We reached Kota Kinabalu (locally known as KK), after five hours on the bus of undetermined ownership. Lots of bus travel in this part of the world - small vans, school busses, big “motorcoaches”, etc. – but they are all identified and labeled according to where they go instead of who they belong to. Instead of company name emblazoned on the side, you’ll see a list of three destinations that that particular bus probably services for the rest of its life.
The motorcoach that we traveled on offered a number of delights not obtainable on Greyhound:
- Beauteous blue satin curtains with fringes that add a certain Victorian je ne sais quoi to crawling through the Malaysian countryside at 20 mph.
- The chance to develop an iron bladder. We were happy we hadn’t been thirsty that morning. During our hours-long, bumpy journey, not once did we stop at a bathroom. Nor did anybody ask to get off or express discomfort.
- Pretending you are a car. When we crossed into the state of Sabah (which apparently doesn’t care that we officially entered Malaysia elsewhere; perhaps it has country aspirations), everybody had to get off the bus and stand in line for passport stamps and awkward questions about customs – in the line of cars. It’s great the vehicular traffic was heavy that day and they had to slow way down before the checkpoint! Imagine if, as you traveled I-95 on a bus, the bus pulled to the side of the highway before the toll, then made you get out, wander into traffic, and pay at the window yourself.
- A personal chaperone. Well, if you have to stand in traffic, it’s nice to have someone making sure you get back on the bus! Since we were curiosities at the border (being the only Americans that day), the officers processed us last, and we watched the other passengers board the bus far ahead of us. “Is the bus going to leave?” Laura asked several times. Gee, I hope not, since all our worldly possesions are on board! Everything was fine: once we got back on, the chaperone (who we thought was just an old guy who liked to sit on the floor at the front) did a head count and we were off. Without a bathroom break.
- Fresh food every 10 feet. As mentioned in the last post, food is paramount to successful bus travel, so if you’re in need of an ingredient, just ask the busdriver to stop at a promising stand.
- Personal service. What the bus lacked in punctuality, it more than made up in personal service. We stopped for many people standing beside the road – even, incredibly, those who just chatted a few moments through the open door, then never got on! - as well as making whistle stops for those on board. Decided you’re not going all the way to KK? Get off at this rural crossroads; the chaperone will even carry bags to your front porch!
Nonetheless, we did make it to KK that afternoon. After a tense morning wondering if we’d get anywhere close and how we could possibly avoid going back to the Bandar Seri Begawan (Brunei) Terrace Hotel.
To hearken backward for a moment, the Terrace Hotel was the right price. We didn’t see the giant spiders that some reported on Trip Advisor. The desk staff was helpful and had a good sense of humor (“Can I see the Sultan?” “Ha, ha, ha!!”) But our room smelled funny. What do people actually DO in their hotel rooms that makes them smell so bad? So many “budget” places do, and all with such uniquely awful miasmas. This one smells like someone threw up and the maid poured too much disinfectant on it. That one smells like they prepared a body before you arrived. This suite hosted a sewage sampling convention. If my house doesn’t smell bad, I think my hotel room should remain inoffensive, too, right?? What strange activities do others do in hotel rooms that they don’t do at home? Um, well, besides the obvious, but they must wash the sheets, right? Or did the last guests not throw the linens in the tub, signifying that they need washing?
Getting back on topic, the Terrace hallways were dark and ours contained a stained couch that I remarked on as we got off the elevator one day. “That thing is long past its decorative function and I’m sure nobody ever actually sits on it.” Well, wouldn’t you know it: the next time we get off the elevator, three guys are seated on it, sort of crammed together. And they’re all looking at us defiantly, probably for the innocuous reason that we surprised them by (ding!) arriving at their floor when only 3 rooms total were filled in the entire place. In the unique calculus of travel, not only do people really sit on the item you sneered at, they fit more individuals than you thought possible right after you made the remark!! In fact, those three guys probably were headed to their rooms when the ineluctably attractive couch sidetracked them. “Hey, let’s sit here and talk it over!” Or even “This is the same couch I have at home!”
But all that is behind us now as we head for the Nexus Hotel, having bargained the taxi driver down to half of what he wanted, then springing a surprise McDonald’s visit on him. We hadn’t had anything to eat since the night before, having unwisely spurned victuals that morning when we had the chance because it was too “early.” One thing we’ve learned from this trip: when you see food, eat it. Because you never know when you might see it again.
One more report to edit! I’ll post it in the next couple of days.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Coming Attractions!
We're home and still very jetlagged, but I do have several posts "in the can" that I need to edit. As promised, they contain that all important comparison between Malaysian and American bus service, without which one just can't choose intelligently. Sorry to temporize, but our internet connections were either unreliable or hideously expensive in Kota Kinabalu and Singapore! When I'm able to exist on DST in Philadelphia, I'll get back to you. At the moment, I'm meandering through the wilderness of some European time zone, though I'm heading in a generally eastern direction...
I am gratified at the number of people who have emailed me, called our house, asked Jeff or bothered my parents about when the next post would appear. Within two weeks of our departure, my email dwindled to almost nothing (well, several companies did want me to enlarge certain personal appendages) and I never got any comments on the blog itself, so I was unaware that my scribbling was at all diverting. Thanks!
I also will post pictures illustrating particularly notable moments - you don't want to miss Adam's sad sack drying out after its dunking in the Borneo river. You will, however, miss the lamentations that accompanied the photo. "Who knows WHAT could be in that river? My clothes will smell terrible! I could catch something!" Then the slow dawning of a wonderful result: "Hey, my schoolwork was in there!"
I am gratified at the number of people who have emailed me, called our house, asked Jeff or bothered my parents about when the next post would appear. Within two weeks of our departure, my email dwindled to almost nothing (well, several companies did want me to enlarge certain personal appendages) and I never got any comments on the blog itself, so I was unaware that my scribbling was at all diverting. Thanks!
I also will post pictures illustrating particularly notable moments - you don't want to miss Adam's sad sack drying out after its dunking in the Borneo river. You will, however, miss the lamentations that accompanied the photo. "Who knows WHAT could be in that river? My clothes will smell terrible! I could catch something!" Then the slow dawning of a wonderful result: "Hey, my schoolwork was in there!"
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
If You Want an Adventure, You Can Take the Ferry
When you think Brunei, what's the first thing that comes to mind? No, it's shouldn't be Dubai, though it sounds remarkably similar and both Dubai and Brunei made their bucks on oil. You think money, right? Lots of moolah.
It seems that Brunei doesn't have much of it anymore. The Sultan's brother, the finance minister, was like a kid in charge of a candy store. He went wild and spent billions on frivolous expenditures. Hotels in Beverly Hills, thousands of cars, airplanes, wives and dozens of kids. Worse, the Sultanate is embroiled in a meandering legal case to recover additional billions that just disappeared under little bro's watch. In sum, what we've seen of Brunei is a legacy of former grandeur that is crumbling from lack of upkeep. There are large empty concrete monoliths downtown that used to be office buildings but funds don't exist to tear them down their decrepitude. Jolly light strings line the streets and used to twinkle in all colors, but haven't had bulbs replaced in years. Floral sculptures are still beautiful, but only because they are durable metal. There's an artful sewer arrangement to channel the monsoon rains, but be careful because the grates are missing in some places.
Not that this disturbs the sultan's personal comfort, though apparently he is trying very hard to keep his country afloat, working high atop his palace in a golden dome for an office (as Adam says, "The Sultan has mad love for his peeps."). His house has 1700 rooms, a banquet hall for 10,000, a huge movie theater, polo grounds, his own royal boat jetty staffed 24/7, and 200 bathrooms. We walked around the grounds - no, not peering in his windows, but wandering past the high spiked fence patroled by many uniformed guards. The gardens are spectacular, but bring some binoculars. The sultan has marital difficulties that must keep him up at night, though, so all is not no liquor and fun fun fun. He has three wives, but only the first has her picture all over the Sultanate next to the Sultan's picture. He might have divorced the second, but nobody is quite sure. Where's the third, and does she wear less makeup than the first?
I had asked the fellow at our hotel desk how I might talk to the sultan. "We have some things in common," I told him. "My town is the size of his country. Also, we're the only American tourists we've seen and he might want to hear how we've been enjoying ourselves." The clerk got a good laugh out of it. The guard at the palace also thought it was funny. I asked him if the sultan was home and he said yes. I said, "Can I talk to him?" He looked incredulous, laughed, and then said, "No. You can only meet him during his annual open house after Ramadan ends." I said, "But I'm very friendly and I've come a long way to be here." The guard agreed that I was very friendly, but unfortunately the answer was still negatory. Oh well. Perhaps another time. Like after Ramadan.
We did other interesting activities instead. We walked around one of the traditional stilt villages in Bandar Seri Begwan, the main town in Brunei. You take a water taxi across the river to the villages, which are communities on stilts over water. They have stores, schools, even a fire station all elevated and connected by rickety walkways. Have a toddler learning to walk? Be careful! Our self-guided tour was accompanied by giggling children who survived precarious toddlerhood. They were all waving and yelling, "HI!! What's your name!" Many adults also came out of their houses to view our careful passage. I guess we stuck out in a neighborhood where you don't just know your neighbors, you know when they shower because you hear the water falling into the river and see the suds floating away. Most doors were wide open, even if nobody was home.
We toured the village on the way back from our rainforest tour to see Proboscis monkeys. They're the biggest monkeys in the world, so it wasn't hard to track them - their weight bends the branches severely. We saw small groups hanging out eating leaves and shoots (Eats, Shoots and Leaves - a reminder for watching those commas!!). The males have enormous red schnozzes and resemble Jimmy Durante or Winston Churchill in his later years. The bigger the honker, the more appealing they are to the ladies, which don't have outsized noses but sure want their offspring to be popular. We also saw long-tailed macaques, though we couldn't get close to them lest they add to their collection of tourist artifacts stored in the mangroves.
The mosques are the most spectacular landmarks in Brunei. The one right in town was awe-inspiring, but the one about 20 minutes away was even more splendid. Tiles from Morocco, marble from Italy, wood from Japan, fountains illuminated by colored water - no expense was spared. We donned our obligatory black robes, took off our shoes and wandered around the warm, expansive marble floors. When we accidentally entered a restricted zone, a kind employee showed us around on a more extensive tour than the public gets to see (I guess we look deserving). We saw the library, the events hall (for weddings and such) and a boardroom where they make important decisions. Then he gave us all nice plastic mugs with an islamic saying on them. Must get that translated in case it says something like "Death to the infidels."
We had no exit plan from Brunei bound for Kota Kinabalu, Sabah - a Malaysian state north of Brunei that is the gateway to wildlife trekking. A travel agent told us the planes were full, but "if you want to have an adventure, you can take the ferry." It's easy, she said, so simple I don't need to sell you a ticket, you just go to the terminal tomorrow morning for the 7:30, 8:30 or 9 a.m. ferry and buy tickets before boarding. We arrive at 8:10 to find that the 7:30 ferry has broken down, the 8:30 ferry is now sold out due to the cascade of people displaced by the 7:30 fiasco, and wouldn't you know it, there is no 9 a.m. ferry, even though the newspaper schedule said there was. With sharp elbows and two helpful Malaysians who spoke english and stuck up for us, we managed to secure 4 seats on a 30-seat ferry to Lawas, where we would board a bus to Kota Kinabalu.
We left at 10 after securing our luggage on top - we sure are happy it wasn't raining!! - then sped off for some coastal cruising before turning into one of the many twisting muddy rivers running through the countryside. It was a pretty thrilling ride once we turned inland - mountains, crocodiles, boats in the way, dubiously marked sandbars, will our luggage fall off, will we expire from the smell of gasoline? Perhaps the local populace along the river makes money off the bags they fish out of the water. We all arrived safely in the middle of nowhere, but as we debarked Adam's bag fell into the water when the boatman (the same guy who sold the tickets drove the boat and handled luggage) was unloading it. His bag has some bad karma - it also fell off the ramp when being loaded onto our last Air Asia flight. They might have left it there if I hadn't snagged a baggage guy and said, "that's our bag." Oh, and Ms. Kemery, so sorry, but The Life of Pi you lent Adam is a little damp. It will make a good story, though (besides the one contained within, which Adam liked very much). "It's a little wrinkled because it fell in a river in Borneo." Just ignore those who will say, sure it did. And I'm a monkey's uncle.
At the moment, we are on a gorgeous AC bus with satin blue curtains, slowly making our way to Kota Kinabalu. Nobody has asked for our tickets ever during the entire sojourn - maybe only chumps actually pay. No pigs on top or chickens on board, but we stop to chat with people, pick up, drop off about every 20 feet. Need a ripe melon for dinner? Let's stop and get one! Didn't find a fruut you like at the stop 20 feet ago? No problem! Let's inspect this next merchant's wares! It's probably only 20 miles to KK, but it will take 3 hours. But at least we're getting there today to relax at our nice resort, bargained down successfully to less than half the price they wanted (Nexus Resort, for those who would like to see it online. Laura thinks it sounds like a gas station name, but the website makes it look pretty luxurious). Undoubtedly the bathroom attendant in Lawas helped our luck today. She who asked us, "Are you christian?" Then she asked, "are you protestant?" When I said yes, she said, "Me too!! For 10 years!" On our way out, she smiled beatifically and said, "God bless you."
Next post: stay tuned for a comparison between American and Malaysian long-distance bus service!
It seems that Brunei doesn't have much of it anymore. The Sultan's brother, the finance minister, was like a kid in charge of a candy store. He went wild and spent billions on frivolous expenditures. Hotels in Beverly Hills, thousands of cars, airplanes, wives and dozens of kids. Worse, the Sultanate is embroiled in a meandering legal case to recover additional billions that just disappeared under little bro's watch. In sum, what we've seen of Brunei is a legacy of former grandeur that is crumbling from lack of upkeep. There are large empty concrete monoliths downtown that used to be office buildings but funds don't exist to tear them down their decrepitude. Jolly light strings line the streets and used to twinkle in all colors, but haven't had bulbs replaced in years. Floral sculptures are still beautiful, but only because they are durable metal. There's an artful sewer arrangement to channel the monsoon rains, but be careful because the grates are missing in some places.
Not that this disturbs the sultan's personal comfort, though apparently he is trying very hard to keep his country afloat, working high atop his palace in a golden dome for an office (as Adam says, "The Sultan has mad love for his peeps."). His house has 1700 rooms, a banquet hall for 10,000, a huge movie theater, polo grounds, his own royal boat jetty staffed 24/7, and 200 bathrooms. We walked around the grounds - no, not peering in his windows, but wandering past the high spiked fence patroled by many uniformed guards. The gardens are spectacular, but bring some binoculars. The sultan has marital difficulties that must keep him up at night, though, so all is not no liquor and fun fun fun. He has three wives, but only the first has her picture all over the Sultanate next to the Sultan's picture. He might have divorced the second, but nobody is quite sure. Where's the third, and does she wear less makeup than the first?
I had asked the fellow at our hotel desk how I might talk to the sultan. "We have some things in common," I told him. "My town is the size of his country. Also, we're the only American tourists we've seen and he might want to hear how we've been enjoying ourselves." The clerk got a good laugh out of it. The guard at the palace also thought it was funny. I asked him if the sultan was home and he said yes. I said, "Can I talk to him?" He looked incredulous, laughed, and then said, "No. You can only meet him during his annual open house after Ramadan ends." I said, "But I'm very friendly and I've come a long way to be here." The guard agreed that I was very friendly, but unfortunately the answer was still negatory. Oh well. Perhaps another time. Like after Ramadan.
We did other interesting activities instead. We walked around one of the traditional stilt villages in Bandar Seri Begwan, the main town in Brunei. You take a water taxi across the river to the villages, which are communities on stilts over water. They have stores, schools, even a fire station all elevated and connected by rickety walkways. Have a toddler learning to walk? Be careful! Our self-guided tour was accompanied by giggling children who survived precarious toddlerhood. They were all waving and yelling, "HI!! What's your name!" Many adults also came out of their houses to view our careful passage. I guess we stuck out in a neighborhood where you don't just know your neighbors, you know when they shower because you hear the water falling into the river and see the suds floating away. Most doors were wide open, even if nobody was home.
We toured the village on the way back from our rainforest tour to see Proboscis monkeys. They're the biggest monkeys in the world, so it wasn't hard to track them - their weight bends the branches severely. We saw small groups hanging out eating leaves and shoots (Eats, Shoots and Leaves - a reminder for watching those commas!!). The males have enormous red schnozzes and resemble Jimmy Durante or Winston Churchill in his later years. The bigger the honker, the more appealing they are to the ladies, which don't have outsized noses but sure want their offspring to be popular. We also saw long-tailed macaques, though we couldn't get close to them lest they add to their collection of tourist artifacts stored in the mangroves.
The mosques are the most spectacular landmarks in Brunei. The one right in town was awe-inspiring, but the one about 20 minutes away was even more splendid. Tiles from Morocco, marble from Italy, wood from Japan, fountains illuminated by colored water - no expense was spared. We donned our obligatory black robes, took off our shoes and wandered around the warm, expansive marble floors. When we accidentally entered a restricted zone, a kind employee showed us around on a more extensive tour than the public gets to see (I guess we look deserving). We saw the library, the events hall (for weddings and such) and a boardroom where they make important decisions. Then he gave us all nice plastic mugs with an islamic saying on them. Must get that translated in case it says something like "Death to the infidels."
We had no exit plan from Brunei bound for Kota Kinabalu, Sabah - a Malaysian state north of Brunei that is the gateway to wildlife trekking. A travel agent told us the planes were full, but "if you want to have an adventure, you can take the ferry." It's easy, she said, so simple I don't need to sell you a ticket, you just go to the terminal tomorrow morning for the 7:30, 8:30 or 9 a.m. ferry and buy tickets before boarding. We arrive at 8:10 to find that the 7:30 ferry has broken down, the 8:30 ferry is now sold out due to the cascade of people displaced by the 7:30 fiasco, and wouldn't you know it, there is no 9 a.m. ferry, even though the newspaper schedule said there was. With sharp elbows and two helpful Malaysians who spoke english and stuck up for us, we managed to secure 4 seats on a 30-seat ferry to Lawas, where we would board a bus to Kota Kinabalu.
We left at 10 after securing our luggage on top - we sure are happy it wasn't raining!! - then sped off for some coastal cruising before turning into one of the many twisting muddy rivers running through the countryside. It was a pretty thrilling ride once we turned inland - mountains, crocodiles, boats in the way, dubiously marked sandbars, will our luggage fall off, will we expire from the smell of gasoline? Perhaps the local populace along the river makes money off the bags they fish out of the water. We all arrived safely in the middle of nowhere, but as we debarked Adam's bag fell into the water when the boatman (the same guy who sold the tickets drove the boat and handled luggage) was unloading it. His bag has some bad karma - it also fell off the ramp when being loaded onto our last Air Asia flight. They might have left it there if I hadn't snagged a baggage guy and said, "that's our bag." Oh, and Ms. Kemery, so sorry, but The Life of Pi you lent Adam is a little damp. It will make a good story, though (besides the one contained within, which Adam liked very much). "It's a little wrinkled because it fell in a river in Borneo." Just ignore those who will say, sure it did. And I'm a monkey's uncle.
At the moment, we are on a gorgeous AC bus with satin blue curtains, slowly making our way to Kota Kinabalu. Nobody has asked for our tickets ever during the entire sojourn - maybe only chumps actually pay. No pigs on top or chickens on board, but we stop to chat with people, pick up, drop off about every 20 feet. Need a ripe melon for dinner? Let's stop and get one! Didn't find a fruut you like at the stop 20 feet ago? No problem! Let's inspect this next merchant's wares! It's probably only 20 miles to KK, but it will take 3 hours. But at least we're getting there today to relax at our nice resort, bargained down successfully to less than half the price they wanted (Nexus Resort, for those who would like to see it online. Laura thinks it sounds like a gas station name, but the website makes it look pretty luxurious). Undoubtedly the bathroom attendant in Lawas helped our luck today. She who asked us, "Are you christian?" Then she asked, "are you protestant?" When I said yes, she said, "Me too!! For 10 years!" On our way out, she smiled beatifically and said, "God bless you."
Next post: stay tuned for a comparison between American and Malaysian long-distance bus service!
Monday, March 23, 2009
Welcome to the Cuttlefish Room
We departed the Perhentians a few days ago, flying out of Kota Bharu to Kuala Lumpur. In the airport, we acquired the requisite junkfood: potato chips in BBQ Curry Dude and Duh! Tomato flavors, Chokie Chokie Stix (should we really eat these chocolates, or is it too dangerous?), and some Kit Kat pieces (instructions on package: "This is a break best enjoyed in an air-conditioned place."). We passed on the large premium cuttlefish floss package emblazoned with: For Spring Festival Gift." We do hope nobody was counting on any for Easter. As we checked in, someone passed us carrying a pillow that said, "Love me Little, Love me Long." Well, which is it?
We flew on Malaysia Airlines, which is much like the Malaysians we have met: friendly and very helpful. For fun, let's compare and contrast the service we received on Malaysia Air with that on US Airways. On MA, the seats are multi-hued, with each seat a different fun shade. On US Air, the seats are also multicolored, but that's because the ground crew never cleans them (did I mention that on our trip to Las Vegas, Pam found an entire package of pretzels dumped under her seat cushion? They don't just crunch when you eat them!) On MA, they served lovely pink guava juice free of charge on a flight lasting one hour. On US Airways flights lasting one hour, we get, absolutely free, the chance to worry about where our luggage is going. In fact, US Air has the gall to make us pay for water - and it's colorless!! MA's slogan is: More than just an airline code, MH is Malaysian Hospitality! US Airways slogan (unofficial, but we learned it from a flight attendant): We're Not Happy Until You're Not Happy! Finally, when we got off the plane, a nice woman from MA gave us each a small package containing Ferrero Rochers and dark chocolates, then she said, "Thank you for flying Malaysian Air." She practically had to pound us on the backs and wave smelling salts as we got over our shock. US Airways gave us...um, yeah, I'll let you know if I think of something positive.
If you come to Kuala Lumpur, make sure you stay more than one night, because the airports are more than an hour away from downtown, where they have only oil palms as neighbors. Curious ride into the city: palm oil plantations for miles, then some sparse development, then suddenly legions of high-rises and street after street of identical homes. Weirdly, almost all of these were empty. The city itself, however, is boomtown. Glittering architectural jewels of buildings and lovely parks, with just a fringe of the lower-cost hodgepodge homes/apartment buildings. In just 150 years, they've come a long way from a backwater where prospectors searched for tin but ended up dying of malaria instead. The Petronas Towers are beautiful - shiny like aluminum, nice ribbed design, lit attractively at night; Jeff and Adam got up early to stand in line for free tickets to cross the bridge between the two towers, even though it is only on the 44th floor. Good thing they did - this weekend was the culmination of a week-long school holiday, so KL was mobbed.
We stayed at the Hotel Istana, which didn't disappoint. It looked like Ivana Trump decorated it in the '70s. Very ostentatious, but very nice with spacious clean rooms, a pool (though when it began to sprinkle rain, an earnest pool guy came running out waving a little "Pool Closed" sign and we had to get out) and a view of the Petronas Towers. The evening's entertainment was viewing the city's #1 attraction: stupendous shopping malls. King of Prussia, Mall of America, hang up your signs in shame. These KL meccas are malls on steroids: many stories, soaring atriums, more chains and brands than I ever knew existed. The store clerks were a little overinvolved, though. As we entered, they began to follow us very closely, smiling happily but nonetheless putting a chill on our shopping experience by hanging on every word, peering over our shoulders, etc. In our whole evening, we ended up purchasing a Ribena drink and two cans of kaya, a delicious coconut custard jam. Oh yeah, we are big spenders in the land of Asian plenty!
Bound for Brunei, there was much lamentation as we left the Istana for the airport after a fabulous breakfast - "why do we stay one day in really nice places and four days in rooms that smell like mildew??." It wasn't until we cleared passport control that protests died as we came upon the most wondrous store: "Country Tidbit and Candies Cottage." Here, one could purchase such indispensable items as cuttlefish floss in myriad colors and lengths (the whole collection housed in its own airtight chamber due to the smell, hence the sign on the door encouraging the wary: Welcome to the Cuttlefish Room. Which, come to think of it, could be metaphorical for the entire travel experience. You choose to go there. It takes some bravery to take the plunge. The scents are unique. Generally, the denizens want you there. And it's likely that something you eat will taste nasty.) Many buyers were also inspecting Black Herbal Cubes in large and small sizes, wife biscuits, fish cookies, coconut strips, dried fruits of all shades, durian cakes, dried and sweetened flowers, fluorescent seeds and radioactively dyed candy. Should you have a need for prunes, you definitely must stop by. They had - I am not making this up - at least 40 flavors of prunes - salted, dried, tiny, gargantuan, black, red, with pits or without, one kind for stopped up old ladies and one kind for dried up old geezers - including a bin curiously labeled "Big Lover Prunes." When I bought my pumpkin seeds, I commented to the people behind the cash register that they really must love prunes here, but I got a blank look in response. Obviously prune adoration is no laughing matter in Malaysia.
When we arrived in Brunei, immigration was concerned about one thing only: did we bring any alcohol? Oh no sir, just these hallucinogenic drugs here. OK! As long as you don't bring alcohol. Anyway, it's getting late, so I will wrap this up and tell you in my next post about our fruitless efforts to talk to the Sultan of Brunei. And they didn't even care that I'd already met the pope, who is responsible for far more than 400,000 souls (the tiny little population of the Sultanate).
We flew on Malaysia Airlines, which is much like the Malaysians we have met: friendly and very helpful. For fun, let's compare and contrast the service we received on Malaysia Air with that on US Airways. On MA, the seats are multi-hued, with each seat a different fun shade. On US Air, the seats are also multicolored, but that's because the ground crew never cleans them (did I mention that on our trip to Las Vegas, Pam found an entire package of pretzels dumped under her seat cushion? They don't just crunch when you eat them!) On MA, they served lovely pink guava juice free of charge on a flight lasting one hour. On US Airways flights lasting one hour, we get, absolutely free, the chance to worry about where our luggage is going. In fact, US Air has the gall to make us pay for water - and it's colorless!! MA's slogan is: More than just an airline code, MH is Malaysian Hospitality! US Airways slogan (unofficial, but we learned it from a flight attendant): We're Not Happy Until You're Not Happy! Finally, when we got off the plane, a nice woman from MA gave us each a small package containing Ferrero Rochers and dark chocolates, then she said, "Thank you for flying Malaysian Air." She practically had to pound us on the backs and wave smelling salts as we got over our shock. US Airways gave us...um, yeah, I'll let you know if I think of something positive.
If you come to Kuala Lumpur, make sure you stay more than one night, because the airports are more than an hour away from downtown, where they have only oil palms as neighbors. Curious ride into the city: palm oil plantations for miles, then some sparse development, then suddenly legions of high-rises and street after street of identical homes. Weirdly, almost all of these were empty. The city itself, however, is boomtown. Glittering architectural jewels of buildings and lovely parks, with just a fringe of the lower-cost hodgepodge homes/apartment buildings. In just 150 years, they've come a long way from a backwater where prospectors searched for tin but ended up dying of malaria instead. The Petronas Towers are beautiful - shiny like aluminum, nice ribbed design, lit attractively at night; Jeff and Adam got up early to stand in line for free tickets to cross the bridge between the two towers, even though it is only on the 44th floor. Good thing they did - this weekend was the culmination of a week-long school holiday, so KL was mobbed.
We stayed at the Hotel Istana, which didn't disappoint. It looked like Ivana Trump decorated it in the '70s. Very ostentatious, but very nice with spacious clean rooms, a pool (though when it began to sprinkle rain, an earnest pool guy came running out waving a little "Pool Closed" sign and we had to get out) and a view of the Petronas Towers. The evening's entertainment was viewing the city's #1 attraction: stupendous shopping malls. King of Prussia, Mall of America, hang up your signs in shame. These KL meccas are malls on steroids: many stories, soaring atriums, more chains and brands than I ever knew existed. The store clerks were a little overinvolved, though. As we entered, they began to follow us very closely, smiling happily but nonetheless putting a chill on our shopping experience by hanging on every word, peering over our shoulders, etc. In our whole evening, we ended up purchasing a Ribena drink and two cans of kaya, a delicious coconut custard jam. Oh yeah, we are big spenders in the land of Asian plenty!
Bound for Brunei, there was much lamentation as we left the Istana for the airport after a fabulous breakfast - "why do we stay one day in really nice places and four days in rooms that smell like mildew??." It wasn't until we cleared passport control that protests died as we came upon the most wondrous store: "Country Tidbit and Candies Cottage." Here, one could purchase such indispensable items as cuttlefish floss in myriad colors and lengths (the whole collection housed in its own airtight chamber due to the smell, hence the sign on the door encouraging the wary: Welcome to the Cuttlefish Room. Which, come to think of it, could be metaphorical for the entire travel experience. You choose to go there. It takes some bravery to take the plunge. The scents are unique. Generally, the denizens want you there. And it's likely that something you eat will taste nasty.) Many buyers were also inspecting Black Herbal Cubes in large and small sizes, wife biscuits, fish cookies, coconut strips, dried fruits of all shades, durian cakes, dried and sweetened flowers, fluorescent seeds and radioactively dyed candy. Should you have a need for prunes, you definitely must stop by. They had - I am not making this up - at least 40 flavors of prunes - salted, dried, tiny, gargantuan, black, red, with pits or without, one kind for stopped up old ladies and one kind for dried up old geezers - including a bin curiously labeled "Big Lover Prunes." When I bought my pumpkin seeds, I commented to the people behind the cash register that they really must love prunes here, but I got a blank look in response. Obviously prune adoration is no laughing matter in Malaysia.
When we arrived in Brunei, immigration was concerned about one thing only: did we bring any alcohol? Oh no sir, just these hallucinogenic drugs here. OK! As long as you don't bring alcohol. Anyway, it's getting late, so I will wrap this up and tell you in my next post about our fruitless efforts to talk to the Sultan of Brunei. And they didn't even care that I'd already met the pope, who is responsible for far more than 400,000 souls (the tiny little population of the Sultanate).
Saturday, March 21, 2009
In Paradise
I must make the same recommendation about the Perhentians that I made about Naithon Beach: if at all possible, go there. Wow. These two little islands are gorgeous and nearly deserted, which means their water is glittering; the low key native way of life continues (the fishing boats remind me of Howl's Moving Castle: colorful with all manner of useful items hanging off every square inch. We ran across one fellow two beaches over who spent a whole two days burning bits of an old vessel. Whenever we passed him, he was staring pensively into the fire, poking stick in hand. What must it be like to have a lifestyle like that: "Honey, I think I'll spend a few days burning the old boat."); the corals have been growing undisturbed for eons, the fish and general marine life are enormous and plentiful and happy.
We saw animals here we've never seen in the wild elsewhere, like blue spotted rays, yellow boxfish, hundreds of parrotfish feeding in a school, cushion stars, schools of foot-long needlefish, a three foot long barracuda, more stonefish (this time a more comfortable distance away), a grouper more than three feet long moving ponderously and accompanied by a coterie of blue cleaner wrasses (who probably feel they've hit the jackpot work-wise). And it was charming to see all the anemones of many kinds dotted with blissful clownfish of all types. Laura discovered a condo arrangement in one place: about 20 large anemones all right next to each other, packed with clownfish big and small. They must have trouble figuring out whose anemone is whose. All these were accompanied by dense clouds of tiny little fish, some of whom swam along schooling in the shape of a bigger fish. (And you thought that scene in Finding Nemo was fantasy.)
The land-based animal life is quite healthy as well, living in a beautiful loud jungle filled with flitting birds, huge dragonflies and monitor lizards about five feet long. We went for a trek over to another beach through the jungle and it was miserable - buggy, filled with mosquitoes, narrow, slippery, crisscrossed with trippable roots and platoons of army ants. We were not enchanted - until we saw the family of dusky langurs heading our way. Four sizeable gorgeous black furry monkeys with white goggles on, accompanied by a smaller juvenile. They were using the path, too, coming from the opposite direction. They saw us, paused, and then advanced matter-of-factly. They veered off the path just a few feet in front of us to eat a mushroom. We watched them eat as they checked us out, too, then they headed off into the dense jungle. Last night, we slept through the commotion of a six-foot long python wandering onto the resort grounds - it took the staff about an hour to wrangle him off the property and safely back into the forest.
At least for marine life, Malaysia seems to have figured it out: protect your pristine wild areas, people will pay lots of money to see them, and everybody benefits. They have many national marine parks, they distribute much comprehensive and easy-to-understand information to their people about why they should protect their wilderness. They also apply creativity, such as banning flippers when they discovered that protected feet make people more likely to stand on/contact corals. They also have recruited teams of volunteer divers to remove the invasive and damaging Crown of Thorns starfish from reefs. This contrasts rather sadly with Cambodia, where we took a half day snorkel trip and saw gorgeous coral - and no fish. In fact, our boat captain fished while we snorkeled and we watched his catch expire on our trip back (we went to the market in Cambodia also, and were very disappointed to find they were fresh out of fried bugs). When one is desperately poor and hungry, what else is there to do? But it's such a sad cycle.
Anyway, back to our forest hike: we reached the new beach quite mosquito-bitten and sweaty and hot, so we quickly became another uncomfortable, virtually continuous state since we arrived: salty. I think we've spent at least 75 percent of the time here damp and/or salty. We've managed to avoid serious sunburn, but Jeff has had to employ a unique sunscreen that was nonetheless extremely effective. It's always with you, it completely block the sun's rays, you can get it off with ease though it deploys in an instant and it causes no allergies: his hand (which sat on the top of his head when he forgot his hat). We're leaving tomorrow and perhaps it's for the best: we've all got itchy rashes that only a luxury hotel in Kuala Lumpur can cure.
We saw animals here we've never seen in the wild elsewhere, like blue spotted rays, yellow boxfish, hundreds of parrotfish feeding in a school, cushion stars, schools of foot-long needlefish, a three foot long barracuda, more stonefish (this time a more comfortable distance away), a grouper more than three feet long moving ponderously and accompanied by a coterie of blue cleaner wrasses (who probably feel they've hit the jackpot work-wise). And it was charming to see all the anemones of many kinds dotted with blissful clownfish of all types. Laura discovered a condo arrangement in one place: about 20 large anemones all right next to each other, packed with clownfish big and small. They must have trouble figuring out whose anemone is whose. All these were accompanied by dense clouds of tiny little fish, some of whom swam along schooling in the shape of a bigger fish. (And you thought that scene in Finding Nemo was fantasy.)
The land-based animal life is quite healthy as well, living in a beautiful loud jungle filled with flitting birds, huge dragonflies and monitor lizards about five feet long. We went for a trek over to another beach through the jungle and it was miserable - buggy, filled with mosquitoes, narrow, slippery, crisscrossed with trippable roots and platoons of army ants. We were not enchanted - until we saw the family of dusky langurs heading our way. Four sizeable gorgeous black furry monkeys with white goggles on, accompanied by a smaller juvenile. They were using the path, too, coming from the opposite direction. They saw us, paused, and then advanced matter-of-factly. They veered off the path just a few feet in front of us to eat a mushroom. We watched them eat as they checked us out, too, then they headed off into the dense jungle. Last night, we slept through the commotion of a six-foot long python wandering onto the resort grounds - it took the staff about an hour to wrangle him off the property and safely back into the forest.
At least for marine life, Malaysia seems to have figured it out: protect your pristine wild areas, people will pay lots of money to see them, and everybody benefits. They have many national marine parks, they distribute much comprehensive and easy-to-understand information to their people about why they should protect their wilderness. They also apply creativity, such as banning flippers when they discovered that protected feet make people more likely to stand on/contact corals. They also have recruited teams of volunteer divers to remove the invasive and damaging Crown of Thorns starfish from reefs. This contrasts rather sadly with Cambodia, where we took a half day snorkel trip and saw gorgeous coral - and no fish. In fact, our boat captain fished while we snorkeled and we watched his catch expire on our trip back (we went to the market in Cambodia also, and were very disappointed to find they were fresh out of fried bugs). When one is desperately poor and hungry, what else is there to do? But it's such a sad cycle.
Anyway, back to our forest hike: we reached the new beach quite mosquito-bitten and sweaty and hot, so we quickly became another uncomfortable, virtually continuous state since we arrived: salty. I think we've spent at least 75 percent of the time here damp and/or salty. We've managed to avoid serious sunburn, but Jeff has had to employ a unique sunscreen that was nonetheless extremely effective. It's always with you, it completely block the sun's rays, you can get it off with ease though it deploys in an instant and it causes no allergies: his hand (which sat on the top of his head when he forgot his hat). We're leaving tomorrow and perhaps it's for the best: we've all got itchy rashes that only a luxury hotel in Kuala Lumpur can cure.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
From Paradise to Hell and Back Again
We're now in the Perhentians, a pair of small islands off the eastern coast of the Malaysian peninsula in the South China Sea. We spent the previous two nights at the luxurious Naithonburi resort on Naithon Beach on Phuket, Thailand. It's the kind of place we seem to specialize in locating: up and coming properties that we won't be able to afford in two years. This beach, on the northwestern corner of Phuket, and only 10 minutes from the airport, was perfection: white sand, a perfect curved bay, turquoise water and exciting surf. Occasional waves were 8 feet over our heads and we had to duck under them. Lots of fish, too, though their appearances were brief and frightening. Twice when we were swimming, fish about two feet long jumped out of the water and skittered across the surface - it was scary because such antics are probably escape maneuvers from something bigger. One jumper's splashdown caused a foot-long needle fish to leap out and dash madly toward us using its tail as an outboard motor. I actually screamed because I could clearly see its beady eyes speeding at me and it came so close it could have speared my head. Cruelly cut down by a needle fish: so undignified. I can hear the stories now: "She died HOW? No, you're kidding me."
To recover, we had a Thai massage (all 4 of us) and ate some freshly cooked crepe-like pancakes with delectable bananas inside and sweetened condensed milk on top. I adore people who consider sweetened condensed milk a sauce. The fellow who fixed them for us had a food cart he towed around by motorbike and each was produced very methodically - dipping from a huge vat of impossibly yellow margarine (solid even in the tropics, I'm sure it's full of trans fats), spreading it over the piping hotplate, slapping the dough expertly into a paper-thin sheet, folding it, cooking until it was brown and crispy. After our snack, we swam in the enormous pool, then repaired to our enormous room for a shower and some TV (very very funny to see Brother Bear in thai), followed by a stroll past the traditional hammer dulcimer player, followed by watching the fish in the reflecting pools, etc. What a posh place (BTW, on the ship we discovered the origin of the word posh. It's an acronym for port out, starboard home. When traveling to/from England to India, you wanted your stateroom on port for the trip to India and starboard for the trip home, i.e. on the shady side).
Breakfast was included in the room rate and we ate ourselves silly (low cost traveling strategy: stuff yourself at breakfast if it's included). My mouth still waters when I think of the seedy granola, the yogurt we at the granola with, the crisply fried eggs with orange yolks, the pork congee with condiments like fish sauce, browned garlic, scallions, shards of fried ginger. And the fruit was exceptional: papaya, pineapple, melon carved into beautiful flower shapes. See what I mean about not affording it soon? It's a trend: we've stayed at places we can't afford anymore all over the world!! In any case, this hotel and the little town in which it is located ( a sleepy one street town with very little traffic and shady casuarina trees) are winners - if at all possible, go there. It's very convenient to get to from Bangkok - a short flight, then a 10-minute drive from the airport (the runway is situated such that planes never fly over Naithon). Here's another way you can tell it's good: it's very popular with Germans. Someone once told us that you can tell a place is good if Germans go there, since they're very demanding and picky. Not meaning to stereotype, but our experience supports the adage.
So on to the Perhentians, which are VERY difficult to get to. When we made reservations for this trip, we hemmed and hawed over whether they'd be worth it, since it would take a whole day to get there: a plane from Phuket to Kuala Lumpur (when traveling Asia on low cost carriers, you can't go to hell without going through Kuala Lumpur. KL passport control is staffed by unsmiling officers, one of whom wore a button that said, "Service with a Smile!" As Laura said, "'Service with a Bored, Disgusted Look' is more like it." ), then from KL to Kota Bahru on the Malaysian peninsula, then an hour van ride to the wharf, then a half-hour boat ride to Tuna Bay Resort. IMO, "resort" is an aspirational term for this place. Late in the day in the rain, we thought we had indeed gone to hell through Kuala Lumpur. The main open air restaurant/check-in counter/dive shop was dank, sandy, dark, the rooms were dank, sandy, dark. Happily, the AC worked and we were very tired from our 6 a.m. start, so we had dinner (including anesthetizing gin and tonics) and fell into bed. We woke to torrential rain - the fourth day of it (I knew it was bad news when our van drove through puddles that were attaining lake-like proportions.)
It's not supposed to rain like this until later in the year here. Luckily the weather gods remembered that an hour later. It cleared to reveal a cerulean sky, a gorgeous beach with granite boulders at one end, palm trees, etc. And awesome snorkeling right off the beach!! We saw fish and corals we've never seen before, including a two-foot long puffer fish. Within two hours, Jeff and I morphed from the worst parents in the world who pry their put-upon offspring from comfort to the best possible parents who introduce their children to a a deliriously wonderful tropical paradise.
Paradise does have its thorns, though. As I was wading out of the surf on our beach, I luckily still had my mask on, so I DID NOT step on the stone fish camouflaged in the shallow water. I noticed him because he looked like the large leaves that were washing around, but leaves don't have eyes, which he happened to twitch while I was studying him quizzically. We all looked at his deadly little self, then carefully walked around him. First time I've ever seen a stone fish, and we saw two more later that day, though they were in much deeper water and sitting on an enormous barrel sponge. They were counterbalanced, however, when I swam right next to a giant turtle later in the day.
To recover, we had a Thai massage (all 4 of us) and ate some freshly cooked crepe-like pancakes with delectable bananas inside and sweetened condensed milk on top. I adore people who consider sweetened condensed milk a sauce. The fellow who fixed them for us had a food cart he towed around by motorbike and each was produced very methodically - dipping from a huge vat of impossibly yellow margarine (solid even in the tropics, I'm sure it's full of trans fats), spreading it over the piping hotplate, slapping the dough expertly into a paper-thin sheet, folding it, cooking until it was brown and crispy. After our snack, we swam in the enormous pool, then repaired to our enormous room for a shower and some TV (very very funny to see Brother Bear in thai), followed by a stroll past the traditional hammer dulcimer player, followed by watching the fish in the reflecting pools, etc. What a posh place (BTW, on the ship we discovered the origin of the word posh. It's an acronym for port out, starboard home. When traveling to/from England to India, you wanted your stateroom on port for the trip to India and starboard for the trip home, i.e. on the shady side).
Breakfast was included in the room rate and we ate ourselves silly (low cost traveling strategy: stuff yourself at breakfast if it's included). My mouth still waters when I think of the seedy granola, the yogurt we at the granola with, the crisply fried eggs with orange yolks, the pork congee with condiments like fish sauce, browned garlic, scallions, shards of fried ginger. And the fruit was exceptional: papaya, pineapple, melon carved into beautiful flower shapes. See what I mean about not affording it soon? It's a trend: we've stayed at places we can't afford anymore all over the world!! In any case, this hotel and the little town in which it is located ( a sleepy one street town with very little traffic and shady casuarina trees) are winners - if at all possible, go there. It's very convenient to get to from Bangkok - a short flight, then a 10-minute drive from the airport (the runway is situated such that planes never fly over Naithon). Here's another way you can tell it's good: it's very popular with Germans. Someone once told us that you can tell a place is good if Germans go there, since they're very demanding and picky. Not meaning to stereotype, but our experience supports the adage.
So on to the Perhentians, which are VERY difficult to get to. When we made reservations for this trip, we hemmed and hawed over whether they'd be worth it, since it would take a whole day to get there: a plane from Phuket to Kuala Lumpur (when traveling Asia on low cost carriers, you can't go to hell without going through Kuala Lumpur. KL passport control is staffed by unsmiling officers, one of whom wore a button that said, "Service with a Smile!" As Laura said, "'Service with a Bored, Disgusted Look' is more like it." ), then from KL to Kota Bahru on the Malaysian peninsula, then an hour van ride to the wharf, then a half-hour boat ride to Tuna Bay Resort. IMO, "resort" is an aspirational term for this place. Late in the day in the rain, we thought we had indeed gone to hell through Kuala Lumpur. The main open air restaurant/check-in counter/dive shop was dank, sandy, dark, the rooms were dank, sandy, dark. Happily, the AC worked and we were very tired from our 6 a.m. start, so we had dinner (including anesthetizing gin and tonics) and fell into bed. We woke to torrential rain - the fourth day of it (I knew it was bad news when our van drove through puddles that were attaining lake-like proportions.)
It's not supposed to rain like this until later in the year here. Luckily the weather gods remembered that an hour later. It cleared to reveal a cerulean sky, a gorgeous beach with granite boulders at one end, palm trees, etc. And awesome snorkeling right off the beach!! We saw fish and corals we've never seen before, including a two-foot long puffer fish. Within two hours, Jeff and I morphed from the worst parents in the world who pry their put-upon offspring from comfort to the best possible parents who introduce their children to a a deliriously wonderful tropical paradise.
Paradise does have its thorns, though. As I was wading out of the surf on our beach, I luckily still had my mask on, so I DID NOT step on the stone fish camouflaged in the shallow water. I noticed him because he looked like the large leaves that were washing around, but leaves don't have eyes, which he happened to twitch while I was studying him quizzically. We all looked at his deadly little self, then carefully walked around him. First time I've ever seen a stone fish, and we saw two more later that day, though they were in much deeper water and sitting on an enormous barrel sponge. They were counterbalanced, however, when I swam right next to a giant turtle later in the day.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Using Sticker as Currency, Family Escapes Vietnam
It’s our last day at sea, and we all slept in after our dusty, long, high-pressure day in Ho Chi Minh City (the locals still call it Sai Gon – you see the space more often than not). Sai Gon was only 20 miles from our desolate industrial port at Phu My (pronounced Fu Me), but the trip took 2.5 hours along a choked road filled with milling oxen, chickens, motorbikes (some carrying cargo as large as refrigerators (!!) on the back), trucks, busses, grandmothers, toddlers, etc. Commercial signage was amusing to westerners: Hung Dung, Thank Dung. Rice paddies, orderly rubber plantations, small industrial operations and markets lined the road, as did cafes under thatched roofs where the only “seating” was hammocks. It seems that after sitting on motorbikes for hours (there are almost as many motorbikes as people in Vietnam), drivers don’t care to sit during a rest break. In every town, at least one enormous, ornate home with gleaming tiled walls and a high iron fence loomed over the landscape.
We had a “guide” whose only job was to make sure that the entire busload returned to the ship safely (we paid only for the ride to and from the city), but he talked to us en route about Vietnam history, culture and lifestyle. He was quite open about the widespread corruption – every one of those beautiful homes, in fact almost anything of any true value – belongs to government officials and their families. Our 50-year-old guide had tried to escape from Vietnam when he was 24, but the police caught him and sent him to camp to be “reeducated” for 3 years (he only knew his sentence length when they released him). He says they worked at least 10 hours a day 7 days a week at hard manual labor on a diet of mostly rice. Though he is slim today, he says he weighed half that when he was freed. Vietnamese military service is compulsory for 2 years (it was unclear if that was so for women as well; we only saw male soldiers) and the leaders believe hunger develops fighting spirit. “When you are hungry, you are angry, but when you are starving, you will kill somebody to get food,” he said. “Before battles, officers starved their soldiers for a month beforehand, then told them, ‘the enemy has food and if you kill them, you can eat it.”
Sai Gon was…interesting. Though we hid our stickers identifying us as part of a tour (ugh), hawkers still descended upon us en masse – children demanding that we buy or just donate, people asking us “why not?” when we said no thank you. We escaped for about 45 minutes by eating at Pho 24, a chain offering the ubiquitous Vietnamese beef noodle soup.
In just the few blocks it took to walk from Pho 24 to the market, at least 50 persistent people followed us – though one scored when we purchased an absurdly expensive but delectable bag of freshly baked cookies. Our “guide” had told us that Vietnam receives a low number of tourists and has widespread poverty, so I can understand the motivation. Still, we felt under siege. We bargained for a few souvenirs at the market, though as always, our space is very limited due to our carry-on-only-no-checked-bags policy. After exiting the market, we struck a deal with 4 rickshaw drivers (one-person rickshaws) to take us to the Vietnam War museum – 400,000. Lovely ride past memorials, nice parks, though much of Saigon is rundown (should you visit, be very careful crossing the streets – no crossing signals and continuous traffic both large and small.) But oh darn!!! The museum was closed for lunch! Our drivers’ reactions were pretty easy to read: they knew it was closed before we hopped aboard. For the same price, they instead wanted to show us a few sights, then drop us back at the bus station. Okay, sounds good, though we made very sure of the terms before agreeing to the extended tour. The extended tour combined delight with terror – delight over the many sights, terror over how close we came to speeding busses, zippy motorbikes, meandering motorized food carts, etc. It was the Sai Gon version of our petrifying Beijing bike adventure. “Oh, NO. THAT BUS IS GOING TO RUN ME OVER! Thank God it missed by inches, but WHAT’S THAT COMING TOWARD US NOW??” Laura’s driver did, in fact, have a little fender bender, tapping the motorbike of a woman ahead of him who gave him what for after she inspected the slight ding. Geez lady, it blends in with all the other dents and scratches already decorating your ride! Cool your jets!
Everybody reading this knows the end to this story: when the ride concluded, they immediately demanded 4 times the agreed upon price, saying that the cost had been for one person only (though we had taken care to ask if that was for all of us)!!!! We countered with 2 times the price, due to the round trip, but absolutely no more. Immediate shouting, refusal to take the money, outrageous lying on everyone’s parts (“I have a dozen children to feed!!” “This is all the money we have!!” and so on), my tucking the dong into the cushions of one of the rickshaws (just realized that sounds a little risqué, but we’re talking currency), one driver plucking them out again and throwing them at our feet, the four of us walking away, etc. Jeff finally paid a few hundred thousand more and they gave up. Jeff felt terrible, but I reminded him that we hadn’t even bargained the price down for the rides, so they were making a relative fortune to begin with. Suffice to say, we were glad to resurrect our stickers, climb aboard our bus and leave. Our day in Sai Gon ranks among the top in all of our travels for bald profiteering, scheming to defraud, plotting to loot, attempting to pickpocket, sheer annoyance, etc. No offense to those Vietnam fans out there, but I’m not hurrying back.
For a complete about face, I then proceeded to win a bottle of champagne for my swing dancing skills at the ship’s ballroom dancing class. Talk about cultural whiplash.
Later…not sure how much later, because I can’t even keep track of the day of the week anymore, not that I’m complaining: We are now lounging in a beautiful Thai resort tucked away on an undeveloped stretch of Phuket, having debarked in Laem Chagang near Bangkok. But I’ll have to write about that –and our final cruise stop in Cambodia -tomorrow on our much cheaper internet time. It’s been a long day and I’m pretty bushed after our lovely dinner on the beach eating delicious Thai food and watching the sun set over the water. Ahhh. What a nice change. When we walked across the road to our dinner location in bare feet, one smiling Thai cab driver reclining on the hood of his car asked if we needed a taxi, but when we politely declined, he wished us a good evening. And it was.
We had a “guide” whose only job was to make sure that the entire busload returned to the ship safely (we paid only for the ride to and from the city), but he talked to us en route about Vietnam history, culture and lifestyle. He was quite open about the widespread corruption – every one of those beautiful homes, in fact almost anything of any true value – belongs to government officials and their families. Our 50-year-old guide had tried to escape from Vietnam when he was 24, but the police caught him and sent him to camp to be “reeducated” for 3 years (he only knew his sentence length when they released him). He says they worked at least 10 hours a day 7 days a week at hard manual labor on a diet of mostly rice. Though he is slim today, he says he weighed half that when he was freed. Vietnamese military service is compulsory for 2 years (it was unclear if that was so for women as well; we only saw male soldiers) and the leaders believe hunger develops fighting spirit. “When you are hungry, you are angry, but when you are starving, you will kill somebody to get food,” he said. “Before battles, officers starved their soldiers for a month beforehand, then told them, ‘the enemy has food and if you kill them, you can eat it.”
Sai Gon was…interesting. Though we hid our stickers identifying us as part of a tour (ugh), hawkers still descended upon us en masse – children demanding that we buy or just donate, people asking us “why not?” when we said no thank you. We escaped for about 45 minutes by eating at Pho 24, a chain offering the ubiquitous Vietnamese beef noodle soup.
In just the few blocks it took to walk from Pho 24 to the market, at least 50 persistent people followed us – though one scored when we purchased an absurdly expensive but delectable bag of freshly baked cookies. Our “guide” had told us that Vietnam receives a low number of tourists and has widespread poverty, so I can understand the motivation. Still, we felt under siege. We bargained for a few souvenirs at the market, though as always, our space is very limited due to our carry-on-only-no-checked-bags policy. After exiting the market, we struck a deal with 4 rickshaw drivers (one-person rickshaws) to take us to the Vietnam War museum – 400,000. Lovely ride past memorials, nice parks, though much of Saigon is rundown (should you visit, be very careful crossing the streets – no crossing signals and continuous traffic both large and small.) But oh darn!!! The museum was closed for lunch! Our drivers’ reactions were pretty easy to read: they knew it was closed before we hopped aboard. For the same price, they instead wanted to show us a few sights, then drop us back at the bus station. Okay, sounds good, though we made very sure of the terms before agreeing to the extended tour. The extended tour combined delight with terror – delight over the many sights, terror over how close we came to speeding busses, zippy motorbikes, meandering motorized food carts, etc. It was the Sai Gon version of our petrifying Beijing bike adventure. “Oh, NO. THAT BUS IS GOING TO RUN ME OVER! Thank God it missed by inches, but WHAT’S THAT COMING TOWARD US NOW??” Laura’s driver did, in fact, have a little fender bender, tapping the motorbike of a woman ahead of him who gave him what for after she inspected the slight ding. Geez lady, it blends in with all the other dents and scratches already decorating your ride! Cool your jets!
Everybody reading this knows the end to this story: when the ride concluded, they immediately demanded 4 times the agreed upon price, saying that the cost had been for one person only (though we had taken care to ask if that was for all of us)!!!! We countered with 2 times the price, due to the round trip, but absolutely no more. Immediate shouting, refusal to take the money, outrageous lying on everyone’s parts (“I have a dozen children to feed!!” “This is all the money we have!!” and so on), my tucking the dong into the cushions of one of the rickshaws (just realized that sounds a little risqué, but we’re talking currency), one driver plucking them out again and throwing them at our feet, the four of us walking away, etc. Jeff finally paid a few hundred thousand more and they gave up. Jeff felt terrible, but I reminded him that we hadn’t even bargained the price down for the rides, so they were making a relative fortune to begin with. Suffice to say, we were glad to resurrect our stickers, climb aboard our bus and leave. Our day in Sai Gon ranks among the top in all of our travels for bald profiteering, scheming to defraud, plotting to loot, attempting to pickpocket, sheer annoyance, etc. No offense to those Vietnam fans out there, but I’m not hurrying back.
For a complete about face, I then proceeded to win a bottle of champagne for my swing dancing skills at the ship’s ballroom dancing class. Talk about cultural whiplash.
Later…not sure how much later, because I can’t even keep track of the day of the week anymore, not that I’m complaining: We are now lounging in a beautiful Thai resort tucked away on an undeveloped stretch of Phuket, having debarked in Laem Chagang near Bangkok. But I’ll have to write about that –and our final cruise stop in Cambodia -tomorrow on our much cheaper internet time. It’s been a long day and I’m pretty bushed after our lovely dinner on the beach eating delicious Thai food and watching the sun set over the water. Ahhh. What a nice change. When we walked across the road to our dinner location in bare feet, one smiling Thai cab driver reclining on the hood of his car asked if we needed a taxi, but when we politely declined, he wished us a good evening. And it was.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Already in Progress
Had a bit of a pause there, since we spent three days at sea. We passed through the Indian Ocean, the Java Sea and are now in the South China Sea. Though they blend seamlessly on maps, I can see why each is considered a distinct body of water. The Indian Ocean was choppy and deep blue. The South China Sea is smooth and a different shade of deep blue. The Java Sea was the most fun, since it was a beautiful smooth green/turquoise. We passed many islands (one with what looked like at least 10 miles of white sand), we saw dolphins and flying fish and many small fishing boats manned by one fisherman.
We crossed the equator two days ago, and though the ship’s staff joked that it was a wide yellow line that jolts the ship like a speed bump (not to be confused with the international dateline, a thinner blue line that barely ripples passengers’ drinks), we didn’t notice anything much. We passed Krakatoa in the wee hours and Jeff was the only one who saw it. In honor of the equator crossing, the crew did a stomach-turning ceremony that included King Neptune and Queen Neptune as judge and jury ordering copious condiments smeared all over “convicted” participants who “walked the plank” (jumped into the main pool.) to assure our safe passage. I’m sorry, I’m forgetting that they also threw enormous livers and bones and sausages and black beans into the drink as well. Being warm, the pool heated up its contents rapidly and smelled horrible within minutes. Another notable event: I sunburned my arms – including the inner creases of my elbows, which have never been sunburned ever – AGAIN. In only 30 minutes spent watching said ceremony. Oh Coppertone, how you have let me down.
We arose early yesterday to watch our entrance into Singapore Harbor, which is the busiest port in the world, and it didn’t disappoint. There were many ships at anchor in the winding waterway, and many others traveling in front of, behind, and adjacent to ours. Somebody has a stranglehold on the copious tug business in the harbor – all the tugs were named Noble Something: Noble Reliance, Noble Ace, etc. We berthed in the container portion of the port, which was a scene to behold: mammoth green cranes lurked everywhere. They rolled on tracks and stacked tractor-trailer sized containers like they were tinker toys onto huge container ships.
The weather was fine when we debarked, but by the time we got downtown and made our way to Little India, it was raining hard. Though Singapore is apparently a shopper’s paradise – an opinion bolstered by the glut of sterile shopping malls everywhere - we sightsee with our stomachs, so we followed our noses to the hawker stalls. Despite getting a little wet and being distracted by restaurant names like “Food Joint” and stores named “Superfund,” we finally arrived at the good eats. I counted one other white person in the entire place, which meant we’d found where the natives like to dine.
What a place for a birthday lunch (we were in Singapore for my birthday – thanks, Mom and Dad, for sending that birthday greeting. Via telepathy that is – did you get to Florida all right?? You can’t possibly be as pressed for internet time as we are). One could choose from roti with chicken curry sauce for dipping, any flavor of lassi one could think of, a zillion fresh fruit juices, biryanis of all types, fritter flavors that included cuttlefish, and many other dishes all served on banana leaves. Delectable, every bite, and conveniently certified safe by the dictatorial Singapore government. Even though the place was noisy and filled with vendors trying to convince you that their dish was the tastiest, it had some organization. We chose a numbered table, then walked around telling vendors what was desired. Give the table number, then sit and wait. Each one brings the dish when it’s finished and you pay on the spot. We sat right next to the roti fellow, who displayed extremely practiced sleight of hand in turning a round dough ball the size of an egg into a sheet about 18 inches wide that you could read a newspaper through - all in about 20 seconds. We have a picture of me flipping one on the griddle (it’s amazing how nice they are when you say it’s your birthday – my recommendation is make every day your birthday and see where that takes you). When we finally acquire some reasonable internet time, I’ll post the picture (along with others).
Since it was raining so hard, we saved Chinatown for our trip back through at the end of the month, and took a cab to the cable cars (the cabbie, when he found out where we were from, said, “Obama better get started picking up the pieces”). We rode the cable cars up Mt. Faber and across to Sentosa Island – this last is like Singapore’s theme park. On Sentosa, one can go to the zoo, the water park, the Jurong Bird Park, etc. Let us save you some money when you visit Singapore: skip the cable cars. Here’s what we saw: tree tops. A very very large parking lot (yes, there was a scintillating variety of vehicles, but I hear walkthroughs are free!!). A gargantuan construction site. Anybody care to hazard what they are building on Sentosa? Yes, that’s right: a shopping center. Doesn’t anybody do anything but shop in Singapore? Well, besides eating, that is. Eating in shopping centers, to be precise.
We’re at sea again en route to Vietnam, where we – gasp – signed up for a tour into Ho Chi Minh City. We dock in a very remote port and weren’t assured of local transport, so we bit and paid the exorbitant price for guaranteed transportation. I think it’s the first time ever we’ve tagged along on an organized tour. I refuse, however, to wear a sticker identifying me as a clueless rube, so they better not try to make me. In our defense, we paid for the transport only – once in the city, we sightsee on our own. Then we move on to Cambodia and Thailand, where we debark and are – whimper - on our own. I think they’ll drag Laura down the gangway kicking and screaming. What??? No buffet?? No pool?? What kind of hell have I entered???
I, on the other hand, am looking forward to being on some of those tropical isles we passed.
We crossed the equator two days ago, and though the ship’s staff joked that it was a wide yellow line that jolts the ship like a speed bump (not to be confused with the international dateline, a thinner blue line that barely ripples passengers’ drinks), we didn’t notice anything much. We passed Krakatoa in the wee hours and Jeff was the only one who saw it. In honor of the equator crossing, the crew did a stomach-turning ceremony that included King Neptune and Queen Neptune as judge and jury ordering copious condiments smeared all over “convicted” participants who “walked the plank” (jumped into the main pool.) to assure our safe passage. I’m sorry, I’m forgetting that they also threw enormous livers and bones and sausages and black beans into the drink as well. Being warm, the pool heated up its contents rapidly and smelled horrible within minutes. Another notable event: I sunburned my arms – including the inner creases of my elbows, which have never been sunburned ever – AGAIN. In only 30 minutes spent watching said ceremony. Oh Coppertone, how you have let me down.
We arose early yesterday to watch our entrance into Singapore Harbor, which is the busiest port in the world, and it didn’t disappoint. There were many ships at anchor in the winding waterway, and many others traveling in front of, behind, and adjacent to ours. Somebody has a stranglehold on the copious tug business in the harbor – all the tugs were named Noble Something: Noble Reliance, Noble Ace, etc. We berthed in the container portion of the port, which was a scene to behold: mammoth green cranes lurked everywhere. They rolled on tracks and stacked tractor-trailer sized containers like they were tinker toys onto huge container ships.
The weather was fine when we debarked, but by the time we got downtown and made our way to Little India, it was raining hard. Though Singapore is apparently a shopper’s paradise – an opinion bolstered by the glut of sterile shopping malls everywhere - we sightsee with our stomachs, so we followed our noses to the hawker stalls. Despite getting a little wet and being distracted by restaurant names like “Food Joint” and stores named “Superfund,” we finally arrived at the good eats. I counted one other white person in the entire place, which meant we’d found where the natives like to dine.
What a place for a birthday lunch (we were in Singapore for my birthday – thanks, Mom and Dad, for sending that birthday greeting. Via telepathy that is – did you get to Florida all right?? You can’t possibly be as pressed for internet time as we are). One could choose from roti with chicken curry sauce for dipping, any flavor of lassi one could think of, a zillion fresh fruit juices, biryanis of all types, fritter flavors that included cuttlefish, and many other dishes all served on banana leaves. Delectable, every bite, and conveniently certified safe by the dictatorial Singapore government. Even though the place was noisy and filled with vendors trying to convince you that their dish was the tastiest, it had some organization. We chose a numbered table, then walked around telling vendors what was desired. Give the table number, then sit and wait. Each one brings the dish when it’s finished and you pay on the spot. We sat right next to the roti fellow, who displayed extremely practiced sleight of hand in turning a round dough ball the size of an egg into a sheet about 18 inches wide that you could read a newspaper through - all in about 20 seconds. We have a picture of me flipping one on the griddle (it’s amazing how nice they are when you say it’s your birthday – my recommendation is make every day your birthday and see where that takes you). When we finally acquire some reasonable internet time, I’ll post the picture (along with others).
Since it was raining so hard, we saved Chinatown for our trip back through at the end of the month, and took a cab to the cable cars (the cabbie, when he found out where we were from, said, “Obama better get started picking up the pieces”). We rode the cable cars up Mt. Faber and across to Sentosa Island – this last is like Singapore’s theme park. On Sentosa, one can go to the zoo, the water park, the Jurong Bird Park, etc. Let us save you some money when you visit Singapore: skip the cable cars. Here’s what we saw: tree tops. A very very large parking lot (yes, there was a scintillating variety of vehicles, but I hear walkthroughs are free!!). A gargantuan construction site. Anybody care to hazard what they are building on Sentosa? Yes, that’s right: a shopping center. Doesn’t anybody do anything but shop in Singapore? Well, besides eating, that is. Eating in shopping centers, to be precise.
We’re at sea again en route to Vietnam, where we – gasp – signed up for a tour into Ho Chi Minh City. We dock in a very remote port and weren’t assured of local transport, so we bit and paid the exorbitant price for guaranteed transportation. I think it’s the first time ever we’ve tagged along on an organized tour. I refuse, however, to wear a sticker identifying me as a clueless rube, so they better not try to make me. In our defense, we paid for the transport only – once in the city, we sightsee on our own. Then we move on to Cambodia and Thailand, where we debark and are – whimper - on our own. I think they’ll drag Laura down the gangway kicking and screaming. What??? No buffet?? No pool?? What kind of hell have I entered???
I, on the other hand, am looking forward to being on some of those tropical isles we passed.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
"'At's Moy Cah, Mate, but No Worries!"
We’re just departing Exmouth – a tiny, desiccated town of 2,500 on Australia’s northwestern coast that just happens to be the gateway to Ningaloo Marine Park. Ningaloo, a little-known mecca of stellar marine life, comprises the largest fringeing reef in all of Australia and we had a wonderful day there. The area looks exactly as if the southwestern U.S. suddenly found itself seaside: similar red rocks, scrubby trees and low bushes, red earth, deserted countryside.
The ship anchored off Exmouth, since the town has no deepwater harbor, and we took small boats into shore. From there, even smaller busses ran us into town, such as it was. You could probably nap undisturbed in the middle of the road through the town’s central square. We made friends with the local IGA clerk – “Oh, what an adorable baby!!” - who looked up car rental places for us, and then we hiked over to Allen’s car hire. I swear that the friendly fellow who helped us gave us his personal wheels for the day. It was a beat up pickup truck sporting a big ding in the front windshield and a smashed overhead light. While we did the usual rental car walkabout, the guy concluded it by saying cheerfully, “We don’t really care what it looks like when you bring it back as long as you don’t hit something right sizeable like a kangaroo or an emu.”
We spent an hour traversing the peninsula, reminding Jeff to drive on the left, viewing two big, dumb emus standing by the road but nary a kangaroo. We paid our park entry and hopped into the water, which was bathtub warm, exceptionally clear and filled with fish, including two sharks that cruised slowly by. Adam declared it the best snorkeling he’s ever seen, and we even ferreted out several carbon copies of denizens in our tank. It was so funny to see that the wild cousins acted very much like our pets: for example, even if you seriously startle a lawnmower blenny, he will hide in a place where he can still see out, completely convinced that he is invisibly camouflaged as a rock. I am constantly amazed at how close you can get to marine fish – often, they seem just as curious about us as we are about them. Some of the fish were enormous: parrot fish about 3 feet long, though they are just as cowed by damsels as all the other creatures of the deep. Apparently, the damsels either don’t know they are only a few inches long or conveniently ignore that fact. We also swam through clouds of tiny little green fish. I think the corals – we saw a plate coral about 8 feet across, and these types often break before getting even half that big – and fish were so magnificent because so few people disturb them. The beach was huge and almost deserted.
Happily, we did not see blue-ringed octopi or box jellies, both of which can be fatal. We did, however, see a number of cone snails, which also can kill you. Should you ever need to know, cone snails frequent almost every sea and invariably the shell looks empty, but that’s part of their ruse. Shock the one who disturbs them with a quick jab, then dilly dally a few minutes as the prey rapidly expires next to them and becomes dinner. They just don’t seem to care that humans are way too big for even the heartiest cone snail appetite.
No, the only hazard we encountered was sunburn. We are all very red and have a few painful days ahead of us. I can’t remember the last time I was sunburned – even as a kid, my mom chased me around with sunscreen and I completely escaped the wretched affliction. But heed my words: do not buy Coppertone Sport SPF 50. You know how they say that satisfied customers tell 2 people and unsatisfied ones tell 50? Well, I am motivated enough to author the Coppertone version of the famous PPT presentation still enjoying internet fame: “The Marriott Courtyard is a Very Bad Hotel.” I’ll call mine “Coppertone Sport SPF 50 is a Very Bad Sunscreen.” Pertinent points to cover: was not waterproof; was not rubproof; we hated the color of the bottle; we paid too much; we were seduced by blatant marketing slogans; the directions were poor (“Apply liberally” What the @#^& does that really mean? A thimbleful? A paint roller?), it gives the unfortunate illusion of cool, creamy efficacy; it exuded a fresh scent that lulled us into complacency; the cap has a faulty hinge, etc. We thought the first blush of sunburn the other day was a fluke, but noooooo…
On to Singapore after three (somewhat uncomfortable) days at sea. We’re on a mission to eat the absolute best chicken rice and sample the many excellent – and because it’s Singapore, safe - street foods on offer.
The ship anchored off Exmouth, since the town has no deepwater harbor, and we took small boats into shore. From there, even smaller busses ran us into town, such as it was. You could probably nap undisturbed in the middle of the road through the town’s central square. We made friends with the local IGA clerk – “Oh, what an adorable baby!!” - who looked up car rental places for us, and then we hiked over to Allen’s car hire. I swear that the friendly fellow who helped us gave us his personal wheels for the day. It was a beat up pickup truck sporting a big ding in the front windshield and a smashed overhead light. While we did the usual rental car walkabout, the guy concluded it by saying cheerfully, “We don’t really care what it looks like when you bring it back as long as you don’t hit something right sizeable like a kangaroo or an emu.”
We spent an hour traversing the peninsula, reminding Jeff to drive on the left, viewing two big, dumb emus standing by the road but nary a kangaroo. We paid our park entry and hopped into the water, which was bathtub warm, exceptionally clear and filled with fish, including two sharks that cruised slowly by. Adam declared it the best snorkeling he’s ever seen, and we even ferreted out several carbon copies of denizens in our tank. It was so funny to see that the wild cousins acted very much like our pets: for example, even if you seriously startle a lawnmower blenny, he will hide in a place where he can still see out, completely convinced that he is invisibly camouflaged as a rock. I am constantly amazed at how close you can get to marine fish – often, they seem just as curious about us as we are about them. Some of the fish were enormous: parrot fish about 3 feet long, though they are just as cowed by damsels as all the other creatures of the deep. Apparently, the damsels either don’t know they are only a few inches long or conveniently ignore that fact. We also swam through clouds of tiny little green fish. I think the corals – we saw a plate coral about 8 feet across, and these types often break before getting even half that big – and fish were so magnificent because so few people disturb them. The beach was huge and almost deserted.
Happily, we did not see blue-ringed octopi or box jellies, both of which can be fatal. We did, however, see a number of cone snails, which also can kill you. Should you ever need to know, cone snails frequent almost every sea and invariably the shell looks empty, but that’s part of their ruse. Shock the one who disturbs them with a quick jab, then dilly dally a few minutes as the prey rapidly expires next to them and becomes dinner. They just don’t seem to care that humans are way too big for even the heartiest cone snail appetite.
No, the only hazard we encountered was sunburn. We are all very red and have a few painful days ahead of us. I can’t remember the last time I was sunburned – even as a kid, my mom chased me around with sunscreen and I completely escaped the wretched affliction. But heed my words: do not buy Coppertone Sport SPF 50. You know how they say that satisfied customers tell 2 people and unsatisfied ones tell 50? Well, I am motivated enough to author the Coppertone version of the famous PPT presentation still enjoying internet fame: “The Marriott Courtyard is a Very Bad Hotel.” I’ll call mine “Coppertone Sport SPF 50 is a Very Bad Sunscreen.” Pertinent points to cover: was not waterproof; was not rubproof; we hated the color of the bottle; we paid too much; we were seduced by blatant marketing slogans; the directions were poor (“Apply liberally” What the @#^& does that really mean? A thimbleful? A paint roller?), it gives the unfortunate illusion of cool, creamy efficacy; it exuded a fresh scent that lulled us into complacency; the cap has a faulty hinge, etc. We thought the first blush of sunburn the other day was a fluke, but noooooo…
On to Singapore after three (somewhat uncomfortable) days at sea. We’re on a mission to eat the absolute best chicken rice and sample the many excellent – and because it’s Singapore, safe - street foods on offer.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Heaving to and from Fremantle
I like traveling by sea. Weather systems march briskly by – if it’s raining over there, it’s undoubtedly sunny a little farther on and you can appreciate both states within minutes of one another (for Laura’s science unit, we’re learning change of state; we’re investigating the many many meanings of the phrase). Seafaring also lends unparalleled views of clouds. So much variety in color, form, size, contrast, rate of change, etc. – they go by as if they’re stuck on fast forward.
It was very rough after we left Adelaide for two days at sea. Crossing the Great Australian Bight has been as expected for southwestern Oz: stormy, damp, howling, bleak, etc. I now see it was dumb to bring only one long-sleeved shirt and I might have to throw it away when the weather warms for good. On our last trip across the North Pacific in winter, we experienced similar rough conditions and had to anchor our glasses to the table, take care not to fall out of bed and so on. Then, we had the dining room to ourselves since most passengers were busily worshipping the porcelain god, driving the porcelain bus, doing the Technicolor yawn, tossing cookies, whatever your preferred euphemism. Not so this sturdy bunch, many of whom are Australian. I suppose the seasickness gene has been bred out of their stock – those who were susceptible died long ago on the endless voyages from England. I might not be so happy with the high seas if I were traveling in a smaller boat. It’s an odd sensation as it is. One second you might lift right off your feet and the next you weigh several tons. It’s entertaining to watch people lurch by, bouncing off walls, staggering from side to side, waving their arms for balance, etc.
We visited Fremantle yesterday, late into port by 4 hours due to the bad weather the previous two days. Unfortunately, this meant we couldn’t go to Rottnest Island as planned. Rottnest is an 11 km-long island with gorgeous beaches, coral, fish, cycling, and to top off the experience, adorable little furry creatures that approach visitors for tidbits. In sum, just our kind of island. Oh well. We went to Cottlesloe Beach near Perth instead (we skipped Perth proper, since we had tired of big cities, dried up botanical gardens and traffic). The day was clear and sparkling and the water, though cold, was the same. We did some snorkeling right off shore and saw a surprising variety, even though the guard had warned us we might see hammerheads. Then the heavy equipment arrived: a three-week long art exhibit was being… hung? Planted? Uh, I guess, installed that day. Thirty sculptures were to be strung along the strand, and they ran the gamut: a group of larger than life emus made of recycled tires, a 20-foot-high pyramid glazed in glittering green and emitting a (probably unplanned) chemical odor under the hot sun, a clear orb anchored about 100 feet offshore that would glow after the sun went down, a group of candy lifesavers about the size of truck tires. Apparently, there had been a wildly popular sculpture installation pioneered at Bondi Beach that positioned sculpture as an accessible art that meshes with life instead of being separate from it. It had grabbed the public’s fancy and opened opportunities for sculptors across the country, so the idea was being adapted to other beaches.
I approached one guy wandering around inside a burned out shipping container, planning to ask why he thought that ugly hulk was art. Glad I held my tongue, since he was the artist. Would you like to see pictures? Go to www.garo.com.au. Anyway, he affably told me that the view from inside the container across the beach and water toward the many shipping vessels was meant to make us reflect on whether we really needed so many consumer items. He was also trying for a shipwrecked container ethos, hoping that one day shipping containers would be obsolete, and that beachcombers would “discover” his work like Charlton Heston in Planet of the Apes discovered the Statue of Liberty (only they’d be happy, unlike Charlton). “Oh, you mean we used to have those on our planet?” From his tone of voice, burning out the container was the most fun he had creating the sculpture. I’m taking a vote: are there any men who aren’t secret pyros? I didn’t think so. He asked where we were from, were those my kids, etc., and like most others, asked if our kids had school holidays right now. Nope, we just took them along anyway. He said, “Now I feel pretty stupid. I didn’t bring my 7-year-old to see my first publicly exhibited sculpture because I didn’t think he could miss a day of school.” I told him Mark Twain’s quote: “I never let my schooling get in the way of my education.” No offense to those teachers out there…
Before I close on this short note, I have to apologize for not replying to emails. Our internet connection via satellite is very unreliable. One of the most challenging requests for our tenuous connection is replying to emails. Often I think a reply has been sent, only to be asked, “Are you sure you want to close this window? Your last action may not have been completed.” WHY NOT?? You’ve had PLENTY of time at 75 cents a minute!!
Travel: one large exercise in discovering what I can and can’t control. I can either be upset or sanguine that something didn’t go as planned and the outward results are identical; the only real cost is to myself. It reveals the dichotomy between what I expect/want and what is really necessary. It develops patience – though I’m beginning to think that I’ll never be patient, ever (on my deathbed, I’ll wonder WHY I’M NOT DEAD ALREADY!!) because one spends so much time getting someplace instead of being there. I can hope for one thing and get another: I stand on deck waiting to depart, feeling impatient that nothing is happening, then have my ears shattered by the ship’s horn right over my head. Oh, yeah, I guess waiting wasn’t so bad. I like being reminded of these things, but I can see why some people hate to travel.
We did eventually leave Fremantle and what an event it proved to be. Hundreds of cars lined the jetties waiting to see the ship leave, and people crowded every space along the wharf. They all screamed and hollered and flashed their lights and whistled. I guess not much happens in western Australia on a Tuesday night.
It was very rough after we left Adelaide for two days at sea. Crossing the Great Australian Bight has been as expected for southwestern Oz: stormy, damp, howling, bleak, etc. I now see it was dumb to bring only one long-sleeved shirt and I might have to throw it away when the weather warms for good. On our last trip across the North Pacific in winter, we experienced similar rough conditions and had to anchor our glasses to the table, take care not to fall out of bed and so on. Then, we had the dining room to ourselves since most passengers were busily worshipping the porcelain god, driving the porcelain bus, doing the Technicolor yawn, tossing cookies, whatever your preferred euphemism. Not so this sturdy bunch, many of whom are Australian. I suppose the seasickness gene has been bred out of their stock – those who were susceptible died long ago on the endless voyages from England. I might not be so happy with the high seas if I were traveling in a smaller boat. It’s an odd sensation as it is. One second you might lift right off your feet and the next you weigh several tons. It’s entertaining to watch people lurch by, bouncing off walls, staggering from side to side, waving their arms for balance, etc.
We visited Fremantle yesterday, late into port by 4 hours due to the bad weather the previous two days. Unfortunately, this meant we couldn’t go to Rottnest Island as planned. Rottnest is an 11 km-long island with gorgeous beaches, coral, fish, cycling, and to top off the experience, adorable little furry creatures that approach visitors for tidbits. In sum, just our kind of island. Oh well. We went to Cottlesloe Beach near Perth instead (we skipped Perth proper, since we had tired of big cities, dried up botanical gardens and traffic). The day was clear and sparkling and the water, though cold, was the same. We did some snorkeling right off shore and saw a surprising variety, even though the guard had warned us we might see hammerheads. Then the heavy equipment arrived: a three-week long art exhibit was being… hung? Planted? Uh, I guess, installed that day. Thirty sculptures were to be strung along the strand, and they ran the gamut: a group of larger than life emus made of recycled tires, a 20-foot-high pyramid glazed in glittering green and emitting a (probably unplanned) chemical odor under the hot sun, a clear orb anchored about 100 feet offshore that would glow after the sun went down, a group of candy lifesavers about the size of truck tires. Apparently, there had been a wildly popular sculpture installation pioneered at Bondi Beach that positioned sculpture as an accessible art that meshes with life instead of being separate from it. It had grabbed the public’s fancy and opened opportunities for sculptors across the country, so the idea was being adapted to other beaches.
I approached one guy wandering around inside a burned out shipping container, planning to ask why he thought that ugly hulk was art. Glad I held my tongue, since he was the artist. Would you like to see pictures? Go to www.garo.com.au. Anyway, he affably told me that the view from inside the container across the beach and water toward the many shipping vessels was meant to make us reflect on whether we really needed so many consumer items. He was also trying for a shipwrecked container ethos, hoping that one day shipping containers would be obsolete, and that beachcombers would “discover” his work like Charlton Heston in Planet of the Apes discovered the Statue of Liberty (only they’d be happy, unlike Charlton). “Oh, you mean we used to have those on our planet?” From his tone of voice, burning out the container was the most fun he had creating the sculpture. I’m taking a vote: are there any men who aren’t secret pyros? I didn’t think so. He asked where we were from, were those my kids, etc., and like most others, asked if our kids had school holidays right now. Nope, we just took them along anyway. He said, “Now I feel pretty stupid. I didn’t bring my 7-year-old to see my first publicly exhibited sculpture because I didn’t think he could miss a day of school.” I told him Mark Twain’s quote: “I never let my schooling get in the way of my education.” No offense to those teachers out there…
Before I close on this short note, I have to apologize for not replying to emails. Our internet connection via satellite is very unreliable. One of the most challenging requests for our tenuous connection is replying to emails. Often I think a reply has been sent, only to be asked, “Are you sure you want to close this window? Your last action may not have been completed.” WHY NOT?? You’ve had PLENTY of time at 75 cents a minute!!
Travel: one large exercise in discovering what I can and can’t control. I can either be upset or sanguine that something didn’t go as planned and the outward results are identical; the only real cost is to myself. It reveals the dichotomy between what I expect/want and what is really necessary. It develops patience – though I’m beginning to think that I’ll never be patient, ever (on my deathbed, I’ll wonder WHY I’M NOT DEAD ALREADY!!) because one spends so much time getting someplace instead of being there. I can hope for one thing and get another: I stand on deck waiting to depart, feeling impatient that nothing is happening, then have my ears shattered by the ship’s horn right over my head. Oh, yeah, I guess waiting wasn’t so bad. I like being reminded of these things, but I can see why some people hate to travel.
We did eventually leave Fremantle and what an event it proved to be. Hundreds of cars lined the jetties waiting to see the ship leave, and people crowded every space along the wharf. They all screamed and hollered and flashed their lights and whistled. I guess not much happens in western Australia on a Tuesday night.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Finally Caffeinated
Anybody else think like I’m dropping the ball on maintaining this blog? I perpetually feel a step behind. For example, we visited Adelaide two days ago and even though we had a smashing time, I still haven’t reported on it. To the great relief of all five people tracking these scintillating events, I traced the problem to a tragic lack of caffeine. A sister affliction to anemic salt in the food, the caffeine deficit has been insidious and pervasive. Gee, I feel like a nap again. This chair is sooo comfortable I can’t get up. Why can’t I open my eyes? I’ve been out of bed three hours now. My head hurts. I heard what you said and I’ve put it on the list to process later. Nine o’clock? Time for another 10 hours in the sack!! From Princess’ point of view, this is a smart tactic. Why risk hordes of caffeinated old people trying to frenetically cut rugs on heaving decks? After all, there is only one physician aboard. The salt thing is similarly strategic: everybody is calmer with lower blood pressure! Luckily, I brought caffeine tablets and things are looking up.
Adelaide is a gorgeous city. The cab driver called it a big country town and that seems apt. No traffic jams, no buildings over 30 stories, friendly denizens, an expansive central square with my favorite decoration: a fountain. We arrived on a sparkling day and caught the train into town – a 40-minute ride with 20 stops. We immediately headed for the central market, which resembled Reading Terminal on steroids: it’s about twice as big, more crowded, more variety. We purchased a picnic lunch from The Stinky Cheese Shop (they have less draconian import laws in Oz, so the French cheese is made with raw milk and is much tastier), bread, fruit and vegetables (they sell Amazonian carrots here – huge, psychedelically orange, smooth-skinned and delicious. They’re almost like Disney’s idea of carrots). The Greek-style yogurt with berries didn’t make it out the door, since we devoured it on the spot. We did manage to save some Australian olives for later, even though they’re delectable also.
Upon exiting the market, we worked our way down the cab queue meeting, greeting and attempting to convince a cabbie to take us to the Cleland Conservation Park up in the Adelaide hills. It took six tries (three “I don’t know where that is” falsehoods, one “I won’t negotiate, we must use the meter” and one “I’m only driving this cab for three days” – not a great confidence booster, that last). The sixth, a transplanted, entrepreneurial Indian whose parents own two Dunkin’ Donuts franchises in Chicago, agreed for a very fair price to drive us there, wait for three hours while we communed with kangaroos, and then deliver us back to our ship.
The hills outside Adelaide had beautiful views of the downtown and surrounding dry bushland, enhanced by the clear air and startlingly blue sky. The park allows visitors to wander among the animals when it’s safe. So, we purchased some pellets and hugged kangaroos for several hours. They come in all sizes: from that of a large housecat to 6-feet or so. I knew kangaroos are ubiquitous in Australia, and the nationals speak of them like pests that endanger car trips (in fact, Ozzies seem rather put out about sharing their land with animals- most citizens have negative views on the wildlife). But nobody mentions how SOFT they are. The ones we saw were friendly, gentle animals that ate decorously out of our hands and liked having their tummies scratched. Their fur is like short rabbit fur – warmed by the sun, it’s impossibly downy. I rubbed one six-foot fellow’s tummy and he rolled over on his back with all four feet waving in the air (two ridiculously short front legs and two huge powerful back legs – it’s a strange combo). Laura observed that their calves, for wont of a better word, are merely skinny bones powered thick rubber bands. They just don’t seem sturdy enough for all that bouncing.
We also saw dingos, koalas (yes, asleep – lack of caffeine in Cleland is a problem, too), echidnas (three of them eating with audible smacking sounds what looked like dog food but surely must be Purina Echidna Chow), wombats (upright this time – they look like really big, squarer guinea pigs and eat much the same diet), a kookaburra (sitting in a gum tree!! And they really do sound like they’re laughing). We observed a Tasmanian devil and it looks rather like it’s been constructed from spare used parts: front legs are too long for the back legs, the fur is scruffy and dull, the eyes are too small and the ears are chewed. We visited the meerkats, who have figured out zoo living for fun and profit: hear the visitors outside the den, discuss with chirps whether it’s time to eat, exit, stand on hind legs and look as cute as possible while assessing the chances of being fed, then give up shortly and go back inside to sleep until the next possibly gullible group of humans happens by.
We fed the emus also, though two heatedly disagreed right in front of Adam. He was holding a handful of feed when one emu approached. Another ran up and they both eyed the food, then squared off balefully. The feathers on their necks erected, they made low drumming noises and in a flash, leapt up and smacked each other hard in the chests with their enormous feet. Adam stood frozen in shock and they ran off drumming furiously – like two kids, winning the argument took precedence over nutrition.
Finding the ship was a bit of a challenge at the end of the day, and the cabbie was getting nervous even though I assured him it was too big to miss. Plenty of time for him to tell us that in Oz one should never rely on the three Ws: work, weather and women. He also lamented the high taxes he pays to support families with children, who, according to him, receive extensive govt support. The ship loomed up in front of us eventually and he almost drove off the road. “Holy shit!!” he said. “THAT’S a BOAT?” Yeah, we said you couldn’t miss it.
Once on board, we watched the departure process, which was complicated by a very stiff wind and some late arriving passengers. I asked a nearby employee, “What happens if passengers return late?” He told me they rarely leave without someone and will wait up to a half-hour if somebody is missing. He did say, however, that they had left people behind in several cases. Next port, we won’t worry so much about being back on the dot – if we’d stayed just a bit longer at Cleland, we could have cuddled a koala. They look even softer than roos.
Adelaide is a gorgeous city. The cab driver called it a big country town and that seems apt. No traffic jams, no buildings over 30 stories, friendly denizens, an expansive central square with my favorite decoration: a fountain. We arrived on a sparkling day and caught the train into town – a 40-minute ride with 20 stops. We immediately headed for the central market, which resembled Reading Terminal on steroids: it’s about twice as big, more crowded, more variety. We purchased a picnic lunch from The Stinky Cheese Shop (they have less draconian import laws in Oz, so the French cheese is made with raw milk and is much tastier), bread, fruit and vegetables (they sell Amazonian carrots here – huge, psychedelically orange, smooth-skinned and delicious. They’re almost like Disney’s idea of carrots). The Greek-style yogurt with berries didn’t make it out the door, since we devoured it on the spot. We did manage to save some Australian olives for later, even though they’re delectable also.
Upon exiting the market, we worked our way down the cab queue meeting, greeting and attempting to convince a cabbie to take us to the Cleland Conservation Park up in the Adelaide hills. It took six tries (three “I don’t know where that is” falsehoods, one “I won’t negotiate, we must use the meter” and one “I’m only driving this cab for three days” – not a great confidence booster, that last). The sixth, a transplanted, entrepreneurial Indian whose parents own two Dunkin’ Donuts franchises in Chicago, agreed for a very fair price to drive us there, wait for three hours while we communed with kangaroos, and then deliver us back to our ship.
The hills outside Adelaide had beautiful views of the downtown and surrounding dry bushland, enhanced by the clear air and startlingly blue sky. The park allows visitors to wander among the animals when it’s safe. So, we purchased some pellets and hugged kangaroos for several hours. They come in all sizes: from that of a large housecat to 6-feet or so. I knew kangaroos are ubiquitous in Australia, and the nationals speak of them like pests that endanger car trips (in fact, Ozzies seem rather put out about sharing their land with animals- most citizens have negative views on the wildlife). But nobody mentions how SOFT they are. The ones we saw were friendly, gentle animals that ate decorously out of our hands and liked having their tummies scratched. Their fur is like short rabbit fur – warmed by the sun, it’s impossibly downy. I rubbed one six-foot fellow’s tummy and he rolled over on his back with all four feet waving in the air (two ridiculously short front legs and two huge powerful back legs – it’s a strange combo). Laura observed that their calves, for wont of a better word, are merely skinny bones powered thick rubber bands. They just don’t seem sturdy enough for all that bouncing.
We also saw dingos, koalas (yes, asleep – lack of caffeine in Cleland is a problem, too), echidnas (three of them eating with audible smacking sounds what looked like dog food but surely must be Purina Echidna Chow), wombats (upright this time – they look like really big, squarer guinea pigs and eat much the same diet), a kookaburra (sitting in a gum tree!! And they really do sound like they’re laughing). We observed a Tasmanian devil and it looks rather like it’s been constructed from spare used parts: front legs are too long for the back legs, the fur is scruffy and dull, the eyes are too small and the ears are chewed. We visited the meerkats, who have figured out zoo living for fun and profit: hear the visitors outside the den, discuss with chirps whether it’s time to eat, exit, stand on hind legs and look as cute as possible while assessing the chances of being fed, then give up shortly and go back inside to sleep until the next possibly gullible group of humans happens by.
We fed the emus also, though two heatedly disagreed right in front of Adam. He was holding a handful of feed when one emu approached. Another ran up and they both eyed the food, then squared off balefully. The feathers on their necks erected, they made low drumming noises and in a flash, leapt up and smacked each other hard in the chests with their enormous feet. Adam stood frozen in shock and they ran off drumming furiously – like two kids, winning the argument took precedence over nutrition.
Finding the ship was a bit of a challenge at the end of the day, and the cabbie was getting nervous even though I assured him it was too big to miss. Plenty of time for him to tell us that in Oz one should never rely on the three Ws: work, weather and women. He also lamented the high taxes he pays to support families with children, who, according to him, receive extensive govt support. The ship loomed up in front of us eventually and he almost drove off the road. “Holy shit!!” he said. “THAT’S a BOAT?” Yeah, we said you couldn’t miss it.
Once on board, we watched the departure process, which was complicated by a very stiff wind and some late arriving passengers. I asked a nearby employee, “What happens if passengers return late?” He told me they rarely leave without someone and will wait up to a half-hour if somebody is missing. He did say, however, that they had left people behind in several cases. Next port, we won’t worry so much about being back on the dot – if we’d stayed just a bit longer at Cleland, we could have cuddled a koala. They look even softer than roos.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
No Worries, We're Upgraded, Mates
Did I mention that Jeff and I, though we only paid for a cabin with a view of a cozy lifeboat, were upgraded to a cabin with a balcony? We’ve experienced all kinds of weather conditions outside: sunny, being sprayed thickly with ocean water, calm and balmy, so windy that it blasts the hair off one’s head, smoky due to the Danish heavy smokers next door, gazing upon the most colorful double rainbow we’ve ever seen, etc. Actually that last we viewed from the deck after throwing down our ping pong paddles and rushing outside, scaring a large group of old people peacefully drinking beer. But when you can see four rainbow ends at once, rushing is called for even if outrageously expensive alcohol spills.
The kids weren’t upgraded, which means that two adolescents who want to sleep all the time in the best of circumstances are effectively staying in a cave. No matter what time we wake them up, they appear at the door blinking and cranky as if it’s the middle of the night. The ship’s food has been delicious and varied –fish, frog’s legs, many vegetables and fruits, an array of desserts - though our appreciation is dimming by the day. We couldn’t get enough for the first 24 hours (since we’d been economizing before that by not eating much) then we weren’t quite so hungry the next day, and now, though we admire everything, we mostly stick to salads and fruits and a bite or two of dessert. With all the hiking in ports, going up and down endless stairs and walking to and fro (gosh, I thought the library was at this end of the ship, but now I realize I’m turned around), we’re becoming pretty fit. Not so most others, as the spa assures us that passengers gain 1-2 pounds PER DAY on average. Scary. Or good marketing for the “Cellulite Detox Program – lose 8 inches in one session!” Further enticements for the program include “Free arm application.” But I already have two.
Should be fun to roust the kids out of their den tomorrow at 7 a.m. to visit Hobart, Tasmania. Tasmania used to be the butt of jokes in Australia, for some weird reason (ha, ha your island is smaller than ours) but people are now wise to the scenic beauty and wildlife it offers and it’s a popular vacation destination. Hobart was the second settlement in Australia and received the worst of England’s worst criminals, including batches of women convicts who committed heinous transgressions in England such as stealing a fork. These roustabouts built a small settlement: 17 pubs and three houses. Only kidding about the ratio, but Hobartians drank a lot back then and evidently still tipple extensively today.
Late next day – We debarked expeditiously this morning to wander around Hobart by foot, though low clouds obscured Mount Wellington, which looms over town. A Hobart goodwill ambassador at the port told us straight away that we wouldn’t see any Tasmanian devils. They’re mostly nocturnal, but she says they do wake up sometimes in the middle of the day to gnaw tempting sheep ankles or just snarl irritably. They’re also happy to clean up Tasmania’s extensive roadkill and, should it be necessary, the infrequent murder victim. Somebody missing? Find that person fast, or else there’s not much left and the forensics staff is disappointed yet again. Murders on a tiny island seem farfetched, but Tasmanian pubs, like those in Sydney (we know this from the Sydney newspaper) become violent on a somewhat regular basis. Hey, if 3 out of 4 of your ancestors had swum ashore from shipwrecks, you might have a dim view of life, too. From the Maritime Museum, we found out that hundreds of ships have wrecked around Tasmania over the years; captains often preferred to shoot the prisoners or leave them to sink in heavy irons instead of helping them to shore.
On the other end of the spectrum, today’s front page story in the Mercury (Voice of Tasmania) concerns the city-wide search consuming large swaths of time for both officials and citizens…seeking the beloved stuffed rabbit lost by Emily, who is five and can’t spare a single bunny from her extensive personal warren. I am not making this up, to quote Dave Barry. Other weird written matter seen about town:
- Grace removals (apparently a trash company, but still, so close to Lent and all)
- Maritime paraphernalia that promises to “absorb two to three times the oil of competing socks.”
- “Legacy puddings available now.”
- Hot Dry Rocks (a geothermal energy consulting firm that is very literal)
Otherwise, we ate excellent Hobartian tiger prawns that measured 9 inches from head to tail. We also picked up the big big jar of Vegemite, since Adam has taken a liking to “the world’s best source of B vitamins.” Most of the world, however, prefers to find B vitamins just about anywhere else. IMO, Vegemite looks and smells exactly like what we cleaned out of our dog’s ears.
The kids weren’t upgraded, which means that two adolescents who want to sleep all the time in the best of circumstances are effectively staying in a cave. No matter what time we wake them up, they appear at the door blinking and cranky as if it’s the middle of the night. The ship’s food has been delicious and varied –fish, frog’s legs, many vegetables and fruits, an array of desserts - though our appreciation is dimming by the day. We couldn’t get enough for the first 24 hours (since we’d been economizing before that by not eating much) then we weren’t quite so hungry the next day, and now, though we admire everything, we mostly stick to salads and fruits and a bite or two of dessert. With all the hiking in ports, going up and down endless stairs and walking to and fro (gosh, I thought the library was at this end of the ship, but now I realize I’m turned around), we’re becoming pretty fit. Not so most others, as the spa assures us that passengers gain 1-2 pounds PER DAY on average. Scary. Or good marketing for the “Cellulite Detox Program – lose 8 inches in one session!” Further enticements for the program include “Free arm application.” But I already have two.
Should be fun to roust the kids out of their den tomorrow at 7 a.m. to visit Hobart, Tasmania. Tasmania used to be the butt of jokes in Australia, for some weird reason (ha, ha your island is smaller than ours) but people are now wise to the scenic beauty and wildlife it offers and it’s a popular vacation destination. Hobart was the second settlement in Australia and received the worst of England’s worst criminals, including batches of women convicts who committed heinous transgressions in England such as stealing a fork. These roustabouts built a small settlement: 17 pubs and three houses. Only kidding about the ratio, but Hobartians drank a lot back then and evidently still tipple extensively today.
Late next day – We debarked expeditiously this morning to wander around Hobart by foot, though low clouds obscured Mount Wellington, which looms over town. A Hobart goodwill ambassador at the port told us straight away that we wouldn’t see any Tasmanian devils. They’re mostly nocturnal, but she says they do wake up sometimes in the middle of the day to gnaw tempting sheep ankles or just snarl irritably. They’re also happy to clean up Tasmania’s extensive roadkill and, should it be necessary, the infrequent murder victim. Somebody missing? Find that person fast, or else there’s not much left and the forensics staff is disappointed yet again. Murders on a tiny island seem farfetched, but Tasmanian pubs, like those in Sydney (we know this from the Sydney newspaper) become violent on a somewhat regular basis. Hey, if 3 out of 4 of your ancestors had swum ashore from shipwrecks, you might have a dim view of life, too. From the Maritime Museum, we found out that hundreds of ships have wrecked around Tasmania over the years; captains often preferred to shoot the prisoners or leave them to sink in heavy irons instead of helping them to shore.
On the other end of the spectrum, today’s front page story in the Mercury (Voice of Tasmania) concerns the city-wide search consuming large swaths of time for both officials and citizens…seeking the beloved stuffed rabbit lost by Emily, who is five and can’t spare a single bunny from her extensive personal warren. I am not making this up, to quote Dave Barry. Other weird written matter seen about town:
- Grace removals (apparently a trash company, but still, so close to Lent and all)
- Maritime paraphernalia that promises to “absorb two to three times the oil of competing socks.”
- “Legacy puddings available now.”
- Hot Dry Rocks (a geothermal energy consulting firm that is very literal)
Otherwise, we ate excellent Hobartian tiger prawns that measured 9 inches from head to tail. We also picked up the big big jar of Vegemite, since Adam has taken a liking to “the world’s best source of B vitamins.” Most of the world, however, prefers to find B vitamins just about anywhere else. IMO, Vegemite looks and smells exactly like what we cleaned out of our dog’s ears.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
We finally managed to have an intelligible conversation via Skype (the company;s slogan: “Everybody in the world can talk!” Yup, as long as it's one at a time) with my mom and dad. Following that, we scraped off our stinky hotel miasma and boarded our boat. The kids were insanely happy: Free food! Trash TV! Pools! Ping Pong! Our own room!! For those teachers reading this blog, I do want you to know that Adam is proceeding apace with his American Political Systems homework, Laura has conquered the matter unit in science and begun her geometry, and we're all learning French 3, since Jeff accidentally left home without his French CDs.
We left the kids to their glee and, having successfully smuggled the scotch aboard, Jeff and I got off the boat to find a liquor store and test the smuggling limits. So far we haven't found it - we reboarded with three bottles of wine. Our travel agent sent a nice gift: 2 vouchers for valpolicella, one for each adult. When we tried to redeem both that night, they looked askance, because what we thought was 2 glasses was actually 2 bottles. We saved the second voucher.
Sydney Harbor was a spectacular port to sail away from, even though we left at night. The pilot boat followed right alongside, ready to whisk away the highly remunerated pilot as soon as he'd safely steered us through the right lane (yes, it's very well paying - $175,000 AD - but the hours are hell: our Melbourne pilot boarded at 4:30 this a.m. about 2 miles out to sea to guide us into Melbourne port, and he had get up, fire up the boat, and motor out to meet us before that). Prior to Melbourne, we spent a day at sea eyeing our fellow passengers. They're mostly older and very few children are aboard. Since the weather is warm, sizeable lounging bodies surround the outdoor pool and most of never seem to test the pool temperature. Jeff says the scene reminds him of the Axiom, the spaceship in Wall-E. Three of us swam in NoseBreak Pool - the indoor pool in which Adam broke his nose on our previous voyage. It was sloshy in an exciting way, like a very small wave pool at a water park, but we were very careful.
Melbourne is a nice little city a tad smaller than Sydney but not quite so picturesque. It has cooled down quite a bit since the deadliest wildfires in the state of Victoria, but they are still fighting them: the situation is forecast to get much worse again over the next several days as the heat returns and the wind picks up. We talked to a local who told us that in one burnt area, the only house that survived was one in which the homeowner had burned his own bushland several years ago as a precaution. The judicial system hauled that fellow into court right after he lit up and fined him $100,000 AD plus court costs for his apparent folly, though a groundswell of support has begun recently to overturn his fine. In visiting some areas of the botanical gardens that are planted like the land that burned, you can see how much very dry tinder builds up in a relatively short time - old leaves, dead branches.
We visited the Melbourne Zoo today - another extremely dry place, since Victoria is suffering record droughts. Getting there was a challenge that involved riding the city's extensive tram system. We viewed many of Australia's peculiar creatures: the platypus, kangaroo, wombat, koala (BTW, Laura thought that one of our upcoming stops was Koala Lumpur). The platypus swam around its darkened enclosure madly. We learned that its eggs are an average of 17 millimeters long - I had this image in my head that they were as big as duck eggs. The koala, perpetually drunk on eucalyptus, was sleeping it off the continual hangover - the only body part we could see was his motionless haunch. The wombat was in his underground lair, on his back with all four feet in the air. He appeared bloated and dead. One of the younger zoo visitors noted that “he has poop halfway out his bum!!” That must be one very fat, somnolent, secure wombat. We viewed our first kangaroos, who were also living the good life. They snoozed under their very own thoughtfully rigged canvas canopy. When one got up, we noted that kangaroos have two speeds only: plodding and watch-out-coming-through. When moving about at a leisurely pace, they are so deliberate that they look like an arthritic arising gingerly from bed. When hopping, they become hyperefficient machines with no off button. We've also noted that they like to look in the same direction at the same time, so calling a bunch of them a “mob” fits.
We left the kids to their glee and, having successfully smuggled the scotch aboard, Jeff and I got off the boat to find a liquor store and test the smuggling limits. So far we haven't found it - we reboarded with three bottles of wine. Our travel agent sent a nice gift: 2 vouchers for valpolicella, one for each adult. When we tried to redeem both that night, they looked askance, because what we thought was 2 glasses was actually 2 bottles. We saved the second voucher.
Sydney Harbor was a spectacular port to sail away from, even though we left at night. The pilot boat followed right alongside, ready to whisk away the highly remunerated pilot as soon as he'd safely steered us through the right lane (yes, it's very well paying - $175,000 AD - but the hours are hell: our Melbourne pilot boarded at 4:30 this a.m. about 2 miles out to sea to guide us into Melbourne port, and he had get up, fire up the boat, and motor out to meet us before that). Prior to Melbourne, we spent a day at sea eyeing our fellow passengers. They're mostly older and very few children are aboard. Since the weather is warm, sizeable lounging bodies surround the outdoor pool and most of never seem to test the pool temperature. Jeff says the scene reminds him of the Axiom, the spaceship in Wall-E. Three of us swam in NoseBreak Pool - the indoor pool in which Adam broke his nose on our previous voyage. It was sloshy in an exciting way, like a very small wave pool at a water park, but we were very careful.
Melbourne is a nice little city a tad smaller than Sydney but not quite so picturesque. It has cooled down quite a bit since the deadliest wildfires in the state of Victoria, but they are still fighting them: the situation is forecast to get much worse again over the next several days as the heat returns and the wind picks up. We talked to a local who told us that in one burnt area, the only house that survived was one in which the homeowner had burned his own bushland several years ago as a precaution. The judicial system hauled that fellow into court right after he lit up and fined him $100,000 AD plus court costs for his apparent folly, though a groundswell of support has begun recently to overturn his fine. In visiting some areas of the botanical gardens that are planted like the land that burned, you can see how much very dry tinder builds up in a relatively short time - old leaves, dead branches.
We visited the Melbourne Zoo today - another extremely dry place, since Victoria is suffering record droughts. Getting there was a challenge that involved riding the city's extensive tram system. We viewed many of Australia's peculiar creatures: the platypus, kangaroo, wombat, koala (BTW, Laura thought that one of our upcoming stops was Koala Lumpur). The platypus swam around its darkened enclosure madly. We learned that its eggs are an average of 17 millimeters long - I had this image in my head that they were as big as duck eggs. The koala, perpetually drunk on eucalyptus, was sleeping it off the continual hangover - the only body part we could see was his motionless haunch. The wombat was in his underground lair, on his back with all four feet in the air. He appeared bloated and dead. One of the younger zoo visitors noted that “he has poop halfway out his bum!!” That must be one very fat, somnolent, secure wombat. We viewed our first kangaroos, who were also living the good life. They snoozed under their very own thoughtfully rigged canvas canopy. When one got up, we noted that kangaroos have two speeds only: plodding and watch-out-coming-through. When moving about at a leisurely pace, they are so deliberate that they look like an arthritic arising gingerly from bed. When hopping, they become hyperefficient machines with no off button. We've also noted that they like to look in the same direction at the same time, so calling a bunch of them a “mob” fits.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Yummy lifesavers in Oz
Just got back from Bondi Beach - pronounced Bon-die, not Bondee, as we found out. Thirty minutes from town, it's a perfect, soft, sandy crescent with just a few beachgoers since it's a weekday. The ocean was angry, however, with crashing turquoise waves bearing many surfers. Waaay too cold to swim, in my opinion, which explained the wetsuits, though it was sunny and warm enough to wear swimsuits comfortably. I wandered up to the lifeguard station, since lifeguards are so prestigious here I had to see some up close and personal. Bondi lifesavers are even more famous, as they have their own reality TV series. I found two very handsome representatives manning a place that looked somewhat like an airport control tower. They nicely posed for a picture, then explained how they identify poor swimmers likely to need rescue. Apparently those who try to jump OVER the humongous waves rather than ducking under aren't very seaworthy. Far too soon, I had to depart and let them return to work. Culinary delights of Bondi include: grilled octopus on skewers (in fact, we've seen so many cooked octopi that I'm beginning to wonder if the population can bear such heavy harvests) and deep-fried Mars Bars - like deep-fried Oreos, these last are impossibly delectable and clog your arteries as you chew.
Yesterday, we visited the Sydney Opera House and were surprised to find that though its shells look pure white from afar, they are actually sheathed in a zig-zag pattern of beige and white ceramic tiles. For some reason - maybe the dumb, gullible looks on our faces, or the distraction of trying once again to stop the kids from needling each other - a bunch of young sailors visiting the Opera House commandeered us to supplement an impromptu performance of the Australian national anthem, though we know only two words in the entire song: Australia fair.
The Royal Botanical Gardens - a free activity!! - had beautiful plantings and expansive lawns. A geometric herb garden contained possibly my favorite fountain ever: a round brass ball about 4 feet high that spilled water over its entire surface, but ONLY when one stepped close to it. The roses also were numerous and colorful and smelled heavenly. The Gardens encourage visitors to enjoy themselves thoroughly by hugging trees, walking on the grass, talking to the wildlife, etc. They have a fine sense of humor here and in the city in general: the sign for the acacia, a.ka. the wattle tree (which has a fluffy bottlebrush-like bloom) contained a Monty Python quote, something along the lines of "This is the wattle, the emblem of our land. You can put it in a bottle or hold it in your hand." The city building that records births, deaths and marriages is referred to by locals as "the hatch, match and dispatch." The harbor tower, which controls all berths on Sydney's waterfront, is called "the pill."
We hiked to the top of Sydney's highest building: Sydney Tower, which free city guides refer to as "the most iconic building in Sydney" - um, don't they know the rest of the world believes the Opera House owns that title? Besides, the Tower resembles a giant gold Bed Bath & Beyond trash can on stilts. By that time of the day, we were dragging butt from jetlag, which explains our decisions to purchase kangaroo jerky in the sky-high souvenir shop and snooze with our backs against a cracked windowpane on the Tower's observation deck. Our advice: do not purchase kangaroo jerky. It has a strange, rancid, gritty taste perhaps explained by roadkill origins.
We visited a street market where we purchased potpourri in an attempt to overcome the very bothersome odor in our hotel room. Laura's antipathy toward the place continues. When I mentioned that I thought louvered bathroom doors were a pretty dumb idea in a tiny space shared by four people, she said, "Solid doors are expensive. The management spends its money instead on durian fruits for every room." For those unfamiliar with durian, it's a fruit so stinky that it's banned on public transport in most of Asia.
That's it for now. Gotta tune in to the popular reality show "Bondi Vet" about, what else, another hunky, blond Australian. Seriously, these buff dudes are everywhere and my neck is getting sore. Before I sign off, though, here's our itinerary: board our ship tomorrow - I can't wait to unpack and hope they don't confiscate the Glenlivet hidden in my suitcase - then to Melbourne, Hobart in Tasmania, Adelaide, Exmouth, Freemantle - one of these Australia stops has whale sharks in residence at this time of year - Singapore, Vietnam, Cambodia. We hop off the boat in Thailand, spend a few beach days on the Andaman Sea, head to the Malaysian Perhentian Islands (supposedly the perfect tropical paradise) for snorkeling, Brunei, Borneo for a wildlife trek to see orangutans and Sumatran rhinos, then back to Singapore and home. Final note: to those we've tried to Skype, we humbly apologize for the random hang-ups, bad connections, heavy breathing, cranky comments like, "is it working now??" and saying "what???" a million times. Unfortunately, VOIP still has some kinks.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
First stop Sydney
Leaving home was a breeze, though a crucial aquarium pump did expire at the last minute (like most modern appliances, it's fitted with a hidden unit that detects the exact moment when failure is least convenient). Our plane to San Francisco encountered roaring 100 mph headwinds and refueled in Kansas City, of all places. Travel law: once airplanes are on the ground, they tend to remain on the ground. We sat at the gate for more than an hour as passengers became increasingly hot, hungry and desperate to roam the barren stretches of KC airport cuisine. WHen we finally lifted off, US Airways quelled the restive population with...get ready for it...: FREE WATER!! Seat belts prevented cavorting in the aisles. Oh well, San Fran has historically been difficult to reach, with unfavorable winds keeping ships from entering port for weeks after months-long voyages, even though sailors could literally smell the harbor.
Nothing notable on our 14.5 hour flight from Sydney except for my thrilling conversation with a fellow Phillies phan. We relived some plays, talked about spring training, trash-talked the Mets. I'm now sorry I didn't bring a Phils hat to share the joy with the rest of the world, as this forward-thinking phan had. We experienced some bumpiness landing in Sydney due to bad weather - it had been raining for 10 days when we arrived even with the record drought conditions (uncharacteristically, it DID NOT snow when we left Philly, so the bad travel weather karma transferred).
It cleared beautifully by the afternoon, though, and it's supposed to remain nice. Warm and surprisingly awake, we threw on summer clothes, visited Darling Harbour, had some lunch, strolled around the spectacular aquarium, ate some ice cream - all crucial preparation for losing our Lonely Planet Australia guidebook, which had the directions back to our hotel. I guess I was more tired than I thought. Happily, we recovered it at the aquarium ticket desk, where I had put it down to sign the first of many many credit card receipts.
We are staying at the Y Hotel City South - we've had great luck with Y Hotels elsewhere in the world, as they have clean though small quarters, good prices and they're usually centrally located. This one is centrally located all right!! Laura took an instant loathing to the place, assisted by anemic air conditioning and strong sun through our window. We crashed at about 7 p.m., but successfully completed our fire drill a few hours later.
"What's that????"
"I don't know. It sounds like the fire alarm!"
"Did you put on the fan when you took your shower?"
"YES!"
The bathroom has a sign that says steam can set off the smoke alarm, summoning the fire dept., and slapping the offender with a $250 fine. Being cautious and blame-free, we trooped downstairs and stood outside watching extremely buff Australian firemen check out the problem. When I was in college, we loved fire alarms at night, since we got to see who was sleeping over with whom. They're not so fond of them here, as I discovered when I asked a fellow guest how long she'd known the guy she was with and if she'd thought hard about the risks she was taking. And who was the father of that baby, anyway? As we went back upstairs, Laura said, "Now you see my first impression of this place was correct." Her mood, however, might be influenced by another truism of our travels: she has a cold. Miraculously, Adam has not tossed his cookies. Yet.
I do apologize for my rather boring reportage, but I'm still pretty tired. In any case, I see the sun has come up and we're moving early enough to see the fish market at 7 a.m. More thrilling info later, perhaps. I'll write at length about functional air conditioning, I promise!
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