mountain range. Green meadows, pine trees, snow and rocks littered the surrounding mountains to make a beautiful collage of colors and textures. Words can describe the world as it unfolded to us but it cannot capture the emotive beauty of the moment. As we looked around, we saw Goodwin Lake from above and understood the reason for Dawa’s haste in leaving in the early morning. There was a giant eel-like creature swimming in circles. What had looked like gnarled tree branches were in actuality digested bone fragments form this horrible creature!
When we returned to camp, we understood what happened to the animals last night. Dawa had left them tied up next to the lake as an offering, hoping to satiate the lake monster such that it would leave us alone. Tonight, we helped Dawa and his crew perform the same gruesome task. We only had two horses left, but Dawa was adamant. “Tie both next to lake!” he demanded. “Better them than us!” We went to bed fearful of any sound that came out of the woods.
The next morning at sunrise, we were awoken with a “whoosh” off in the distance. Dawa ran out from his tent to the lake just in time to see the tail of the giant eel disappear into the lake. The horses were nowhere to be seen. Dawa ran back to camp. “Quickly! Leave now! Monster feeds in the morning!” We immediately began to break down the tents and put away our gear. Fear was in the eyes of our remaining Sherpas. “No more time! Must leave now!” Dawa yelled. We took what we had put into our packs and ran off on foot as fast as we could. As we approached the trail near the lake, we saw two giant eyes looking at us and we took off on a sprint. Behind us, we could hear the yell of two of our sherpas that lagged behind a bit too long and a few more seconds later, silence, except for the crackling of branches below our feet.
Dawa, Dave and I, the only three left on the expedition, slowed down to catch our breath once we were a good distance from the lake. “Good job”, said Dawa, huffing and puffing, more tired than we’ve seen him this entire journey. “I have seen that monster eye to eye many times. Each time he scares me. Do not tempt monster.” We were proud that we performed so well in the face of such danger. We stumbled the rest of the way down the hill. Just as we were about to turn around the clearing to where the car was parked, Dawa collapsed.
“Dawa!” I exclaimed. “You cannot stop now! We are almost at the car! You can almost see it from here!”
1301
1505
Dawa shook his head as I held his hands. “It is too late for me. I have seen it in the creature’s eyes. He had claimed me. It is my time to go.”
“Dawa! No!”
But it was too late. With one last nod, his head ceased to move and his body became a lifeless mass.
Somberly, Dave and I made it the rest of the way to the car with no problems. As we drove off down from the parking lot, we could not but think back and remember our brave sherpa guide, his crew of able-bodied men, and the spectacular views and scenery that unfolded before our eyes. Photos can only act as memory beads to the weekend’s events. And for as long as I live, I shall never be able to look at a glockenspiel without remembering this story.
A suspiciously calm looking Goodwin lake. Who knew danger lurked below?
The Grand Tetons mountain range as seen from Jackson Peak, a treacherous hike.Monday, August 04, 2008
Canvas in the Sky
Brush strokes of orange, red, purple and made up the clouds while the dark silhouette of the distant hills provided the horizon. The sky itself became vivid red for a moment and reflected itself onto the dark green grassland below. All around, the crickets chirped their approval, the horseflies buzzed with excitement and the mosquitoes … feasted. Dave and I were at the world’s largest 4-D IMAX Theater and boy, were we treated to a show.
I picked up my housemate Dave at the Minneapolis - St. Paul airport halfway through my trek across the northern part of America. We went to the Mall of America in Minneapolis for lunch, which was merely one exit away on the highway. It is the world’s largest mall and it feels like a fantasy world, to wander through the labyrinth of halls, walkways and staircases. Its size and scope is apparent by the full—fledged amusement park in the center of the mall and the food courts. Yes, “courts”. There are multiple.
But we had quite a bit of a drive to get to the world’s largest 4-D IMAX. The Badlands National Park is about a 8 hour drive away without stops in the southwestern corner of South Dakota. Hours and hours of passed of corn growing on rolling hills, prairies, and truck stops finally brought us to the entrance gate. From the visitor’s center, it took about another hour of driving through winding paved and dirt roads before we reached a suitable overlook. We then donned our packs and headed off into the grassland below, climbing over rocks, buttes and ravines.
The Badlands are a unique place to go hiking. Most of the park is grassland so there is no point in building trails. The buttes are also free to climb, being of dry clay formations. Furthermore, buffalos roam freely and climb whatever butte they want. Buttes, by the way, are a geological formation where a higher ground erodes away into a lower ground. Sometimes, the erosion does not happen uniformly and jutted figures form at the points of slow erosion. Over time, the valley itself sinks so much that the buttes become veritable hills.
We walked for an hour south of our parked car. Every time we moved through the knee-deep grass, herds of crickets would jump in front of us as we disturbed their environment. We could not move too fast, as there were bison hoof tracks that were big and deep enough to twist your ankle, should you step in the wrong place. The grass was also littered with bison pies the size of your head. Eventually, we arrived at a spot nestled between two ranges of buttes and set up camp.
As we ate our dinner, the show started. The sky turned dark blue and the clouds became fiery red. Along the periphery, purple clouds shown down to the clay hills turning them reddish purple. Behind us, the orange sun only accentuated the red striations in eroded earth. We sat there in the evening breeze happily snapping photo after photo as the scenes evolved around us. When the sky finally became dark, the sky became littered with stars, satellites, and meteors. All the while, the crickets chirped, the horseflies buzzed, and the mosquitoes…feasted.
I picked up my housemate Dave at the Minneapolis - St. Paul airport halfway through my trek across the northern part of America. We went to the Mall of America in Minneapolis for lunch, which was merely one exit away on the highway. It is the world’s largest mall and it feels like a fantasy world, to wander through the labyrinth of halls, walkways and staircases. Its size and scope is apparent by the full—fledged amusement park in the center of the mall and the food courts. Yes, “courts”. There are multiple.
But we had quite a bit of a drive to get to the world’s largest 4-D IMAX. The Badlands National Park is about a 8 hour drive away without stops in the southwestern corner of South Dakota. Hours and hours of passed of corn growing on rolling hills, prairies, and truck stops finally brought us to the entrance gate. From the visitor’s center, it took about another hour of driving through winding paved and dirt roads before we reached a suitable overlook. We then donned our packs and headed off into the grassland below, climbing over rocks, buttes and ravines.
The Badlands are a unique place to go hiking. Most of the park is grassland so there is no point in building trails. The buttes are also free to climb, being of dry clay formations. Furthermore, buffalos roam freely and climb whatever butte they want. Buttes, by the way, are a geological formation where a higher ground erodes away into a lower ground. Sometimes, the erosion does not happen uniformly and jutted figures form at the points of slow erosion. Over time, the valley itself sinks so much that the buttes become veritable hills.
We walked for an hour south of our parked car. Every time we moved through the knee-deep grass, herds of crickets would jump in front of us as we disturbed their environment. We could not move too fast, as there were bison hoof tracks that were big and deep enough to twist your ankle, should you step in the wrong place. The grass was also littered with bison pies the size of your head. Eventually, we arrived at a spot nestled between two ranges of buttes and set up camp.
As we ate our dinner, the show started. The sky turned dark blue and the clouds became fiery red. Along the periphery, purple clouds shown down to the clay hills turning them reddish purple. Behind us, the orange sun only accentuated the red striations in eroded earth. We sat there in the evening breeze happily snapping photo after photo as the scenes evolved around us. When the sky finally became dark, the sky became littered with stars, satellites, and meteors. All the while, the crickets chirped, the horseflies buzzed, and the mosquitoes…feasted.
Monday, July 28, 2008
The Roadtrip Half-Time Report
Road trips can be the exemplar studies of random spontaneity. Nothing can be more random and cause a more spontaneous reaction than the I Love Lucy Museum in her hometown, Jamestown NY. What are you supposed to do, dear reader, when you are confronted with a billboard-sized face of our favorite red-head with the printed imperative “Exit Now!” Yes, it did put me two hours behind on the already long leg from Ithaca, NY to Lexington, KY, but it was worth it. I Love Lucy paraphernalia is readily available in any major tourist attraction, but this was the mother-lode. In fact, you couldn’t buy anything without her likeliness, be it cup, dish, t-shirt or underwear.
Ohio was the most aromatic of states. In driving through the north, you could smell sweet corn as they ripened on the stalk. In passing by Columbus, the capital, you could smell the landfill as the refuse stink wafted over the interstate. And as you got close to the Kentucky border, horse and cow manure permeated the air. The second place winner was Wisconsin, when the interstate weaved right by a mint farm.
In America, we have these people called “presidents” and we like to build statues after their names. One of these statues resides in Cincinnati in Garfield Square, named for James A. Garfield, the 18th president. This reminds me: have you ever heard of the comic strip Garfield minus Garfield (http://garfieldminusgarfield.net/)? Apparently, if you remove the cat Garfield completely from the strip, it becomes surreal yet incredibly funny in it's own right. Imagine what the USA would have been like if we did not have President Garfield. Coincidentally, President Garfield was assassinated 8 months into his administration. Surreal, isn’t it?
The American Diner is a fine example of the ingenuity it took to standardize food quality across the thousands of miles of roads that make up American highways. In order to meet the difficulties in supply, the foods are made from goods that were readily available across the country, such as eggs, beef and potatoes. In order to satisfy even the pickiest eaters, the dishes are filling yet inoffensive in smell and taste. In order to standardize cooking practices, skillets and deep fryers are the only cooking methods allowed. In essence, everything must be fried to a standard blandness.
In that regard, the Taco Salad I had for lunch was a smashing success. The diner succeeded in not only making a salad into fried grease ball, but they also succeeded in removing the spicy pectins from a Jalapeno pepper. The lettuce was crunchy, tasteless and full of water. Imagine my surprise when I realized that, half way through the salad, that the tomatoes did not have their tartness. They were so bland that I did not even know they were in the salad until I found one while picking at my food.
In Indiana, the most popular billboard advertisement was for billboard advertising space.
In Wisconsin, I got stung by a mosquito. Normally this is not anything to write home about, but in this particular time, I got stung on my right hand ring finger, right next to my Brass Rat. I went to bed not thinking anything of it, but I woke up the next morning with the ring constricting the swollen finger and I could not budge it over the now swollen knuckle. Taking a page from the MacGyver textbook, I recalled an episode where he escaped from being tied down by using water as a lubricant. I went into the shower, soaped up my finger, and painfully pulled the ring off.
That’s it for now. More stories to come.
Ohio was the most aromatic of states. In driving through the north, you could smell sweet corn as they ripened on the stalk. In passing by Columbus, the capital, you could smell the landfill as the refuse stink wafted over the interstate. And as you got close to the Kentucky border, horse and cow manure permeated the air. The second place winner was Wisconsin, when the interstate weaved right by a mint farm.
In America, we have these people called “presidents” and we like to build statues after their names. One of these statues resides in Cincinnati in Garfield Square, named for James A. Garfield, the 18th president. This reminds me: have you ever heard of the comic strip Garfield minus Garfield (http://garfieldminusgarfield.net/)? Apparently, if you remove the cat Garfield completely from the strip, it becomes surreal yet incredibly funny in it's own right. Imagine what the USA would have been like if we did not have President Garfield. Coincidentally, President Garfield was assassinated 8 months into his administration. Surreal, isn’t it?
The American Diner is a fine example of the ingenuity it took to standardize food quality across the thousands of miles of roads that make up American highways. In order to meet the difficulties in supply, the foods are made from goods that were readily available across the country, such as eggs, beef and potatoes. In order to satisfy even the pickiest eaters, the dishes are filling yet inoffensive in smell and taste. In order to standardize cooking practices, skillets and deep fryers are the only cooking methods allowed. In essence, everything must be fried to a standard blandness.
In that regard, the Taco Salad I had for lunch was a smashing success. The diner succeeded in not only making a salad into fried grease ball, but they also succeeded in removing the spicy pectins from a Jalapeno pepper. The lettuce was crunchy, tasteless and full of water. Imagine my surprise when I realized that, half way through the salad, that the tomatoes did not have their tartness. They were so bland that I did not even know they were in the salad until I found one while picking at my food.
In Indiana, the most popular billboard advertisement was for billboard advertising space.
In Wisconsin, I got stung by a mosquito. Normally this is not anything to write home about, but in this particular time, I got stung on my right hand ring finger, right next to my Brass Rat. I went to bed not thinking anything of it, but I woke up the next morning with the ring constricting the swollen finger and I could not budge it over the now swollen knuckle. Taking a page from the MacGyver textbook, I recalled an episode where he escaped from being tied down by using water as a lubricant. I went into the shower, soaped up my finger, and painfully pulled the ring off.
That’s it for now. More stories to come.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Gambling with Postcards
I am at Hoosier Park in Indiana. It is a racetrack and casino, popular with many of the locals. I am sitting at the roulette table watching the ball go round and round. Occasionally, I would glance haphazardly around the room and see people forgetting their worries and having the time of their lives smoking, drinking, and losing money. I too, lose myself in the momentary rush of a spin and forget my misery, for I could not find a postcard.
Let me explain. I have an obsession with postcard. Ever since high school, I have bought a postcard at every place I’ve ever visited. This has created a nice collection of travel logs of different places I’ve been and things I’ve done. On the other hand, it has also caused me undue stress when a postcard cannot be found. This happened once in Houston – I did not get a chance to buy a postcard and to this day, there is a place-holder for it for it in my postcard album.
The day before, I arrived in Cincinnati too late to be able to visit the touristy areas. The museums had closed and I figured that I would have the next morning to find one. However, my host lived north of the city and since I was northward bound, it did not make sense to pay for a parking space in the city just for a postcard. After breakfast, I left in the direction of Indiana, thinking that I could pick up a postcard at some attraction on the way, or at, the very least, a gas station.
As it turns out, Cincinnati is merely 20 miles away from the border, and when I got on the interstate, I realized the shortness of time and distance I had to accomplish this mission. I stopped at the first gas station, having to fill up my tank anyways, and entered into the travel mart. No postcard. I feigned as if I needed the men’s room, used the facilities, and left. There were several more exits before the border, so I drove to the next gas station and walked in. No postcard. I had already used the men’s room, so I bought a bag of potato chips. At the next stop, I still had no luck. I thought to myself, “What are the chances that no gas station between Cincinnati and Indiana will sell postcards?” Five bags of potato chips, two Twinkies and a Gatorade later, I concluded “100%”.
After crossing the border into Indiana, I decided to change tactics. Instead of stopping at every gas station, I would stop at the first tourist attraction and go to the gift shop. Thus I ended up at the Hoosier Park Racetrack and Casino. I walk into the smoked filled room, made my way around islands of flashing slot machines and while inundated with background racket beeps and clanks. The room was filled with sad and miserable people, gambling their hard earned cash away in the hopes of something better. Retirees attached to oxygen machines stared intently at the slot machines praying for their jackpot. The gift shop too, was depressingly small and although there was a large selection of “Get Well Soon!” cards, there was not a single postcard. Dejected, I sat down at the Roulette table. I anted my postcard budget and joined the masses in forgetting my troubles.
I lamented this story to my friend whom I was visiting in Culver, Indiana. She cheerfully replied, “Well, Culver may be a small town, but I do know the hardware store sells postcards. In fact, I bought one last week there!” Happily, we walked to the hardware store that served the town of 7000. When we arrived, we saw a container marked “Postcards: $1.00” - empty. We questioned the owner of the store and he confirmed that not only were they completely out, but he had just sold the last one only moments ago. Seeing my crushed look, he quickly added, “But you can go down the street to the Poet and Painter. They sell postcards.” We made a beeline to the store and sure enough, there was quite a nice selection. I was happier than an ant in a sugar factory.
I bought 7 and put my roulette winnings to good use too.
Let me explain. I have an obsession with postcard. Ever since high school, I have bought a postcard at every place I’ve ever visited. This has created a nice collection of travel logs of different places I’ve been and things I’ve done. On the other hand, it has also caused me undue stress when a postcard cannot be found. This happened once in Houston – I did not get a chance to buy a postcard and to this day, there is a place-holder for it for it in my postcard album.
The day before, I arrived in Cincinnati too late to be able to visit the touristy areas. The museums had closed and I figured that I would have the next morning to find one. However, my host lived north of the city and since I was northward bound, it did not make sense to pay for a parking space in the city just for a postcard. After breakfast, I left in the direction of Indiana, thinking that I could pick up a postcard at some attraction on the way, or at, the very least, a gas station.
As it turns out, Cincinnati is merely 20 miles away from the border, and when I got on the interstate, I realized the shortness of time and distance I had to accomplish this mission. I stopped at the first gas station, having to fill up my tank anyways, and entered into the travel mart. No postcard. I feigned as if I needed the men’s room, used the facilities, and left. There were several more exits before the border, so I drove to the next gas station and walked in. No postcard. I had already used the men’s room, so I bought a bag of potato chips. At the next stop, I still had no luck. I thought to myself, “What are the chances that no gas station between Cincinnati and Indiana will sell postcards?” Five bags of potato chips, two Twinkies and a Gatorade later, I concluded “100%”.
After crossing the border into Indiana, I decided to change tactics. Instead of stopping at every gas station, I would stop at the first tourist attraction and go to the gift shop. Thus I ended up at the Hoosier Park Racetrack and Casino. I walk into the smoked filled room, made my way around islands of flashing slot machines and while inundated with background racket beeps and clanks. The room was filled with sad and miserable people, gambling their hard earned cash away in the hopes of something better. Retirees attached to oxygen machines stared intently at the slot machines praying for their jackpot. The gift shop too, was depressingly small and although there was a large selection of “Get Well Soon!” cards, there was not a single postcard. Dejected, I sat down at the Roulette table. I anted my postcard budget and joined the masses in forgetting my troubles.
I lamented this story to my friend whom I was visiting in Culver, Indiana. She cheerfully replied, “Well, Culver may be a small town, but I do know the hardware store sells postcards. In fact, I bought one last week there!” Happily, we walked to the hardware store that served the town of 7000. When we arrived, we saw a container marked “Postcards: $1.00” - empty. We questioned the owner of the store and he confirmed that not only were they completely out, but he had just sold the last one only moments ago. Seeing my crushed look, he quickly added, “But you can go down the street to the Poet and Painter. They sell postcards.” We made a beeline to the store and sure enough, there was quite a nice selection. I was happier than an ant in a sugar factory.
I bought 7 and put my roulette winnings to good use too.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
87600 Hours in Boston
Boston is a great place to visit. It is a historic city, with roots from before the revolutionary war. Its neighborhoods are quaint and each has a distinct atmosphere and personality. Most people come for a weekend or a few weekdays. I would recommend 10 years as an ideal stay in order to really get to know the city and to be able to act like a local.
Where to stay:
You should try to get accommodations at one of the local colleges or universities. These accommodations are popular and deadlines for applications are typically in March for a September room. Your commitment to one of these accommodations is about 4 years, although some people like it so much they will extend their stay for several years. Amenities will vary, depending on the college, and depending on how long you’ve been at one. Prices range from expensive ($$$$ - Harvard, MIT, Boston University) to the economical ($ - Bunker Hill Community College). While there, you should take advantages of the free activities offered at these living communities, such as Introduction to Differential Equations, or The Opera and the Mind. Some will have state-of-the-art athletic facilities are available for general use, including Olympic-sized pools.
What to do:
The easiest way to find a job in Boston is to look on monster.com or careerbuilder.com. Many temp agencies also work in the area, such as Beacon Hill Staffing Group and the Professional Staffing Group. Jobs vary from simple but busy assistant positions all the way up to roller-coaster rides on the financial markets. Working for a living not for you? You can also make it as a well-paying bum. The local homeless are known by the street corner they frequent or the Dunkin’ Donuts they occupy. Boston is the only city I know where the obituary of a homeless man can make the front page of the newspaper.
Where to eat:
The cheapest place to eat in Boston is at a friend’s house. Befriend a whole bunch of people and invite yourself over to dinner on a rotating basis. Make sure that don’t go to any one person’s place more than once a month. Also make sure that your friends don’t know each other. This way, you can easily rotate trough many of them without being caught. Always make an offer to bring drinks and some recipe ideas so that it seems like you are contributing to the evening’s party.
Your stay in Boston will surely be memorable and you will find that you’ve may even feel like a local after a decade. You may find it difficult to leave. The best way to do so is to chain yourself to a tractor-trailer and not let yourself free until you reach Cincinnati. That way, it would be difficult to hitchhike back. Just make sure the tractor-trailer is a U-Haul, all of your belongings are inside, and you are in the driver’s seat. As you drive off into the sunset (literally), you can reminisce about close friends, fond memories and good times. And more than once, you might wish that the sun set in the east instead of the west, so that you didn’t have to be staring at it while driving on the highway.
Where to stay:
You should try to get accommodations at one of the local colleges or universities. These accommodations are popular and deadlines for applications are typically in March for a September room. Your commitment to one of these accommodations is about 4 years, although some people like it so much they will extend their stay for several years. Amenities will vary, depending on the college, and depending on how long you’ve been at one. Prices range from expensive ($$$$ - Harvard, MIT, Boston University) to the economical ($ - Bunker Hill Community College). While there, you should take advantages of the free activities offered at these living communities, such as Introduction to Differential Equations, or The Opera and the Mind. Some will have state-of-the-art athletic facilities are available for general use, including Olympic-sized pools.
What to do:
The easiest way to find a job in Boston is to look on monster.com or careerbuilder.com. Many temp agencies also work in the area, such as Beacon Hill Staffing Group and the Professional Staffing Group. Jobs vary from simple but busy assistant positions all the way up to roller-coaster rides on the financial markets. Working for a living not for you? You can also make it as a well-paying bum. The local homeless are known by the street corner they frequent or the Dunkin’ Donuts they occupy. Boston is the only city I know where the obituary of a homeless man can make the front page of the newspaper.
Where to eat:
The cheapest place to eat in Boston is at a friend’s house. Befriend a whole bunch of people and invite yourself over to dinner on a rotating basis. Make sure that don’t go to any one person’s place more than once a month. Also make sure that your friends don’t know each other. This way, you can easily rotate trough many of them without being caught. Always make an offer to bring drinks and some recipe ideas so that it seems like you are contributing to the evening’s party.
Your stay in Boston will surely be memorable and you will find that you’ve may even feel like a local after a decade. You may find it difficult to leave. The best way to do so is to chain yourself to a tractor-trailer and not let yourself free until you reach Cincinnati. That way, it would be difficult to hitchhike back. Just make sure the tractor-trailer is a U-Haul, all of your belongings are inside, and you are in the driver’s seat. As you drive off into the sunset (literally), you can reminisce about close friends, fond memories and good times. And more than once, you might wish that the sun set in the east instead of the west, so that you didn’t have to be staring at it while driving on the highway.
Goodbyes are not forever.
Goodbyes are not the end.
They simply mean I'll miss you
Until we meet again!
~Author Unknown
Goodbyes are not the end.
They simply mean I'll miss you
Until we meet again!
~Author Unknown
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