Xtreme Tourism: My Epic Carbon Footprint

2009-04-16T07:24:00.001-07:00

Fullerton, USA

Well, it's over. I guess I could write about the things that happened to me while carrying a fake Syrian passport through four different airports, but those stories are better in person. On my US customs form where it asked for countries visited I just started listing them counting backwards from Spain, and got up to Finland before I ran out of space. I just left it like this and desperately hoped they wouldn't ask any questions, because I really didn't want to answer to what I was doing in the Middle East. When I got off the plane in LAX I realized that I had just gone through the gate located immediately next to the gate through which I had left en route to Cairo three months ago. How fucking mundane. Yesterday I signed and dated my tax returns, but accidentaly wrote the day before the month, as I've been doing it for the past three months. I was in 20 different countries. I stayed in 39 different hotels and 13 different hostels. I took 15 flights on 9 different airlines and in all was in 19 different airports. I took 23 trains, 2 ferries, 17 buses, 10 autorickshaws and 80 taxis. I used 4 municipal buses and 9 different metro systems.

2009-04-13T00:50:00.000-07:00

Madrid, Spain

I´m coming home. When I first left, I envisioned this trip lasting about one year. But three months has been enough. This is tomorrow for me:
British Airways Madrid - London-Heathrow
American Airlines London-Heathrow - Boston
American Airlines Boston - Los Angeles

One month ago I was in St. Petersburg
Two months ago I was in Muscat.
Three months ago I was in Alexandria.

2009-04-12T07:28:00.000-07:00

Madrid, Spain

It´s good to be in Madrid...AGAIN. I love to be snob and point out that fact, since this is one the few cities I have visited more than once in my life. Today I went to the Prado...AGAIN. Then I went to the Royal Palace...AGAIN.

One month ago I was on a train to St. Petersburg.
Two months ago I was in Dubai.
Three months ago I was in Cairo.

2009-04-11T07:00:00.001-07:00

Madrid, Spain

My God there are hookers everywhere here. Here´s to three months on the road.

One month ago I was in Moscow.
Two months ago I was in Dubai.
Three months ago I was in Cairo.

2009-04-10T08:12:00.000-07:00

Madrid, Spain

I have to admit, I was a little sceptical about Spain, seeing as it´s such a fad "in" travel destination right now, but I am really enjoying it. I realized in Barcelona that it was Semana Santa, something I totally had not factored into my travel plans. Last night in Zaragoza I started seeing people walking all over the city in those weird robes and carrying the wizard hoods and realized that they were assembling for some kind of function. Then later I heard a bunch of noise so went towards it to investigate, and ran right into a fucking procession of one of the brotherhoods (even though at least half were women) that carry the saints through the streets. I was thrilled since I thought they only do this in Sevilla. What always shocks American tourists is that the outfits and hoods they wear are identical to those used by the Ku Klux Klan. Of course, the KKK stole this from them and they´ve been doing it for hundreds of years before them, so it´s not fair to associate this Spanish custom with racism. Still, I think it´s hilarious and since I don´t know what these people are actually called, I will just be the ignorant American that I am and call them Klansmen. It lasted a long time with a lot of drumming, then at the end a bunch of people jumped in the streets to follow the procession. I jumped right in with them. They moved very slowly through the streets and then stopped in one place where they got out microphones and started giving some kind of a speech. This got kind of boring so I left and got a donner kebab. Going back the way I came I ran right into another procession, and this one was a hell of a lot bigger. I think they´re different brotherhoods that represent different neighborhoods of the city. Of course wikipedia would have the answer, I just don´t actually care. In this one they were all wearing purple Klansmen outfits. At this point the crowds gathered were massive. Once they passed I tried to get out of there, but the police had blocked off most of the major streets even to pedestrian traffic, because more processions were coming. The sea of people brought me to another street where yet another procession was going down, and this one was the longest so far, with a huge float of some saint at the end iluminated by at least 100 electric candles. Before the saint there was a line of Klansmen carrying staffs that at the top had a big orb with the words "Lágrima I", followed by "Lágrima II", "Lágrima III" and so on until I think "Lágrima VII." Lágrima means teardrop, but I don´t really know what this represents. Did Jesus shed seven tears on the cross or something? I am amazed by the number of Chinese immigrants here. It´s just kind of strange to hear Chinese people speaking Spanish. There are also a lot of immigrants from Latin America. In an internet cafe yesterday in Zaragoza I could tell that the woman at the counter was from Latin America by her accent. Then I had to print something and she had some difficulty getting the printer to work, so we ended up talking for a little bit. She was from Venezuela. I didn´t even ask her why she lived in Spain, she volunteered the information: because of Chavez. She told me that right now there are a lot of Venezuelans living in Spain because of Chavez. I once heard that Madrid is considered ugly, but I highly disagree. I think it´s very nice. And being here has actually made me wonder just what IS the big deal with Barcelona?

One month ago I was in Moscow.
Two months ago I was in Doha.

2009-04-09T04:48:00.001-07:00

Zaragoza, Spain

My favorite part of Barcelona was Barceloneta and all the new shit by the beach that they built for the Olympics. It´s touristy, but at least you can breath there. Who would have thought that Spain would have the best railway system in Europe, better than France and Germany? Granted, the train to Barcelona was a piece of shit, as was Barcelona´s Estació de França, but today I took a high speed "Ave" train from Barcelona´s main station, Sants Estació. The station was like no train station I´ve ever seen and functioned more like an airport, with a security check and a boarding gate to the track! Definitely the best train I´ve ever been on, and almost as fast as the TGV.

One month ago I was in Almaty.
Two months ago I was in Doha.

2009-04-08T03:12:00.001-07:00

Barcelona, Spain

In Marseille I saw lots of campaign posters for Algerian President Abdelaziz Bouteflika. I would like to say something about France, since I have now been there twice in my life. Both times were wonderful. I have no idea where the rumor about the French being rude came from. I have never experienced this. I took a French train from Marseille to Montpellier, and transfered to a Spanish train to Barcelona. The couple sitting across from me started talking to me in Castilian, which I could understand, but when they spoke amongst themselves I didn't understand a word, so I hoped that they were speaking Catalan. But no, they were from Chile. OK, fair enough, out of all Spanish dialects Chilean is considered by far the ugliest and the most difficult to understand. The train stopped in Cerebere, the last town in France. I thought this would just be a normal stop, but all of a sudden the French Police Nationale were walking through the car demanding everybody's passport. WHAT???!!! My understanding of the Schengen Agreement was that this wasn't supposed to happen unless there was a terrorist attack or a World Cup. Since I crossed into Finland my passport hadn't been checked at a single border or airport. I guess this was probably normal, but I'm still not sure due to some things that happened on the Spanish side of the border (read on). Then the train just sat at Cerebere for a very long time, and nobody knew why. There was no explanation for the significant delay. Finally we got going again, only to a few minutes later stop again and an announcement was made that they would be switching the train for Spanish train gauges. WTF. This actually didn't take too long, and soon I saw signs in Castilian and Catalan and realized we had crossed the border. Annnouncements on board had been made in French and Castilian, but immediately after crossing the border they felt no need to speak French anymore, but added an announcement in Catalan after the Castilian announcement. Right after crossing the border we stopped in the first town in Spain. Soon it became apparent that this stop was also taking longer than normal. Then I heard some commotion from the next car, and a man exclaiming defensively in a frightened voice "¡no lo conozco! ¡no lo conozco!" The Chilean guy looked through the window and reported back that they were arresting somebody. Then I heard a woman talking loudly on a radio, spelling out names in the phonetic alphabet. They were Arab names. I immediately thought back to the passport check in France, and how I thought this wasn't supposed to happen unless there had been a terrorist attack. Realizing that the police were proceeding into our car, the Chileans got their passports ready. This wasn't necessary as they just came through, looked at everyone's face and demanded passports from the two Arabs in the car. Shit, a month ago I was being hassled by the police in Kazakhstan, but now in Europe my white ass is on the right side of things. Then later there was more commotion as several police officers were literally running through the train and all around the station, yelling loudly and talking on their radios as if they were actually in pursuit of somebody. I don´t know exactly how to describe it, but it wasn´t pretty. Finally, the train started moving again and everybody clapped. As we pulled out of the station I saw one of the guys they had arrested start to resist and they went all Guantanamo on his ass. We got into Barcelona well over an hour late and it was pouring rain. Today it´s just overcast. I came here with the intention of hating Barcelona, but I must admit it is pretty cool. But this is the problem. My God, it´s more touristy than Paris. It´s a Wednesday in April and I can´t move anywhere because there are so many tourists. I want to vomit seeing all these filthy backpackers with their RyanAir luggage tags. Of course I´m one of them, but the last thing I want to see is more of me, though this is inevitable anywhere in Europe. And then there are the French, and the Germans. I´m gonna be sick. The cool thing is that apparently I blend in here, since the Japanese tourists come up to me and ask me for directions, then take a picture of me. Just kidding about the picture, but you´d be willing to believe it. Some Spanish tourists even came up to me and said "hola, ¿eres de aquí, de Barcelona?" Even if Barcelona is a cool city, the things it´s famous for are stupid. Sagrada Familia is a hideous monstrosity. I want to say that Gaudí was an idiot, but actually I guess he was a genious to have designed the world´s ugliest building and gotten people to come from around the planet to come see it. And don´t even get me started on La Rambla. I walked down the entire thing and at the end thought "you´ve got to be kidding me." Why is that famous? Honestly, the Copenhagen Mermaid is cooler. At least you can get relatively cheap food here.

One month ago I was in Almaty.
Two months ago I was in Manama.

2009-04-06T05:38:00.000-07:00

Marseille, France

What am I back in Egypt or something? It feels a lot like Alexandria, and I like it very much. Last night I was in Lyon, which I loved. It felt like some weird clash of France and Italy. And last night I finally did it: I drank absinthe. Nothing happened. I didn't see the fairy and no tarantulas came out of my mouth. I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

One month ago I was in Delhi.
Two months ago I was in Kuwait City.

2009-04-04T06:42:00.000-07:00

Annecy, France

Toujours rien d'écrire, mais j'aime ce chanson: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHMkdzEGX8E.

Il y a un mois j'étais à Delhi.
Il y a deux mois j'étais au Kuwait.

2009-04-02T07:57:00.000-07:00

Basel, Switzerland

Still nothing to write about, except that I was surprised to find that the US dollar is once again worth slightly more than the Swiss franc.

One month ago I was in Delhi.
Two months ago I was in Beirut.

2009-04-01T06:44:00.001-07:00

Frankfurt, Germany

German keyboards, besides the umlauts to the right, are almost identical to English keyboards except for just two letters which are transposed. One of these letters happens to be in my password, so I had a little trouble getting in to things just typing with my eyes closed. For a major world financial capital, Frankfurt is a really nice city to walk around in. There are lots and lots and lots of sex shops and strip clubs. My hostel is right next to a strip club called America with the Statue of Liberty forming the "i." I saw the building where I think the euro is actually printed in. The euro has fallen a little bit. I withdrew the exact same amount from ATMs three days in a row, and on the third day the amount of dollars taken out of my account was almost ten dollars less than the first day. I had the best donner kebab of my life today. It seemed more like a giant Middle Eastern calzone or something. Although I like Germany, there´s nothing here that I have a strong desire to see or experience, and it´s more just a transit point for me. I don´t think I´ll be spending much time here.

One month ago I was in Delhi.
Two months ago I was in Damascus.

2009-03-31T13:03:00.000-07:00

Frankfurt, Germany

I have nothing to write about. Nothing scary happens in Western Europe.

One month ago I was in Agra.
Two months ago I was in Osama bin Laden´s mother´s hometown of Lattakia.

2009-03-25T02:59:00.000-07:00

Copenhagen, Denmark

I don't get why Denmark doesn't use the standard EU license plates. They just have a plain white bar with no indication of the country name. Even cars in Norway, which isn't in the EU, have plates with the same standard design but the Norwegian flag instead of the EU flag. I'm kind of sick of Carlsberg (the Danish beer)'s slogan "Probably the best beer in the world." No doubt it is a very good beer, but no way the best in the world. I'm going to voluntarily drop off the radar for a few days. I'll check in later.

One month ago I was in Mumbai.
Two months ago I was in Damascus.

2009-03-24T09:54:00.000-07:00

Copenhagen, Denmark

Good times. It's frickin freezing here. Why is it that the further south I go in this region the weather gets colder and the women get blonder? Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? I thought we were done with the snow when it was raining in Gøteborg, but no. Today has been alternating between sun and a white out. But even when there is sun it's freeeeeeeeeeezing because of the very strong wind. Copenhagen is nice, maybe not as beautiful as some of the cities I saw in Sweden, but funky and cosmopolitan. I saw Amalienborg Palace, the residence of the queen. Of course I didn't know that's what it was until I was walking by, saw something weird and went over to investigate. Extremely low security for the residence of a head of state. There's not even a gate around it, and it's guarded by a few of those guys with funny hats and bayonets. On my first trip to Mexico in 2005 I met in a hostel a Danish guy who actually used to be one of these guys guarding the palace. Then I finally found that stupid mermaid in the harbor. Why the hell is that thing famous? Very unimpressive. The sign at 7-11 said you have to be 16 to buy alcohol and 18 to buy tobacco. This is the first country I've ever been in where you have to be older to smoke than to drink.'

One month ago I was in Mumbai.
Two months ago I was in Amman.

2009-03-23T09:19:00.000-07:00

Malmö, Sweden

My hotel in Göteborg had a big picture of the local ice hockey team: the Indians, complete with a mascot that looked exactly like a cigar Indian. Maybe Fullerton and Göteborg should be sister cities. Something hilarious happened to me last night while buying beer: I got carded! That´s a first for Europe, and only a second for me ever outside the US. The other time was in Mexico. The drinking age in Sweden is 18 for beer and 20 for hard liquor, but some looophole makes it legal to drink hard liquor at just 18 if and only if it´s being consumed in a bar or restaurant. Weird. Today my suitcase broke beyond repair so I had to get a new one. This was very emotional for me since that suitcase has been the only thing constant in my life for over 2 months now. Best $20 I ever spent. I have no idea how much money I have since I haven't been able to access online banking in a very long time. Bank of America seems to have completely locked me out of it. This is very worrying to me since I need to know right now exactly what my balance is for a certain reason. If I have a single penny left, I will definitely take it out of Bank of America once I get back.

One month ago I was on a train to Mumbai.
Two months ago I was in Amman.

2009-03-22T11:06:00.000-07:00

Göteborg, Sweden

Thank you to those who sent me recommendations of things to see in Oslo. Don't worry, I didn't spend all of my time in bars, I did get out and see things. In case it wasn't clear from my posts, I LOVE NORWAY!!! This morning I tried to buy a train ticket to Göteborg from the automatic ticket machine, and was very confused when I typed in "Goteborg" and nothing came up. Duh, it doesn't have an "o" in it, it's an "ö," which actually looks different in Norwegian than it does in Swedish, but whatever. After being so thrilled with the smooth train travel in Europe so far, today my train had a problem. There was something wrong with the track so we stopped somewhere outside of Oslo where everybody had to get off and get on a bus to the next station and get on a different train. They organized this pretty smoothly, but I was freaking out because the announcement was made only in Norwegian. The unit of currency in Norwedenmark (Norway, Sweden, Denmark lol) is the kroner, which literally means "crown." When speaking in English, many Norwedanes actually say the word crown instead of kroner. Sweden has many attractive women, but Norway is ten times better. Surprising, isn't it? Göteborg is a really cool city, but unfortunately it's raining.

One month ago I was in Kochi.
Two months ago I was in Petra.

2009-03-21T03:25:00.001-07:00

For the curious, this song is really popular here right now: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LtfEC55vFkg. It's from a Russian group, even though they HATE Russians here. Every time I tell somebody I was there they express sympathy.

2009-03-21T02:52:00.001-07:00

Oslo, Norway

Wow. That's really just all I can say about this part of the world. I can't even begin to describe how much fun Scandinavia has been. If any of my NAU friends are reading this, it's been like an entire freshman year at McConnell in three days. Norwegian girls are nice. Very nice! When I get back we'll have to have a "Scandinavian Story Time" because I just can't even put these experiences into writing. Unbelievable. I don't know why I ever wanted to go anywhere else. Last night the Oslo locals got me to try a shot of some weird shit that they drink here, which later they explained to me is made by boiling breath mints in vodka. Ok.... It was pretty good though. People keep asking me if it's true that Americans think Europe is a country.

One month ago I was in Kochi.
Two months ago I was in Aqaba.

2009-03-20T09:27:00.001-07:00

Oslo, Norway

Told you I would be traveling at lightening speed. Three countries in three days. I just don't even know what to write about anymore. After that ferry ride, everything seems boring. It docks in Stockholm and unloads its passengers staying there, then turns around and goes back to Finland, so those who have roundtrip tickets and therefore using it as a nightclub don't have to get off, and as they are all passed out at that point have no idea we are even in Sweden. That was one of those experiences where you know life just doesn't get much better. I'm sad now because I'm not sure if the trip will get any better. I realize that's a limiting thing to say and I hope it's not true, but really, watching two incredibly drunk Finnish girls pillow fight in their underwear was just a lot of fun. I'm not ready to come home yet (I may have to make one final stop in Finland), but even if I did I would be happy with the success of this trip. Is one day in Stockholm enough? If you arrive at 6:30 am, maybe. Stockholm is a very, very, very beautiful city, unfortunately there's just no way it could have made much of an impression on me after the transportation experience. The phrase "getting there is half the fun" is ridiculous - in this case, getting there is ten times the fun. And it's just a ferry, a simple mode of transportation to get from one point to the other, not a cruise ship or anything. I didn't visit the Aland Islands, but God bless them and their tax free status for encouraging Scandinavians to make bad decisions. Last night at my hostel in Stockholm was a total l'Auberge espangole experience, with lots of people who were actually doing Erasmus. I guess it's spring break for most European universities. So last night this 8 bed dorm room was occupied by: an American (myself), a German, a Dane, a Peruvian, two Spaniards, a Swede and an Australian. Brilliant. I tried Absolut for the first time, and it's good but without the kick of Finlandia. I heard they sell a t-shirt in Finland that has a reindeer drinking a bottle of Finlandia and then pissing it out, filling up a bottle of Absolut. Sweden also has the government monopoly on alcohol sales, but they're not as cheery about it as Finland is, with the stores being called "System Bolaget," whatever the hell that means. Guess what is in Sweden and Norway - 7-Eleven. Yeah, I could live in this part of the world if I thought I would survive the winters. This morning on the train to Oslo I went to the dining car and got a sandwich, and the cashier told me "40 kroner." I asked her if this was Swedish or Norwegian kroner, and she said I could pay in whichever I liked. Really? Cool! I paid in Swedish kroner, which is worth less than Norwegian kroner. Oslo has set the record for the most expensive bed in a hostel I've ever paid for. I was stunned when I got off the train and saw the babes. Very nice! Oslo and Moscow are the two "hottest" cities I've been to. Makes me wonder what the hell was going on in Sweden, since despite all the hype about Swedish women I didn't see much that I liked. Oslo is a very nice city, almost as beautiful as Stockholm but more laid back. There's snow everywhere but the sun is out today and it's relatively warm. Also, Bank of America is still causing me problems.

One month ago I was in Kochi.
Two months ago I was in Aqaba.

2009-03-19T01:09:00.000-07:00

Stockholm, Sweden

Wow. Im speechless. I have absolutely no idea where I would even begin to describe the booze cruise. It was the single funnest experience of the entire trip so far. Im just in complete disbelief at the moment. Now I have Scandinavians to talk about when I hear that Americans are loud and obnoxious when drunk. The experiences onboard were unbelievable, and I guarantee you that when I tell you all about it in person you will not believe a word I say, which is why I took a lot of pictures to document what went on. Trust me, this is good stuff. In the meantime, thank you so much to Kaisa, Tina and Annski for extending to me true Nordic hospitality. Im going to start traveling lightening fast in order to save money. And as you can probably already tell, I cant figure out how to make an apostrophe with a Swedish keyboard.

One month ago I was in Sharjah.
Two months ago I was in Dahab.

2009-03-18T02:15:00.001-07:00

Turku, Finland

Damn, Turku may not be as cool as Helsinki, but the quality of females is way higher. I suspect that this is because they have more Swedish genes here. Tons of blonds, though they're not all blond. They have the full spectrum of hair colors here, all the way to jet black. Some are even not as pale as you would expect. Very nice! Whoever asked the question about the sleeping cabin on the ferry is going to be sorry you asked. The short answer: no, I don't get a cabin. The long answer: there are two ways to do this crossing. The first is by paying for a sleeping cabin, the second is the all night party option, where you lock up your luggage, head to the onboard bar, get shitfaced and pass out somewhere on deck. Let me explain. Doing it this way is ridiculously cheap: 25 euros for an 11 hour boat ride, compared to 34 euros for a two hour train ride from Helsinki to Turku. This is because they don't make money off of passage, they make money off of alcohol sold on-board. That's right, it's a booze cruise. Although the ship travels entirely within the European Union, they stop at some chain of islands called the Aland Islands which technically belong to Finland but are semi-independent and tax free, so they are allowed to sell alcohol on board duty free. This is a big deal in Scandinavia, because liquor taxes are sky high and very unaffordable for the average person. Like I said before they're all Mormon about it because all they have to do is look to their neighbor Russia to see what easy availability of alcohol does to people during the depressing winters. This is NOT southern Europe with its relaxed views on alcohol consumption. It's supposed to be one all night sailing party and very crazy. Many people use it as a cheap nightclub. Although the party nights are naturally Friday and Saturday, I'm hoping there will at least be a little fun going on. I walked by the ferry terminal last night and it was pretty rowdy. Supposedly it gets so crazy that they don't allow unaccompanied passengers under the age of 23 to travel on round trip tickets Friday or Saturday night. The company I'm traveling with is called Viking Lines, so yes I will consider this as having been on a viking ship. My boat doesn't leave until 9 so I'm just killing time, and will bore you with my stream of consciousness thoughts about Finland and Europe in general. It's coooooooooooold. I bought some gloves in St. Petersburg, and now I'm not sure how I ever lived without them. It's lightly snowing right now. In Helsinki I had no idea that I was looking at the ocean until I saw a ship on it! The water was covered in a thin layer of ice and snow, so all I saw was white and I just assumed I was looking at a snow covered field. Turning on the cold water tap is something you will never forget. I will also never forget taking my clothes out of the washing machine yesterday and almost getting frostbite from touching them. This was of course just from the rinse cycle, since European washing machines are a pain in the ass when it comes to temperature, an annoyance which I discovered on my trip to Europe in 2007. Europeans wash all of their clothes in boiling hot water, and each machine has a built in water heater to trash your clothes. The lowest setting is 30 degrees Celsius. Not joking. So anything you wash in Europe gets shrunk beyond recognition. Pisses me off. I love the institutional style European hostels. These are not like the tourist hostels that are sometimes filthy and always annoying and usually packed with douchebags that for some reason I feel obligated to socialize with. In Europe, you can find in almost any city the HI run hostel, which is always immaculately clean, well organized and feels like a really well run college dorm. Very simple, practical and efficient. All kinds of people stay here, even some businessmen trying to cut costs. In Geneva I even encountered diplomats from poor African nations. These hostels offer everything you need without the bullshit, and are usually cheaper than the stupid tourist hostels. Their biggest asset, I think, is that they're always very spacious, whereas some tourist hostels can be very crammed. It's so much easier sharing a room with five other people when that room is comfortably large. I can tell that this is an educated country because there are bookstores like every 5 feet. In Helsinki I visited Finland's largest bookstore and it was awesome. They had the longest wall of Lonely Planets I had ever seen. Here I pondered just how much money Lonely Planet has made off of me in the past years. I'm like Jamie in Eurotrip with his Frommers except with Lonely Planet. I started buying them years before actually traveling, when I was in elementary school and junior high. I used to read them just dreaming of the day when I would finally visit all of the god forsaken places they covered.

One month ago I was in Sharjah.
Two months ago I was in Dahab.

2009-03-17T04:39:00.000-07:00

Turku, Finland

I may not have the same crazy and horrifying stories, but traveling in this part of the world is just so easy and enjoyable. This morning I walked 90 seconds from my hotel to the Central Railway Station, bought a ticket for a train leaving in less than an hour from a lady who spoke flawless English, and less than two hours later I was in Turku. Smooth. It was one of the nicest trains I had ever been on, and pre-recorded announcements were made in Finnish, Swedish and English. There is a Swedish speaking minority in Finland and Swedish is an official language. All signs are written in both languages. This can actually be confusing because the Swedish names for things bear absolutely no resemblance to their Finnish counterparts. For example, the city I´m in right now is Turku in Finnish but Abo in Swedish. All street signs are in both languages as well, and the Swedish is usually some completely different name that I can't imagine how they came up with unless they were just trying to be annoying. I just bought a ticket for the overnight ferry to Stockholm tomorrow night. The chick at the ticket office was very amused at the part of my California drivers license which read "Age 21 in 2008." She said it was the first time she had seen anything like that, and that it was a good idea. Finlandia vodka is everywhere in this country and it's very good. It is not, however, the traditional liquor of the land. That would be Koskenkorva or something like that, which is like vodka but technically not vodka for some reason. It's pretty harsh but not that bad. Everybody really loves heavy metal here. Crazy shit.

One month ago I was in Dubai.
Two months ago I was in Cairo.

2009-03-16T09:06:00.001-07:00

Helsinki, Finland

God I love Finland. It's like one giant Ikea. I'm loving the fact that as a travel destination it's totally offbeat. I mean really, who takes a vacation to Finland? The Finnish have a reputation for being very eccentric, but everybody I've encountered seems to be very down to earth. If you ask me, the Swiss are the eccentrics of Europe, but the true wackos of the world are French Canadians. The national beer is very good, but alcohol is heavily controlled here. Because of the long, dark winters, alcoholism is rapant and since they don't want to be like Russia they make it difficult to buy. The only kind of alcohol that supermarkets are allowed to sell is beer that is less than 4.7% alc/vol. Anything harder has to be purchased at a chain of government stores called "Alko." There is no shortage of bars, however. The keyboards here are idential to standard English QWERTY keyboards, except that they have a few extra letters with the umlauts at the end on the right hand side, so you have to be position your fingers just ever so slightly differently to avoid making a typo. The punctuation marks, however, are in completely different places which is annoying. There are actually lots of cute girls here, but there are some ugs too and I just came from Russia, where EVERY woman is beautiful. Finally tonight I had the meal I had been waiting for: sauteed reindeer over mash potatoes with lingonberries. It kicked ass. Now that I've eaten reindeer I'm really not sure how I can top that. Tiger? No, that would just be screwed up. Bear, of course, but that's apparently very expensive.

One month ago I was in Dubai.
Two months ago I was in Cairo.

2009-03-15T09:37:00.001-07:00

Helsinki, Finland

I had a spectacular last meal in Russia: borscht, beef, potatoes and vodka. Does it get more Russian than that? So now I must share my final thoughts about Russia. It's a very obnoxious country and not at all easy to like. But I would not hesitate to return, though preferably with my vile and foul Russian friends. Overall, St. Petersburg is a nicer place than Moscow, but Moscow still has Russia's most famous and beautiful buildings and is overall the quintessential Russian experience. Although not everyone in St. Petersburg was nice, they were definitely nicer than Moscow, which has got to be the world's most miserable city in every sense of the word. Russia really is a fascinating place. After having isolated itself from the world for the past seventy years it's entirely its own entity. It's not the West nor is it the East; it's not European nor is at Asian. Most certainly is it in no way the third world (not even close). In fact, except for the ugly architecture, it pretty much resembles the first world. Everything is clean, modern and works like a well oiled machine. But could you really call it the first world? You could definitely argue yes, but there are just things that go on and attitudes there that are inconsistent with the first world. Russians have a completely different way of doing virtually everything. In the new globalized world one usually encounters two ways of doing things: the first world way and the third world way. Russians do it neither way - they do it the Russian way. Take driving for example. Most Americans know the difference between first world driving and third world driving. But Russians have their own style of driving that is neither, nor is it somewhere in between, it's just totally different. It is difficult to describe this unless you´ve driven with a Russian, but when you do you will understand. Technically Russian driving is drunk driving, but the Russians even do that differently than everybody else. The interesting part is that there is no perceived inferiority regarding the Russian way of doing things. In the third world, people are aware that their way of doing things is the inferior way and the smart strive to do things the first world way. But Russians, after having been told for seventy years that they're the greatest and most powerful people on earth, carry no such stigma for their ways. Amongst Russians similar in age to myself, the ratio of nice to asshole was pretty much the same as in Western Europe. But anybody older had a hard life in the Soviet Union and look like they can't wait to die. I can't say it enough - there is just an air of misery there. The train to Helsinki was great. Like I said before, Russian trains are impeccable. The stations are modern, efficient and remarkably well organized. A recorded voice gave announcements explaining the border formalities every step of the way, trilingually: first in Russian, then in Finnish, then in flawless English with a North American female voice. Right after leaving St. Petersburg everybody's passport was collected. Then at Vyborg, the last major city in Russia, the train stopped and Russian customs officials came aboard. They tore the train apart, at one point coming on with a drug dog, who I swear to God was some kind of poodle. Then they questioned everyone. The official who came up to me greeted me with the safe word "zdrastvuytye" to which I did my best to respond without a stupid accent. He then asked me something in Russian and I played dumb saying "I'm sorry, I don't speak Russian." "Where are you from?" "USA." "Where is your luggage?" I pointed to my tiny suitcase in the rack above. "How much money?" Oh, shit, here we go again. But actually this was legitimate - their currency regulations are really weird and they're obsessed with how many rubles you're taking out of the country. I took out my wallet and showed him and he moved on. He was actually nice. The British guy at the end of the car was carrying some weird stuff that he didn't like, and he asked to see some documents for whatever he was carrying. The guy responded "this is just my personal stuff for work, I don't know what kind of documents you would need." They tore him apart searching everything he had until the supervisor came along and put a stop to it. Then the train started moving again and while it was still moving a very hot Russian official came by handing back passports with exit stamps in them. I couldn't figure out where the actual border was, but when we were at a station that still had Cyrillic writing (thus, still in Russia) there was an announcement informing people that Finland was one hour behind of Moscow time, and to move your watches one hour back. We got going again and then the announcement said we would be arriving soon at Finnish passport control and to have passports ready. I looked out the window and saw signs in the Roman alphabet, and knew we were in Finland. At Finnish passport control an official came aboard with the stamp and I was welcomed visa free into the European Union. A currency exchange guy came through the train. Good to have euros in my wallet again. Actually not good, since I made my money in US dollars, but you know what I mean. Since I had been carrying a large amount of rubles, I got back two 100 euro bills. I take back what I said about Indian rupees being the largest currency I've ever dealt. 100 euro notes are enormous. Although I've dealt with euros quite a bit, this was the first time I had ever carried anything over a 50 euro note in my wallet since anything over that amount usually isn't dispensed from ATMs. 20s and 50s are not much different in size than their American counterparts. All of Finland is covered in snow and very beautiful. Helsinki is a really nice, laid back city and I'm absolutely loving it here. Lots of restaurants, cafes and very cool bars. It's very strange - Finland is by far the most American-like place I've ever been in Europe. It's worlds away from the hardcore "euro vibe" of France or Italy, and at times I really could imagine I'm back in the States. Everything's just really American style. There are several McDonalds and Finnish imitation American fast food joints. I even saw I restaurant called the "Texas Outback Grill" with tons of "Don't Mess With Texas" signs. That's not something you see in most of Europe! I've seen a few hotties, though overall I've been disappointed with the quality of Finnish females. I'm sure there are many gems out there, but as a whole they're definitely not getting a gold medal from me. Everybody has been extremely nice. Everybody speaks English and immediately addresses me in English (how can they tell?). Some people speak it very well with no accent, others struggle and have thick accents. It really just depends on the person. I walked into a cool looking bar for a beer and ended up talking to the bartender for a really long time. He was really into Harley Davidsons, and with all his tattoos he wouldn't have stood out at all in a crowd of American bikers. I asked him if he knew where I could get some good reindeer, and he told me about a restaurant called "Lappi." Later I noticed that this restaurant was mentioned in Lonely Planet and was famous for its sauteed reindeer, so I headed there all excited only to be dismayed that they're closed on Sundays (as is almost everything in Helsinki). But tomorrow night I'm looking
forward to a delicious reindeer dinner. Look out Rudolph, I'm hungry.

One month ago I was in Muscat.
Two months ago I was in Cairo.

2009-03-14T02:24:00.000-07:00

St. Petersburg, Russia

People in St. Petersburg seem to be a lot happier than people in Moscow. Some of them are nicer, but not all. I bought a ticket to go to Helsinki tomorrow. I accomplished this like so: the ticket office had a window saying, in English, "Foreign Visitors." The lady at this window didn't speak English, but she was nice. I said "bilyet Helsinki zaftra utram pazhalsta" - "ticket Helsinki tomorrow morning please." She asked me something in Russia, the only word of which I recognized was "ruble," so I figured she was asking me how I would pay so I responded "da, ruble." Then she said something else and held up two fingers, so I figured she was asking if I wanted second class, so I said "da" again. Then she said something else and pointed in one direction with her finger, so I figured she was asking if I wanted one-way or return, so I said "da" and pointed in one direction with my finger. Then she checked my passport to enter my name into the computer, had me sign something, punched in the fare total on her calculator to show me, and I got my ticket! Great success! You have to carry your passport at all times in Russia because the police do random checks. This goes for everybody, not just foreigners, so even Russians have to carry their passports with them wherever they go. A few summers ago Alec and I took two Russian girls who were visiting to the beach. One of them got worried when she thought she had lost her purse because it had her passport in it. We were like "why the hell would you bring your passport to the beach?" and she said "in case the police ask for it!" We explained to her that that was not an issue in the US. Anyways, everybody told me that I was guaranteed to be stopped at least once while in Russia. This morning right after getting off the metro and going into the train station there were a few cops standing around looking bored. They came towards me and started talking to me in Russian. I listened for the word "passport" but I didn't hear it, and I wasn't going to take it out unless I thought it was absolutely necessary. I just played dumb and said "I'm sorry, I don't speak Russian." One asked "where are you from?" "USA." Then they just walked away. Later when getting back on the metro I saw them randomly stopping people but I had no problems. So tomorrow if everything goes as planned I should be getting my Finland on. I wonder if you can eat reindeer. I'm considering buying another hour of internet at this cafe, because the Svetlana at the counter is adorable and her name is, get this, Anastasia.

One month ago I was in Muscat.
Two months ago I was in Alexandria.

2009-03-13T02:58:00.000-07:00

St. Petersburg, Russia

I've been trying really hard to like Russia, precisely because I know its people don't want me to. It has beautiful women and techno music, so I have to like it. Before I left I joked about finding a Russian hat with the hammer and sickle on it, thinking it would be a rare item. Turns out that they sell them en masse to tourists at Red Square, and I'm now the proud owner of one of these stupid souvenirs. You can also pay to have your picture taken with some big fat guys wearing Cold War era generals' uniforms and a big Soviet flag. Apparently I'm not the only one who thinks the whole USSR thing is funny, and the fact that the Russians are making a profit off of that fact shows that they are learning about capitalism. I had some other tourists take my picture wearing the hat with the onion domes of St. Basil's in the background. I think I'm going to call this image "Comrade Mastromatteyovsky." Last night I ate at an Italian restaurant. It was kind of expensive, but I think that if one can afford it the presence of Italian restaurants is a good thing to keep in mind when traveling in regions of the world that use a strange alphabet. Why? Because every Italian restaurant in the world, from Angelo's and Vinci's on Harbor in Fullerton to Ristorante Pizzeria on Arbat in Moscow thinks that it's cute to list their dishes first in Italian, then in the local language. So as a consequence, Americans can read the menu. Tipping is not done here - it's just not very communist. However, the waitress I had last night was actually nice for a change, so I tipped her almost to American standards. I just hope that the restaurant actually let her keep the money and that she didn't take it as an insult or as an example of Americans throwing their money around. Being American, I just feel like a bad person if I don't leave a decent tip. Russian trains are awesome. Seeing as it's what they're known for, I would have been pissed if they sucked. But it was surprisingly a very pleasant experience. St. Petersburg is usually considered to be Russia's most beautiful city and I guess I would agree. It's less grim than Moscow, but it's still Russia. There are lots of good things to take pictures of, and I had been taking a few pictures but then my hands were just frozen solid so I had to stop and warm them up inside my jacket. St. Petersburg is a lot colder than Moscow. There is also a much stronger police presence here, like triple that of Moscow. Strangely, the quality of Svetlanas seems to be slightly lower here than in Moscow, though still very high.

One month ago I was in Muscat.
Two months ago I was in Alexandria.

2009-03-12T04:52:00.001-07:00

Moscow, Russia

I can only say three good things about the Moscow metro. The first is that some of the stations are beautiful and feel like old train stations, but still I prefer sleek, modern metros. The second is that the trains are extremely frequent and I've never waited at the platform for longer than one minute. And finally, strangely, Russians always wait for passengers to exit the train before boarding themselves. I've never seen this anywhere in the world. This is not to say that Muscovites are polite when using the metro, quite the opposite really (as with everything). This only makes the fact stranger. To get on the metro you go through the standard electronic entry thing, swiping your ticket in front of an electronic reader which indicates that it's been read, just like any metro anywhere in the world. What didn't make sense to me at first, though, was that there was no barricade. You just swiped your ticket and walked through. How was this controlled? The one time my ticket didn't read correctly I found out. I guess there's a motion sensor and when somebody passes through without first swiping a ticket, metal bars shoot out and form a barricade. If you're fast you'd make it through, but if you're like me and fast but not fast enough they come out and hit you right in the balls. Very painful and very Russian. After this I was expecting somebody to come up to me and tell me that I'm going to jail unless I pay them 1000 rubles, but nobody seemed to notice. There are a hell of a lot of strip clubs here. Pretty much one on every corner. There even seems to be a McDonalds style chain company of strip clubs. Most of Moscow consists of big, ugly Soviet style appartment buildings. Every single one of these looks exactly the same. That's communism for you. My hostel is located in one of these buildings and the hallways remind me a lot of public schools in the US, at least when I was in kindergarten in the early 90s before "modernization." Very bland, institutional and depressing. I was surprised to find that there are a lot of Asian looking people here. I suppose most of them are native Russians, originally from Siberia or some Asian place (Moscow is in Europe), but they very well could be immigrants from the Stans. My hostel is run by people from Kyrgyzstan. Either way, there are a lot of them. This morning was sunny but now it's snowing again. Tonight I'm taking an overnight train to St. Petersburg. That is assuming, of course, that I manage to get on the right train, which is doubtful. I keep thinking of the scene in Kite Runner where they all make a toast to the words "Fuck the Russia!"

One month ago I was in Dubai.
Two months ago I was in Cairo.

2009-03-11T05:23:00.001-07:00

Moscow, Russia

Today is the two month anniversary of the start of my trip. I think I get it: the Russian word for water is "voda," meaning that to Russians, vodka is only one letter away from being a necessity to survival. Russians are still bigger assholes than Assemblyman Mike Duvall, but I'm having more fun today than I did yesterday. Although I knew Russians were rude, I never imagined the magnitude and it was an unpleasant surprise. Yesterday was just a little too intense. But I went back to Red Square today, and the city really just is beautiful. If only it weren't full of Russians. I went inside St. Basil's Cathedral. Who the hell thought to build something that looks like that? The same people who successfully marketed the Lesbian pop duo "Tatu," that's who. This eccentricity is why I was fascinated by Russia. In the capital of the communist empire, I saw a cafe called "Uncle Sam's Cafe" with the big picture of Uncle Sam doing his "I Want You" point. I've also seen a few buildings that still have the hammer and sickle on them. I thought they would have torn it down, but they haven't. It seems like they took every historical building and made it into a shopping mall. I like these places because they're full of young Russians, who seem much happier and nicer than their parents. These people were born in the 1980s and therefore have lived most of their lives after the Soviet Union. There's actually a Wikipedia article called "New Russians." Now that I'm here I truly understand the meaning of the term: people who are "Russian" rather than "Soviet," and today being one and not the other has a new meaning. Still, most people are assholes. The female situation is way out of control. I just look around and say to myself, wait, this doesn't make sense, they are all beautiful. How could that be? Come on, it's not possible that they're ALL beautiful. It's just genetically impossible. But not in Russia, apparently. In my opinion it blows Argentina out of the water, but I acknowledge that this is open to debate. If there were a Ralphs grocery store in Moscow, we would be calling a code 10 every minute of every day. I know nobody reading this will understand that. Being in a place with a 90% hotness level I can't help but ask myself what the hell is wrong with American women. Then I get it: any Russian woman over 30 is hideous - again, the whole pre-1980, post-1980 thing. At least I hope that's the reason and that this generation will hold up better, since I would like to bring one of these back with me as a funky souvenir. On a final note, I have been fondly reminiscing of the days when we used to spend hours upon hours playing 007 Golden Eye for N64, which had the level where you were driving a tank down the streets of Moscow. Now that I'm actually here I realize just how good of a job the video game designers did in recreating the city. Makes me feel like I've been here before, albeit crashing through it with a tank.

One month ago I was in Dubai.
Two months ago I was in Cairo.

2009-03-10T07:48:00.000-07:00

Moscow, Russia

Ever been so hungry you could eat a horse? I ate horse last night. It's a Kazakh specialty. I'm glad that my list of eaten animals continues to grow. This morning on the way to the airport for the first time on this trip I felt sad to be leaving a place. I felt sad because as a result of not speaking the language, I feel I didn't really experience Kazakhstan. I don't regret the decision to leave, however. It's just not fun when you're feeling confused and unsafe all of the time (keep reading and maybe you'll understand exactly how not speaking Russian makes me uneasy). At least I actually stood in Kazakhstan, saw some things, tried to communicate with a few people, and ate horse. I do hope, however, that some day I will return to this region better prepared and able to do the Stans justice. Despite how horrible of people I was expecting to encounter, most people in Almaty were very nice and patient with my lack of Russian. But there is one huge exception: the airport. The airport restaurant was very nice and had a menu in English. I ordered the "pancakes with jam" but was told that there was no jam, but I was suggested the pancakes with meat. These were, actually, pancakes with meat. Delicious. The check-in lady seemed nice enough until, because I was a foreigner, her supervisor had to come over and inspect my passport for a proper Russian visa. He said something to me in Russian, and they noticed I didn't understand so she said to with disgust in her voice "do you speak Russian?" I said "no, sorry." She said "this is your boarding pass" and literally tossed it at me with the look in her eyes saying "get the hell out of my sight you capitalist piece of shit." I was thinking "hey! didn't you just see the Russians press Hillary's reset button?" Almaty had that ridiculous triple security that I have encountered so much on this trip. The first checkpoint was uneventful. At the second checkpoint, the guy didn't like something he saw on the x-ray screen so told me to open my bag. I did, and he just looked at it and let me go. The third checkpoint was the one. They also didn't like the same thing the second guy had seen, so again I was asked to open my bag. They said "what is metal?" I digged around a little bit and it turns out it was my Master lock. I think it was at this moment when they realized I didn't speak Russian that they decided they were gonna have some fun with me. I was led into a search and interrogation chamber with one official. He took my passport and threw it on the ground. Then he patted me down and had me empty my pockets. He opened my wallet and thoroughly examined my drivers license. He handed my wallet back to me and I put it back in my pocket. He kept asking me questions in Russian and I said "ya nye gavarit pa ruski - I don't speak Russian." He continued and I just kept saying "ya nye panimayu - I don't understand." Finally he said "do you speak English?" Oh right, he might have known that from the beginning if my passport hadn't been lying face down on the floor. He pointed to my bag and said "open" so I did. He picked up the lock and took a good long look at it. Then he pointed to my camera bag and looked at me inquisitively: "it's a camera." Then he took out my bottle of malaria pills. These are the antibiotic doxycycline and are used by tourists around the entire world when travelling in malaria zones. I had to take one pill every day while in India, and I have to keep taking them for four weeks after leaving the malaria zone. These pills are completely legitimate and were prescribed by a doctor in the US. Holding them in his hands he looked at me and I said "malaria. I was in India." He looked at me not amused. I said "medication." While holding the bottle with one hand he pointed at it with his other hand, looked me in the eye and said "problem." Then he handed them back to me and told me to put them back in my suitcase. Then he said "how much money?" I know it sounds dumb, but in my naive Western mind I didn't understand at the moment what he meant. He motioned for me to take out my wallet. He took my wallet, opened it and pulled out a 1000 Russian ruble note. He held the note up in front me, pointed to the pills and said "no problem." Then he asked "OK?" and waited for me to agree. I agreed, he gave me back my passport and let me go. On the plane breakfast was served. I noticed that the Russians were all drinking wine with their breakfast. When they got to me the flight attendant asked me something in Russian and I said "gavariyet pa angliski - do you speak English?" She said yes then barried her face in her hands in embarrased laughter. She said "omelette or...." then tried really hard to remember what the word for the other choice was. Not being picky and wanting to spare her I said "omelette, yes please." Then I expected to be offered coffee or something, but she just said "would you like white wine or red wine?" I had red. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in Russia, get your drink on at breakfast. Landing in Moscow all I could see was white - tons and tons of snow. It's not falling right now but they obviously got heavy snow very recently. The men's restroom was full of men smoking who I guess had ducked in there for a cigarette thinking they could avoid airport security. I followed the signs to passport control and found nothing but a huge scrum of miserable people waiting, and not in any form of a line, to be processed into the country. It was confusing because there weren't many signs in any language, but I saw an escalator leading to somewhere and a sign saying "foreign citizens." I asked an airport information lady standing nearby where I should go, and she told me I should indeed go upstairs. Upstairs I found just the same, a scrum. No line. And what's worse, this scrum consisted of Uzbeks. A flight from Tashkent had just arrived. Out of at least 10 immigration booths, 2 were open. You just had to cram yourself to the front. Later 3 or 4 more opened up. Each Uzbek had to start a serious argument with the immigration officials. I have no idea what they possibly could have been arguing about, but each one was able to find something. Towards the front of the scrum there did form some idea of a line at each booth. When I finally was next at one of them, the official closed his booth because the electronic turnstyle they had had suddenly stopped working. I had to wait for it to be repaired to enter Russia. After that I headed to customs fearing another shakedown. Everybody was putting their luggage into an x-ray, so I started to do the same but the officials said to me something in Russian, then noticing I didn't understand said "you can go." Past here were a lot of very intoxicated looking old men offering taxis. I had planned on taking public transportation into the city anyway. This was beyond miserable. Everybody absolutely reeked of vodka. Russians are complete assholes. Then again, I knew that long before even thinking about coming here, so I don't know why I'm complaining. To get onto the Moscow metro you have to go down the longest escalator I've ever seen. It's REALLY underground. Feels like you're going into a mine shaft. At points where metro lines interchange, each line has its own station with its own name. Anywhere else in the world this would be one station with one name to make it easy for users (and because no other way conceiveably makes any sense), but nooooooooooo. There are no signs in English, so you have to be able to read Cyrillic to get where you're going. I saw Red Square, St. Basil's Cathedral, the Kremlin, and Lenin's Mausoleum (though it wasn't open). Moscow is definitely one of the world's most beautiful cities (but read on). And the Svetlanas are out in full force. They saturate every part of the city and come in all shapes, sizes and flavors. Most of the time I'm just drooling as I walk around. The question I'm asking myself is is it worth it. Although Moscow is beautiful architecturally and scenically, it's miserable. This just isn't a happy place. If Disneyland is the happiest place on Earth, Russia is the saddest place on earth. Everybody is miserable, nasty and drunk. Virtually NOBODY looks even remotely friendly. I've never been anywhere like that. I'm afraid to go into a restaurant to eat because all I see behind every cash register are old women who look like they want to kill me before they go home and blow their brains out. It's really a horrible, horrible place. I'm not sure how much of it I'll be able to take, and if seeing more of Russia is worth it. I'm staying at the Hostel Kremlin, so at least I can say that I'm a guest of the Kremlin.

2009-03-09T01:21:00.000-07:00

Almaty, Kazakhstan

Got, flying into Moscow tomorrow with Transaero. Still don't know how to say printer in Russian.

2009-03-08T22:37:00.000-07:00

Almaty, Kazakhstan

The "migrational card," which is my permission to be in Kazakhstan that I must carry at all times, says on the back: "Foreign citizens have to be registrated in five days from the arrival to the Republic of Kazakhstan. Foreigners who broke the period of staying will be punished according the Law." Now we got some real snow. It's very deep and I'm glad I have the heavy hiking boots that I've been wearing since Egypt. For the first time on the trip they make sense. Almaty is beautiful because of the scenery. There are pine trees everywhere and with the snow it just looks really pretty. BUT the buildings are ugly since this is basically an extension of Eastern Europe. Remember the scene in Euro Trip where they get out of the crazy German guy's truck, realize where they are and say "dear sweet mother of God we're in Eastern Europe." Then the guy says "enjoy Bratislava! It's good you came in the summer because in the winter it can get very depressing." Yeah, it looks exactly like that, and it's winter. Every fifth person looks like they want to kick your ass. But what makes up for that is the women, who despite the snow are all wearing miniskirts. What can I say, the Svetlanas have it goin on and even though I'm not usually attracted to Asian women, I have to say that Kazakh women are gorgeous. Oh yeah, I recommend Kazakhstan to anyone looking for vazheen. Everyone is pretty much drunk here any time, any place. On every street corner there is a stand selling alcohol, and it's laughably cheap. Everywhere you look there are people just standing out in the snow drinking beer and having a good time, or drinking vodka and looking miserable. I've walked by many cafes, but when I look in the window I don't see anyone drinking coffee, just vodka. Even the old ladies are sitting there, reading a novel with a big bottle and several shots poured out ready to go. So whereas Americans may sit around in Starbucks conversing over coffee, Kazakhstanis sit around in cafes and lament over vodka. Forgive me, but I really don't feel like seeing the rest of the Stans. If it were easy it'd be one thing, but my desire has declined to a point where I don't feel up to accept the challenge. Eating for survival is hard enough when I can't read the menu at a restaurant, I don't even want to think of how I could manage to find the right bus to get to another town. Plus, if I wanted to go to another country, that would mean another visa. I would have to find another embassy in a city where I don't speak the language and can't read the street signs, wait in line, be yelled at by officials, fill out a form I don't understand, pay more money, and wait without having access to my passport. Come on, I went to freakin Kazakhstan, isn't that crazy enough? All other countries have inferior potassium anyway. So I hope the good (or otherwise) people of Kyrgyzstan understand. I'm trying to book a flight to Moscow to get the Russia leg over, then I'll probably head into Europe. I'm really eager to get to a place where I can communicate (or at least just read the alphabet), and to visit countries whose people I have met in hostels and found to be the most wonderful people in the world, rather than whose people I have found to be "vile, foul and all around awful" as I described in a previous post. Before booking the flight I need to make sure I'll be able to print out the e-ticket, and I have no idea how to say printer in Russian. So I don't know where to begin.

2009-03-07T22:42:00.000-08:00

Almaty, Kazakhstan

It's snowing. But more on that later. I was robbed last night right after arriving in Kazakhstan. It was a very complicated scenario and not as scary as it sounds, but I lost a lot of money and therefore the lifespan of my trip has been shortened even further. I'm trying to not let one incident ruin my impression of Kazakhstan, but I am really upset. I'm trying to just enjoy things, and I'm at least comforting myself with the fact that I'm finally out of Scamistan (India) and in the land of Borat. Indira Gandhi International Airport in Delhi is a great example of how Indians can ruin a very nice building. I think it was recently renovated and looks beautiful at first, then you realize who's running it. It's very spacious, but remember, every Indian travels with an Everest style mountain of luggage. And that's one mountain per passenger, not per family. So as a consequence, there is nowhere to move at all. The Air Astana check-in agent phrased to me the check-in questions in a way that I wasn't used to: "I hope you're not carrying any liquids or gels." OK?? Yes I was, and not properly contained, and I had no problem getting them past security. You know when you're sitting in an airport and they keep making announcements (over and over again) for passengers whose flight is about to leave without them? Ever notice that at least half of those names are Indian? I now understand why. Indians check-in, go past security and sit wherever the hell they want. They find no need to proceed to their departure gate at boarding time. Rather, an airline representative scours the airport, bouncing from gate to gate announcing the flight that's about to leave and escorting passengers to the proper gate. Sitting at the gate waiting for my flight to Almaty I couldn't help but wonder about the stories of the passengers on this flight. Seriously, who the hell is flying between India and Kazakhstan? That's a random flight, and yet it was full. They packed this A321 to the brim. There were about three American businessmen, and one girl that was desperately flirting with them, I guess hoping for a green card marriage. Her nationality puzzled me. It looked like she was carrying a Kazakhstani passport, but she didn't look Asian and had very dark skin. Then there was a white lady with two Indian looking babies. She had a Russian passport. What Russian lady went to India, found two dark skinned babies and was flying them to Kazakhstan? I'm sorry, but that's just fucking weird. But the most intriguing was a big group of men from Kyrgyzstan. They were devout Muslims. Another guy joined them (have no idea of his nationality, but he seemed to speak broken Russian) and they began discussing religion. Then they prayed together. My imagination went wild thinking that they were jihadis fighting in Kashmir or something. Probably not, but isn't that more fun to believe? Finally when we got on the plane I found myself sitting next to two of these Kyrgyz guys. One stared at me for a few seconds, I guess trying to figure out what language he should address me in, and finally decided on Russian and said "zdrastvuytye." I did my best to reply with a correct "zdrastvuytye." From now on, I'll just refer to this "hello" as "the safe word" (reference my previous post). He kept speaking to me in Russian, and I had to tell him that I didn't speak Russian. Later in the flight he started speaking to me with the few English words he knew, and we also spoke a little in Arabic, which being Muslims, they spoke decently. Like most people I've met so far, he asked me if I was Muslim, and I of course said no. I just don't get this, because they always ask this so casually as if they actually expect an American to say that yes, they are Muslim. I mean, me being in India, I'm not going to just ask somebody if they're Baptist. It's definitely possible, but so unlikely I just wouldn't think to ask (assuming I cared). He then asked me about LA, and if there were many Muslims there. I said that yes, there were. He asked what percentage of people in LA were Muslims "10% ? More than 10%? 5%?" I had never actually thought about that one before. I told him that it was definitely a very small percentage, but since the population of LA was so large, there were very many. Anyways, they had been in Bangladesh for religious reasons. Neither of us spoke a common language well enough for me to understand exactly what their religious reasons were, but whatever. He then told me he had made the pilgrimage to Mecca this year. He was very proud of this, and I congratulated him. This is the proper response to somebody who tells you that they've made the hajj, since people save their entire lives to be able to and are very proud when they finally accomplish it. Air Astana is actually a very good airline and served good food. One of the flight attendants, Yuliya, was a Svetlana with chola eyebrows. Unforgettable. Since my flight arrived at 3 AM, I had made an on-line reservation with a decent hotel for security purposes. I guess this was dumb since I was robbed anyway. This morning, somebody was knocking on the door as I was in the shower (too freakin early), and when I answered it there was this drop dead Svetlana maid standing there. She started talking to me in Russian and I had to apologize since I didn't understand, and asked her to come back later. Damn. If the Minuteman Project has its way and we lose our supply of Mexican maids, I know where I'm looking for replacements. It's snowing lightly today and there's light snow cover on the ground. Despite this, it could be a lot colder than it actually is and I'm thankful for this. I've been walking around outside wearing layers of the one long-sleeve shirt I brought, a sweatshirt, and the medium strength jacket I brought with me. I pulled the hood up over my head and kept my hands warm in my jacket pocket, but I'm considering buying gloves and a hat. I've seen a lot of people wearing those great Russian hats, but I haven't seen one for sale yet. The soldiers wear Russian hats that are dyed blue, and I'd really love to have one of those but I'm not sure I could afford the bribe. Believe it or not, Almaty is an incredibly beautiful city. I'm glad to have the third world squalor behind me, and I feel like I'm back in the West (I sort of am), only a slightly screwed up version of the West. But really, I'm not joking, Almaty is beautiful. One never would have imagined given what Borat showed us (i.e. Romania). I saw two total Svetlanas walking down the street and decided to see if my Russian phrasebook was a worthwhile investment. "Pazhalsta, gavarit pa angliski?" (My Russian friends, what the hell did I actually say?) They both burst out laughing, smiled at me and apologetically said no. I said "gdye internet?" I wasn't actually looking for an internet cafe at the time, I just wanted to talk to them. This made them laugh even more. They looked at each other and exclaimed "internet!!" They were obviously very amused by the concept. One of them looked at me said "I don't know." Figuring I wasn't going to get any further, I thanked them ("spasiba") and left.

2009-03-06T20:50:00.001-08:00

Delhi, India

Check this out about Cairo: http://cairo.usembassy.gov/consular/wm030209.htm. Told you it was hardcore.

2009-03-05T19:43:00.000-08:00

Delhi, India

Last night I ate at TGI Fridays, in keeping with my attempts to avoid all things Indian as much as I can and support American cultural institutions while in this country which I hate. There was not a trace of beef on the menu. The burgers are made with lamb. I know my posts have been very negative and angry lately, but this has been by far the low point in my trip. If I reread some of my posts I realize it looks like I’m preparing to write a book called “Your Country Sucks,” in which I individually address the people of each country in the world and tell them why they’re stupid. The India chapter would be very thick. But just to clarify, there have been several countries, both on this trip and on my past trips, which I have enjoyed. I had a great time in Jordan, Lebanon and Syria. These are wonderful countries and I would return in a heartbeat. Also, Oman is very beautiful and all of the Gulf states are nice despite there not being anything to see. The only countries I have complained about are Egypt and India. I think that to enjoy India you have to fit into at least one of the following three categories:
1) have a strong interest in the local culture and/or history and/or a strong desire to see specific sites
2) be a stupid hippy who thinks that seeing poverty makes you more worldly
3) be attempting to drop out of society
Unfortunately, I fit into none of these categories so it’s been a nightmare. But tomorrow insha’allah I should be on my way to Kazakhstan. I very excite! Although I’ll be happy to move on from India, I know full well that what I encounter in Central Asia could be worse. But I’m optimistic and trying to keep an open mind. While planning the trip I acknowledged that this leg of the journey through the Soviet states would be the most difficult part of the journey for several reasons, but mainly the weather, the bureaucracy and my inability to speak the local language. But my desire to go there has been strong for about ten years. I’ve known several people from the Former USSR, and although some of them I still consider close friends, they are without exception the most vile, foul and all around awful people I’ve ever known, a fact which has only fueled my morbid curiosity for what I imagine must be a truly hellish part of the world. Everyone who worked at the embassy was ethnically Asian, but supposedly Kazakhstan still has a very large population of Russians. The embassy had a glossy pamphlet called “Kazakhstan: Unity in Diversity” with color photographs of ethinc Kazakhs and ethnic Russians getting along. They’re trying to promote the use of the term “Kazakhstani” to describe a citizen of Kazakhstan regardless of ethnicity, and to restrict the term “Kazakh” to somebody of ethnic Kazakh ancestry regardless of their country of citizenship. Despite having known so many Russophones over the years, I only know a few words of Russian: da (yes), nyet (no), vozmozhnoe (maybe), atibis (fuck you), idi nahui (go fuck yourself), shwabra spierma (jizz mop) and the word I have had to use the most, suka (bitch). The word for hello, zdrastvuytye, reminds me of the safe word from Euro Trip and I have never mastered its correct pronunciation. Every time I think I get close, my Russian speaking friends tell me that what’s coming out of my mouth is completely wrong and sounds ridiculous. I’ve always divided Russian women into three categories: Olgas (uglies), Svetlanas (hotties) and Ice Crushers (self-explanatory). Recently I have come to realize that there is actually a fourth category, consisting of women who are not necessarily ugly but who look too intensely Slavic to be attractive. For lack of a better term I will call them Oxanas.

2009-03-04T20:21:00.000-08:00

Delhi, India

Guess what? Bank of America is still causing me problems. Yeah, they're losing a lifelong customer. Think about it this way: they trapped me in India! Since I couldn't access my money because of them, I couldn't buy a ticket out of this dreadful place. There's no way I'm comfortable doing business with them when they put me in such a dangerous situation. Believe it or not, they have a branch in Delhi. I remember seeing it and being amused since I had never seen a Bank of America branch outside the US, and here one was so far away. Then when my cards didn't work I had the genious idea of going to visit them. Maybe when I feel like it I'll write about this experience, but of course they didn't do anything and in the end the problem had to be resolved from the US with absolutely zero assistance from them. Even the phone numbers they gave me were the wrong numbers.

2009-03-04T01:41:00.000-08:00

Delhi, India

I got a hold of Bank of America and discovered that this problem was a lot more complicated than I understand, and apparently had nothing to do with my foreign travel. They blamed the Visa credit card company, but it still sounds to me like it was their fault. So Bank of America is on extremely thin ice with me, but I finally managed to get my ticket behind the Iron Curtain.

2009-03-03T21:26:00.000-08:00

Delhi, India

I got my Kazakh visa, very nice! She was in a better mood today (come on pussycat, give me a smile). My original plan to enter Central Asia was to cross into Pakistan and take the Karakoram Highway north over the Khunjerab Pass into China's Xinjiang Province, then over the Irkeshtam Pass into Kyrgyzstan. Then I thought, wait a minute, why the fuck would I ever want to do that? So I'm attempting to fly into Almaty with Air Astana, but they don't have a flight out until Saturday, which means I may be stuck in India until then. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! Of course this is not definite, since I haven't been able to purchase the ticket yet. Believe it or not, they do have internet booking with e-tickets, but my credit card has been declined several times. This has happened quite a lot in the past on this trip, and every time it's been because Bank of America has put a hold on my card because they think it's suspicious it's being used overseas. This is despite the fact that I informed them before I left that I would be traveling overseas, and have had to call them TWICE already from abroad to get this fixed. If this is happening again, have no doubt that I will find another bank once I get back. I've had enough of everything, so don't be surprised if I come back to LA very soon (especially since I'm eager to walk into Bank of America and kick the first employee I see right in the balls). The only thing holding me back is the fact that I have unused visas for Russia and Kazakhstan, which I poured a lot of sweat, blood and money into obtaining.

2009-03-02T20:55:00.000-08:00

Delhi, India

Ever heard of the shit on shoe scam? Google it. It’s an Indian institution and I’ve been reading about it for years. Basically, someone squirts shit on your shoe from somewhere you can’t see. Then a helpful shoe shiner points out the mess to you and of course will clean it up for a fee. Yesterday a shoe shiner approached me and offered to clean my shoes. I looked down and sure enough there was a huge blob of what looked like horse shit mixed with curry. I screamed “FUCK YOU!” then pointed down at my shoes and screamed again “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT???!!!” Then I gave him the middle finger and yelled “FUCK YOU” again and stormed off to find a place to clean my shoes. I started trying to rub my shoe against the grass to clean it and then scraping it against some concrete, but the damage was severe. Another weirdo came up to me and pointed out to me some sprinklers that I could clean my shoes off in. I started walking away from him. He followed me and said “it’s ok, I’m not salesman.” I turned around, told him I don’t trust him and to get away from me. I walked a little further and again started to try to scrape the shit off on the curb, but I realized I would actually need to have my shoes cleaned. I became kind of desperate for a legitimate shoe shiner, when one approached. I’m sure he was in cahoots with whoever put me in this situation in the first place. As I was standing he knelt down and almost started to get to work when I pushed his hand out of the way and said “wait, how much do you want?” “It’s ok, sir.” “NO! First you tell me how much you want.” “Whatever you like.” “OK, then you’re getting thirty rupees.” He tried again to start his work, but I pushed his hand out of the way again, looked him straight in the eye and said “30 RUPEES, OK???” “OK, but here not allowed. Come over here.” He led me over the grass where he insisted I sit down. I knelt on one knee. Then he insisted I take my shoe off. I resisted, asking why he couldn’t just clean it the way it was. He started undoing my shoelaces for me, so I angrily took my shoe off and handed it to him to clean. In the meantime, some old guy who apparently was his friend had come over and started asking me stupid questions like where I was from, and trying to show me some stupid notebook he had with some weird English handwriting in it. It appeared to be the diary of a female backpacker that he had stolen. I kept ignoring him and remained focused on the crooked asshole that was cleaning my shoe. They both insisted relentlessly that I sit down, but I kept on one knee, hopped up on adrenaline like never before, ready to chase after this cocksucker if he tried to run off with my shoe. “SIT DOWN SIR!” “I’m comfortable” I said defiantly. I took out my wallet and got the 30 rupees ready to give him when he was finished, so I could just bolt without any discussion over the price. Seeing this he said “this toilet cleaning, this 535.” “WHAT???” “You pay me 535 rupees.” “NO! We agreed 30 rupees.” Another Indian man had joined the crowd to back him up and said “Indian price 150.” I jumped up and screamed with pure, genuine hatred “NO! YOU’RE ONLY GETTING 30 RUPEES.” I think I actually may have scared them a little. I gave him the thirty rupees, grabbed my shoe and walked away. Once at a safe distance I put my shoe back on. If I had access to my passport, at this point I would have just gone to the airport and hopped on the first flight out of India. But no, Kazakhstan needs two whole days to put a sticker in my passport. Before all of this happened, I witnessed something else crazy. I heard a lot of commotion and saw people running. There was a big angry mob chasing a guy who was running for his life. I assumed that he was a thief (well that’s a given, they’re all thiefs) who had tried to steal something. Then again I guess it all could have been staged for whatever reason. Eventually he tripped (hard, I might add) and the mob surrounded him, ruthlessly kicking the shit out of him. Then they pulled him up, and two guys restrained him as they led him away. They weren’t cops or anything, just vigilantes. They started to lead him across the street. While they were doing this various members of the mob came up and each took a punch at him. Once they got him to the other side of the street they just kept him there and several people who were in the area also approached to punch him. I enjoyed seeing this. Call me a sadistic fuck, but you can rest assured that 3 out of 4 Indians deserve to get the shit beaten out of them like this.

2009-03-01T23:10:00.000-08:00

Delhi, India

Delhi has lots of fast food joints. I disagree that it’s bad to eat in these places in a foreign country. Sure, I get the point, it’s tacky, but if you don’t you miss out on a certain experience. By going to McDonalds in different countries you experience the subtle differences between the US and the rest of the world. For example, the fact that McDonalds in South America is more like a Baskin Robbins with all kinds of ice cream creations, or that most McDonalds outside of North America also double as an imitation Starbucks (McCafe). And in India, there is no Big Mac, but there is the Maharaja Mac. I’m not fucking kidding, it’s called a Maharaja Mac. And it’s chicken – not beef of course. If you were too snobby to go into a McDonalds in India you would never eat a Maharaja Mac. I think a fun documentary could be titled “Round the World via McDonalds” or something. Kingfisher, India’s #1 beer, is excellent, but then again I haven’t had a beer since a Corona in the Beirut airport. Plus, Delhi is the last place left on Earth where I can still experience the thrill of underage drinking. That’s right, the drinking age here is a whopping 25. Everything seems to be pretty Bangkok style in the tourist ghetto of Paharganj, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it were different elsewhere. As I was sitting in a bar enjoying my Kingfisher, there were two young Indian guys sitting at a table near me conversing in Not English. Suddenly, they switched to English, which Indians do often to sound hip and cool. One criticized the other for his poor English, and his comment made me laugh. After that they invited me to join them. They were from what they described as “poor India” though they wouldn’t specify which part. They said they were working in Delhi. Naturally I inquired as to the nature of their work here. They worked in a call center! Oh my God! I was actually sitting down and having a beer with the guys that answer the phone when I can’t get my internet porn. It’s moments like that that people travel for. This morning I found the Kazakh Embassy, located in a relatively calm and affluent suburb of New Delhi. But no matter how affluent the neighborhood, there are still cows. And lots of them. I saw at least 30 just waiting for the embassy to open. It’s easy to imagine a city overrun with stray cats and dogs (ok, they have that too), but a cow, seriously? Cows are big animals. I can only imagine how the average person living in the OC would react if they looked out their window in the morning and saw a cow on their front lawn. But here, nobody looks twice. It would be stranger if there were no cows. Also, although they are very large, the cows look just a little smaller than American cows. Bovine growth hormone? As I suspected, there was no need to get to the embassy early. Just me and one Indian guy in line. The sign said they opened at 9:30 AM, but around 9:50 AM the Indian guard finally led us through the gate, through an unmanned metal detector and onto Kazakh soil, woah woah wee woah! Inside I found myself face to face with a very bitchy female consul (do you believe a woman should be educate?). Once she was satisfied with my paperwork she disappeared and returned a few minutes later with a paper full of Cyrillic that of course I didn’t understand. She put it in front of me and said “can you sign?” I signed, then she said “1000 rupees.” This was an official fee, not a bribe. She carefully counterfeit checked the two 500 rupee notes I gave her. She disappeared again and finally returned with a receipt and told me “you can pick up this time.” I didn’t understand what she meant by this, and was really nervous about how long it would take. I asked “what time can I pick it up?” “Until 12:30.” “Today?” Then obviously realizing I wasn’t getting it she yelled at me “WEDNESDAY!!” Of course later when I looked at the slip she gave me it did say “Collection Date: 4-3.” So all I can do now is nervously keep my fingers crossed until Wednesday.

2009-03-01T03:22:00.000-08:00

Delhi, India

I took a bus to Delhi today and the driver had his hand on the horn for almost the entire 4.5 hour journey. After about two hours I wanted to throw something at him. Delhi's alright, almost kind of nice in some parts, though very few parts. The metro is shockingly good and modern but shockingly crowded. Oh what did I expect in the world's second most populous nation? To get on the metro you have to go through a metal detector and be frisked, and there are soldiers with automatic weapons behind big walls of sandbags. I really only have one mission and that's to get the hell out of India, because unfortunately it really just hasn't captivated me. But before I do that I need to get that stupid visa for Kazakhstan. I'm going to show up at the embassy very early tomorrow morning to try my luck. I can't imagine how many other people in Delhi need to visit the Kazakh Embassy, but I have images of the miles long line at the Indian Consulate in Dubai fresh in my mind.

2009-02-27T23:15:00.000-08:00

Agra, India

At the Mumbai train station I talked to a young (24) Indian doctor who told me that the average age at which an Indian man loses his virginity is 30. I finished the book I had started reading before leaving the States while en-route to Mumbai. So it now feels like I've been gone a very long time. I needed to buy a new book in Mumbai, and a street bookseller convinced me, without knowing where I was from, to buy a copy of Barack Obama's "Audacity of Hope." I started reading it on the train to Agra and I find it only mildly interesting, though I did enjoy the anecdote about President Bush offering him hand sanitizer. Anyways, it has made me realize how much I don't want to go into politics, so I am suspending my 2024 presidential campaign until further notice. The guy sitting across to me on the train asked me if Obama was Christian or Muslim, lol. Don't have much to say about the Taj Mahal. I mean, it's the Taj Mahal. Foreigners pay 750 rupees to enter, while Indians pay 20 rupees. Some Indian tourists there wanted to get their picture taken with me, a foreigner. India is one of those countries that as a result of rapid globalization makes no sense. The internet is lightning fast, but I can see a cow from here. Everybody has a cellphone, but there are very few passageways that I would call a "road."

2009-02-25T21:06:00.001-08:00

Mumbai, India

If anyone is interested, this is like THE #1 hit song here right now: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k7KqL50n1uo It sounds better out of the shitty radios here than it does on Youtube. Then this groovy beat http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VnEkDfU0CHc I actually heard in Dubai but I think it's hilarious.

2009-02-25T20:12:00.000-08:00

Mumbai, India

As my intended arrival date in the former Soviet Union nears, I have decided to set the wheels in motion on my visa for Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan. And by this I mean I printed out the application. I was tempted to write “make benefit” under “Purpose of Travel” and “from the Plains of Talashyk to northern fence of Jew Town” under “Places to be Visited,” but since I actually want this visa I didn’t. I then typed up the necessary cover letter requesting that a visa be issued, complete with lots of groveling to please the bureaucrats. Supposedly only one passport photo is necessary, but passport photos in India are 8 for US$1. Once I get to Delhi I will take this application to the Kazakh Embassy, along with my passport which contains a picture of me wearing a shirt with Borat’s face on it and the words “I like you, I like sex” written in faux cyrillic. Yes, this is the passport photo that I’m traveling the world with. But back to where I actually am. India has some great people. Like the people whose bodies are covered in what I think is leprousy, but I’m not sure. Either way it’s a very disturbing site. And then there are the people who shove their sickeningly malnourished infants in your face. And in Mumbai, one of the world’s largest cities, there are cows everywhere. Yesterday I wandered into a restaurant that appeard to be owned by Afghans. I quickly realized I was off the beaten track. They sent over to me the one guy who spoke a little English, who hooked me up with some mutton. Of course you don’t eat this with silverware, you break off pieces of bread and make little sandwiches. I learned this in the Middle East. The hard part, though, is to break off pieces of bread using only your right hand, since using the left hand is very offensive, since this is what is used to wipe the ass (in the absence of an ass hose, of course). They noticed I was having trouble so they brought me a fork. Minus like 100 travel points. I then needed to buy a train ticket out of here. Trains in India are usually booked up weeks in advance, but they reserve a certain number of seats just for tourists. Since I think these are the same price as regular seats, this is of course very unfair, but convenient. These “foreign tourist quota” tickets can be bought at Mumbai CST station. So I hailed the first cab I saw and asked him to take me to CST. He didn’t understand and didn’t speak any English. I kept repeating CST and “train station.” Surely, he had to know where this was. Finally he asked “Bombay Central?” Figuring that CST must stand for “central” something there’s no way this could not be the station I want. Of course it wasn’t the station I wanted. Yes, Mumbai CST and Mumbai Central are two different stations. Upon arrival at Central I was accosted by a guy who was obviously up to no good who informed me that this was not the station for tourists. Then he said “you can go inside and ask if you don’t believe me.” Oh, so you have just indicated to me there may be a reason I wouldn’t believe what you tell me. So I did go in and ask, and of course this wasn’t the station I wanted. I assume that if I had let that guy follow me, he would have taken me to a travel agency. There I probably would have been booked a ticket for way more than it should cost and he would receive a comission. Or worse, they would have sold me a fake ticket. Or even worse, I would have just been robbed and/or killed. So I got into another cab and asked to be taken to CST. This asshole kept pouring it on thick to me and calling me “my dear friend” and of course insisting I pay him a ridiculous fare because “I am poor man, I am poor man.” Despite this, he really spoke no English. He asked me where I was going. To Agra, home of the Taj Mahal. He told me the name of the train was the Punjab Mail (this is correct). Then he asked me if I was going today or tomorrow. Tomorrow. One or two tickets? One. Oh, shit. He was going to try to do this for me then I would owe him more money. We got to the area of the station and he pulled over and insisted I get out of the car and come with him. “No, I just want to go to the reservations office.” “Yes, reservations, this way.” “You will show me where the reservations office is?” He led me across the street to a travel agency. Then I got mad. I yelled at him “No! I want to book at the reservations office!” I let him know I was very angry and that I was not a satisfied customer. Annoyed, he took me to the reservations office. Here I payed him his ridiculously inflated fare and left. Outside there were of course more touts “you go to Goa? Where are you going?” I didn’t acknowledge them, which is how I usually handle these situations. There are about 100 train booking windows and the office is huge. There is one window for tourists, around which there are some yellow benches marked “Foreign Tourists Only.” I thought of segregated drinking fountains in the US. Not surprisingly, these benches were like a mini-youth hostel. When I got to the window, I told the guy I wanted to go to Agra tomorrow and he asked “do you want to leave in the morning or in the evening?” “What time does it leave in the morning?” “It only leaves in the evening.” Then why did he give me the option? I finally got a ticket, but paying for it is ridiculous and uniquely Indian. You see, tourist tickets can only be paid for in US dollars, pounds sterling or euros. Not rupees. But LP said that you CAN buy them with rupees backed up by an “encashment certificate,” which is something you get when you change money and is basically, as a foreigner, permission for you to use rupees. They were initially reluctant to let me pay like this, but it worked out. So this evening I hope to be on my way to Agra, but you never know. Emerging from the station a taxi driver got me at the door. Walking towards his car he asked me where I was going by train and I told him Agra. Then out of nowhere the taxi driver who brought me here came running hysterically claiming me as his property. He had waited for me. Fuckin eh I hate these people. I had no choice but to go with him, plus the other guy seemed even more crooked anyways. I got in the back seat and the driver got behind the wheel with the other driver leaning in through the window arguing in Not English. Then he looked back at me with a look of rage in his eyes like he was about to pull out a gun and shoot me and asked “this man brought you here?” “Yes, he waited for me.” I then turned to the driver and said very emphatically “let’s go!” But he didn’t. The other driver stared me down for about 30 seconds then asked “where you go after Agra?” I said “it doesn’t matter,” turned back to the driver and said very seriously “let’s go!!” Finally he started driving. “That cheater driver.” Of course, and so are you. When we got back to my hotel I paid him what he wanted then he looked at me and said “baksheesh.” Baksheesh means tip. It’s not the custom to tip taxi drivers here so I replied simply “no.” “Yes my dear friend.” “No, because you have already charged me too much.” Then we shook hands and I left. As a side note, while I was using the internet at this internet café the guy came over to the circuit breaker panel which was right next to me, switched off power for the entire office and switched it back on again, so I lost what I was working on. I have no idea why he did this and I just kind of looked up like “huh?” Weird things happen here.

2009-02-24T22:32:00.000-08:00

Mumbai, India

I've said it before but I'm going to say it again: nobody in the world travels with more luggage than Indians. If you don't believe me go to LAX and see for yourself. There was an article in The Hindu about the Indian tennis (or some sport) team arriving in New Zealand for a tournament, and there were no luggage porters available so they were forced to suffer the indignity of carrying their own luggage. The Indians regarded this is a grave insult that nobody in New Zealand would carry their luggage and really felt slighted that they had to do it themselves. There was a big color picture of them pushing their gigantic suitcases with luggage carts. Mumbai is surprisingly beautiful. There are these guys that walk in the streets carrying bowls of some kind of orangish powder who accost you and want to through it on you, saying that it's for "good luck." I've never heard of these guys but I just instinctually know that they are bad news. When the first one came up to me I didn't even think twice about bruskly throwing up my hand, saying no in a firm voice and walking away quickly. He followed me, so I started walking very fast acting like I knew what I was doing and where I was going. He relented. Then while still walking fast another one came up to me, but this guy gave up very quickly. I learned a lot in Cairo, and the third world better not try to fuck with me. On a lighter note, although food in India is excellent, they ruin every sort of beverage imaginable with massive quantities of milk. I noticed while working at Ralphs that Indians consume more milk than anybody else, and now I know why. They put it in everything. While I came to like tea in the Middle East, here it's adulterated with milk. So is coffee. Ordering tea or coffee gets you something that looks like hot chocolate.

2009-02-24T04:42:00.000-08:00

Mumbai, India

India has 24 different official languages. I even saw a great billboard ad for a bank that said “In India, languages change every 400 km. Thankfully your bank doesn’t.” Or something like that. Of the 24, I am somewhat familiar with one of them: English. The other 23 I don’t even know a single word of, so when I hear anything that’s not English I have no way of knowing which language it is. For this reason, for the purposes of my blog I will divide communication into two categories of languages. The first category will be English, and I will place the other 23 official languages of India into a category I will call “Not English.” Having said this, a hell of a lot of Indian Standard English is spoken. Not everybody speaks it fluently, but most people throw in random English words into their Not English conversations. Many people code-switch, and some people seem to use English as their primary language. I do have to complement India on something. It may be a dilapidated hellhole, but its government tries hard to pull itself together the most it can to portray a good image to tourists. Unlike that shithole Egypt whose government, despite benefiting from a massive tourism industry, could not care less what you think of their fucked up country. The power flickers on and off here just like it did in Syria, so I have armed myself with a flashlight. I saw one in a store behind the counter and had a little trouble getting it using the word “flashlight.” Then a light bulb went off in my head that if we drive on the left side of the road, when the power goes out we use a “torch.” One thing that annoys me about India is that coughing, sneezing or clearing your throat as loudly as possible seems to be a tradition. It’s getting on my nerves. So anyways, I managed to get the hell out of Kochi. Lonely Planet India said that there was a train from Kochi to Mumbai taking 41 hours. I arrived at the station and sure enough that exact train with the exact schedule was posted up on the board, so I filled out the reservation request card (what is the point of that other than to just waste paper?) which I then had to present to the agent to buy my ticket for the next day. That’s when I realized that the LP authors just copied the schedule down without actually taking the train. The reservations agent looked at me strangely and said “why do you want this train?” You see, this is not how you get to Mumbai. Instead, it would be much faster to take a fast train that went to some place called Kalyan and take local train to Mumbai. It would only take 24 hours to get to Kalyan and then a local to Mumbai would take one hour, much faster than the 41 hour train. I could not find Kalyan mentioned anywhere in LP (though I did later find it on the map) but Wikipedia said it was a suburb of Mumbai. So the next day I arrived at the train station and got on the train heading for Kalyan, having no idea exactly where I was going. I had bought a ticket (for pennies, I might add) for the nicest class aboard the train. It was old and shitty, but what do you expect? Overall not that bad and a somewhat pleasant experience. The car was divided into units of four sleeper berths separated by curtains. It was air conditioned and pillows and blankets were provided. There were two toilets at the end of the car, the door to one of which proudly proclaimed that it was “Western style.” Sure enough, there was a Western style toilet in there that opened straight onto the tracks. I know this is a dumb question, but do toilets on Western trains still work that way? One of the other passengers was a grumpy old Indian man who introduced himself to me. “My name is Thomas.” This is not just a tech support phenomenon. The Western name for dealing with Westerners is deeply engrained in Indian society. An attendant served delicious meals (extra cost) and overall it was a nice ride, but it did have some of the hallmarks of a third world transportation experience: screaming children and people who like to talk very loudly on their cell phones so you know they are wealthy enough to afford cell phones. Getting into Kalyan is where the fun began. I honestly tried to find where to buy a ticket for the local train to Mumbai, but I couldn’t. And I had seen some of the local trains and they weren’t something I was eager to get on. So I found a taxi driver who would take me the LOOOOOOOOONG ways into Mumbai. BUT taxis here aren’t cars, they’re auto rickshaws. Google Image that shit for a true picture of horror. Yes, riding in that thing at full speed through the slums of the third world is as scary as it sounds. They are completely open and there are no seatbelts, so a crash would probably mean instant death. The entire time I had to maintain a firm grip on my suitcase so it wouldn’t fly out. This was also not a point to point adventure. First we had to get gas. At the gas station I saw the funniest trash can I’ve ever seen: a giant penguin with his mouth wide open and a sign on the mouth that said “Use Me.” Then on the highway in the middle of nowhere we broke down. The driver got out and started collecting bits of rubber from the side of the road. That’s the great thing about the third world: there are always spare auto parts lying everywhere. Or at least auto fragments or something that could be used as an auto part. After maybe about 20 minutes he got the engine going again. Then we reached a point where either he was about to break down or for whatever reason I couldn’t imagine he would go no further, so he gave me some of my money back and got another cab for me to take me into Mumbai proper. This actually was an air conditioned sedan vehicle. I tried to tell the driver I wanted to go to a hotel in Colaba, but he just kept babbling to me in Not English. Eventually he also reached a point where he would go no further and passed me onto the final driver, who would take me where I wanted to go. This guy spoke good English. As we passed a small beach crowded with fishermen he pointed out to me: “when the Pakistan people attack Mumbai this is where they came,” referring to the attacks on Mumbai just a few months ago by terrorists who arrived from Pakistan by sea. So…do you think is a good thing to be telling tourists? My hotel has one of those mini-water heaters common in this part of the world. The instructions advise that the temperature of the water can be controlled by adjusting the “hot water cock.”

2009-02-20T23:48:00.000-08:00

Kochi, India
I'm finally in India. Getting a visa required four trips to the consulate in Dubai. It was complicated because *technically* you're not supposed to be issued a visa outside of your country of residence. They were surprisingly nice about it though. If I had been a legal resident in the UAE, it would have taken a few hours. Instead, it took six days, because they had to get clearance from the consulate in San Francisco, where I was supposed to have applied for the visa. I convinced them to let me keep my passport while they were waiting for clearance, which was why I was able to go to Oman for the weekend. The one day that they did have to keep my passport, however, I had big problems trying to check into a hotel in Dubai with no passport. But it's all over. I changed money at the Sharjah airport and wow, Indian rupees are big. They're probably the largest banknotes I've ever carried in my wallet. I've become used to carrying around currency with pictures of mean looking dictators, so it's refreshing to now have in my pocket the lame, goofy looking Gandhi. I had heard all the horror stories about the incredibly poverty, unbelieveable hassle and scams and total squalor of India, so I came prepared for the worst. But since I stepped off the plane, I've been pleasantly surprised. Granted this is Kerala, one of India's wealthiest states. The airport was very nice and modern, and the bathrooms some of the cleanest I've been in on the entire trip. The immigration counters all had flip signs on them indicating, in English, whether they were "OPEN" or "CLOSED." Except upon closer examination you could tell that the "OPEN" side had originally read "OPENED" with the "ED" rubbed off or on some of them covered with tape, I guess when somebody pointed out to them that this was improper English. The consulate in Dubai had spelt my name wrong on my visa, so I was a little worried this might be a problem. Turns out, though, they had bigger concerns about me. The official flipped through my passport examining all of the strange visas and realized that I had been out of my country for a long time. Finally it had been called into question just what the hell I was doing wandering alone around the world with one tiny carry-on suitcase and a ton of Arabic in my passport. "You came from Dubai?" "Yes." "Do you work in Dubai?" "No, I'm just a tourist." "May I see your ticket?" I showed him the printout of my e-ticket confirmation email from Air Arabia, which of course was one-way. I was terrified that he was going to ask to see a return ticket. He then got up and took my passport over to a superior where they conferred on whether or not to let me in. When he returned he sat down and asked me very bluntly "what is the purpose of your visit to India?" "Tourism." "That's all?" "Yes." He stamped my passport then very uneasily handed it back to me, with the look on his face clearly showing that he wasn't sure what he had just done was a good idea. I expected to find the kind of hassle that I encountered in Cairo when leaving the terminal, but it just wasn't there. No problem getting a taxi with an honest fare, but when I got in the back seat I was surprised to see the steering wheel on the right side of the vehicle. Of course! In this former British colony, the driving is on the left. I knew that, I just hadn't thought about it recently. On the way into town I saw a business whose sign read "PMS Agencies." Last night for dinner I had cashew nut curry. It was one of the most delicious meals of my life. So my first impressions of India were very good. Today I've explored much more of the city of Kochi. The British called it Cochin, but recently they changed the name to Kochi to better reflect local heritage, just like Bombay became Mumbai and Calcutta became Kolkata. However, even though the name change occured at least ten years ago I think, things don't change fast in India. The stamp in my passport says "Cochin." I had always wanted to visit the state of Kerala because it sounded beautiful, but the main reason that this is my entry point into India is because it's cheap to fly here from the Gulf. Most of the Indian workers in the Gulf come from here. They also have (or at least had for many years) a communist government. I've seen several red flags that have a slightly different variation of the hammer and sickle. Funny though, because on the other hand all of the tourist signs have a logo that boasts "Kerala: God's Own Country." It's true, the poverty really does surround you here. Strangely, I feel completely at ease. Had I arrived here as the first stop on my trip, this post would probably be filled with descriptions of the horrible poverty, but I'm kind of unaffected by it at the moment. One weird thing, though, is that there are Jews here. There once was a large Jewish community, but now most have left for Israel, but a few remain. There is "Jew Street" and a part of town called "Jew Town," which cracks me up because the Borat rendition of the Kazakh antional anthem describes a "very nice place, from the Plains of Talashyk to northern fence of Jew Town."

2009-02-18T05:12:00.000-08:00

Sharjah, UAE

Sharjah is very nice along the coast, but a little inland it reminds me a lot of Fresno. That's all I have to say about that. Due to all the money I have wasted here, my trip may be a lot shorter than I originally envisioned. I'm getting out of here. I fly to Kochi on Friday.

2009-02-17T01:04:00.000-08:00

Dubai, UAE

I saw something truly beautiful yesterday in the Dubai Gold Souq. There were women who were wearing almost full body concealing burqas, except that their faces were uncovered. But they wore some kind of metalic ornament that was somehow anchored to the forehead, extended in a thin strip over the nose and culminated in a mask covering only the mouth. So you're allowed to see their face but they're not allowed to talk. It's the best of both worlds! The up-side to Dubai is that it's the most pedestrian friendly city in the region, even if it leaves a lot to be desired. The down-side is that it has to be the world's rudest city. Keep in mind that I'm used to staying in hotel rooms where water squirts everywhere from the pipes which have been repaired with masking tape and eating in restaurants which have no menu because even if they did nobody would be able to read it, so I don't expect much in the way of customer service. But I am astonished by the complete lack of respect shown to the consumer here. I don't know where the rumor that the French are rude came from, and I don't where the rumor of Dubai's "Seven Star Service" came from either. The school of thought is that they're doing YOU a favor by allowing you to spend your money with them. Of course you'll come across the random nice person, mostly foreign workers who are fresh off the boat and haven't figured out that shitty service is the norm here and that they're working waaaaaaaaaaay too hard. But anybody who has been working here for a few months has completed Assholism 101 with flying colors. As I predicted, the global financial crisis has made traveling easier. It seems to have really hit Dubai hard, with a ripple effect of the downturn of the Russian economy. A huge percentage of tourist money in Dubai comes from the Russian middle and upper classes, who are now back to the way they were in the early 90s. Hotels are charging way less than they could have earlier. In Beirut I checked into a hotel (after taking a stand against paying for toilet paper), and the amount I paid for the room was significantly less than the price quoted on the board at the front desk. The last hotel I stayed at in Dubai also had a board at the front desk listing prices, which were identical to the prices listed for his hotel in my guidebook, which was published in September 2008. This is rare, since normally you show up at a hotel and the rates have gone up slightly. The big surprise came when they told me it actually would only cost 2/3 that price. Despite these bargains, Dubai still isn't for budget travelers and even 2/3 the regular rate is bankrupting me. Although Dubai is sucking every last dirham out of me, it is amazing what is available at what prices. I found a taquería here, where I intend to eat dinner tonight.

2009-02-14T23:11:00.000-08:00

Muscat, Oman

Something I will never forget: watching the music video for Britney Spears' new hit "Circus" while the mosque next door blasts the call to prayer from its loudspeakers.

2009-02-13T22:39:00.000-08:00

Muscat, Oman

So how do you even get to a country with a screwed up name like "Oman?" Well, my guidebook didn't really have much information on this minor detail, but it did say that buses left to Oman from a station from Dubai. So I went to the place in Dubai where this alleged station was located, and of course found no station. On closer examination, I did find a tiny little shop with a sign listing bus departures to Oman. This was a stationary shop. It was also a bus station. I got a handwritten ticket for the next day. Attached to the ticket was a coupon proclaiming "Get Your Free Meal at Penguin Restaurant in Sohar!" Really? I showed up at the stationary store the next morning where sure enough a bus left for Muscat at 7:30 AM, 15 minutes late. At Omani customs all passengers had to get off the bus, collect their baggage and place it on a long table, then stand in front of it waiting for inspection. I was asked to open my bag and the official felt around the top layer. First time my bag has been searched on the entire trip. Then we were ordered to place all of our luggage in a line and clear the area. I didn't understand what this was all about until I saw the most adorable little black lab puppy bounding playfully towards everyones luggage followed by an officer. This was a drug dog? With lots of energy he enthusiastically jumped over all of the suitcases wagging his tail. He seemed to be the happiest dog in the world. Omani immigration was in a big, cheezy Vegas style Arabian palace, in contrast to UAE immigration, which was just a trailer in the middle of the desert. The bus stopped in Sohar where, sure enough, everyone got a free meal at the Penguin Restaurant. Muscat is very beautiful with a quirky mix of old and new. And oh my God is it sleepy. I feel more like I'm in a tiny fishing village than a national capital.
P.S. To clarify, when I said I've been to the real Dreamland, I was referring to the forbidden chunk of land between Nellis Air Force Base and Rachel, Nevada, not a brothel.

2009-02-12T02:58:00.001-08:00

Dubai, UAE

As one would expect, Dubai is an exciting place to be. Not otherworldly, but still cool. I'll try to explain what it looks like. Deira is supposedly the town ghetto but is anything but. It looks like the business district of LA or any other major city, but a little more fun and Vegas-y, if that makes sense. Jumeirah, where all the beach resorts and villas are, looks like a giant Huntington Beach. And I mean that, it really looks a lot like Huntington. Here is my review of the major Dubai sites.
Palm Jumeirah: It's big - really big. Very nice, but kind of anticlimactic. You feel just like you're in any other part of the city, rather than being aware that you're standing on a ridiculous artificial palm tree visible from space. The Atlantis here is almost an exact replica of the one in the Bahamas, except for the prayer rooms facing Mecca. There's a Cold Stone here. I'm not sure how much Cold Stone has expanded internationally, but they're in Dubai with the same menu and songs. Mainland Dubai is very overcrowded and the demand for all the luxury hotels is there and growing, so I think that this development actually was a good idea. However, I'm still unsure about the practicality of the Palm Deira, which will be ten times the size of this one and larger than Paris.
Burj Al Arab: They don't let you go inside if you're not staying there, but there is a place where all the Japanese tourists stand to take a million pictures of it. The architecture is really cool, but it's a hell of a lot smaller than you would imagine and it's anchored very close to the mainland.
Mall of the Emirates: Good, but The Avenues in Kuwait is still my favorite megamall of the Gulf. Then again, you can ski inside this mall.
The cheapest place to stay in Dubai is the youth hostel, which supposedly is very good and has a swimming pool, gym and tennis courts. Unfortunately, the cab driver had no idea where it was. He tried and tried, but could not find it. Since I knew it was located in the middle of nowhere and transport there was a problem, I decided to just stay in town. Deira has the cheapest hotels, and I think I may have actually succeeded in finding the cheapest of them all. It's not that bad, but sleazy beyond your wildest dreams. It's called the Dreamland Hotel. That name really creeps me out, and I've been to the real Dreamland in Nevada. Anyways, the bell boys have offered me a lady several times. The price quoted to me was 300 dirhams, about US$85. I haven't seen any of the ladies yet, but something tells me that around here 85 bucks isn't gonna get you high quality former Soviet Union poontang.

2009-02-11T07:35:00.000-08:00

Dubai, UAE

I'm not going to write anything about Dubai until I've seen more of the city. But this is a commemorative post because I've now been gone for one month. Dubai has a lot of something I haven't seen in a long time: buffet restaurants. As I sat down to a buffet dinner tonight in an empty restaurant, the song playing in the background was "All By Myself."

2009-02-10T00:01:00.000-08:00

Doha, Qatar

Shortly after writing my last post from Bahrain, I returned to my hotel. At the front door I was frisked by a security guard, then there was another security guard at the elevators who asked my room number and needed to see my key to prove I was actually staying there. Then at the top of the elevators there was another uniformed security guard and a guy in a suit and tie. OK, which Saudi prince came down for some poonanny? The next morning upon arrival at Bahrain International Airport I was dismayed to see signs asserting that the liquids and gels rule, which I thought only applied to the US and UK, was being enforced. I unpacked my luggage and quickly got all the liquids I had into the only ziploc bag I had with me, which I think was too big anyway. However, it didn't seem like anyone at the security checkpoint had even heard of these rules, and they were definitely not being enforced. Bahrain Air always reads an Islamic prayer before take off. I'm sure many Westerners aren't exactly comforted by a prayer being read in Arabic aboard an aircraft. Qatari immigration went fast for a change. Interestingly, it was staffed entirely by women in black robes and headscarfs. "You have visa?" "No." "Credit card, please." No cash is accepted for visas, only Visa or MasterCard. If you don't have one of these, then you have no business being in Qatar. The signs past immigration indicated to the left for limousines, to the right for taxis. I don't know who would pay for a limousine because all the taxis were Jaguars driven by men in suits and ties. It was the single most expensive taxi ride of my entire traveling career. My funds have shrunk exponentially since arriving in the Gulf, but it's worth it. I'm staying in Qatar's cheapest hotel, and even this place has a bellboy. For people like me who don't need help carrying one tiny suitcase and for whom tipping these people blows my budget, this is really annoying. I did give the nice guy from Nepal (first person I've ever met from Nepal) a tip. Once he left, I looked into my wallet and felt really bad because I realized I had tipped him in Bahraini dinars! When you change currency ever two days, you don't realize which one you're dealing with. I went back downstairs and apologized to him. He understood and politely showed me the place down the street where I could change money. This was awkward because I've always thought tipping should be rather discreet and undiscussed. Doha's corniche is the nicest corniche I've seen so far, but the endless string of American fast food restaurants and Krispy Kreme Donuts is strangely absent. It's extremely hot. I can't even imagine what it's like in summer. Walking along the corniche I saw a mirage in the distance - a little stand with a sign advertising "Your favorite drinks." As I got closer, I noticed that the "Your favorite drinks" in the picture were all cups of hot coffee. Was this some kind of sick joke? As I got closer, I indeed saw people walking away from here with cups of steaming hot tea. This is winter, and I guess this is as cold as it gets. I did get a bottle of water from here, which was imported from Saudi Arabia. Although water isn't one of Saudi Arabia's more well known exports, I suppose it's preferrable to drinking water from Qatar (pronounced in the local dialect very close to the English word "gutter"). I decided I should shave my beard off to avoid being mistaken for Indian ever again. I did have barber shop shaves in Dahab and Damascus, but it had been a while. I had a disposable razor floating around in my luggage somewhere which I kept for emergencies like this one. I went hunting for shaving cream, which was not easy to find because most people just get shaves in the barber shops here. When I finally found some, it was some weird thing imported from Hungary. It came in a metal tube and looked more like toothpaste that you were supposed to spread over your face. I guess this is what our grandfather's in the States used, but I guarantee you nobody in my generation has ever seen anything like it. Tomorrow I'm taking an Air Arabia flight to Sharjah, Dubai's ghetto airport.

2009-02-08T08:42:00.000-08:00

Manama, Bahrain

Bahrain. Oh my God, Bahrain. I honestly had no idea that this was the Bangkok of the Middle East. The Russian girl was just the tip of the iceberg. When I arrived back to my hotel last night after a day of sites seeing (OK, not true, there’s nothing to see in Bahrain) I was overwhelmed by the smorgasbord in front of me. Back in my room the phone rang. “Hello?” An obviously Asian female voice on the other end replied, in a classic “me love you long time” accent, “Hi. How are you?” “Good. How are you?” “Fine. You want to see lady?” “No, that’s alright. Thank you.” “OK, sorry to bother you.” A couple hours later it rang again. “Hello?” A giggly little Asian girl voice said “alo, salam 3alaikum.” “Wa 3alaikum as-salam.” “You want massage?” “No thanks. Bye.” Manama is so small I’m sure I could walk from one end to the other in an hour or two, but the roads are extremely pedestrian unfriendly. So today I opted for a taxi. I hit the jackpot with the driver. There was a big sign from the government in the cab saying, in English, “Insist on the meter. No meter = your ride is free!” Of course, it was very hard to get him to turn on the meter. This guy had road rage. He kept pointing out to me that every driver that pissed him off was Indian. “All Indians bad.” He was, of course, a native Bahraini. A motorcycle cop pulled up to him and they started chatting. He explained to me “He is my friend. We drink together. I drink too much.” Then he said “Where you from? India?” That’s scary. My growing beard, filthy clothing, general unkempt appearance and poor English have made me potentially Indian. “No, American.” “AMERICAN??? Why you want me to use meter? Americans never care about meter. Americans always pay me whatever I want.” He then proudly gave me examples of how much he has ripped off Americans for. “You with the Navy?” “No, just a tourist.” “There are no tourists here. Only Friday and Saturday.” “When the Saudis come, right?” “Yes, they are rubbish people. Drink too much.” He then offered to take me to see the bridge to Saudi Arabia. I was curious, so I decided to go for it. We went on to the bridge, which is not very impressive except for its serious length, and all the way onto the artificial island that marks the actual border. I could go no further without a Saudi visa, which is almost impossible to get unless you know someone in Saudi Arabia or are part of a very rare tour group. There were lots of signs advertising the family whose company built this bridge, the Bin Ladens. At the border he pulled over, then said to me very seriously in a low voice, “you want to go into Saudi Arabia?” “I can’t. I don’t have a visa.” I didn’t even have my passport on me. “No problem.” He was very serious that he thought he could get me across the border. Unfortunately, I got the feeling it wasn’t just a talk/bribe your way in kind of thing – I think he was just gonna straight up put me in the trunk, so I declined. As he restarted the engine and turned around he remarked to me “I don’t like the Saudis.” On the bridge going in the other direction he pointed out to me all the cars with Saudi license plates coming over to this stupid little Sodom and Gomorrah micronation for some fun. “Saudi, Saudi, Saudi” he said as he pointed to the cars. At one of the cars he yelled “Hey! It’s not Friday! Why you come?” The Saudis are obviously the Texans of the Middle East: loud, obnoxious, think they’re great but nobody likes them. Then he pointed at another car and declared “Look! Some Filipinos!” Earlier he had suggested I get my picture taken at the Bahrain/Saudi border, but I didn’t have my camera on me. He said to me “if you need camera I sell you one. Really. We go to my house, I have camera, you buy.” Back on mainland Bahrain we passed the US Embassy and he remarked “too many Americans. All Americans here. Too many. I once had an American friend. He would come into my garden, we would get drunk and dance. Chris was his name. But he leave Bahrain. Michael Jackson he live here in Bahrain.” Then he started doing very accurate Michael Jackson impressions and I could not contain my laughter. This is true, Michael Jackson really does have a house in Bahrain, but I’m not sure whether or not he resides there permanently. Bahrain’s crown prince is a huge fan of his and invited him to live in Bahrain once he figured he was unwanted in the US. I should mention the interesting linguistic situation in the Gulf. There are a very large number of immigrant workers. Except for workers which come from other Arab countries, these workers do not, in general, speak Arabic. Kuwait’s population is about 1/3 Kuwaiti and 2/3 foreign. Bahrain’s is just the inverse with about 2/3 Bahraini and 1/3 foreign, which means that Bahrainis are more represented in the work force, but the people serving you Chicken McNuggets are still foreign. In Kuwait the people in the service industries were almost entirely Filipino, but in Bahrain it’s about half Filipino half Indian (by this I mean Indian, Pakistani or Bangladeshi). The local Arabs speak amongst themselves in Arabic, but with a good amount of English mixed in. One family in Kuwait even appeared to be code switching between the two languages. When they speak to the people at McDonalds or Krispy Kreme, they use English. In Kuwait, good English. In Bahrain, not so much. They have a business here that I wish we had in the US – fast-food style Indian food. Like Panda Express, but with tandoori and chicken tika. I wonder if this would be profitable in the US. I imagine not at first, since Americans are still mostly unfamiliar with Indian food, whereas businesses like Panda Express are successful because Chinese food is established and respected in North America. Tomorrow I’m taking another Bahrain Air flight to Doha.

2009-02-07T06:30:00.000-08:00

Manama, Bahrain

Kuwait International Airport had a security check before check in and then another check before passport control, just like in Beirut. They kicked it up a notch though and had a final security check at the gate, which was the most serious of the three. Strangely, though, I didn't even have to show ID to get my boarding pass. The airport is desperately trying to get people to stop smoking anywhere they want. There are no smoking signs, and there are even designated smoking sections, but it makes no difference. Every announcement is peppered with a request not to smoke. "Attention passengers, Jazeera Airways Flight XXX to Dubai is now departing. Passengers are requested to proceed to gate 24 for departure and to refrain from smoking." We landed at Bahrain International Airport just an hour after departing Kuwait. No jetway for this puddle jumper flight. We deplaned the old fashion way and were put on a bus to the terminal. Although you do have to get a visa for Bahrain, you get it right at passport control rather than having to wait at the "Visa Issuing" desk. However, this means that the passport control line goes incredibly slowly. I witnessed officials yelling at the Indian, Pakistani and Bangladeshi migrant workers and herding them like cattle. To get in, all I had to do was fork over 5 Bahraini dinars to the official who stamped a visa and entry stamp in my passport. Then, for some reason, you have to go through an x-ray and metal detector to get to baggage claim. After that customs was practically non-existant. Bahrain is nice. It's a lot more chill than Kuwait and with kind of an island vibe. Kuwait was very hot during the day and surprisingly chilly at night. For the most part it was very dry, except for this morning it actually was raining. Bahrain is noticeably more humid, but not that uncomfortable and overall nice. Alcohol is legal here and there is a bridge to Saudi Arabia, where alcohol is banned completely. What happens, of course, is that weekends in Bahrain are crazy with lots of drunk Saudis. Unfortunately I think I missed it all since the weekend here is Friday and Saturday rather than Saturday and Sunday. This morning, right after checking into my hotel, I passed a stunningly beautiful woman in the hall. We made eye contact and she smiled at me. A little bit later the phone rang in my room. "Alo?" "Alo. Where are you?" "I'm sorry?" "What is your room number? I passed by you in the hall. You went down and then came back up. Can I see you?" "Who is this?" "My name is Jenna. What's your name?" "Can I help you with something?" "Hehe, yes, can I see you?" "Why do you want to see me?" "I want to see you. Where are you from?" "USA, where are you from?" "I am from Russia." "OK, thank you very much. Goodbye." Later I wondered how she was able to call my room without knowing the room number. Obviously the front desk is in on it. On a final note, Bahraini women are ugggggggggggly. About half cover their face with the veil, and the other half should consider it. This is in contast to Kuwaiti women, who actually were kind of cute. Still the best Arab chicks I've seen are the Syrians, who outshine even the Lebanese.

2009-02-06T05:27:00.000-08:00

Kuwait City, Kuwait

I haven't seen any speed limit signs here yet, but I have seen several minimum speed signs. One sign read "Your driving represents your civilization." How true. Everywhere in Kuwait there are posters with a big blood splotch and some words in Arabic. I'm proud of myself because I know what they say. "ghaza nahnu m3kum - Gaza, we are with you." Today I went to The Avenues Mall, the megamall of all megamalls. If this is what's in little Kuwait, I can't wait to see what Dubai has in store. There's even an Ikea, a Carrefour (French Walmart) and the one thing Gulf Arabs seem to love even more than luxury cars and solid gold toilet seats: Krispy Kreme Donuts. Tomorrow I'm flying to Bahrain with Bahrain Air.

2009-02-05T10:08:00.001-08:00

Kuwait City, Kuwait

So today I tried walking, something that is discouraged in Kuwait. Rather, you are requested to drive a Porsche. I wonder if I'm the country's first pedestrian. By the ocean (the Arabian Gulf, as it's called here, not the Persian Gulf) there a bunch of huge palaces that are opulent beyond belief. Then I engaged in the Kuwaiti national sport: shopping! The malls are very entertaining. Kuwaiti girls wear some weird shit. I heard two songs playing in the mall that made my smile. The first was Gasolina, and the second was some country gospel song. I wish that I was making this up. I actually did need to buy one thing, socks. When you walk a lot through dusty third world countries, your socks get destroyed. I left the US with two pairs of socks, and quickly realized I would need more. I bought three more pairs from a street dealer in Cairo, but they were very poor quality and wore out almost immediately. So by the time I got to Kuwait I had five pairs of socks that were almost completely destroyed. I successfully made the purchase then searched for a travel guide to Kuwait. The Virgin Megastore sold Lonely Planet guides to every country on earth except Kuwait. I know that an LP guide to Kuwait exists, but I've never been able to find it. This makes sense, because why would any tourist go to Kuwait?

2009-02-04T11:04:00.000-08:00

Kuwait City, Kuwait

This morning in Beirut I used an ATM. Lebanese ATMs are capable of dispensing either Lebanese pounds or US dollars. On the menu was the amount of US$250. Intrigued by this unusual sum, I selected it and was dispensed 5 US$50 dollar bills. Wow. Rafic Hariri International Airport had a big lobby, then a metal detector and X-ray just to get to the check in area. After check in was actual security. Upon landing in Kuwait I was hungry so I stopped at the airport McDonalds right past the gate. This McDonalds was run by Filipina chicks who kept saying "sir" as every other word. Sir can I help you sir? Sir something to drink sir? Sir what size sir? They charge for barbecue sauce. After that, the real fun starts with the painfully
s-l-o-w process of entering Kuwait. In the terminal there is an area with a lot of waiting benches marked "Visa Issuing." Here you take a number, fill out a form in very badly translated English, have a guy make a photocopy of your passport for no reason, and wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. It takes forever to process people through. After about 90 minutes of waiting my number was finally called, and I surprisingly encountered the nicest immigration official I had ever dealt with. "First time in Kuwait? Welcome. Dominic. That is a very nice name. 3 dinars please sir." He gave me a receipt and sent me to another official who gave me back my passport with a tiny, TINY stamp in it and a large computer printout with a bunch of Arabic written on it that I think is my actual visa, but I honestly have no idea. On this printout I noticed my full name had been transliterated into Arabic, and not the way I normally spell it out in Arabic. What I usually write, when transliterated back into English comes out as "Duminik Wilyam Mastrumatiu," but this was more like "Dumnik Wilyam Masturumatiu." Ma3aleesh. In a normal country after getting a visa you would have to go through passport control and get an entry stamp as well. The chick at the passport control lane marked "other nationalities," with a headscarf and braces, smiled at me and in a perfect North American accent said "Welcome." I started to hand her my passport, but she just said "that's all. Go ahead." Then after baggage claim you get to join the very long line to have your baggage x-rayed by customs. Then you're actually in Kuwait. Driving here is great. In third world countries like Egypt and Lebanon the crazy driving seems normal because the streets are so chaotic and foreign. But here in Kuwait, the freeways feel like just like the 57 or 91, but the Kuwaitis have their own ideas on how they should be used. It's an experience. There are no budget hotels here so my only option was to pay for something relatively nice. Thanks to the internet I managed to find a special deal on Kuwait's cheapest hotel, which is making my stay in the world's third wealthiest nation just *slightly* possible. This hotel is like a two star place, but it's obviously for long term stays. My room is very large, has a very large bathroom with some kind of Japanese mini-washing machine and a small kitchenette with a hot plate, sink and minifridge. Despite this, it's really not that expensive. I paid more for the Motel 6 in San Francisco, and that place was an incredible dump. My favorite part of the room, however, is the sign indicating the direction of Mecca.

2009-02-03T01:37:00.000-08:00

Beirut, Lebanon

Last night I stayed at a hostel that charged to use toilet paper. Screw that. If that's how it is, I'd rather just pay a little more money for a decent hotel. For the record, I did not pay for toilet paper. I stole some from the bathrooms at Starbucks! The language situation here is interesting. Everybody speaks French, mostly fluently, but it's not necessarily used in everyday conversation. Rather, Arabic conversations are sprinkled with random French words. The traditional Arabic greetings are rarely used, and it's more common to hear "bonjour" and "bonsoir." "Merci" is almost always said instead of "shukran," except for the young hipsters who like to say "thank you" instead. The younger generation does speak English very well, but in general it's not used as much as French. But that will probably change. Last night I indulged in alcohol for only the second time since Heathrow, since in this Christian city it's everywhere. Almaza, the local beer, is alright but very weak. I wanted to try out the new budget airlines of the Middle East, so tomorrow I'm taking a Jazeera Airways flight to Kuwait.

2009-02-02T07:27:00.000-08:00

Beirut, Lebanon

Ahh, Beirut. It's like Paris...with palm trees and AK-47s. But more on that later. Last night in Damascus I saw a group of prisoners being led into a building whose sign read "Immigration and Passports." I guess they were illegal immigrants, probably Iraqis. What was amusing was that they were all chained to each other. So this morning I jumped into a service taxi with 3 Malaysians heading to Beirut. The Syrian post was divided into lines just as it was coming into Jordan, except that there was no special line for women. I was concerned about changing money, but there were no money change facilities on the Syrian side. The Syrian and Lebanese posts are located quite far from each other, and there's nothing in between. At the Lebanese post the Malaysians and I went to the desk marked "Visas" and after having each page of our passports thoroughly examined for an Israeli stamp, we were asked to pay 25,000 Lebanese lira each for a visa. Of course, above us was a huge sign saying that only Lebanese currency was accepted. They were nice though, and told us we could go change money and come back. So we walked a little ways into the border town, changed money and got our visas. US dollars and Lebanese lira are used interchangeably here. I know a lot of American tourists accuse other countries of using monopoly money (especially the euro) but Lebanese lira is actually the closest thing I've ever seen to actual monopoly money. Not because it's colorful, but because it's flimsy and a real joke. Once in Lebanon, the highway became only two lanes, going through a lot of small villages and didn't feel like a major road at all. We went up windy roads into the mountains which were covered in snow, and then down into the metropolis of Beirut. There was a checkpoint like every five feet, but we weren't stopped at any of them. Beirut doesn't feel like an Arab city at all. Although everyone speaks Arabic (as well as French and English), there is more Roman script on the signs than Arabic. And like I said, everywhere you look there is a soldier with an AK-47. There are a lot of new things. This is because they would have to be new, since everything was destroyed during the civil war or by Israel in the summer of 2006. So with all the new shopping streets it feels a lot like Birch Street, with AK-47s. I love it! I walked along the corniche in the pouring rain looking for food, but all I saw was snobby, fancy restaurants. Then I caught a wiff of something. It was very faint, but my American nose immediately sensed adequate nourishment in the vicinity. Like a bloodhound I followed the scent. Yes, I knew that scent. Was it too good to be true? Soon afterwards I saw the Golden Arches and knew that I was safe. As he handed me my 9 piece Chicken McNuggets, large fries and Coke, the McDonalds employee said to me "Welcome to Lebanon." Beirut may lack the cultural beauty of Damascus or Aleppo, but it's hip. Very hip. Way too hip for me and my Wal Mart jeans. For this reason I will not be spending much time here, but Beirut has joined Paris and Rio de Janeiro to now be one of my three most favorite cities in the world.

2009-02-02T07:25:00.000-08:00

(posted from Beirut, Lebanon)

1 February 2009

Damascus, Syria

I spent last night in Lattakia, a port city on the coast. There was a huge storm with lots of thunder and lightning. This morning in Lattakia there was a small amount of snow on the ground. So yes, it does snow occasionally on the Mediterranean coast.

2009-02-02T07:24:00.000-08:00

(posted from Beirut, Lebanon)

30 January 2009

Aleppo, Syria

A few things to mention before I forget. I can now count camel as one of the many animals I have eaten. It's not bad, much better than goat. I also ate something in Alexandria that I have no idea what animal it came from, but it wasn't good. So my list of eaten animals is very long, and at the end there is one entry with a question mark. I've never been a tea drinker, but everybody drinks it here and I've come to like it. Many times when I check into a hotel I'm given tea as a "welcome drink." In Egypt everybody drank Lipton, which I liked. In Jordan, however, the tea was sickly sweet and horrible. But in Syria they drink good tea, I'm just not sure what brand it is. If you want coffee in this part of the world, you usually have two choices: Nescafe or Turkish Coffee. If you want Nescafe you have to specify, because just ordering coffee usually gets you Turkish coffee, which I hate to say but I don't really like. It's really bizarre. The power goes out in Syria a lot, and some businesses have backup generators for when it does. I ran out of deodorant, so I went searching for some. It seems like stick deodorant is non-existant here. The only thing I could find was spray deodorant, and even this was hard to find. So now I am destroying the ozone layer. Sorry Rory. Out of all countries I've ever been to, Syria is the (self-imposed) least influenced by Western commercialism. Of course it's there, just to the least extent of anywhere I've ever been. One guy told me how much he likes American movies, especially his all time favorite, Malibu's Most Wanted. His favorite part in "Malibu's Most Wanted" is when "those black try to scare him from the geeto." But besides this, American products are hardly ever seen. There are virtually no Western style grocery stores, and in the markets hardly any Western or imitation products are sold. No Frito Lay Sheebs here. I did manage to find one store which had a rack of sheebs, all imitations of Western brands. In the Hama bus station, one guy pegged me as a tourist and gave me a Borat-esque "what's up?" Upon learning that I was from California, he asked me if I spoke Spanish. He was Syrian, but had worked as a translator at the Jordanian embassy in Chile and Argentina. We talked for a while in Spanish, and then discussed the hot Syrian chick that was sitting right next to us. Using English or French may have been dangerous, but I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that you can be 99% sure most people in Syria don't understand your conversation in Spanish. I am now in Aleppo, which is a very conservative city (Damascus was pretty liberal). Very few women go topless. From now on, if I refer to topless women, I mean that they don't wear the headscarf. In the market they had loudspeakers set up broadcasting some angry message in Arabic. Although I don't understand anything, I did unmistakeably hear the words "yehud" (Jew) and "yehudi" (Jewish) over and over again. I'm sure they were talking about how wonderful the Jewish people are, but you never know. The guys at the desk in charge of this operation had an official looking collections box with the United Nations logo on it. At one of the most famous mosques here, there was a hard core collection of pictures of wounded Palestinians. One of them had the word "Gaza" written in English with blood dripping from it. Many buildings here fly the Palestinian flag alongside the Syrian flag. Most hotels I've been in have had TVs in the room, but usually they don't work. When they do, however, it is interesting to see what is available. The place in Hama actually got Al Jazeera English! I've seen a lot of Al Jazeera English's material on Youtube, and I've always found it very interesting. The report I saw in Hama was discussing the banking crisis, but then cut out to discuss the effects on Islamic banks in Europe and mentioned that "meanwhile, banks which adhere to Sharia law are celebrating." This wouldn't have even been mentioned by a Western news network because, admittedly, who cares? Then they had a representative of the EU on to discuss how the war in Gaza will affect relations between Israel and the EU. The anchor mentioned that the representative himself had in the past criticized Israel for its violations of international law, then posed the question why the EU would strengthen its relations with a nation who flagrantly violates international law. He started beating around the bush, so she firmly repeated the question. Amusing. Then on Rotana (Arab MTV) I saw a music video that appeared to be from the Saudi government, expressing how much they support the Palestinians. It showed King Abdullah (the Saudi one, not the Jordanian one) hugging Palestinian children. If Saudi Arabia has ever done anything for the Palestinians, I was unaware. Another Palestinian music video, like all of them, had lots of crying and depicting nothing but dead children. I don't doubt that many children have been wounded or killed in the Arab-Israeli conflict, but it's all they focus on. It's just so stupid. I can't really explain, but if you were to see one of these things you would understand why people of intelligence just don't get this propaganda. I'm all for the Palestinian cause, I just wish they had better propaganda. Right now in Aleppo it's very cold and rainy.

2009-02-02T07:23:00.000-08:00

(posted from Beirut, Lebanon)

28 January 2009

Hama, Syria

I saw the Crac des Chevaliers, an old crusader castle all knights of the round table style with a freakin mote and everything. Kept thinking of Monty Python. The scenery around here is very green and reminds me of Oregon. Not what you would expect in the Middle East. Unfortunately, Hama is a bit of a let down. The city is nice enough, but the river is full of trash and smells like shit, and the water wheels, what this town is famous for, aren't moving. And my hotel has no ass hose. Oh well. The Syrian immigration card asked for father's name and mother's name. This is also something that is asked when you get on any bus. Despite this, I am impressed by the lack of checkpoints here. I only saw one, manned by a lone soldier with an AK-47. It occurred to me that this is the first time I have ever seen an AK-47 in person. The availability of Western soft drinks here is a little strange. Not that this is a problem for me, I'm only remarking because it's amusing. I'm sure that they are available, I just haven't seen many of them. I have seen a few cans of Kooka Koola and Seven Ub, but no Bebsi. Comically, there is immitation Bebsi. Mandarin Cola and Ugarit Cola each have cans that very accurately resemble Pepsi cans. The company that makes Ugarit Cola also makes Cheer Up, in an almost identical can to Seven Up. The farther north I go the colder it gets naturally. Everywhere was warm enough until Amman. Amman and Damascus were pretty cold, but this morning at Crac des Chevaliers was FREEZING. It's warmed up a little bit now though.

2009-02-02T07:22:00.001-08:00

(posted from Beirut, Lebanon)

27 January 2009

Palmyra, Syria

Two things I must mention before I forget. The first is that I have seen an incredibly large number of dwarfs (little people, midgets, whatever) in Syria. They're everywhere. I never knew that there was a high rate of dwarfism in their population. The second is that most hotels I've been in since arriving in Egypt have a little hose next to the toilet. This is for ass cleaning. It has a litte nozzle and handle similar to the hoses found at some kitchen sinks in the West. I took a few pictures of the one in Damascus, and will upload them when possible. Though I never actually used it, I did test it out and took a picture of the device in operation. Anyways, I have now seen the ancient ruins of Palmyra. I'm not really into ruins, but these were good ones. And there are very few tourists here, so I almost had the entire place to myself. Very cool.

2009-02-02T07:20:00.000-08:00

(posted from Beirut, Lebanon)

26 January 2009

Damascus, Syria

There are very few internet cafes in Syria compared to Egypt and Jordan, so if my messages become less frequent don't worry. The one I went into yesterday just let me use a computer, but this one insisted on seeing ID. A California driver's license didn't work, but a photocopy of my passport did. I did have my actual passport on me, but I didn't feel like taking it out of my money belt (referred to in Euro Trip as a "currency colostomy bag.") They do take down all your details, I guess to keep track of who's been trying to access Facebook. Before I single out Syria for this kind of gestapo, I should mention that when I was in Italy in July 2007 this procedure was also necessary to use the internet. In terms of women, Egypt and Jordan were not bad but nothing special. Syria, on the other hand, has some real beauties with a very high level of breastage. Many women do wear the headscarf, but there are plenty who do not, and like in Egypt, some who do still look like sluts. There is a very wide color spectrum here, as there was in Jordan as well. Egyptians were mostly dark with the odd somewhat white person, though not that white. Jordanians and Syrians span from very dark to people who are white enough to not stick out from a crowd in Norway or Sweden. There are quite a few people with blue eyes and a lot with a weird shade of red hair. In the markets there are a lot of scarfs (not headscarfs, regular scarfs) that are embroidered with things like "falastin" (Palestine), "ghaza lina" (Gaza is Ours) and "al-quds lina" (Jerusalem is Ours). Of course, pictures of President Bashar al-Assad and his late father President Hafiz al-Assad are everywhere. Occassionally, though not really that often, these pictures are accompanied by a picture of Nasrallah, the leader of Hezbollah. There are also pictures of crying, bloody and wounded children everywhere with captions, the only word of which I recognize is "Gaza." I remember my high school French textbook claiming that Syria is a French speaking country. Well, last night I went to a somewhat nice restaurant and the waitress (the first female server I've had in the Middle East) greeted me with "Bonsoir" but this was probably just because I'm a foreigner. Other than that I've seen a few signs in French, but this is not a French speaking country. And Syrian food is excellent. I didn't like Egyptian food, and Jordanian was slightly better, but Syrian cuisine is divine. I've obviously lost quite a bit of weight since I left because my belt no longer adequately holds up my pants. I've never been able to find a belt that fits me well anyway. So I went to the market and purchased a "Calvin Klein" belt for about US$3. This one fits slightly better.

2009-02-02T07:18:00.000-08:00

(posted from Beirut, Lebanon)

25 January 2009

Damascus, Syria

Yes, Facebook and Blogspot truly are blocked here. When you try to access them a message comes up saying "Access Denied" in English. This post was written on the date indicated above and posted whenever and wherever indicated on the header. Getting to Damascus from Amman was no big deal. There are only 2 buses per day, so most people travel by service taxi. This means a small company with an office somewhere near the bus station that owns a few cars. You show up, say you want to go to Damascus, pay 11 JD. Then they wait for more people who want to go to Damascus. Once they have 4 or 5 passengers to fill the car they leave. The border crossing was very easy. For anyone considering doing it and wondering how things work, here goes. Everyone in Jordan calls it the Ramtha border crossing after the nearest town, but the signs on the highway all said Jabir Border Crossing, which I guess is the official name. There is a control point at the entrance to the border complex, but our drive just drove through it. Then he exits towards the "Departures" section. Here he is stopped at a barricade by an official who checks everyone's passport. Then he pulls into a large covered area with the immigration windows. You have to get out and first go to a window to pay the 5 JD departure tax, and you are given a postage like stamp saying you paid. Then you go to the immigration window and the official puts the departure tax stamp in your passport and gives you the actual exit stamp. Then you get back in the taxi and there's one more checkpoint a few feet ahead where passports are checked for exit stamps. Then a few feet later you go over a little bridge over what appears to be a tiny dry river bed and I assume that this is the actual border. At the next checkpoint a Syrian official hands everyone in the car a blue immigration form which you have to fill out. Then you drive a few more feet and pull over at the very large immigration building where you again get out. Syrian immigration is neatly arranged into six different series of windows: 1)Foreign Arrivals 2)Diplomat Arrivals 3)Syrian Arrivals 4)Jordanian Arrivals 5)Arab Arrivals 6)Women Arrivals. They stamp your passport and the immigration card which they hand back to you. The other guys in the taxi warned me that this immigration card is very important and that I must turn it in when leaving Syria. There is also a large duty free shop here. Then you get back in the car and the driver continues onto customs, where we were just waved through. Then one more checkpoint where passports are checked for propper stamps and you're completely in Syria. From the border to Damascus there were no more checkpoints, only many pictures of Bashar. We were in Damascus about 3 hours after leaving Amman. It's a very easy trip. Damascus and Alexandria are the two most beautiful cities I've seen so far on this trip.

2009-01-24T09:06:00.000-08:00

Amman, Jordan

I realize it's tacky to have visited an internet cafe twice in one day, but there are a few things I would like to write before I forget them. Today I read a copy of the Jordan Times. On the front page was an article about various people in Amman's thoughts on Obama. Most seem to highly approve of how they think he will approach the Arab-Israeli conflict. One 70 year old woman was quoted as saying that she feels it's the first time that a president is speaking to Arabs rather than down on them. Another man said that he thinks it would be a step in the right direction if Obama opens dialogue with Hamas. We can talk in the West all we want about how we shouldn't engage in talks with Hamas because they're a terrorist organization, but in case there was any doubt let it be known that the average Arab thinks opening dialogue with them would be a good idea. I came here expecting to find Arab nationalism and a resentment of US interference in the region, but what I have witnessed is much different. Even though they know whose side the US government is on when it comes to Israel, most Arabs seem angry that the US will not intervene to stop the violence when things flare up as they did in Gaza. I think this is because they consider "Occupied Palestine" to be a Western nation and therefore under the US sphere of influence. They seem to think that Obama could call up Olmert tomorrow and tell him how to run his country. The thing is, they're probably right. Although our image has been severely tarnished in recent years, it is hard to deny that our historical credibility and unconditional support of Israel have given the state an unnatural upper hand politically speaking. I truly believe that a change in US foreign policy could be a catalyst for significant change in the region. Since arriving here several light bulbs have gone off in my head regarding the Arab-Israeli conflict, but I will save my more controversial ideas for private conversation. I will say a few things, however. I often get annoyed when I think about how the entire world has been trying for 60 years to get these assholes to get along, but this isn't exactly true. What the entire world has been trying to do for 60 years is to get the Arabs to accept the State of Israel, very little the other way around. If I'm misinformed in this area please feel free to correct me, but this is just the way it has always seemed to me. When dealing with the Palestinians it is imperative that we think outside our bubble. This may seem obvious but it's also obvious that we're not doing it. To demonstrate what I mean by "thinking outside our bubble" I'll give a few unrelated examples. The UN Human Development Index ranks Mexico as one of the world's most advanced nations, yet Americans who walk across the border into Tijuana are often horrified by what they see. But having visited Colombia after extensive travel in Mexico, I understand that Mexico is one of the wealthiest nations in the world. I realize that this comment could be offensive to the millions of Mexicans who have left their country in search of a better life, but Mexico's wealth is a statistical fact and only furthers my point. An American arriving in Jordan may see the picture of an unelected monarch everywhere he looks and easily assume that this country is ruled by an egomaniacal tyrant. But adoration of the leader, especially a good one, is common in the region. Of all Arab leaders in power at the moment, King Abdullah is probably the single most well respected, both throughout the Middle East and the West. Many Jordanians will tell you how much they actually do admire him, and I believe that their comments are genuine. The world is not as small as we think. For this reason, all nations can not be held to the same standard of decency. I realize the absurdity of this idea, and I myself have a deep problem with it. But I am convinced that diplomacy will rarely succeed when we assume common ground that doesn't actually exist. God damn it, I've become an actual blogger.

2009-01-23T22:42:00.000-08:00

Amman, Jordan

One weird thing about Jordan is the money. The currency is the dinar, but everybody when speaking English, locals and expats alike, calls it the "JD." It's weird because it's divided into "fils" like the dollar is divided into cents, but it's not divided into 100 fils, it's divided into 1000 fils! However, must prices under 1 dinar are quoted in "piasters," a unit of curreny equaling 10 fils. Most coins are denominated in piasters, but there is both a 5 piaster and a 50 fil coin. Taxi meters display the entire fare in fils. I'm staying in East Amman, the bad part of town, but West Amman is beautiful. The rumors are true: big mansions, everybody speaks very polished, flawless English and there's not a headscarf in site. There are, however, a *few* clues that you're still in the Middle East:
1)people smoking inside McDonalds
2)quiet, residential streets patrolled by commando-like soldiers with automatic weapons
3)posters of wounded children in Gaza
4)mosque on wheels - this one's a little hard to explain so bear with me. The streets were completely deserted when suddenly this truck comes rolling through covered with banners in angry looking Arabic writing. The only words I recognized were "Islamic" and "Gaza." They had a big loudspeaker broadcasting some fire and brimstone message that was recorded, but occasionally an actual preacher in the car would take the microphone and broadcast his own message. I really wanted to take a picture, but the Ayatollah Khomeini looking guy was staring right at me so I wasn't really sure it'd be a good idea.
Although in both Egypt and Jordan I've seen a few people walking dogs, both Arabs and expats, the majority of Muslims hate dogs. Apparently Mohammed said they were minions of Satan or something. I observed a guy walking past a stray dog who kept following him and barking. He was obviously very afraid of it and kept trying to scare it away. Finally he threw a rock at it and started running like crazy. I then passed by this furry little minion of Satan without incident. One of my priorities right now is to get a visa for Kazakhstan. This is hard because Kazakhstan only has a few embassies abroad. At first glance, there was no Kazakh embassy in Jordan. But I digged a little further and managed to come up with the name of the street and two telephone numbers of the supposed Kazakh Embassy. Both phone numbers were disconnected (you do not call them because they do not have telephone!) and nobody had ever heard of the street. Later I did find an online listing from the Kazakh government of all their embassies. Each country where they had an embassy was listed followed by the address and telephone number. Except one country, which just said "Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan" and no other information. I get the feeling that this embassy used to exist but was closed down. At the end of the day I found a hip cafe with lots of cute Jordanian girls smoking "argila" as it's called here. So which country has better looking women? I'm gonna go ahead and say that Egypt and Jordan are about equal, but that in Egypt about 90% of women wear the scarf, as opposed to about 50% in Jordan. If anybody studying Arabic is reading my blog (I doubt it, but I'm gonna write this anyway) the Jordanian dialect is baffling. Not because it's hard to understand, but because it's a mix of other dialects. In Aqaba and Petra I heard interdentals pronounced quite a bit, but everybody says that in Amman they are not pronounced. Well, I've heard them pronounced here, even by people who claim to be Palestinian. I suppose some of the others pronouncing them could have been Iraqis, but I doubt it. I haven't even been able to tell how they pronounce the "qaf," except that Omar told me in his town, Madaba, it was pronounced in the traditional manner. Both marhaba (always pronounced without the tanwin) and ahlan wa sahlan technically mean welcome, but the way they're used here is that marhaba is more like hello and ahlan wa sahlan is more like welcome in the English sense of the word. The thing is that most Arabs use the welcoming phrase a hell of a lot more than Americans would. For instance, when entering a shop or restaurant, you are always told "Welcome" here where as it would usually be "Hello" in the US. The result is that "ahlan wa sahlan" is definitely the prefered greeting and used whenever it makes sense. I've heard "ya hala" quite a bit and it seems to be a response to a greeting. I've also heard "salam" used a few times as a greeting, but I get the feeling this is more colloquial and folksy, but I could be completely wrong. Both ma3 as-salamah and a simple "salam" are used for goodbye. The response to marhaba is ahlan. Tomorrow I'm gonna try to get to Damascus insha'allah. I hope to have a full post written in Damascus tomorrow, but if Bashar doesn't want this then there's nothing I can do. So I'll check in hopefully tomorrow, if not, who knows when?

2009-01-23T02:53:00.000-08:00

Amman, Jordan

So back at the laid back Cleopetra Hotel (not Cleopatra, CleoPETRA) I met two young female American journalists. One of them had lived in the Middle East for quite some time and spoke fluent Arabic. She started learning it, of course, with Maha and Khaled, the educational characters from what is basically the only textbook available for teaching Arabic to foreigners. She gave me a badly needed crash course in Levantine Colloquial Arabic. They gave me a heads up though: Facebook is blocked in Syria. They weren't sure about blogspot, but if I drop off the radar for a while you'll know why. They told me that the most accurate source of information in English about the region is actually Haaretz, the Israeli English newspaper, whose website is, amazingly, not blocked by the Syrian government. However, I would feel a little nervous sitting in an internet cafe in Damascus reading an Israeli newspaper. Later that night two Italians and I chatted with Mulasa, the owner of this hotel. Mulasa has four brothers and four sisters. His father is 55 years old and has nine children. When the Italian guy joked about everybody around here being named Mohammed, Mulasa explained that every family must have a Mohammed. He himself has about 100 cousins named Mohammed. There are some families in Jordan that have no Mohammed, but they are regarded as strange. It is usual for the first born son to be named Mohammed. The only exception is if the father himself is a Mohammed, then he will give his son a different name to avoid confusion. But then his son MUST name his son Mohammed. When Mulasa has a son, he will name him Mohammed. Mulasa then told us that his favorite guests are the French, followed by the Spaniards and Italians. His least favorite guests are Israelis, Koreans and Indians. Israelis for obvious reasons. Koreans because each one of them takes 30 minutes in the shower. They always have plenty of hot water, except when there is a group of Koreans in the hotel. Indians because they come to this budget place and expect a 5 star hotel for budget prices.

2009-01-22T06:26:00.000-08:00

2009-01-22T05:10:00.000-08:00

Petra, Jordan

Holy shit! My blog has been linked to a website with tourist information for Aqaba, Jordan. If anyone has stumbled upon my post about the ferry looking for information about Aqaba, don't necessarily take my advice. I would still say DONT take the ferry, but keep in mind that I'm a complete newb to travelling in this part of the world, so it was a worse experience for me than it would be for someone with more experience in the region. Anyways, believe it or not, right now is a great time to be an American in the Middle East. Everybody is very excited about Obama. I was riding on a bus to Petra today, and since I was in the front the driver asked me where I was from. Upon learning I was American, everyone in the front of the bus began rejoicing in Obama's inaugauration and declaring "Bush khalas - Bush is finished." Then they joked about Bush getting a shoe thrown at him in Baghdad. This shoe thrower is a true hero to everyone in the Middle East. They seem genuinely happy to meet an American who voted for Obama. There's a big modern customs checkpoint outside of Aqaba, since it's some kind of a free trade zone. One official just peeked in the door and waved us through. But then there are police flagging down cars for light inspection all over the place. They have no barricade or anything, they just stand by the side of the road and have a little red light/green light paddle. Amusing. What's even more amazing is that the Jordanians obey them. Yes, this is not Egypt. There are traffic lights and people actually stop at them! So now I've seen Petra, and it's as amazing as reported to be. BUT the tour groups are annoying. A lot of people visit Petra as part of a package tour from Israel. One tour group was all wearing hats from their tour, complete with the Star of David on them. Yeah, that's smart, considering I just saw a sign at a grocery store here saying "Sorry, we do not receive dogs and israelies." I'll try to upload a picture of it later to prove I'm not making this up. There are plenty of snack stands within Petra if you're hungry. At one, I saw an American woman approach to get something for her friend who was too lazy to get up from the bench she was sitting on. She wanted a water bottle, but the water bottles they were selling were too big. She went back to her friend and told her that they did have soda, so her friend requested a Diet Coke. Unfortunately, all they had was Diet Bebsi, and she did not want to drink this so she went without a beverage. I realized that since Egypt is technically in Africa and Jordan is technically in Asia, I have now been to all continents except Antarctica. I'm sure it has been noticed that my spelling and grammar gets worse in each post. The quality of my spoken English has also gotten a lot worse as it makes it easier to communicate with people when I speak as if English was my second language. At first when the kids on the street yelled "alo" at me I would respond with a correct "hello," but now I just say "alo." They are convinced that this is the proper pronunciation because it's how they answer the telephone, taking after the French.

2009-01-21T07:27:00.000-08:00

Aqaba, Jordan

On my last night in Dahab, I stood in the streets at a schwarma stand listening to the owner tell me why his schwarma was the best in the world, when a group of black girls walked by. They enthusiastically hawked their schwarma at them shouting "Hey! From Nigeria? Hakuna matata! Hakuna matata!" So Americans get "aloha" and Africans get "hakuna matata." I knew getting to Jordan would be tough. There's a slow ferry that runs between Nuweiba and Aqaba, but everything I read suggested that this is most emphatically NOT recommended for tourists, and it was better to talk the fast boat. There is only one fast boat a day, and it leaves Nuweiba at 3 PM according to my guidebook, 2:30 PM according to my hotel. Either way you have to be at the port 2 hours before departure to complete departure formalities. The problem is I was in Dahab, not Nuweiba. The only bus that would get into Nuweiba on time for the ferry left Dahab at 10:30 AM and took 1 hour. So assuming it got in on time, I would have to find the ticket office (not located at the port), buy a ticket, then find the port. I would get one shot, or I would have to spend a night in Nuweiba. I got to the bus station plenty early, where I was greeted by the friendly taxi driver who had first taken me to my hotel in Dahab two days earlier. He was a young guy, and reminded me a lot of an Egyptian version of the Ukrainian character from "Everything is Iluminated." We talked, and I told him I was going to Nuweiba. Oh, you know, the bus may be late. Yes, he has a friend who can take me to Nuweiba right now, I would get there in 45 minutes. Since I honestly didn't trust my odds of getting to Nuweiba by bus anyway, I went for it. This worked out fine, and I was taken straight to the ticket office. Nuweiba was like goat city. I had never seen so many goats in my life. For some reason, ferry tickets have to be purchased with US dollars. Luckily, I knew about this ahead of time and was prepared. I got my ticket, then tried to figure out where to go. I wandered around the ramshackle port with no signs or anything, then finally I saw a long line of people shoving themselves into a terminal. There was an official in charge here checking IDs, so I showed him my passport. He opened it and asked "ismak eh - what is your name?" Then "ginseak eh - what is your nationality?" This happens a lot, and I was always baffled why I was asked my nationality after presenting my passport. Then it finally occured to me that they can't read the Roman script that says "United States of America." Then I had to go through a metal detector and have my luggage x-rayed. I asked the official there if he spoke English, and he shook his hand indicating a little. I asked him what time the ferry left, and he replied "no time." I should have known something was wrong. Then I was stamped out of Egypt and the immigration official who spoke good English said to me "4 o'clock, OK." 4????? An hour later than I expected. I went to the departure gate and managed to ascertain from the officials there in Arabic that the boat did indeed leave at 4. Then I surveyed my surroundings, starting with the wall size picture of President Mubarak waving goodbye. This was the single most disgusting building I had ever been in in my life. There were more flies than passangers. Yes, if Earth were to have an enema, they would stick the tube in the Nuweiba ferry terminal. As I was sitting there becoming one with the flies, a young guy approached me and said something in Arabic, then realizing I didn't understand he asked me in English if I was alone, and invited me to sit with him and his friends. He spoke fluent American English with just a tiny bit of an accent. His name was Omar, and he was originally from Madaba, Jordan but he had lived for many years in the US, in Ithaca and Detroit. His family had recently moved back to Jordan because of the high cost of living in the US, but he wanted to go back to the States. He went to college in Egypt, because his grades weren't very good and Egyptian universities are easier to get into than Jordanian ones. He remarked to me "I bet you couldn't find anything this disgusting in the US." He's probably right. He didn't understand why I had studied Arabic and asked me if I was with the army. We talked for a while about many different things. Then his friend Musab wanted to talk to me with the few English words that he knew. He was from Petra, Jordan's biggest tourist site, and wanted to know if I was going there and when. He was asking because his father was the manager of a hotel there. Unfortunately, it was a 5 star hotel costing $150/night for a single. I told him that I was looking for an inexpensive hotel, and he understood and assured me that I would find many nice, inexpensive hotels in Petra. His friends started making fun of him for trying to talk to me despite not really speaking English, and he responded pointing out to me one of his friends who was from southern Jordan, where all people are stupid, like donkeys. They all told me that Jordan was a much more civilized country than Egypt with much more educated people. Also, they told me that Jordan is more liberal, because Egypt really has a lot of religious fundamentalists. I agreed. A lot of men in the terminal were wearing the traditional Arab keffiyeh headdresses, either in the traditional style on the head with the black bands or around the neck or over the shoulders. Omar explained to me that they wear them to indicate whether they're native Jordanian or Palestinian-Jordanian. More than half of Jordan's population consists of people whose families are originally from Palestine but who left after the creation of Israel or the Six Day War. Native Jordanians wear red-checkered scarfs, and Palestinians wear black checkered ones, like Arafat. Omar himself was native Jordanian and was wearing a red-checkered scarf around his neck. Omar had never taken the ferry before, so was almost as clueless as me about how things worked. He told me that indeed the ferry was scheduled to depart at 3. But if you ask anybody, they'll just make up an answer because nobody actually knows. He warned me that when it finally came time to leave, I would have the shove a little to get onto the boat. Then his friend Hamza told him that actually I wouldn't have to worry, because they separate all tourists and get them on the ferry first. I thought he was joking, because I couldn't imagine that there would actually be this kind of segregation. Even if it was true, what would be the big deal if I stuck with them? I was incredibly naive. At about 2 the scramble to leave began. You have to make it out of a small door, then onto a series of buses that would take you to the boat. Once it became known that the boat had arrived from Aqaba, a few people, including us, gathered around the door ready to leave, only to be told to disperse by the very angry port police, who insisted it would be at least 3 more hours until departure. This continued for hours. Every once in a while somebody would think that it was time to leave and would gather to be first out the door, and the police would come screaming at them to stay back. Each time, the screaming got more violent until I thought I might actually witness some police brutality. The few Western tourists there were all sitting near the door, because it's the only way they would know what was going on and when it was time to leave. I understood this because I've been in that situation so many times myself. I joked to Omar that if I hadn't met him I'd be one of them. Finally, at about 4:30, the buses arrived to take us to the boat. Then complete chaos ensued in the scramble to get out the door. The police arrived and began to verbally attempt to control the riot, screaming at the people with pure hatred. It is hard for me to describe in writing the actual intensity of this situation, but it was scary. If I could re-enact it in person, maybe you would understand. Sure enough, they pulled the tourists from the group and ushered them out the door. Hamza suggested I go with them, but after everything I had witnessed I thought I would be safer with them. Again, I was incredibly naive. Then it got physical. The police actually started physically pushing people back, very violently. At this point I was a little scared. I know it sounds weird, having to be scared to death by the police just to get on a ferry, but that's how it was. Then a cop came up to me and was not amused that a tourist was still hanging around here and yelled at me "go!" So I ran out the door and jumped on one of the buses. Arriving at the boat we were screamed at more by the port police to get into two different lines to have our passport checked by an Egyptian official. Standing in line, a cop yelled at me for still having my luggage with me (come on, you've seen how small my suitcase is, why can't I just carry it on?). So I had to go put it in a giant cart. Just a cart, it didn't have an engine or anything. Everybody just threw their luggage in here, it wasn't tagged or anything. I never thought I'd see my suitcase again. Then finally having our passports checked by the Egyptians, we were directed into the hull of the ship to form one big line to have our passports checked by a Jordanian official, who was seriously taking his time. They screamed at us some more to stand against the wall, because they then began loading vehicles onto the ship. Mostly Mercedes and BMWs with Saudi license plates. Once I finally got to the front of the line and had my passport inspected for the fifth time so far, I was allowed to climb the stairs into the main cabin of the ship. I was shocked. It was beautiful. Felt like the first class cabin on a plane. I found Omar and his friends, they had saved me a seat. I remarked about how nice the ship was compared to the ferry terminal, and they were like "of course, because this is a Jordanian ship." Then a waiter came by and took orders for dinner. I ordered a cheese burger. Before the boat left, Omar said we should probably get in line to have our passports stamped, since they have the immigration control booths right there on the boat. For this we went further ahead in the cabin, where I saw all the tourists sitting together after having been segregated from the Arabs. Since all the tourists had already been proccessed, everyone in line was Jordanian and so the officials were just in the rhythm of stamping their passports and handing them back to them. Me showing up with a US passport caused a raised eyebrow. The official searched every page of it and not finding what he was looking for looked up at me and said "no visa?" I shook my head no. Oh please, don't turn me back now. I've come so far. He took a scrap of paper, stamped it, handed it to me and said "Welcome, get passport back in Aqaba." I was uneasy about this until I looked at the very official scrap of paper that said "Hashemite kingdom of Jordan, paper to get passport back at aqaba port." OK, it's all gonna be alright. When we finally set sail it was 6:50 PM and already completely dark. I changed money on the boat. The Jordanian dinar is worth even more than a US dollar, in stark contrast to the worthless Egyptian pound. For a large brick of 100 Egyptian pound notes, I got back a very thin wad of colorful Jordanian dinars. The ride was pleasant and took just over an hour. As we were pulling into Aqaba, Hamza said to me proudly "now you will see the contrast between Egypt and Jordan." They wrote in Arabic on the back of a business card the names of a few good hotels in Aqaba, and how much a room should cost, but warned me that I would have to bargain. They told me to insist on paying no more than 2 dinars for a taxi into Aqaba, and told me how to say "turn on the meter" ("iftah al-3adad") and coached me on the proper pronunciation. When I saw that the tourists were being led out, I decided that it was probably best that I join them. I said goodbye to my new friends. They were good people. I gave Omar my email address and told him that if he comes back to the US he should let me know if he needs any help. I exited the boat with the tourists, and of course other passengers were trying to get off was well. The crew was yelling at them in Arabic and I think saying "No Arabs, No Arabs." I actually got my suitcase back from the carts that they had pulled into the hull, and then got onto the bus to the terminal. On the bus I noticed everybody else had those very official white slips to get their passports back. I was in the front with an Australian girl who was equally concerned about where our passports were. Hamza was right. The Aqaba ferry terminal was beautiful. What a contrast. As we came in a laid back official was there and said "please, have a seat." Then he told the Australian girl to come into his office, since she was first. After a few minutes she emerged, still carrying the white slip and no passport. I said "no luck?" and she told me that he did indeed have everybody's passport and was ready to stamp hers, but he didn't have the stamp! A few minutes later he returned triumphantly holding the stamp up in the air. Almost there. So close. Eventually I did get my passport back with a visa and entry stamp in it. Customs just asked me what was in my bag and let me go. Then one more passport check and I was out of the building. I found a cab driver who quoted me three dinars to Aqaba, and I insisted on only paying two. He agreed, but he would find more passengers because it was a four person taxi. Finding more passengers was difficult, since most people were going straight from the port to other parts of Jordan and not staying in Aqaba. When he had three passengers, he suggested that we each just pay three dinars and we could get going. One guy agreed, but the other guy refused and I didn't want to make him feel like an asshole so I refused as well. Finally he found a fourth passenger and we got going. He dropped me off at a place where he then gave me walking directions to the hotel Hamza had suggested. As I was walking away he said "where you from?" "USA" "Obama! Obama is president today!" "Yes, no more Bush." "Yeah, Bush - fuck him!" Of course I couldn't find the hotel that was recommended to me, but I did find a hotel. This place actually has a TV in the room, and I have a wide variety of programming, ranging from Al Manara (Hezbollah owned TV station broadcasting from Beirut) to Al Hurra (US government owned Arabic news station broadcasting from Washington, but only to the Middle East and unavailable within the US). I found BBC which was covering the inaugaration, and found out that Obama had already been sworn in as president. The contrast between Egypt and Jordan is intense. Jordan is VERY nice. Everything is so much cleaner and orderly. Jordanians are well aware of their country's good image in the West, and are very eager to prove it to tourists. Every five feet there's a picture of King Abdullah, but different pictures. King Abdullah in traditional Arab dress. King Abdullah in a western business suit. King Abdullah in his military uniform. King Abdullah on a camel. King Abdullah with his son. And of course, the family portrait of King Abdullah, Queen Rania and all of their children. Some people also keep pictures of the late King Hussein.

2009-01-19T08:31:00.000-08:00

Kodak moment

2009-01-19T08:17:00.000-08:00

Actual BF Egypt

2009-01-19T08:14:00.001-08:00

Dahab, Egypt

Forgot to mention the best part of climbing up to Mount Sinai: I was actually in Bum Fuck Egypt.

2009-01-19T07:52:00.000-08:00

Dahab, Egypt

Right after writing my last post I realized that I actually had heard Western pop music in Cairo, seeing as I wrote about hearing "She Bangs." Turns out that the place across the street has a Chris Brown CD that they just play over and over again. I always use tap water to brush my teeth. I've never done the whole bottled water even for brushing teeth thing, except here where the water smells like it was poured straight from the pharaoh's ass. Otherwise, it's great. The entire boardwalk is just made up of restaurants that consist of mats out on the sand and big pillows where you sit on, I guess to make tourists feel like they're in a Bedouin camp or something. I ate at one last night that had a fire going, and I ordered the only remotely Arab sounding thing on the menu. Then I smoked shisha right there on the beach while listening to light Arabesque trance music. By far the most touristy thing I've ever done, but I loved it. I realized it was about 8 AM California time and that everyone I know would be going to school or work, but wished they were doing exactly what I was doing. Since I'm still not completely on Egyptian time, I wake up ridiculously early. Today I got to see the sunrise over the water. Before I went to Rio I never realized that people living on the east coast of something would watch the sunRISE over the ocean, since in California it's all about watching the sunSET. This morning it also occured to me that the mountains I was looking at from across the water were in Saudi Arabia. Then I went and climbed Mount Sinai. It took me about 2 hours to get to the top, but I'm very out of shape. Most people do this in big groups as part of a pilgrimage, but I did it completely alone. This is a little nerve wracking since for most of the trail I didn't see another soul in sight and could hear a pin a drop. But the trail was well defined in most parts. Towards the top, the local Bedouin (I THINK they're Bedouin) make a roaring trade in selling water and every possible brand of soda and candy bars conceivable all the way up there in the mountains. One asked me "from where?" "USA" "Yay Obama!" And I'm serious when I say these people are really cave men looking. At the top there were two Argentines resting who took my picture for me. Standing where Moses received the Ten Commandments, I tried to recall what the Ten Commandments actually are, but I could only come up with six. Thou shalt have no other gods but me, thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not commit adultery, thou shalt not bear false witness, thou shalt honor thy mother and father. Then I draw a blank. On the way down I saw a fat and lazy camel laying down and eating. I decided that this was an Annie camel and that I should get my picture with it, so I offered its owner 3 Egyptian pounds to take a picture of me with it. The animal itself seemed very perplexed as to why I was kneeling next to it. I should mention that at the base of Mount Sinai is the St. Katherine's Monastery, where inside they keep the actual burning bush that spoke to Moses, even though it doesn't burn much these days. I was really looking forward to seeing this, but when I got there the church was closed for some reason. I was really disappointed. Now I'm trying to get to Jordan. Although the two countries don't share a border, it's very easy to get to. You just take a bus to the Israeli border, walk into Israel, take a taxi to the Jordanian border and walk into Jordan. Very easy and people do it every day. Except for one huge problem for me. If you get an Israeli stamp in your passport, you will be denied entry to Syria, Lebanon, Yemen, Algeria, Libya, Sudan and probably others. So the alternative is a ferry that goes from Nuweiba to Aqaba, which I will try to get on tomorrow.

2009-01-18T06:18:00.001-08:00

Dahab, Egypt

I'm in the Sinai, on the Gulf of Aqaba. Getting here involved several checkpoints and my passport was checked a few times. It's extremely touristy, though I have to say it is nice to just relax and be able to get things done in English. Everybody I've dealt with so far speaks excellent English and the entire town is set up to deal with tourists. Even though I usually hate places like this, it's very nice after Cairo. My final thoughts about Cairo: It could be one of the world's most beautiful cities if it weren't so damn polluted. But I would go back. From where I am sitting right now I can hear Chris Brown's "Forever" playing from across the street. First time I've heard Western pop music in a while.

2009-01-17T04:44:00.000-08:00

Cairo, Egypt

Today was shockingly a beautiful, blue sky day. I say this because the air pollution here is usually unbelievable. I know it sounds dumb saying this when it's a well known fact, but I will make a point of saying it because it's like nothing I've ever experienced. I always bragged that being from the LA area I could not be bothered by the smog anywhere, and I was not impressed with the infamous air quality of Mexico City. But this is something different, and I can't imagine what the air in Beijing must be like if Cairo is this bad. The city is very disorienting. There are many skyscrapers that in theory you should be able to use as landmarks, but in reality you can't see them most of the time because of the smog, even if you are very near them. It's that bad. I honestly am impressed. I saw the Egyptian museum yesterday, which was surprisingly boring. Trust me, that famous funeral mask of King Tutankhamen is not that impressive in person. I was like "that's it? that's that thing that's on every postcard from Egypt? moving on now." Believe it or not, I have been able to get a hot shower every single day so far. However, the last two hotels I stayed at did not provide towels, so I have been air drying. Although this is an Islamic country, you can get alcohol. It certainly isn't widely available and I only had it once, at a fancy restaurant in Alexandria. I had a Sakkara, which touted itself as "Egypt's Quality Beer." It was 10% alc/vol. The thinking is that if you're going to hell, you might as well REALLY enjoy it. I went to some of the expat areas to stock up on food for a long bus ride, and I saw one store called "Drinkies" which specialized in selling alcohol. Then in the supermarket, there were shelves stocked with alcohol with a sign in Arabic and then the English translation saying "Don't sell for youth less than 21 years."

2009-01-16T08:10:00.001-08:00

Cairo, Egypt

Thanks to everyone who sent me news updates. I was mainly concerned about the possibility of violence in Lebanon, since I was considering going there if the coast is clear. Now I'm very unsure. Today I finally managed to find a copy of the supposedly well respected English expat newspaper. Unfortunately, the headline read "Palestinians refuse to surrender in the face of flagrant Israeli war crimes" and the rest of the paper was filled with nothing but anti-Israel and anti-US propaganda. Today was Friday, the Islamic holy day. Every mosque has a loadspeaker and they just broadcast the entire service so everybody can hear. All around the city they just put down huge mats in the streets and people gather to worship right in the streets of Cairo, so it was impossible to escape the sermons. Of course I can't understand a word they said, but in every corner of the city was a seemingly angry preacher delivering a harsh, violent sounding message to his flock. I'm sure they were all preaching a message of world peace and love of Americans and Jews, but the tone allowed me to easily imagine otherwise.

2009-01-15T03:06:00.000-08:00

Cairo, Egypt

It's always funny being in a foreign country and hearing American songs that were popular a few months ago. How old the songs are is an indicator of how behind the times the country is. A few days ago I heard Ricky Martin's "She Bangs." Shortly after writing my last message, I had breakfast at my hotel. The guy running the buffet noticed me watching the Egyptian telenovelas, and came over and asked me if I understood them. No, of course, but I was enjoying them anyway. He offered to put on something in English for me. I didn't really care, so I suggested he put on my favorite channel, Al Jazeera. Since I watched Al Jazeera, he concluded that I spoke fluent Arabic. The reason he was asking was because he needed help translating something. He had applied for a German visa to visit his uncle who lives there, but had received his passport back with no visa in it and a letter in English from the German Embassy. I didn't understand why the German Embassy in Cairo was using English, but whatever. I guess he could understand English, he just couldn't read it because he understood what I said when I read the letter slowly. It was telling him that they had denied his visa, and that they were not going to tell him why. Then it quoted the section of German law which allowed them to deny visas and not reveal the reason. He was crushed. I felt so bad for him and tried to console him by saying "the Germans are not nice." He told me that I'm lucky to be American because I can travel to any country I want. Still trying to console him, I explained not EVERY country, Iran for example. He laughed and said "yes, and if you go to Afghanistan they will kill you!" Then I shared with him my experience of getting a Russian visa. I don't remember why, but he told me he was a Christian, and how they have a lot of problems with the Muslims and that all Muslims are bad people. He told me a story of where the Muslims kidnapped a Christian girl, took naked photos of her and threatened to post them on the internet if she didn't convert to Islam. I had decided that day that I would go to Alexandria for a few days. The cab driver that took me to the bus station was nice, but his car kept stalling and he kept having to restart. To go into the bus station, he had to go up a slight incline, where of course he stalled. Trying to restart, he rolled backwards and smashed into a brand new Mercedes Benz, denting the bumper. The lady driving the Benz was furious, but they didn't exchange info, because obviously this happens all the time. The Cairo bus station was unbelievable. I had never seen anything like it. It was enormous, brand new, multilevel and extremely quiet. Hardly any activity or hassle at all, nothing like the rest of the city. Strangely, Alexandria's station is exactly the opposite. Actually, there is no actual terminal building, just a giant chaotic parking lot that buses cram into, drop of their passengers and refill. Funny, though, the Arabic name of this station in Alexandria translates to "The New Bus Station." I wonder what the old one was like. In Latin America, buses have an image of the Virgin Mary on the windshield. Here, they have the Islamic declaration of faith underlined with a scimitar. Alexandria was beautiful and felt more Mediterranean than Arab. Even though it's only 3 hours north of Cairo, it feels like a completely different world. The catacombs were crazy, it felt like being in an Indiana Jones movie. To get to the catacombs you have to go through an old neighborhood with small, narrow unpaved streets, donkeys pulling carts, and goats roaming freely eating the trash. Now I'm back in Cairo. Upon getting here and finding a hotel, I had one of those "I just need food for the purpose of survival and don't care about anything else, therefore it's OK to eat Western fast food" moments. I didn't feel like Makdoonaldz or Beetza Hut, but since arriving in Egypt I had seen quite a few Carls Jr restaurants. Surprisingly, when I actually read the Arabic script, I found out that they were actually Hardee's restaurants. First time I ever ate a Hardee's was in Egypt. At Hardee's something happened to me for the second time in Egypt: I ordered something, and was given (and charged for) two of them. Either it's a scam, or they assume Americans will want two because they eat so much. Probably both. I didn't eat the second and should have demanded a refund, but I didn't have the energy. In school they teach us that the proper way of saying good morning is to start with "sabah al-khair – morning of goodness" to which the person responds "sabah an-nur – morning of light." If you REALLY mean good morning, then you can respond to that with "sabah al-ful – morning of jasmine" and the person responds with "sabah al-ward – morning of roses." In reality, this pattern is not fixed at all. Although some do follow the traditional pattern of "morning of goodness, morning of light" a lot just reply to "sabah al-khair" with another "sabah al-khair." "Sabah al-ful" also seems to be very common, both as a starter and as a reply. Few things: cans of Bebsi and Kooka Koola open differently than they do in the states. You pull the tab rather than push it. I have seen several cars that have European license plates (mostly Germany, Netherlands and France) with an Egyptian license plate affixed over it. A lot of them aren't even European cars, just apparently purchased there. Rotana is a TV channel that is like the Arab MTV, and it plays a LOT of Palestinian war songs. Now I need some help. Although I'm in the Middle East, I have no idea what's actually going on in the Middle East. I haven't seen a single newspaper for sale in English, and the only thing in English on TV last night was Hannah Montana (not joking). I can watch Al Jazeera, but I don't understand a word they're saying. They were reporting from Lebanon yesterday, and also something from Syria. It looks like something blew up in Kuwait. So I need help – what's going on in Gaza? Is there fighting in Lebanon? Wesley, if you're reading this, the day is yours. Just don't send me a link to an article, I'm too lazy. Just summarize. Thanks. Also, Katy and Ralphs, if you're reading this, your requested postcards were sent from Alexandria, but I'm not convinced that you'll ever get them. Just know I tried.

2009-01-12T20:44:00.000-08:00

Cairo, Egypt

My advice to anybody visiting Egypt: if anybody comes up to you in the street and starts talking to you, punch them in the face and run like hell. If you talk to somebody for even 30 seconds, they will grab you firmly and drag you somewhere. Whenever this happens I get worried that one of two things will hapen: either a)I will have tea shoved down my throat and then feel obligated to buy shit I don't want or b)I'm about to get my head hacked off live on Al Jazeera. Thankfully it's been scenario A so far. The good news is that most people I've wanted to talk to have been very nice. All the Arabic I learned at NAU has started to flow through my head and I started babbling to the people. They still don't understand anything I say and vice versa, but it's a start. Last night I made the mistake of greeting the floor guy at my building with a "masa2 al-khair," and he wanted to talk to me for hours. Cairo is filthy but I like it. There's just trash everywhere because nobody knows what a trash can is for. It's hard to explain, but I don't mind it because it seems just to be the rhythm of the city - unlike somewhere like Rome which is supposedly beautiful but filled with trash because it's neglected. There is some actual beauty here as well. I've seen a ton of buildings which I THINK were the buildings I set out to see, but I can't be sure because there wasn't a single sign. Parts of the city feel like they haven't changed much in 1000 years and I could imagine frickin Aladdin flying by on a magic carpet. I've walked a lot along the Nile, only because I can orient myself with the river and if I stray just a few feet from it I get completely lost. When I first saw the Nile I wasn't impressed, until I remembered that the land I was looking out at on the other side wasn't actually the west bank of the river, but an island in the middle of it. When I finally saw it from east bank to west bank it was massive. One funny thing is that in this majority Islamic nation, the few Christian owned shops really want to advertise that fact - crosses all over the door and inside big pictures of Jesus and of course the Virgin Mary, making me feel for a second like I'm back in Mexico. Coptic Cairo, the Christian quarter, was very beautiful and ancient. There is even a synagogue here. Understandably, you have to go through a metal detector to get in here. It was funny to be standing next to a church, hear the Islamic call to prayer and see people nearby start praying towards Mecca. Also for some reason in this neighborhood a lot of signs outside shops were in Spanish, each one advertising that they were "Bueno Bonito Barato." The guys at my new hotel insisted that I look Egyptian, but obviously it's just their way of making tourists feel welcome because little kids on the street have shouted "alo" at me. I have also strangely been frequently greeted with "aloha," and the more elaborate "aloha yankee doodle how are you." I have been told that "all Americans welcome in Egypt except Bush" by a guy who later showed me his Obama 08 sticker. Eating has been fun since I have been confronted with several restaurant menus entirely in Arabic. Although I can read it, I don't recognize a single thing on the menu. In one place I just broke down and asked for "as-sandweetsh fee as-sura," "the sandwich in the picture." I've also confused a few payments because they make both bills and coins for 1 and 0.5 pound denominations. Bizarre. Everywhere around I see boxes of tissues. Every cab driver keeps a box and restaurants frequently have them at the tables for use as napkins. In the face of anybody who thought they would need a pocket pack here. I completed my goal of sitting in a real teahouse in the Middle East (and not a tourist one, a ghetto one off the beaten track) and smoking hookah (here just called "shisha," hookah is the Hindi word). I couldn't believe it when I finally found myself doing this, it was unforgettable. Tea and shisha costs 3 pounds - less than $1. I've heard the call to prayer 5 times a day and I've watched the Gaza crisis unfold further on Al Jazeera. I'm actually in the Middle East. It seems unreal.

2009-01-11T07:11:00.000-08:00

Cairo, Egypt

First things first: Dad, you were wondering about the keyboards. The one in front of me is identical to an English keyboard (thank God not a French one), but there is an Arabic character also on each key. It started typing in English automatically on Internet Explorer, but when I opened Word I knew there would be trouble when I saw the cursor on the right side of the screen. There is a little drop down menu on the toolbar that lets you toggle between English and Arabic. I must concede a few things: 1)yes, leaving the airport is a nightmare, 2)yes, Cairo is the filthiest city I have ever been in (so far) and 3)me thinking I know everything about the world, I have been in Egypt less than 24 hours and have been blatantly ripped off many, many times. But I'm loving every second of it. The second I stepped off the plane and onto the jetway I was overpowered with an intense smell of cigarette smoke. Then in the actual filthy, ramshackle building they call a terminal, there is a mix of horrible smells and cigarette smokes. Despite huge no smoking signs, there are cigarette butt
everywhere. To enter Egypt, you have to buy a visa from one of the exchange counters. I greeted the man in Arabic – "masa2 al-khair," to which he laughed and responded. Then I inquired "visa?" and he responded in English "15 dollars." I gave him US$15 and he gave me a little sticker that said "Egypt – Entry Visa." That's it – no form, no pictures. Then I changed money. The bathrooms were disgusting. Got
in the line for passport control, which went very quickly. The official just stamped my passport then passed it to an old woman in hijab sitting behind him and motioned for me to fuck off. The woman entered my details into a computer then looked at me, smiled, handed me my passport and said "Dominic." "Shukran." "3afwan." That all went smoothly, but this is where the fun starts. Customs was nothing but a bunch of guys standing around talking, so I walked right by them. Then the transport people swarm you. I finally encountered an official looking guy who insisted that the cab fare to downtown was fixed by the government at 65 pounds. Probably bullshit but it seemed efficient. He said I pay him then he writes me a receipt. Then he showed me the way into the parking lot, where they would pick me up. A porter insisted on carrying my bag. I told him no, but he literally swiped it from me. Then another guy took me to the place where we waited a second for the cab. They were impressed with my Arabic. The porter insisted I give him a tip. I gave him the only change I had, British pounds, which he angrily threw on the ground. I then offered to give him Egyptian money if he could make change for a large bill, which of course he couldn't I don't care if it's the custom – fuck him. If I wanted a porter, I would have been prepared and asked for one. I explained this to him, and reminded him that I insisted he did NOT carry my bag. In the meantime my cab had arrived and was the driver was annoyed that I was still arguing with this dumbass, so I just asked him "is my bag in there?" (I know, I know) and jumped in. I started worrying seeing as how I never actually saw my bag go into the cab, and realized it could have all been a distraction ploy. Upon leaving the airport, the driver pointed out to me the beautiful new EgyptAir terminal, as opposed to the semi-destroyed building I had just disembarked from. He froze up when he realized I understood his Arabic, and was very impressed. We passed a lot of new buildings, and at night everything looked nice and clean. We passed a brand new Mobil gas station with an "On the Go" convenience store attached. The driving wasn't that crazy, but it is funny how when possible, Egyptians prefer to drive between the lanes in order to assert their dominance over the WHOLE road. The driver pointed out every mundane thing we passed – "this hotel, this bank, this bridge." Since he was so nice, I began to worry if the guy at the airport had just robbed me and I would actually have to pay the full cab fare to him. He offered to take me on a tour of the city the next day, but I declined. Even past midnight, many people were out walking around Cairo and a few shops were open. It was not very cold, much warmer than Fullerton right now at night, but everybody was bundled in heavy jackets. I guess that's as cold as it gets. He had to ask around a little bit to find the hotel. He was on the right street, but then got to a part of the street that the police had blocked off. They told him that it was a little back in the opposite direction, so he just shifted into reverse and drove back a ways. Brilliant. Thank God my bag actually was in the trunk. He then said "money for driver." I showed him the receipt I was given at the airport, and he understood but told me you usually give a little extra. I did want to give him a tip, I was just making sure that I hadn't been scammed. My hotel consisted of the top floor of a 12 story apartment building. There was a scary looking elevator (I don't even like to take safe looking elevators), but I took the stairs. The stairs were filthy and littered with Cairo's hallmark – cigarettes. On one story I disturbed a family of cats living in the building. I eventually got to a point in the staircase where there was no light, so I decided to go back down and try the elevator. Returning to the bottom floor, a guy sleeping in a bed in what appeared to be the broom closet saw me and my suitcase and shouted, in English, "tourist?" "Yes." "Hotel?" "Yes." "Top floor." So I sweated it through the elevator ride. What I'm afraid of is getting stuck in the elevator, and this one looked like that was a good possibility. It's the kind where you have to pull the door open and shut, not like fancy sliding doors. So when you're in the elevator, you're looking at the actual concrete of the elevator shaft. Thankfully, I made it and was greeted by a young Egyptian guy at the desk of the hotel. I greeted him in Arabic "masa2 al-khair – good evening." This made him smile and he checked me in, with the rest of the conversation in English. He said "you like beano?" I was very confused. Then he repeated slowly "you like bay now?" He was asking me if I wanted to pay now, or tomorrow. There is no "p" sound in Arabic, so they pronounce it like a b. Pepsi is "Bebsi" and Lays, which has adds everywhere, simply calls their product "chips," which is what is printed on the bag as the brand name. Except that there is no "ch" OR "p" sound in Arabic, so you can enjoy a nice big bags of "sheebs." Anyways, this guy showed me to what was thankfully a very nice room. I have my own huge balcony overlooking the city. I slept a little, then woke up for breakfast. The bathroom had a typical Middle Eastern style shower, which consists of just a basin with no shower curtain and a detachable shower head. Those who are used to this are skilled enough to shower themselves without getting water everywhere. At breakfast, I was asked in English what I would like to drink, to which I responded "2ahwa – coffee." Apparently understanding Spanish, this guy looked at me and confirmed "agua?" OK, so my accent needs some work. I did get my coffee, however, served in a transparent glass cup with no handle, just like they serve tea. Then I grabbed a cab to the pyramids, after being warned by the guy at the hotel of all the scams there. This driver also pointed things out – "this is bank." I could see. Very impressive. Then he offered me a cigarette. I declined, but that was definitely the first time a cab driver had ever offered me something. Driving very fast with the window down and a lot of noise outside it was very difficult for him to hear whoever he was talking with on his cell phone, so he shouted very loudly. Once out of the big traffic he started going the speed I had expected to experience in the Middle East. I don't even feel like going into it, but basically I was swindled out of a lot of money by the assholes at the pyramids. A hell of a lot of money. After that every other tout that approached me I very rudely told off. It's a difficult balance between being a polite, respectful tourist and letting yourself get robbed blindly. The thing is these guys aren't honest hard-working people just trying to provide for their families. They're dishonest hard-working people just trying to provide for their families. They can still burn in hell. It ruined the experience so badly that it wasn't until about 20 minutes later that I actually realized I was at the motherfucking PYRAMIDS OF EGYPT!!!! One of the 7 Wonders of the World. Then I actually looked up and saw them, and was amazed I was actually there. Unfortunately, it's hard to just sit and enjoy them because people are trying to fuck you out of money left and right, but I did find a place to hide. Some people whine that it's not an authentic experience because they're right in the city of Cairo rather than out in the desert (yeah, what the hell were those ancients thinking?). Well, they're actually right on the outskirts. Look one direction and you'll see the metropolis of Cairo, and the other direction and you'll see the open desert and associated nothingness. Pretty cool if you ask me. It also occurred to me that I was seeing camels in their natural environment. They're a lot cuter than you would think. I got a cab for the way back, and the guy had a big bag of oranges with him. He took one out and offered it to me "orange – very good." I refused, but he insisted. I refused again, and he relented. Later he also offered me a cigarette. We talked a little in Arabic. He wanted to know why I spoke Arabic, to which I didn't really have an answer. He asked me if I was a Muslim, and I said no. He asked me if I was a Christian, and I said yes seeing as if you tell them you have no religion they get confused. Then he said something, the gist of which I think was that in Egypt, the Muslims and the Christians get along. I've just been wandering aimlessly around the city getting lost and stumbled upon this internet café. On my way here I saw a group of boys who looked about 9 or 10 years old, but the cigarettes they were smoking definitely made them look older and more mature. I've seen many women walking unaccompanied, though at least 90 percent of them actually do wear the headscarf. More than I expected cover their entire face as well, and the truly hardcore wear black gloves to conceal even the flesh of their hands. Except for these women, however, the headscarf does not seem to mean that they're actually very religious. I saw many young couples walking and holding hands in public, even if the girl covered her hair. Who knows though, I guess they could have been married. The greatest thing I saw was a group of the "in crowd" teenage girls standing around flirting with some boys. Even though they were all wearing headscarves, they still managed to dress and look like total sluts. BTW, when I write things in Arabic, the numbers represent letters that do not exist in English. The most common greeting I've heard so far is actually the informal "salam 3alaik" with the plural honorific suffix omitted, something they definitely don't teach you in school.

2009-01-10T04:32:00.000-08:00

London, UK

OK, lots to write about. Got to LAX and used self check-in, which required me to swipe my passport. It did however prompt an attendant to thoroughly review my passport for a visa, which I didn't have. Since their software said I could buy one on arrival, no problem. Then the machine only gave me boarding passes as far as London, but I was able to get them all the way to Cairo upon request. Then I accidentaly got into the security screening line for business class passengers and was thoroughly told off. Oh well, at least I TRY to be less annoying than the average passenger. TSA has gotten a little more hardcore. They now scan your passport with some weird green light then stamp your boarding pass with a big stamp reading "Department of Homeland Security." Once at the gate they had a flight leaving to New York in about an hour, so I managed to easily change my boarding pass to this flight, which was great because I got to spend more time in the Big Apple. It was FREEZING. I mean, I didn't even go outside the airport but I could feel the cold through any open door. To entertain myself I checked out the people departing for various destinations, seeking out high quality travelers. Turns out Helsinki might be a good place to visit, but Barcelona, surprisingly, is not. Got on the flight to London, which was a hellride but with great entertainment. I watched a few episodes of "The Office" and listened to American Airlines new demo of Japanese pop music. I am now a huge fan of J Pop - it's totally badass. It's incredibly foggy in London and there is snow on the ground. Cold beyond belief outside, but the keep it nice and toasty inside the terminal, almost too warm. The original parts of Heathrow are still a shithole, but the new terminal 5 is awesome. To get there you take a bus, and it's like a ten minute ride away. The airport is massive. Terminal 5 is just ridiculously well organized. You walk in and somebody from British Airways inspects your boarding pass and immediately directs you to the correct line for you in a large serious of efficient "queues." Then a British Airways transfer agent scans your passport and issues you a brand new boarding pass - I guess they regard American Airlines as incompetent to issue boarding passes. To my dismay I did have to go through security again. First you file past a friendly agent with a desk who advises passengers to remove all beverages and unauthorized liquids from their luggage, and has a collection of discarded liquids on his desk. In the US, they just yell at people who can't figure out the sign (though I don't blame them). Then you get to the X-rays, manned by hot young British ladies. They actually tell people to but their passports and boarding passes in their luggage, since they have already been inspected by the British Airways transfer agent. You do have to remove your shoes. They detained my luggage because they were a little suspicious about my liquids bag. Although I did see that it was required to place them in a 3 oz ziploc bag, as in the States, maybe it's not required here to remove it from the rest of your luggage, so it looked weird. Or maybe I'm completely wrong. I don't really care. So in other words, Terminal 5 is great, rest of Heathrow sucks. I think this terminal does have a special place in my heart because of the guard rails placed at the escalators, supposedly to prevent people from entering the escalators with "trolleys," but it really frustrates people with excess baggage. Hahaha, God Save the Queen. Terminal 5 feels like a snotty South County mall except the only thing for sale is alcohol - lots and lots of alcohol. Oh I guess there are some other things for sale, like handbags and iPods, but who cares when this is like lush central of the jetset world? Every wall is stocked with every alcohol known to man, and there are free samples. Then everywhere there are these ultra-hip euro bars, where you can get a cocktail for 9.50 pounds. I don't even want to know how many dollars that is. Speaking of sinful products, I had bacon for breakfast today for the third day in a row. Got to stock up before the Middle East.

2009-01-07T13:24:00.000-08:00

Fullerton, USA

I'm practically all ready to go on Friday. This is how it's gonna go down:

American Airlines Los Angeles - New York-JFK

American Airlines New York-JFK - London-Heathrow

British Airways London-Heathrow - Cairo

I'll arrive in Cairo almost at midnight Saturday/Sunday.

2009-01-02T11:56:00.000-08:00

Fullerton, USA

Well, I am finally done with the warm up trip and am now preparing for Egypt. On December 30 we took a cab to the Monterrey airport and on the way there saw a billboard supporting the reinstatement of the death penalty in Mexico. The terminal for VivaAerobus, Monterrey’s new low cost airline, was nice and remodeled in a funky, unfinished kind of way. Security was low-key – no need to remove ones shoes. In the States I would always take my belt off, but I decided to keep it on to see what would happen. I did set off the metal detector, but they just wanded me a little and then let me go. I looked out the window and admired all of their new aircraft. No jetways at this terminal. When we finally got on the 737, however, it was old and shitty on the inside. They just gave it a good paint job. Although the plane was old, the flight attendants were not. They were gorgeous. Announcements were made in Spanish and very bad, incomprehensible English. I was surprised at how nice the Tijuana airport was. I saw a few jetways, but we did not use one. The situation was a little unusual since this is a border zone. Although it was a domestic flight, we were directed to go through what was signed as “passport control.” “Passport control” actually consisted of nothing more than a few immigration officers (Mexican ones, that is) standing around a desk. They did flag us down, but we just handed them our FMTs, which they took from us. No passport check. Then after baggage claim everyone’s luggage was x-rayed. We took a taxi to the border, but when he dropped us off I got a little nervous because I did not recognize the area. I thought that he had taken us to the Otay Mesa border crossing instead of the San Ysidro one. Turns out that the line at San Ysidro was just backed up so far it started in a neighborhood I had never seen before. After a few minutes the line inexplicably started moving very fast and before we knew it we were inside the immigration building. They now have a turnstile heading north positioned just a little ahead of the actual border, but they were just letting everybody through an open gate with an officer standing by. Thankfully we were not asked any stupid questions, only “how was your trip?” Then our luggage was x-rayed for the third time that day. I spent New Years with Alec in San Diego and took the Amtrak back to Fullerton yesterday. When I feel like it maybe I’ll post some photos.

2008-12-29T11:16:00.000-08:00

Monterrey, Mexico

There is something a little off about our hotel. There is no sign indicating that it is a hotel, and the only indication anywhere of the name is on the towels which say "Fundador Hotel." The lobby has several doors opening onto the street, but only one of them is unlocked at any given time and they keep rotating which door is unlocked to confuse people. Monterrey is great. It's obviously wedding season here since we saw at least 6 of them on Saturday. We saw a big man made lake which boats were going down into some canal from, and figured it was some kind of Pirates of the Caribbean ride. We started walking down the canal and discovered that it lasts for about 2 miles along a beautifully landscaped pedestration way with fountains, modern lighting and several parks along the way. It was insane. This is the kind of thing I would expect to see in Dubai, as it is all man made. Although I loved it, I kept thinking what Rory would have to say about the tragic waste of water. It was all decorated for Christmas, and one boat going down the river had Santa. It's still Christmas here because children traditionally don't open their presents until January 6. One show was explaining the miraculous birth of Jesus Christ. No politically correct multicultural holiday season here. Then they were singing "Feliz Navidad" followed by the English lyrics we know as "I want to wish you a Merry Christmas." I'm pretty sure that this is an American song and that those are the original lyrics, being bilingual. The next day we came back and found out that this place is called Paseo Santa Lucía and that it was inaugurated in September 2007, so it's very new. We took the metro to the Alameda, which was unimpresive but the Monterrey metro is really nice, with TV screens and everything in the cars. Danielle said that it was her first time ever taking a subway. I reminded her that she had been on subways in both Los Angeles and Chicago, but she insisted that this did not count. The Alameda station had some kind of metro security personnel. They didn't seem like cops - until they pulled out handcuffs and arrested a drunk guy. He resisted a little. Another one of these subway rent-a-cops came over and was shown the plastic cup that this guy was carrying, then the two of them gave each other a high five and fist bump. Last night we ate at a restaurant called "Las Monjitas" (The Little Nuns) where all of the waitresses dressed like nuns. I had the Juan Pablo II. I attempted to buy beer at the Oxxo, and was informed that in Monterrey alcohol is not sold on Sundays after 6 PM. 6????????? So I had nothing to do but watch the news. However, anybody who has ever seen the news in Latin America knows that this is actually a lot more fun than it sounds. The journalistic standards here are very different. I read a newspaper in Saltillo where there was a picture of those soldiers in Juarez arresting a bunch of people. Apparently, President Calderón sent the army up to Juarez and arrested the entire police department to root out corruption, and now the streets of Juarez are patrolled by the army, and they don't fuck around, meaning people are actually getting arrested for things other than public drunkenness. Then on the next page there were pictures of two dead bodies, something that you would never see in the US. Anyways, Latin America is famous for its drop dead gorgeous news anchors. Monterrey's is very hot, and beats out any I saw in Colombia, the traditional homeland of sexy journalism. She giggles as she reads the news, and makes sure the audience believes she is a complete ditz. The weather girl, Yaneth Garza, is also something to behold. They had the story about the fat ass baby born in the OC, which they haved dubbed "El Súper Bebé." The big story was about a relic being saved from a fire at a local church, then they allowed people to call in to discuss whether or not this was a miracle. Then they brought out "El Brujo Mayor" (The Grand Witch), an old guy with a Santa Claus beard, to bust out the tarot cards and predict the new year's fortunes for various Mexican celebrities. Just as there is no separation of church and state here, there is no separation of witchcraft and journalism. The commercials were also interesting. Tide laundry detergent is marketed as "Ace." The federal government actually advertises here (guess they need more confident consumers), including a special commercial just for the Cámara de Diputados, Mexico's House of Representatives. How does that make any sense at all? Then there is a commercial reading a prayer to bless President Calderón. Today we went to the Cervecería Cuahtemoc, home of Dos Equis, Sol, Carta Blanca and the always spectacular Tecate, among others, where we thought we would be able to get not just a free tour but also a free beer. Unfortunately, there were no tours today, but we DID get the free beer. It was Carta Blanca's special Christmas brew, and it was delicious. We also saw the Mexican baseball hall of fame. I took this opportunity to learn baseball vocabulary in Spanish. Most things are the same, such as "el pitcher" and "el catcher." Home plate is "el plato de home." My favorite position, however, is "el ampayer." On the metro ride back I noticed the sign from the Mexican government explaining the new currency, and in what conditions currency can be accepted. Interestingly, bills with something written on them are still valid, as long as what's written on them does not contain a political or religious message. Also in the metro station was a big sign about Mexico's program to assist those deported from the US resettle in Mexico.

2008-12-27T13:20:00.001-08:00

Monterrey, Mexico

Forgot to mention that in the Zacatecas cathedral there was a display with fetuses in various states of gestation. The journey from Zacatecas to Saltillo was uneventful, with one minor checkpoint in Zacatecas which we were waved through, and one major checkpoint just past the Coahuila state line where a soldier came aboard and looked around. In front of the bus for a long way was a pickup truck with a bunch of kids in the back who kept signaling the driver of the bus to honk the horn, and he kept doing it. Saltillo is in Coahuila state and they had a lot of propaganda all around about wonderful their state is. One sign at the bus station read: “Con seguro y sin mordida, pasas por Coahuila” – “With security and without bribes you can pass through Coahuila.” We got into a cab and asked to be taken to a certain hotel, and the driver looked at us funny and was confused, then explained that that hotel was right across the street. Whoops. Saltillo was pretty nice, and the people were very friendly as well. They don’t seem to get a lot of tourists. The cathedral had another somewhat emo Jesus, but this one really focused on a serious quantity of blood gushing out of the wound on his chest. Since Christmas here lasts officially until at least January 6, the decorations are still up. Apparently, however, in reality they get taken down some time in February usually. Although all Mexican cities decorate for Christmas, Saltillo way over did it. It looked like they went to the mall, bought multiple quantities of EVERY tacky decoration there was, and saturated the city with yuletide cheer. There was a huge fake Christmas tree with equally huge fake decorations, and fake ice rink with foam figures of children ice skating. This made me laugh because the fake children all had blond hair and blue eyes. Over a year ago Eddy and I met the two hottest Mexican chicks we had ever seen in Querétaro. They were from Coahuila. The talent is definitely here, and exceeds Guadalajara, the city to which I had previously given the gold medal. This morning in Saltillo we went next door to a restaurant to have breakfast, and I ordered the huevos a la mexicana. After ordering I thought for a second that maybe I should be scared for ordering something like that, but it was good. Washing down an extremely spicy breakfast with scalding hot coffee is something I do a lot in Mexico. We then took a bus to Monterrey and are staying in a very nice hotel, but it is weird. This hotel has no sign on it saying that it is a hotel, and the halls inside are like a maze. To get to our room you have to go to the floor above it, then down a small flight of stairs to an area of the floor below that is inaccessible from the main staircase. Then there is a massive courtyard that is completely hidden. Our room is very nice but has no window, greatly adding to the creepiness. We are now in a nearby internet café, where each computer is located inside its own huge office with a door that can be closed and locked. Now this is the way an internet café should be. I have realized that I still have a lot of preparations to do before leaving for Cairo on January 9, so I booked a seat on the same flight as Danielle on Tuesday.

2008-12-26T06:16:00.000-08:00

Zacatecas, Mexico

Forgot to mention that at the top of Cero de la Bufa there is a chapel with something truly special inside. There is a statue of Jesus, but instead of his traditional white robes he is clad in a dark purple goth robe. Complete with a crown of thorns, a crying face and black makeup (supposed to be tears?) running down his face, we dubbed him "emo Jesus." We are leaving Zacatecas today and will spend the night in Saltillo before arriving in Monterrey, since I thought that 4 nights in Monterrey would be too much.

2008-12-25T11:20:00.000-08:00

Zacatecas, Mexico

Yesterday we did all the tourist things in Zacatecas. The guy on the teleferico to Cerro de la Bufa expressed sincere sympathy at the economic crisis in the United States. I´ve actually been hearing that a lot down here. People thing that things are REALLY messed up in the US, and I guess they are but they think it´s complete anarchy or something. They seem to think that Mexico is much better off.

2008-12-23T21:19:00.000-08:00

Zacatecas, Mexico

Last night in Chihuahua we went looking for a restaurant and ended up eating in a seafood restaurant a million miles away from the ocean. Surprisingly, it was delicious. On the way there we saw two cars involved in a car accident, and there was a bitchy woman outside of her car surveying the damage. She told her friend to back up, and she ran over her foot, causing her to scream “ahhhh! ¡mi pie estúpida!” At dinner we both realized we had no idea what we would do the next day in Chihuahua since we had already seen everything. So we decided to go to one of my favorite places in the world: Zacatecas. We woke up at 4:45 AM, didn´t shower and got a bus out of Chihuahua. The driver stopped in some small town and said that we would take a 10 minute break. He left a woman behind, who somehow caught up with the bus and was absolutely furious. He told her that he said 10 minutes, and she was gone for at least 30. She screamed that since he knew she was going to Guadalajara (the buses final destination) he shouldn´t have left without her. I´ll give everybody one guess whose side I was on. We saw two American movies dubbed into English. One was Jersey Girl, and the other I think was called What A Girl Wants. Still no Men in Black. Finally we got into Zacatecas and an insane cab driver took us to the Hostal Villa Colonial, where I spent New Years three years ago. After everything I´ve seen since then, one of my favorite places in the world is still the roof of this hostel. Zacatecas really is beautiful.

2008-12-22T17:09:00.000-08:00

Chihuahua, Mexico

It´s been over 24 hours since we left Fullerton. The Anaheim bus station was interesting, with people crying for apparently no reason and one guy drinking a beer in his car. The Crucero bus came right on schedule and took us to Los Angeles uneventfully. The station in Los Angeles itself is actually very nice, but outside it´s a different story. Some creepy guy stood next to us, then after an awkward second offered to sell me an MP3 player, or at least the box of one. Getting on the Autobuses Americanos bus to El Paso was kind of hectic because it was packed. Danielle and I were separated. I never caught the names of my neighbors on the bus, but I will refer to them by their descriptions. To the right of me was ¨text-messaging asshole,” because he was furiously text-messaging somebody the entire time and kept saying ¨fuck,¨being visibly agitated over the whole thing. To the left of me was “pregnant redhead chick,” because she was a pregnant redhead chick. The douchebag in front of me reclined more than I´ve ever seen anybody, and this bus also had the least legroom I had ever seen (and I´ve been on a LOT of buses). The ticket said we would stop in Blythe, but, well, we didn´t. This frustrated some passengers because they were expecting to be able to get off the bus to eat. Text-messaging asshole went up to the driver and said “you were supposed to stop in Blythe.” This angered the driver and he responded: “who said we were supposed to stop in Blythe?” “My ticket. And everybody else´s ticket.” “No, we don´t stop in Blythe. We stop in Tonopah.” Pregnant redhead chick decided it was appropriate to add “I´m hungry! And so is the baby inside of me!” When we did stop in Tonopah, everybody was relieved. Outside of the SA travel stop there was an official sign reading “What you should do in the event of a disaster at the Palo Verde Nuclear Generating Station.” Pregnant redhead chick was pissed because everything was closed at the stop, and said that she was going to cuss out the driver. She never did. I bought some Bridgford Party Bites, which I didn´t finish and accidentally left in El Paso. From shortly after we left Los Angeles to well after Phoenix, there was a screaming child aboard. And I mean REALLY screaming. Apparently he had a fever. The other helpful travelers all had useful advice to the mother about how she should deal with his illness. Finally we made it to El Paso right on time at 7 AM. At risk of sounding like grandma, my knees hurt really bad after having them crushed for 15 hours by the guy in front of me. We walked out of the bus station in El Paso and HOLY SHIT was it cold. I did not expect this. We changed money at a casa de cambio and discovered that Mexico is now using brand new series of bills, which I received intermixed with the old ones. The new ones are totally bitchen. We walked the few blocks to the bridge and it was empty. Only one other pedestrian and not a single car crossing the border. I´ve never seen this before. On the other side of the Rio Grande (more like the Puddle Grande) there was a beautiful, brand new immigration building, but the official on duty was obviously a little bored as she suspiciously examined every single page of my passport. This is odd seeing last time I went to Mexico my passport was not even opened. So whatever, we got the FMTs and were told to go pay them at a bank some time, in contrast to at Tijuana where they make you go to the bank at the border before they will even issue it. I was happy that we got our passports stamped, since Mexico only stamps passports about half of the time, and I love passport stamps. On the other side of the bridge there was nobody around except three totally scary looking soldiers with automatic weapons. Since it was so cold they had pulled their uniforms up over their faces, so they looked like Zapatistas or something. Scared the shit out of me. I was a little worried seeing as there was not one taxi in sight (again, nothing like in Tijuana, even early in the morning). Across the street, however, we did find a nice taxi driver who took us to the bus station. We got a ticket right away for a bus leaving for Chihuahua in 20 minutes. Surprisingly, after going through immigration at the bridge we then went through customs at the bus station. They had the red light/green lights but they just waved everybody through. On the platform there were more of those freaky looking soldiers. I´ve never seen such military presence in Mexico, and the only other place I´ve seen so much is in Colombia, but there the soldiers look like dorks. Anyways, the bus to Chihuahua was much nicer and enjoyable. Once in Chihuahua we took a taxi to what LP Mexico 2002 said was the cheapest place in Chihuahua, and seemed to describe favorably. Well, it´s beyond a shithole. Wait till you see these pictures. The toilet doesn´t have a lid over the tank, so when you flush it water squirts everywhere. We´ve just been walking around Chihuahua, which is actually very nice.

2008-12-18T18:25:00.001-08:00

Fullerton, USA

So....my sister Danielle and I are going to be travelling around Mexico for a little while to kill time until she goes back to college and I leave for Cairo. We leave on Sunday, taking an Autobuses Americanos to El Paso from where we will walk into Ciudad Juarez and head for Chihuahua. Danielle will fly back from Monterrey a few days later and I'll make my way back to Fullerton some how.

2008-12-17T18:50:00.000-08:00

Fullerton, USA

My jury service is now complete. The earliest I could change my ticket to Cairo to was January 9, so until then I'll kill the time in Latin America. I will leave for Juarez in a few days, most likely on Sunday.

2008-12-16T17:06:00.001-08:00

Fullerton, USA

I have been instructed to report for jury duty tomorrow at 8 AM.

2008-12-15T17:09:00.000-08:00

Fullerton, USA

I was told again today to call tomorrow at 5 PM for the possibility of reporting for jury duty the next day. Groups 5000-5006 have already been told to report. I'm in Group 5011, so this might get interesting tomorrow or Wednesday.

2008-12-13T11:02:00.000-08:00

Fullerton, USA

Yesterday I performed my call-in jury service and found out that I will be required to call in every day next week for the possibility of reporting for jury duty the next day. This will significantly delay my departure.

2008-11-25T20:00:00.000-08:00

Fullerton, USA

Currently I have a plane ticket to Cairo for February 2, but I will try to change that to an earlier date. This blog will be updated when I make a final decision.