Lukatch Newsletter

Do-buy, Do-buy, Dubai!

2011-12-15T00:49:00.000-08:00

Take your Platinum Credit Card With You. Take Two!
My annual winter trip to get out of the cold weather and into the sun was, once again, successful. This time, I was off to Dubai, waaay down on the eastern Arabian Peninsula, on the Arabian Gulf. Great place to vacation, but you’ll probably need to take out a second mortgage on your house to afford it. Jeez, it’s expensive there.
But worth every dirham. So, early on the morning of December 5, I taxied to the Budapest airport and hit the friendly skies of Swiss Air for the long flight south. A quick transfer stop in Zurich to change planes, and then a 6 ½ hour flight (plus three hours time change) and I was down in Dubai around 9:30 at night. And it was warm! Aaaahhh! Cleared passport control, picked up my suitcase and, after a short and edifying stop at the Tourist Information booth, caught the metro for my hotel.
I had copied a map provided on Trip Advisor as to the hotel’s location and at first decided to walk there from the nearby metro stop. But as I watched nighttime Dubai go past my metro windows, and saw how dark it all was in between the tall buildings, I decided to hop off at the Mall of the Emirates metro stop and take a taxi the short distance remaining to the hotel. And it’s a good thing I did, as my map was wrong and I’d have gotten lost down a side street in the middle of nowhere! Turned out the hotel was right on the main street, Sheikh Zayed Road, and not on the side street shown on my map. Whew, saved again by good fortune and blind luck. As it happened, a taxi from the airport would have run me at least 50 euro, while the metro cost around 2 euro – and was much more fun.
Anyway, the hotel, Ibis Al Barsha, was a really nice three-star place. And everyone was so helpful and smiling and friendly (NB: I realized why soon thereafter; read on). My room was cozy, the bathroom even more so, but certainly acceptable and comparable to the other Ibis hotels I’ve stayed in: clean, neat, well-maintained. I did miss having the small safe in my room, but okay, a small omission. After all, it was miles better than the one-star places where I stayed on Gibraltar and in Thessaloniki. I hit the sack early, in preparation for my first full day in Dubai.
December 6, Tuesday, up around 7 AM, showered, confirmed my Thursday desert jeep safari with the Arabian Team Adventure company, and walked the 15 minutes or so to the metro stop. The Dubai Metro is wonderful: clean, no graffiti, easily accessible, lots of stops, easy to get tickets from all of the English-speaking personnel who inhabit the Metro stations, sparkling and just – well, wonderful. And the usual daytime fare is less than one euro. I took the metro to the Karama station, near the Dubai Creek (the river that flows through the center of the city), where I had breakfast – a slice of pizza with a soft drink – for only seven dirhams (Dr; note: 5 dirhams equal one euro), and then tried to find my way around. Turned out distances are much farther than you realize on the map.
I walked and walked and finally found the Creek, strolling along it for a distance and at last stumbled upon the Old Souk area, which I wandered through even though I wasn’t ready to buy yet. Souk owners accosted me from all sides, wanting to flip a scarf over my head for a photo (a new trick), but I was on a mission and sloughed them off with a tactful, “La, shukran” (No, thanks). Came to the Abra Dock area, where I caught a water taxi across the Creek for one dirham (about 20 euro cent; you do the math for dollars).
I checked out the north side of the Creek area and, since it was then around 2 PM, water-taxied back and took a nearby metro to the Mall of the Emirates. I wanted to see this biggest mall in the world – more than 1200 stores! – and besides, I wanted lunch.
Well, the mall is HUGE! Luckily there are maps around and great numbers of guards and other workers to help you find your way. And they all speak English. Want to know why? Because none of the working class people – clerks, maintenance, servers, guards, waiters, bartenders, shopkeepers, etc – are Arabs! They’re all foreigners, enticed to Dubai by the wages and lifestyle. Asians, Filipinos, Indians, Brits, etc, from all over the world. Apparently they get free apartments, medical, visas and other benefits just to come and run the infrastructure. The local Emiratis, the Arabs, are all supported by the state, paid a living income and left to do as they please. Talk about socialism! Except for the Islamic religious aspects of life in Dubai, it seems, from a tourist’s viewpoint at least, to be working for everyone. More power to them.
Anyway, I found one of the food courts in the mall and nearly walked into a pillar as I saw the fast food places there: Fatburger! Krispy Kreme donuts! Mexican! Damn! I pounced on a regular Fatburger (the days when I could suck down a double king chili cheese Fatburger are, unfortunately, long gone), with fries and Coke, then rushed to the Krispy Kreme place for several original glazed donuts. OMG, heaven. If they’d had a Cinnabon shop, I’d be there still. (Ed. Note: a few days later I was at the Dubai Marina and saw a poster in an empty shop window advertising, “Opening Soon! Cinnabon!” Be careful what you wish for…)
The Mall of the Emirates is just one of many malls around Dubai, each of them a city in itself. They are all temples of conspicuous consumption, as Dubai bills itself as the shopper’s paradise. And it definitely is, as you need several credit cards just to walk through a mall. Of course, whenever I enter a mall, sirens blare and horns honk and loudspeakers announce, “He’s back! Gary’s here! Trot out all your unsold junk and get ready, here he comes!” Yep, malls and souks and bazaars love me.
In Dubai everyone is so well-mannered and polite (except, naturally, when entering and exiting a metro car; what is it with this activity that seems to bring out the worst in people all over the world?), saying “excuse me” when they accidentally bump into you, eagerly giving women their seat on the metro, actually seeming eager to help you. Even the Kontrollers, who check that the public transport cards have been validated on the buses, merely validate them for you if you didn’t do it – no fines, no nastiness, no pulling you off the bus, no screaming at you, just a gentle reminder that you must validate properly. How nice to see such a pleasant service. Possibly the best I’ve seen anywhere.
So, I was getting tired and decided to head for the Burj al Khalifa Mall, just four metro stops away, to wait for the much-heralded Dubai fountain show, starting around 6 PM and recurring every half-hour thereafter until 11 PM. I checked out that mall for awhile, another paean to greed and heavy spending, then waited and waited until 6:45 PM, and the fountains never did come on. Scheisse! Guess I’d have to try again later. I opted for a cheap dinner: a sandwich from a convenience shop in the metro station (they even have toilets there too!) and a walk back to the hotel. Another fairly early night.
Wednesday I did the Big Bus tour of Dubai. I admit that, when I heard the name of this tour company, I had visions of Joseph Bologna driving the Big nuclear-powered Bus of B-movie fame, but it was just another hop on-hop off tour bus. Nice though. It was, however, quite expensive: 220 Dr for 24 hours (around 44 euro, or $66 US), about double that for other comparable tours I’ve taken elsewhere in the world. But it was a full two-hour tour, and I took advantage of all it had to offer, hopping off and hopping back on several times. It turned out I couldn’t actually do justice to the sights in just one day, but I did my best. I saw the Wafi mall (modeled on Egyptian architecture; I would return there on my last day in Dubai), Jumeirah beach, several mosques and other shopping centers, the Gold Souk and Spice Souk, the Old Quarter (Bastakia) and many other interesting and fun sights.
I decided to wander the Bastakia and, as it was lunch time again, looked for a place to eat. Well, right at the entrance to the Bastakia was the Arabian Tea House and Café, and they had a sign saying, “Don’t miss a yummy camel burger.” How could I resist? I chatted with the lovely young Filipina hostess and she convinced me to try a camel burger – as if I ever needed much convincing anyway. The food was quite good, tasty and tangy, and Joy (that was her name) was even better. She had time to chat with me more, and it didn’t take me too long to realize she was coming on to me. Me! This just doesn’t happen to older tourists like me, but what the heck, I’d play along. Before I left she gave me her phone number and I arranged to call her Friday after she got off work for a get-together. We’d see what happened.
I walked around the old quarter, which turned out to be nothing special, then hopped on the Big Bus again to finish my tour. We cruised by the Burj al Arab 7-star hotel (the big one that looks like a sail that you see on all the posters advertising Dubai), which was really cool. I later asked a local what could be so special about a 7-star hotel and he told me. When you check into a 7-star hotel, you are assigned a personal servant who does everything for you during your stay: drives you around, draws your bath, bathes you, dresses and undresses you, cooks your food, tucks you in at night, everything and anything your heart desires. Of course, it costs you $2,000 a night plus your first-born son, but what the heck. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience, right? And what’s a son anyway?
Back on the Big Bus and we drove to Atlantis, the monster resort out on The Palm manmade peninsula, filled with high-rise apartments built on sand spits shaped like palm leaves. These places have to be expensive, right? Say in the hundreds-of-thousands-of-dollar range? And yet residents still hang their laundry on their balconies to dry. Yep, you can take the camel-herder out of the tent, but you can’t take…..
Atlantis, on the other hand, is a paean to luxury. It has a huge indoor aquarium, a water park and Dolphin Bay, where you can cavort with the dolphins (which I did later in the week; read on). I was getting tired again from all the walking and busing and touring, so hopped off at the Mall of the Emirates stop and decided to take a taxi back to my hotel, a journey of maybe two miles for around 10 Dr, which is 2 euro, or about $3 US. Taxis and the metro were about the only reasonably-priced item in Dubai. Well, the first five taxis that stopped asked where I was going and when they heard it was a short trip they just took off. This was the only rude thing I saw while in Dubai. Finally had to share a taxi with a young African man and an Arab woman (who sat in front to avoid possible contact with the infidel foreigners).
I got back to the hotel around 5 PM, showered and cleaned up and repaired to the hotel bar for a much-needed beer. It was 5:45 PM. I licked my lips in anticipation of a cold beer with frothy head. I ordered a draught Foster’s and the bartender sorrowfully informed me that alcohol wasn’t available until 6 PM. Friggin’ Moslem countries. Big sigh! So I waited and read my book and ate some peanuts and at the dot of six Dirlan poured me a big Foster’s and I drank it happily, with peace in my heart.
Had some dinner at the bar also – prawns and noodles for around $12.50 US, or about 2,400 forints in Hungary. Most of my standard meals were in this price range, so nothing too expensive if I ordered at the usual eating places. I polished off three Fosters (at 7 euro each!) and repaired to my room for another early night and a good hour of fantasies starring Joy.
Thursday was Quest Day. Yep, I had done my research and knew there was a Harley Davidson dealership in Dubai. Also, I’d seen the actual store and another Harley clothing store while on the metro, so knew I could find them. I metro-ed and walked and found the “clothing” store, which turned out to be only footwear. Hmm. The clerks there told me there was a Harley store in the Dubai Mall, so back I went for a short metro journey and a longer walk to the mall. I stopped at the main information stand and inquired about the whereabouts of the Harley store. The helpful African gentleman told me how to get there. It was interesting that in Dubai when you ask for directions, what you are told is either wrong or so general as to confuse you even further and not allow you to find what you want. Of course, the closer you get to your destination the more specific the directions become.
This time I was told, “go down here (pointing to his right) until the waterfall and then left and you will see it.” Okay, not too bad. I took off on my journey, and it is a journey to walk through one of the Dubai malls. I walked and walked, wondering if I was going right; after about 10 minutes (really!) I spied, in the far distance, a waterfall, and it really was a waterfall inside the mall, three stories of falling water. Whew. Okay. I turned left and looked and looked and guess what” No Harley store. There was another map nearby which I consulted and sure enough, it showed the Harley store just to my left. I looked again; no Harley store. Okay, what’s going on here?
I finally asked another guard/helper and he told me to go through the doors, into what looked like a parking lot, and turn left. I did and there, by the grace of Sheikh Zayed, was the Harley store. Questing in Dubai is not an easy business. People would rather tell you something wrong than say, “I don’t know.” A tough culture. Anyway, I found the store, picked up Tony’s gift and, since it was lunchtime again, headed for the nearest food court and some Lebanese food this time. Back to my hotel by 1:30, I thought I had time for a quick nap before my desert jeep safari, but the driver showed up at 2:30 instead of 3:30, so I was off on another adventure, a touch drowsy but happy to be moving again.
The Arabian Team Adventure desert jeep safari is rated as the Number One activity in Dubai. We picked up four women at other hotels and took off for the nearby desert. Actually, the desert was everywhere, even underfoot, but there were areas of dunes about 30 km from Dubai that all the desert jeep safaris used. We got out there around 4:30 or so and, with our driver Khamid at the wheel of his shiny and almost new Toyota Landcruiser, and us the last of four other such vehicles, we took off into the desert. For the next 40 minutes or so it was rock and roll up and down the dunes, slipping and sliding all over the place, going down a dune sideways and climbing up and over another dune like a ship at sea. It was definitely an E Ticket.
The evening’s finale was a visit to a Bedouin camp for dinner and entertainment. I had visions (Oh, when will they ever stop! And when will I ever learn?) of several large black tents, camels croaking in the nearby moonlight, tea boiling on an open fire, Bedouins wrapped in their flea-infested robes, smiling at us with their remaining three teeth, and everyone enjoying a happy sing-along around the campfire. Silly me.
When we arrived there were 50 or so Landcruisers, all white, shiny and new, parked in front of a walled tourist compound, inside of which was a really large stage surrounded by low tables and cushions for seats (which turned out to be as uncomfortable as it sounds). Several money-sucking tourist booths around the sides, some grills for our snacks and dinner, a henna booth for the women, soft drinks and beer available, toilets, etc. It was all too touristy for words. But the food was welcome and good (lamb, chicken, fish, veggies, pita) and the entertainment was first-rate: a great belly dancer and a whirling dervish who actually had electric lights built into his swirling skirts and hats. Cool. We got back to the hotel around 9:30 that night. It was a good evening and the adventure was fun and exciting (although a touch tame for someone who has nearly turned over a pickup truck driven over sand dunes by Bill Thalman in southern New Mexico).
Friday is the Arab Sunday, so the metro didn’t open until 1 PM. I had made my reservation at the Burj al Khalifa tower, the world’s tallest building, for 9 AM, so had to taxi there for breakfast and my trip up. This tower is also hailed as a fantastic adventure by the many reviewers on Trip Advisor. I’d made my advance reservations (for only 20 euro, as opposed to 80 euro if you pay on the day) and, along with pushy, shoving, nasty tourists (are there any other kind?), mostly Germans and Russians, walked through the entry tunnels to the elevators from the nearby Dubai Mall. We entered the darkened elevator, the walls of which were dark mirrors covered with horizontal rows of lights which flashed vertically in sequence as we rose toward the top. I say top advisedly, as we only went about halfway up. The elevator has two buttons, G and 124. When the doors closed there was absolutely – and I mean absolutely – no sensation of movement at all. We were inside the tower, so couldn’t even view our ascent. We merely stepped into a darkened room, waited for one minute, and stepped out again on the 124th floor.
The view was, of course, spectacular, but – and it’s a big but – if you’ve ever been on another tall building, it was just a nice view. The Sears Tower in Chicago, Eiffel Tower, London Eye – come on, guys, it’s just a tall building. I could have spent my 20 euro on a Fatburger and had more fun. Unless you have never in your life been in a tall building before, you may pass this attraction when in Dubai. BFD.
Back down again, I wandered the mall for awhile, shopping and looking. I did manage a brunch of Eggs Benedict, which was outstanding. I decided to rest up for that night, as I might be out late, so took it easy the remainder of the afternoon. Had a light dinner at the hotel and around 9 PM called Joy to see if we could meet that night and become better friends, as she had suggested. I called at least 20 times between 9 and 10 PM, and her phone was never connected. Bummer. Stood up again. I should have known. Bigger sigh!
Okay, Saturday and everything open again at normal hours. Having cruised the Dubai Marina during my bus tour, I thought I’d spend the day there, on the beach and around the Marina shops and restaurants, before my 5 PM appointment at the hammam. So I did. Breakfast at Paul’s on the Marina boardwalk, a few hours on the beach, a swim in the cool waters of the Arabian Gulf, collect some dead but really pretty coral for the grandkids, take some walks along the sand. Lots of Russians in evidence, but the beach wasn’t topless as one finds along the Mediterranean. Naturally, being an Arabic country. Arabic countries consider it disrespectful for someone to show their knees – Bog only knows what would happen if they caught sight of a naked female breast. Probably another holy war.
Seeing all the American and Australian restaurants on the boardwalk, I suddenly had a major craving for a chili dog with fries and a giant root beer. I looked and walked and looked, but it was not to be. Came close a couple of times, but nope, nothing. Finally settled for a New Zealand hamburger at a place called Burger Fuel. Actually, it was an Aussie burger – with fried egg and beetroot slice, along with fries and a cola, and was quite good and plentiful. They even had a light cardboard circular fold-up burger holder, to keep the drippings off your lap. Technology continues its relentless push to the future. Excellent.
I walked off my burger and taxied over to my next destination, The One and Only Royal Mirage Hotel – it’s really called that. I was early for my appointment (once again), so walked the grounds for awhile, had an expensive cola on their terrace and finally entered the Oriental Hammam around 4:30 or so for my treatment. The entire thing took around 90 minutes and cost – well, as much as any other activity in town. My credit card was hemorrhaging by this time, but I ignored its last gasps and soldiered on. I’d deal with it tomorrow; tomorrow was another day.
The treatment was, as in all Turkish baths I have been to, outstanding. Better in this one as the surroundings were more lush and serene. A shower, sauna, Jacuzzi soak, wash down by a masseur, followed by several treatments, including an exfoliation glove (scraped off all that nasty dead skin) and a couple of cream massages, a calm down period and a final exit. Wonderful. I first encountered the hammam in Istanbul years ago, and I always go to one if I’m in the neighborhood. These treatments always leave me feeling contented and happy, so I thought I’d take it easy again that night. But no, I’d found a karaoke bar on the Internet and decided to try it out. Harry Ghatto’s place in the Emirate Towers.
Again, a trek and a half; I took the Metro to the Emirate Towers stop and asked the guards where Harry Ghatto’s was. They told me the Ritz Carlton, about a five-minute walk. I did that, then asked the hotel’s concierge about it, and he told me, nope, not here, it’s in the Emirates Towers, about a ten-minute walk down that way. My sighs were getting bigger and longer and louder.
Okay, walked to the Emirates Towers and asked their security guard where to find Ghatto’s, and he told me down the hall, up the elevator and turn right. Did that, and guess what: yep, no friggin’ Harry Ghatto’s. Stopped a maintenance man who pointed down another hallway, tried that, couldn’t see anything, asked a passing guard and he pointed at a doorway near where we were standing. The closed door had a teeny-weeny little sign next to it saying Harry Ghattos. Alright, at least I’d found the damn place.
I pulled the door open and went into what I thought was an anteroom, but turned out to be the entire place. Not much bigger than my flat in Budapest and seating maybe 20 people. WTF? It was only around 8:30 PM, and I was the only customer. The Filipino bartender told me the crowd usually gets in around 10-11 PM, so I ordered a draught Kirin beer to wait. The Kirin tap ran out halfway through pouring my pint. I couldn’t even sigh anymore, just grunt and hold my stomach. Okay, bottled Foster’s it is. People started coming in around 9:30 or so, not many, but noisy and smoking. I signed up for some songs and gave my list to the bartender. No karaoke DJ, no stage, no karaoke atmosphere. The screen started showing the words to my first song and I hadn’t even been called.
I asked the bartender what was going on and he told me everyone just had to watch the screen for the next song and get the microphone from the last singer and start in. Tacky and not real karaoke. Plus, the karaoke CD was truly terrible. I mean, when was the last time you heard Great Balls of Fire played in 4/4 time? I couldn’t believe it. One of the bar staff programmed the CD to play all of the songs you signed up for, in a row, and then you were finished. No one listened, no one sang along, no one danced, no one clapped, no one did anything except continue talking and smoking. It was, without doubt, the single WORST karaoke bar I have ever been to in my life and in the world. If you go to Dubai, stay away from here. But at least the beer was overpriced: 30 euro for four beers, or $45 US. Aaaargh! I caught a taxi back to the hotel and watched Shutter Island in my room.
So, Sunday, my next-to-last day in Dubai and the day of my dolphin experience. I took a taxi from my hotel to Atlantis. I’d intended to take the monorail, but I got there at 9 and it didn’t open until 10 – good timing, as usual. I was all out of sighs by this time. I was able to get into the Aquaventure park when it opened at 10 on my Dolphin Bay ticket, which was only fair, considering the cost of the Dolphin Experience. I wandered the water park for a couple of hours, checking out the exhibits and rides, not taking any, just relaxing and hanging out on the beach for awhile also. I reported to Dolphin Bay around 1 PM and was ushered inside along with around 35 other people who had signed up for the program. Apparently there were six dolphins available for each time slot, with a maximum of six people per dolphin. We changed into our wetsuits and got our indoctrination into the program, which took around 30 minutes, then went outside to meet our dolphins and their trainers.
Our Hispanic trainer was welcomed by the other five people in my group who were, surprisingly enough, from Spain! How about that? Trainer Manuel spoke Spanish to the group, with an aside in English for me whenever he felt like it. We got in the water immediately and met our dolphin for the day whose name was --- are you ready for this? --- Alice. Alice?! Who the f**k is Alice? She was our dolphin, and I can now answer that question whenever the song comes up. Small world, hah?
So, the experience, which lasted around 30 minutes (and for a cost which I won’t divulge; let’s just say I have a year to pay off my loan for the ticket), was pretty good. We got to pet Alice, and hug her and swim with her and trade kisses with her and have her take us for a swim (belly to belly, although we were warned in our briefing not to touch certain parts of Alice, specifically her eyes, blowhole and private parts, which was sound advice, as I certainly wouldn’t want Alice the Dolphin touching my blowhole or private parts either). We did a few other things up close and personal, and suddenly, all too soon, it was over.
We said goodbye to Alice, changed back into civvies and everyone rushed over to the Photo Shop to see the pictures the staff photographers had taken of us. Naturally, they were on sale at prices even more ridiculous than the dolphin tickets, but, hey, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience and I figured I could put off buying that Porsche for a couple of more years. Actually, the photos were pretty bad, only a very few came out and were worthwhile. I got 38 on my CD, with only around 7-8 being worthy of reproduction and posting on my Internet sites. On that basis, I hate to tell you what one picture cost. The hologram on my credit card actually started to make obscene gestures and shout at me.
Monorail and taxi back to hotel, shower and clean up and then off to the Dubai mall to, hopefully, finally see the fountains. I got there after dark, found a table at the Sammach restaurant overlooking the lagoon, got my mezze (appetizers), and lo and behold, the fountains actually came on. Great show, lasting all of three minutes. I stayed for two shows, just to be sure I didn’t miss anything, which was just as well since no two shows are ever the same. Such a deal. At least my dinner of African Hammour (some sort of fish) was good.
Okay, Monday, December 12, my last day in Dubai. My flight didn’t leave until 2:30 the following morning so I had a lot of time to kill. I checked out of the hotel around 9 AM and metroed to the airport, where I checked my suitcase in the baggage storage area, then went out to see anything I hadn’t seen so far. Got a metro to the Dubai museum and went through that, which was pretty cool. Had breakfast of chicken biryani at a place I couldn’t resist called Yummy Bites. I should have resisted it. The chicken was mostly bone, although the rice and naan were both good. Next was a nice walk down to the Old Souk where I finally did it right: shopped for gifts on my last day there.
Taxi to Hermitage Village and one of the sheikh’s houses, then another metro and taxi back to the Wafi mall for a look around and then just before six PM (see? I remembered) to the Raffles hotel bar, next to the mall. I was hoping for a similar experience to the Long Bar at the Raffles hotel in Singapore, but once again my hopes were dashed to dust. It was a nice bar, classy and pretty, but no action at all. Since I was the only customer for awhile, I did get to talk to Big Vin the bartender, a five-foot nothing Filipino, who filled me in on the doings and lifestyle in Dubai. Interesting character.
I took the metro down to the Creek area for a final stroll in the great Dubai weather, as I knew in just about 12 hours I’d be back in the cold nastiness of Budapest. Picked up my suitcase at the airport storage area, grabbed some dinner in an airport café, checked in for my flight and wandered the airport shopping areas for awhile, buying one last present for myself before changing my remaining dirhams back to euros. Lazed around, read my book, waited for my 2:30 AM flight. When it came, I hit the seat and passed out, sleeping most of the way to Zurich, a good five hours. A quick transfer in Zurich and home to Budapest on time, at 9:30 in the morning of December 13. It was a really good trip and I’m glad I went. Big, happy, contented sigh.

And now, for the curious, or not-yet terminally bored, a few observations and comments on Dubai as I saw it as a tourist:

1. Dubai has beautiful 12-lane highways, clean and well-maintained. All of the cars I saw were new and shiny and bright, not a clunker to be seen anywhere. People must take pride in their environment and their possessions in Dubai.
2. It’s easy to get lost in the malls.
3. The weather in winter is great, around 26 degrees Celsius (78 F).
4. I heard lots of American English spoken, which surprised me, but I guess a lot of American tourists head for Dubai and its shops.
5. Cinnabon is coming to the Dubai Marina.
6. I was surprised at the American-based shops and stores I saw: Chili’s, Tony Roma’s, Fatburger, Mrs. Fields, Bloomingdales, Krispy Kreme, TGI Friday and many, many more. Unadventurous American eaters will be right at home.
7. The much-touted Burj Khalifa world’s tallest building was underwhelming.
8. It truly is a shop-till-you-drop paradise. I actually saw four women shoppers passed out on benches outside the malls, surrounded by bags from various stores, absolutely wasted but with a strangely serene look on their unconscious faces, somewhat reminiscent of a truly satisfying sexual encounter.
9. Again, all the workers were foreigners, and appeared happy, smiling, eager to please, and really seemed to enjoy being in Dubai. The entire experience reminded me of what the USA used to be in my long-lost youth.

Next trip: could be Capetown, South Africa, in the springtime. Will keep you all informed. Until then, Happy Trails to you all.

Final Note: when I returned and checked my email, a friend had sent me an article published in the UK, entitled The Darker Side of Dubai. I include the web address for your possible perusal. Interesting article.

http://www.independent.co.uk/opinion/commentators/johann-hari/the-dark-side-of-dubai-1664368.html

Another Island Paradise in the Med

2011-09-03T08:37:00.000-07:00

Hola! Yes, it was back to Spain for my August break. But this was a Spain unlike any I’d ever visited before. The island of Mallorca, off the eastern coast of Spain in the Mediterranean Sea, must surely be the jewel in Spain’s crown. Plus, although it is part of Spain, and a definite tourist destination, it feels totally different from the mainland.
Hordes of German and British tourists, a scattering of Scandinavians, lots of local expats and Spaniards, but, strangely enough, Palma doesn’t have a tourist feel. It feels more like an island paradise, just a good place to relax and stroll the marinas and beaches, to sample the local cuisine, to sit in a local pub (air conditioned, of course) and watch Man United annihilate Arsenal, to take it easy and work on your suntan. In short, it feels…..comfortable. Just the way Paradise should.
I spent the last week of August 2011 there, doing all those things and more. The sightseeing was great, the crowds were controllable, the food was outstanding, the weather was perfect (90 degrees – 30 C – but with a cooling sea breeze all day and night), the people were happy and smiling and courteous and chatty and just overall enjoyed being there to meet and talk to you. What a great place.
Anyway, I set off jauntily, with a happy traveler’s smile on my face, on Thursday, August 25. Got to the Budapest airport to find out Wizz Air had changed the rules on me again and was now going to charge me 30 euro (about $45) to check my bag. Damn. And that was just the one-way charge; there’d be another coming back. Guess that pretty much gives the lie to the term ‘discount airlines.’ So, my smile now tightening at the corners, I checked in and paid and caught my plane for the summer sun.
It was 97 degrees F when I left Budapest, and not a breath of air was stirring. It was only 90 in Palma when I arrived around 5 PM, but at least there was a nice sea breeze to cool things down. I caught the airport bus I had researched online to what looked like a stop near my hotel; turned out I still had to walk aways uphill, dragging my bag. Hot! But made it to my hotel, stopping along the way to ask directions from the bartender at Sindi’s English pub, to which I would return often during my stay.
I checked into my just-under-3-star hotel, the Hostal Pinar, just off the Calle Joan Miro, on the western side of Palma’s marina. A nice small place with a swimming pool (Thank Bog), adequate rooms, friendly staff; just what I needed. I then found my way back down to the marina, only a short walk away, and this time downhill. Stopped for a beer at the Shamrock Irish pub, then had another at Hogan’s Irish pub, farther along. You know how I love my Irish pubs. Finally stopped at a small tapas place for a yummy dinner of various types of seafood and meats and other goodies, along with a Mahou (pronounced ‘Ma-ow’), one of the local beers. I watched the cruise ships and myriad of boats tied up in the large harbor, drank my beer, munched my tapas, and all was right with the world.
I did get back to Sindi’s pub later on, and talked with Mickey, the bartender. I also met some of the customers, among them Terry from Antigua, who worked on the yachts. I was definitely getting into the island mood.
Friday, my first full day in Palma, was my usual Get Acquainted Day in a new place. I caught a local bus (my hotel was right on a major bus line) to the Plaza Espana and walked from there down to the Plaza Mayor. Then it was over to the Passeig de Born, one of the premier strolling streets of Palma, lined with tall trees and benches and people strolling and relaxing. At the end of the street is the Plaza de la Reina and the Hop On/Hop Off tour bus, which I took for the next couple of hours. It’s always a good way to get oriented when visiting a new city, and I saw all of the big sights, most of which I would return to later. I did hop off at the Castle Bellver on the western hill overlooking the town and the bay, which was a nice interlude.
Lunch was more tapas at El Pilon restaurant, near the center of town; Spanish meatballs, calamari, pa amb oli (like a hot, spicy bruschetta) and some jamon slices taken directly from the deer leg as I watched (the deer was dead, of course). Yum. After my meal, the waiter offered me an ice-cold digestif called Herbes (pronounced ’yer-bayss’), which was…interesting. But that Spanish hospitality, gotta love it.
The first thing one notices when walking about a Spanish city is its cleanliness; almost no trash or graffiti, which indicates a certain degree of respect for their homes. Of course, there’s still dog waste on the sidewalks, but at least it’s a start.
After lunch and a swim in the hotel pool and a short nap, I strolled the marina again, snapping pics and taking it easy. I topped off the evening at Sindi’s, which reminded me of my local expat pub back in Budapest.
Saturday was the flea market I’d read about, not too far from the Plaza Espana. The bus got me close, and a short walk was all it took. I had a nice English breakfast first, then delved into all that wonderful tourist junque. The sellers were locals and Africans and other nationalities, not all of which I recognized. But it was a typical flea market, and, of course, they had heard of my coming to town from the other flea markets around the world, so they were ready for me. The giant hoses crept out from behind the booths and started sucking the money out of my pockets as soon as I arrived. Damn, how do they know? So I bought my gifts and souvenirs, and then walked over to the Plaza Mayor’s flea market, which was much more upscale and therefore expensive. I passed on by and took a ramble down La Rambla, another wonderful shady tree-lined street nearby, still inhaling the wonderful ambience of Palma.
A sandwich for lunch and then Sindi’s again for the Ireland/England rugby match and a few more beers. A good afternoon in air-conditioned splendor. After a swim and cleanup, I walked down to Hogan’s for one of their well-advertised hamburgers; the cooking time was supposed to be nearly 30 minutes, which wasn’t quite that long, and it was definitely worth it after all. A giant five-ounce burger with all the trimmings. Succulent and juicy and tasty. A great find. After dinner I walked the marina promenade again and found the office for booking cruises around the island. It was closed, but at least now I knew where to come back to make my plans.
Sunday was another beautiful day in paradise. It was, in fact, a perfect day to take the old-fashioned train to Soller on the northwest coast of the island. I found the tiny old train station, next to the new train station at the Plaza Espana, bought my ticket, swung aboard the wooden-carriaged train and we took off for the coast. The train was crowded with tourists and even some Spaniards, and the ride was a nice journey through the countryside, replete with trees, hills and even some long tunnels. It’s touted as the Number One tourist attraction in Mallorca. It was nice and restful and relaxing, but Number One? If that is Number One, the rest of them must be somewhat disappointing. It was adequate, but to be Number One you’d have to have never, ever been on one of these old-time railways in your entire life, Disneyland included. Anyway, a nice trip.
We arrived in Soller, another small sleepy Spanish town, around 11:15 AM. I walked around awhile, but there really wasn’t a whole lot to see or do, so I caught the next tram for the port area of Soller, which was much better. Marinas, boats, restaurants, promenades, lunch along the marina walk; very peaceful. I whiled away a few hours, then decided it was time to head back to Palma. I’d read of a better way back, so attempted to find the bus stop in the port area to catch the Palma bus. I walked past the damn stop at least twice before I found a line of people waiting for the bus my third time through. It could have been marked better. Anyway, our driver, Fireball Fangio, made it back to the main station in Palma in about 30 minutes or so.
While walking along the promenade next to the boat harbor later that afternoon, I caught sight of two women sitting in a window with their feet immersed in large aquarium-like tanks. They were having a fish pedicure, and I knew this was the time to try it. So I did. Weird! Having those tiny little fish nibble at your feet is something that has to be experienced to be believed. Try it, you’ll like it. Dinner at a Colombian restaurant near my hotel and a drink or two at Sindi’s and off to bed again. Sightseeing wears me out.
Monday was my Day at Sea, a pleasure cruise aboard a large motored catamaran. I had breakfast on the promenade, then we took off around 9:30, with the boat about 1/3 full. A nice cruise, around the southwestern tip of the island, to a sheltered cove with a sandy beach, frequented by other locals and tourists. Some swimming, some lying in the sun, and a really good lunch of seafood paella, sangria and cava (Spanish sparkling wine), more swimming then back to Palma around 4:30. Good way to spend the day.
Tuesday was my own personal beach day, and I decided to spend it at Illetes, a lovely little secluded beach at the end of the Number 3 bus line. Illetes was empty in the morning, but filled up quickly and by noon was fairly crowded, although not so much as to be uncomfortable. I whiled away the day on my lounge chair and in the cool Mediterranean water, had breakfast and lunch at a nearby restaurant and generally took it easy --- again.
After a swim and shower at the hotel, I bussed into town to check out the Lorien beer hall, advertising more than 100 types of beer from around the world. Yeah, they had them, in .33L bottles at .5L prices. Rip-off, don’t bother going there. I wandered down to O’Brien’s Irish pub and found they had Belhaven Best on tap; I was home! Bar snacks, a couple of Best beers, and I was a happy camper.
On the way out I checked out Abaco, hailed as one of the most interestingly-decorated restaurants in town – and most expensive, with a cocktail priced at 13 euro! Took some snaps, passed on the drinks, and headed home.
On Wednesday I did all the things I hadn’t done so far. Checked out the local used book store (and, of course, bought several books), checked out the Arab Baths (major rip-off, don’t even consider going there), then strolled the back streets of Old Town Palma, finding a new and interesting square or street or shop every time I turned a corner. Stopped at the Bar Bosch for lunch, at the top of the Passeig de Born, and it was another taste treat: tapas, with meatballs, chicken, potato salad, tempura, lots of goodies, along with a glass of ice-cold fruit juice. Nice.
Back to my hotel for a nap, a swim and a light dinner, then on to Sindi’s again, where I helped close them down. Getting to be a regular there. Mickey introduced me to another local drink called cana, which is something no tourist should ever have to try.
So, another successful trip. I whiled away my final morning in Palma and caught the airport bus around midday. And to finish up a perfect vacation trip, the airline check-in person didn’t even charge me for checking in my suitcase. Saved 30 euro. Cool.
Be sure and add Palma de Mallorca to your list of places to visit before you die. It’s really and truly a sight worth seeing.

Off to the Land of Silk and Money

2011-06-29T10:51:00.000-07:00

Suddenly it was time for my second visit to America since arriving in Budapest in 1999. I had visited my daughter and her family in Los Angeles on my way around the world in 2007, so it seemed like it was time again to make the pilgrimage. Of course, I had to get up at 4:00 AM Budapest time to catch the initial leg of my flight, but hey, why not?
So, an early-morning taxi to the airport, a quick hop to Paris, then the loooong 11-and-a-half hour flight to Los Angeles on a wide-bodied – and nearly full – new Air France airplane. .
I ran the gauntlet of passport control and several more entrance obstacles of officialdom and emerged into the dim fluorescent lighting of LAX Terminal Two and there, straining at the ropes, were Morgan and Samantha and Nicholas, waiting for Dad and Grandpa. It was good to see them all again, and the kids had, of course, grown considerably since I had last seen them, as kids are wont to do. Samantha just turned 7 on March 18, two days after her mother turned 40! Yikes! 40! She’s now older than I am! And Nicholas will be six on July 14, Bastille Day.
Everyone looked great. We got to their house in the foothills of the San Bernardino Mountains, a good hour’s drive east of Los Angeles, and I settled in to fight off my jet lag. Their house has been repainted since I was last there, but the big news was that the two seven-foot pythons were no longer in residence, so I wouldn’t have to lie awake nights wondering when I’d see a sinuous pointed head slither up the side of the bed and look at me with eyes that always seemed to say, “Sssssay, you look tasssssty.”
Of course, there are now three turtles in residence, and we’re talking big friggin’ turtles. The biggest of the three weighs over 100 pounds (50 kilos), but they all manage to keep the backyard grass nicely clipped down to the nub. Of course, picking up baseball-sized turtle droppings can’t be a whole lot of fun.
Anyway, I distributed the usual quota of gifts and unpacked and caught up with everyone on immediate concerns and questions. The kids, being older now, both seem more comfortable with having a Grandpa they rarely see, but whom they took to quickly this time around. They climbed on me and took me to see their rooms and generally seemed OK with my company. Better than the last visit, when they didn’t know me at all and were rather reticent in my presence.
It was a good visit with the family. I ate a lot of good old Amurican comfort food, like sausage and eggs, real bagels with whipped cream cheese, frozen has brown potatoes, cinnamon rolls, lots of meat, pizza, sushi, hot pastrami sandwiches, Chinese food, barbecued ribs, real American pancakes with butter and maple syrup, corned beef hash, carne asada burritos, green chile stew, etc. Too much sometimes, but oh, so good.

I fought off the effects of jet lag and hung out with Tony and Morgan and the kids. My first week Morgan was still in school and Tony had lots of things to keep him busy, even though he was temporarily off work with carpal tunnel syndrome. I rested and got some LA sun ad read a couple of new books and generally just kicked back and enjoyed life. One day Morgan dragged me out of bed waaaay too early, made me shower and shave (again!), shoved a bagel and cream cheese in my mouth and hauled me off to her school to confront her classes again – five classes during the day. She did this to me last time I visited, as she’s always telling her kids about my life as a traveler, expat, author, TEFL teacher, etc., and volunteers me to talk to them about this alternative way of life when I’m in town. Oh, well, maybe I inspired one or two young students to get out of their barrio and find out there’s a bigger, wider, more interesting world out there.
Then for the long Memorial Day weekend it was off to Lake Mead, Nevada, just 20 miles south of Las Vegas. It took around three hours to get there; we picked up the boat and found our lakeside hotel, hitting the sack early
It was my first time on Morgan and Tony’s boat, a 21-foot cruiser, complete with galley, bathroom, sleeping area and a powerful single screw engine. Breakfast burritos at the Marina, then we got the boat in the water around 10 AM and headed for Hoover Dam, then on to a place called Sandy Beach, which was crowded with other boats, it being the only beachy area the kids knew of in the lake. Lunch was green chile burgers – mmmm. We all played the day away and got back to the hotel in time for the seafood buffet.
On Saturday Morgan’s half brother and his girlfriend got to town, and we took off again on the boat for another day of relaxing on the lake and beach. Sunday was too windy to get out so instead we drove into Las Vegas and tried to walk The Strip, but even there it was too windy and cold (15 degrees Celsius). We walked a few of the casinos, including Caesar’s Palace, then had lunch at Bahama Breeze. After a nap I managed a Nathan’s hot dog late that evening.
Monday was another beautiful day, and we took the boat to a new area of beach on the lake, where we stayed all day. Green chile cheeseburgers again for lunch, and the day was nice and restful; I got a lot of sun and came back with great tan. Back in LA the next day, I got some shopping done at a nearby outdoor mall. I bought some pants and books, saw the movie Hangover 2 (boring and not as good as the first one), and had a good lunch at the Food Hall. It was tough to choose between Panda Express (Chinese), Great Khan’s (Mongolian barbecue) and a corn dog, but I finally decided on the Chinese and it was worth it.
The following week Morgan was finally out of school, so she and I did a father-daughter bonding day. We drove to Irvine to see Atlas Shrugged, Part One, after which we decided to stay for another feature. Both were good movies and we only paid for the first one, as my upright daughter sneaked us into the second movie without anyone seeing us. And I thought she’d turned straight.
Two days left of my visit, and Morgan and I took Samantha and Nicholas and two of their friends to Soak City, an aqua park next to Knott’s Berry Farm in Orange County. It was a tiring day, but fun, and we all sped down the water slides just like the kids. On my final day in LA, Morgan and Tony threw a BBQ party for friends and family, and too much food was eaten once again.
Friday Morgan and the kids took me to LAX around 2 PM, where I wended my way through the TSA barriers and hung out until my flight left for Paris and then Budapest. I arrived home around 9 PM on Saturday.
So – what’s the US like these days? Well, of course, I only really saw a small part of it: Boulder City, Nevada, the Las Vegas strip and a couple of casinos, Alta Loma (California) malls and movie theaters and supermarkets, LAX. And it was ….. strange. First thing one notices is the huge number of really fat people. Gross. And the emphasis on food, food and more food. Fast food, snack food, everything bad for you. No wonder the average weight of the people I saw was probably over 200 lbs. From teens to old folks. Not a good sign. Manners are still pretty good, no problems there. But the main odd thing was the feeling of normality while the country is in such terrible trouble in so many ways. People just going about their business, driving on the freeways, shopping, seeming to live their normal lives even though the country is on the brink of disaster. High unemployment, disastrous inflation, lying and corrupt politicians, a war economy that doesn’t seem to want to ever quit, bankrupt businesses and the federal government. One just doesn’t get the same feeling being out and about as one does when reading all the pundits and doom-sayers and others who write their columns for the ‘sheeple.’ Strange.
Prices are generally fairly high for everything, especially food when eating out. Movies for seniors are anywhere from $6 to $10, Five Guys Burgers around $5, etc. Tony and I had two hamburgers and two cheeseburgers, plus three regular fries and something called animal fries, plus one medium and one large drink at In and Out Burger for around $19, which certainly seemed high to me.
Clothing prices aren’t too bad. I got a pair of jeans for $25 and Dockers for $22, which is probably better than Budapest. All in all, I guess it was reasonable for one person.
I returned home to Budapest summer weather, hot and humid. The following Friday we did our summer closing night party at the Britannia Club. I made my jello shots – red with vodka, green with rum and orange sans alcohol for the kiddies and teetotalers. They were a hit, as most Hungarians had never even heard of such things much less tasted them. We also had Pimm’s No. 1 shandies, for the more straight-laced among the group (of whom, I should mention, there aren’t many). I also had some visitors for a few days, people I hadn’t seen in 35 years, so I showed them around and joined them for dinner each day. They saw most of what Budapest has to offer the weary traveler and came away impressed with our Central European city.
The summer social season was in full swing by then. First it was a great BBQ party in the Buda hills, complete with bruschetta, lasagna and porcetta, a pig’s stomach filled with minced meats and spices and left in an old-style Hungarian earthen oven for several hours. Mmmmm. After food and beer, the few hard-core partiers left polished off a bottle of limoncello and bottle of vodka, by which time we were all in pretty good shape. There was only one minor casualty, who fell down the short flight of stone steps, but no blood was seen and we all got home more or less in good order.
The following weekend was a 70th birthday party for another friend. And after that, I rested once again. Stay tuned to this site --- more to come.

Jordan - My 41st Country

2011-03-22T15:08:00.000-07:00

Well, the year started off with a whimper – a cooold whimper – and proceeded nicely into March with a BANG! Not much happening around the beginning of the year in Budapest. More of the same old stuff: dinners, expat gatherings, wine tastings and a comedy club or two. I did manage to complete my dental implant program in late February, thank goodness. No more pain (after the final placement of the bridges, which damn near sent me through the dentist’s ceiling), and I can eat steak again, if I want to. I also attended a one-day wine tasting class, given by a local wine institute, which was fun and educational. I can now order the right wine with the right food. Whew, I was getting worried about not being able to complement pizzas and burgers with the appropriate wine. No longer a concern.
Also, the annual Burns Supper came around again, as it always does, and another fun evening was had by all attendees. We ate haggis and listened to the bagpipes and danced some Scottish reels, on which we had to be coached as everyone forgets the steps from one year to the next. Our usual good time. Another English-language comedy night and the rugby six nations tournament rounded off the first two months of the year.
But what about my travels, you ask. Well, the implants took most of my money, and I thought I’d be flat-bound until late spring, so I consigned myself to reading used books and watching TCM movies and drinking half-pint beers at the pubs and indulging in various forms of other inexpensive entertainment until I could build up my cash reserves again. Even with the reasonable costs of Hungarian dentistry, the implants still took nearly three months’ income. But at least my dentist, with whom I’ve been for over ten years, gave me some leeway and let me pay the costs off over time (not a lot of time, but enough). I’ll still be paying it off for awhile. Of course, by this time I thought I’d be somewhere warm and sunny instead of cold and cloudy and depressing Budapest in the winter. Damn!
And suddenly, lo and behold, a miracle! A friend called and told me he and his girlfriend had booked a package trip to Jordan in March and then they’d had a monster fight and break-up and she’d gone back to Norway and he had this paid-up package with no one to travel with and would I like to come with him for eight days to Aqaba on the Red Sea? I started quivering immediately, then remembered how Mr. Wallet was gasping and hacking due to being so empty. I told my friend and he said I could pay him later in the year or whenever my finances tumbled back into the black. Well! How could I refuse that deal? Answer: I couldn’t! So, March 13, it was off to Jordan!
As is my wont, I did some research before taking off. I compiled a list of Arabic words and phrases I could memorize and use at the shops, restaurants and pubs, and I also checked out the sights to be seen and things to be done in the area. Aqaba is Jordan’s only Red Sea port and, as such, is known for its water sports, including diving. Cool – maybe I could go diving again after all these years. I hadn’t dived since 1998, despite an abortive attempt when I was on my Caribbean Cruise in 2000, so I was looking forward to trying it again.
Also, lots of local trips to various interesting sights, including: Wadi Rum, where Lawrence of Arabia hung out with his camels and young Arab guides; the Dead Sea, which I’ve also seen from the other (Israeli) side; and, of course, Petra, the building façade carved into the side of a cliff and made famous by the last of the Indiana Jones movies. I was really looking forward to seeing Petra – at least, until I found some of the recent reviews by other travelers on Trip Advisor and read what they’d written about the entrance fee. First I have to get to the site from Aqaba, about two hours by bus or taxi or car, and will have to see how much that costs. Then the entrance fee. Are you ready for this? Petra may be the single most expensive tourist archaeological site in the entire world. Fifty euro! That’s around $70 US. Damn! Even the Taj Mahal wasn’t anywhere near that much, nor the Eiffel Tower, Pyramids, Sphinx, passage tomb in Ireland, Hypergeum in Malta, Colosseum in Rome, anywhere else, as a matter of fact. Now, I’m sure Petra is interesting and worth seeing, but come on - $70?! Well, I’ll wait to get there and check it out again and see what happens.
So I bided my time until takeoff, cutting down my dining out and my purchases of new books and my attending newly-released movies (I always went on discount days). I was saving what little money I had for my trip.
Got away from the Budapest winter around 11 PM on Sunday, March 13, and landed in Amman, Jordan, four hours later (local time). We were met by our guide, Tamas, and hustled onto a tour bus which took us to Aqaba, another three hours away. During all this time, I had virtually no sleep on the plane and only about a one-hour doze on the bus. I was just a touch tired.
BUT – I weathered the speed bumps and sunrise over the sand-colored hills as we sped down a nice four-lane asphalt highway, finally arriving at the Hotel Mina around 7:30 in the morning. I checked into the hotel, then had to run out and buy some bottled water to brush my teeth – tap water is not drinkable in Jordan. I breakfasted and headed out for my orientation tour of the city.
As mentioned earlier, I was ready with my memorized Arabic words and phrases to get me by. Sabah al kheer(Good Morning), Masah al kheer (Good Evening), aiwa (yes), La (no), Bekam hada (How much is it?), Tat kallam ingleezi (Do you speak English), Oktobiha min fadhliki (does your sister take Mastercard?) --- you know, just the essentials. And what did I find? Damn! Everyone spoke English! And I mean virtually everyone. Good for me, and easier, obviously, but disappointing in a way. I really wanted to try and be a traveler and not a tourist, with my excellent command of basic Arabic phrases, but guess I’ll have to wait until I go to Syria or some such place. Of course, because of the Internet, they probably even speak English there. Sigh.
And so, armed with my trusty Internet map of Aqaba, I walked over to the seashore and along the strand above the public beach area. Checked out one of the Turkish baths (hammam), which was only 12 Jordanian Dinars (JD, to the locals), as opposed to a more modern bath I found which was 25 JD. I also walked the Great Arab Revolt Plaza with its humungous flag next to the old Aqaba fort.
I stopped in at the Tourist Office with some questions, then cruised the Gateway Center, with its trendy modern restaurants and bars, just to see what was there. It was windy in the morning, but calm in the afternoon and the temperature was in the mid-20s (around 76 F). I did lunch at the Formosa Chinese restaurant in Gateway Center, and it was wonderful – although a touch more expensive than I had planned – but then, isn’t everything? Came to 17 JD, which was around $20 US! Jeez, where’s the McDonald’s? (Actually, it was right around the corner).
Walking down the street was an adventure in itself, as it seemed every taxi driver beeped his horn at the tourists to try and get business. In addition, as friendly as they all were, these taxi drivers also spoke to us on the street, trying to arrange present or future fares. I did agree to be driven to Petra the following day by Mahmood, so all was not lost. I hung around the hotel’s pool area for awhile, then decided a short nap was in order.
Dinner was at the hotel, as I was on half board (breakfast and dinner included), which was adequate but solitary. I was expecting a rather basic hotel meal, and was surprised to get such an array of good-sized dishes: Salad, lemon chicken with veggies, fries, pita bread, hummus dip, tabouleh. Now, keep in mind that I was brought up in a time when the parents of American kids, who had lived through the Great Depression and World War II, still served seven-course dinners every night. If we dared balk at consuming such prodigious amounts of food, our mothers always came up with that generation’s tag line: “Eat your dinner; there are starving children in Europe.” Even if there were, there sure aren’t any more; my dinner alone would have fed a Bedouin family of 12 for a week.
I crashed early that night to be ready for my Tuesday-morning run to Petra.
Jolted out of bed at an ungodly hour, I abluted, breakfasted and met Mahmood for our three-hour drive to one of the most famous monuments in the world. The round trip cost me 60 JD (not cheap, but I was beginning to realize nothing in Jordan was), and it was cold and windy when we stopped for a photo op, but pleasant for all that. Mahmood dropped me off at the edge of the new town of Petra, and I walked down toward the old town. Paid my 55 JD and decided a horseback ride to the entrance to the Petra gorge was in order, so did that. I felt like a kid again on one of those ponies trotted around town so kids back then could have their pictures taken sitting astride.
Anyway, I soon found the main entrance to the gorge and walked the one-kilometer path through the sandstone cliffs to the entrance to the Treasury, which is as awesome as you might imagine. I also explored much of the rest of Petra – cave dwellings, amphitheater, etc – as I hadn’t realized the ancient city was so big; I was told there were 10,000 cave dwellings in the old city. Damn!
One interesting item: I had missed the toilet facilities at the entrance to the area, but was told there were portable toilets in the old city. I walked quickly when the need became urgent, followed the signs from afar and scurried toward the toilets; when I finally found the porta-potties, there was a nice sign on them saying, “For your Inconvenience, WC is Closed.” Just my friggin’ luck! I was standing there with my legs crossed, when one of the local souvenir vendors told me there was another WC farther down the road, by which I presumed he meant another ten-minute walk. He also told me I could wander over to one of the caves across the road and use that. Hmmm. Well, I really did need to pee, so I thought, what the hell, the local guy told me it was okay. So I did what he suggested and found a cave and entered it and found it was being used as a bathroom by the locals – nice. I held my breath and did my business and hurried out to resume my tour.
I did what I could, but was tired by that time, so after exploring only about one-third of the entire old city of Petra I walked back out of the gorge and took another horse ride to the top of the entrance trail. Just as well. Met Mahmood and he found me a nice local restaurant where I had a great lunch of shawarma, fries, veggies and a couple of soft drinks. Yummy. Managed to doze for most of the drive back, which this time only took around 90 minutes. When I got back to the hotel and paid off Mahmood, I realized I was sore and aching and knew it was time for my Turkish bath.
I chose the more expensive of the two baths, and it was nice, with sauna, steam, scrubbing, massage and Jacuzzi. A nice relaxing late afternoon. Wandering back to the hotel I found the Oxygen “Irish Bar,” which, of course, was anything but; however, they did have Amstel on tap, and it was cold and good, and I needed it. Rested up until dinner at the hotel, and realized I was still a touch tired, so turned in early again after watching some English-language movies on TV.
March 16, Wednesday, and I realized it was my daughter’s birthday. I wolfed down a quick breakfast and rushed out to find an Internet café to send her birthday wishes. They were all closed! I walked all over, and finally found a 24-hour café near my hotel, so was able to get my wishes off and check my other emails and Facebook account. During my wanderings I was also looking for the offices of the Sindbad Cruise company so I could see about a nice sea cruise to Pharaoh Island over on the Egyptian side of the Gulf of Aqaba. Couldn’t find it, as it seemed to have moved. Finally got the Tourist Office lady to check for me, and she found out they only offered their cruises on Sunday and Monday in March. Well, Hell! No cruise. Not happy. Not a great morning so thought I’d better eat and drink to offset the negative vibes. I settled on the Ali Baba restaurant and their well-publicized selection of mezze, which is sort of like large tapas plates, appetizers you can munch on while talking and drinking. The cold Amstel also went down well, along with the tabouleh, hummus with meat and some great baba ganuj. A lovely, relaxing extended lunch.
I took a nice stroll after lunch, then met our small group at the hotel for the trip to Wadi Rum, a nearby area where Lawrence of Arabia had once hung out during World War I. Or maybe it was Peter O’Toole. On the way I became acquainted with two Hungarian women, Zsuzsa (my age group) and her young cousin Eszter, a belly-dance teacher in Budapest. We arrived at Wadi Rum around 3:30 PM and embarked in our ‘jeeps’ (really old Toyota Landcruiser-type pickup trucks with seats in the rear for 6-8 people) for our desert tour. First stop was in the shadow of a high cliff where Lawrence of Arabia had supposedly camped lo those many years ago. At least, that’s what we were told. And it did seem to be a former military encampment, based on the ruins still in evidence. I wandered around and found a lone tree nearby, next to which was a small plaque that read, “In this spot on April 14, 1916, T.E. Lawrence urinated on this tree.” I was entranced.
We did a couple more stops, exploring a niche in the cliffs and ending up at a huge red sand ramp leading up to a spot where we could watch the sunset. I made it about halfway up that monstrous sand dune when my legs told me, “Nope, not today, Bud,” so I walked down (a lot more easily than I had struggled up) and watched the damn sunset from a lower vantage point. I’d seen desert sunsets before, so nothing important was lost, especially my quivering leg muscles.
I and my two new compatriots had dinner at another nearby hotel after our return to Aqaba, the Golden Tulip, as our hotel didn’t feel like cooking that night. Not important, as long as I get fed. And yet again, since it was another busy and physically tiring day, I hit the sack early.
On Thursday morning I still had three days left in Aqaba. No cruise, so that was out. I thought about doing some diving, but decided against it for several reasons, none of which are important to this chronicle. So, what was I to do with the rest of my time? Beach! The hotel arranged for a free shuttle-bus pickup for me by the Coral Bay resort, around 10 km down the coast. I was ready for a beach day. The shuttle finally arrived only an hour late and we drove down along the Gulf of Aqaba and the Red Sea, which was a startling deep blue. It was a beautiful resort, and cost 15 JD just to get in to the private beach. Towel rental was another 1 JD; I didn’t dare ask for a snorkel, as I was sure to be scalped again. I really hate it when the tourist areas nickel-and-dime us to death. Not pretty.
So I spent a pleasant and relaxing day at the beach, did a few dips in the Red Sea and watched the sun cross the sky. The temperature was 31 degrees (low 90s) and I was warm and happy. The resort had what looked like a nice grill, so I checked the menu for lunch. I found such interesting items as ‘Gordon Blue’ chicken and a ‘Foul Sandwich.” I settled on the hamburger and fries, and they turned out to be really tasty. Afterwards I napped in the sunshine until it was time to return to my hotel late in the afternoon. I tried a beer at the Rover’s Return restaurant and bar in the Gateway Center, but I was the only customer (guess I was early), so I once again repaired to my room to watch movies until bedtime.
I took a walk the next morning to the north of the downtown area to see if any of the beaches up there were open to the public, but they were all private and attached to luxury hotels. So, back to the public beach, which was crowded on Friday, it being the Islamic Sunday. Lots of families and women in black outfits that covered them completely except for hands and face (and some even with those areas covered, with just a slit for their eyes) and little children and men in shorts and t-shirts. Very few men and young boys were bare-chested. It was almost like a bathing scene in the USA from the early 20th Century.
The Red Sea is exceptionally clear and amazingly clean out to about the first 100-200 meters, and even farther as I was later to find out. A middle-aged man wading in the sea near me and watching over a young girl started chatting with me; turned out he was a high-ranking military officer who had traveled quite a bit professionally. Majid and I had a nice conversation and it was our hope that people from all over the world could meet and talk as we did; maybe there would be less violence in the world if we all got to know each other.
I decided I still wanted some sort of sea cruise, so I took one of the little glass-bottom boats out for a half-hour spin around the Aqaba area. The glass bottom was pretty crusty, but the sea was so clear I could see everything anyway, including an old Panzer tank from WWII. I had lunch on the strand at one of the ubiquitous fast food stands; a surprisingly good meal – shawarma, fries, veggies and a couple of soft drinks – and all for only 2 JD! Gotta come here more often.
I spent another hour at the beach, then opted for the hotel pool and a nap. By that time it was nearly dusk and definitely time for a beer or two at Rover’s Return to watch the sunset. The cold Kilkenny hit the spot as I watched the lights come on in Eilat, Israel, across the bay. Actually, when the weather was clear (as it almost always was) you can see four countries from the hotel rooftops in Aqaba: Jordan, Israel, Egypt and Saudi Arabia. Cool.
My final day in Aqaba and I had run out of pretty much everything I wanted to do. I sat on the beach again, this time much less crowded, and swam in the Red Sea. I lunched again at the same fast food stand, this time having lamb kebabs and fries with assorted veggies, one of which was, and I kid you not, what appeared to be – and tasted like – a real, authentic, New Mexican roasted green chile! For a minute I was back at the Owl Café, scarfing down those spicy goodies. A real reminder of other times, other places.
The hotel’s pool was still cold, but in the 32-degree heat it felt just right. Another short nap and I was awakened by my new friends Zsuzsa and Eszter who had promised me a late lunch at their favorite seafood restaurant in the souk. I showered and changed and off we went to Al Sharmi. The fish was superb, and the grilled calamari hit the spot. No alcohol, but that’s okay too.
I took another stroll and when the sun went down decided to check out the hotel’s rooftop bar, Jazo, on my final night in town. Damn, I wish I’d have checked it out earlier during my stay. Since I was the only customer in the place for awhile, I had the sole attention of the bartender, Aksana, a sweet young girl from Ukraine. I dazzled her with my two Ukrainian words (“Budjmo, holubchik” – Cheers, little dove) and we became fast friends. A couple of beers, the company of a pretty girl, a starry night in the Middle East, and all was right with the world
For our final day in Jordan, we checked out of the hotel and took off around 8 AM for a four-hour drive to the Dead Sea Spa, about 50 km from Amman. We stopped along the way for a photo op of the stone pillar known as Lot’s Wife, who supposedly turned to stone when she looked back at the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. The new spa/resort was beautiful and huge, and we had rooms for half the night. After a quick lunch, it was down to the Dead Sea, where I – and a few others – rubbed ourselves all over with the famous – and supposedly therapeutic – black mud. We then went into the Dead Sea and sluiced it all off, leaving our skin smooth as the inside of a Dutch girl’s thigh. Aaaahhh.
I floated for awhile in the Dead Sea – you can’t sink! – and had a light nap before dinner. The resort’s sports bar wasn’t able to show the last match of the Six Nations Rugby Tournament, so I settled for a couple of Becks beers and the attentions of the local resort tabby cat, who was pleased to settle her pleasure on me. I killed the time until 12:30 that night by watching movies, as we had to check out then and drive to the Amman airport, where we checked in and awaited our plane back to Budapest, which left at 4:30 AM. Another long, tired night without much sleep.
It was a nice, relaxing holiday in the sun and one which I needed desperately after nearly six months without so much as a weekender. It was good to be traveling again, and the even better news is there’s only a couple of months until my next trip.
The week went by too quickly, full of fun and rest and sunshine and heat and nice people. Some of my more interesting memories include:

A local map pinpointing the location of the “Flee Market”
A sign warning guests not to put their toilet paper in the toilet
My new friend Eszter whose dietary habits were never to eat anything with legs
Eszter having to buy a scarf to cover her cleavage (to keep the Jordanian men from staring at her), which is usual in Budapest, but definitely not in Jordan where the women cover everything but hands and face
The beer and soft-drink cans all have pop-tops
The wonderful friendliness of all of the Jordanian men and children; the women were more reserved with strangers, but not too bad
The fact that damn near everyone spoke English!

So – yet another in a growing list of great places I’ve visited in the world. I’d go back to Jordan again. And who knows, I may get to do so one day.

Interludes

2011-01-15T12:52:00.000-08:00

I have this mental picture of what all of my devoted Blog readers do after work each day. They come home, loosen their tie (or big bow), pour themselves a glass of wine and flop down in their big recliner chair. As they take their first slug of wine they all think, “I wonder how Gary fills in his time in between trips?” That’s right, isn’t it? I thought so. Well, wonder no longer. This Blog is devoted to filling you all in on how I spend my time in Budapest these days when I’m not traveling.
During 2010 I made four trips between early May and mid-September. They were: Corsica, Rome, southern Turkey and Helsinki, in that order. All of the wonderful details of these trips are covered in other blog entries, so check them out when you get bored. But in between trips I stayed in and around Budapest and filled my time with all of the continuing exciting things to do here. Here is just a sampling of what I’m up to when I’m not traveling.
I got back from Nepal mid-December 2009, and didn’t travel again until May 2010. My time was filled with holidays – usually boring here, as they are dedicated mostly to family time. Lots of reading, a few movies, some concerts, pub crawls and visits, maybe a touch of karaoke, Burns suppers (you can read about those in other blogs), expat gatherings and other various forms of entertainment.
During this time I was also able to move back to my old neighborhood at Kalvin Ter, which was a major plus in my life here. Even the great rent deal I had in my previous place couldn’t substitute for the ambience of my favorite place in Budapest. After all, I did live here for seven years previously. It was so nice to be back. I’d been gone for about three years and my first week back, as I was walking down the street, my former postman recognized me and waved and said, “Szia, Gary, hogy van?” (Hi Gary, how are you?)
Damn, it was good to be home again, especially since the entire neighborhood has been refurbished by the city, with wide marble sidewalks and squares, more outdoor restaurant seating and a better pedestrian atmosphere. And best of all, I missed all the construction with its attendant noise and dust and dirt; if I’d have stayed in my old flat, I couldn’t have opened my windows for three years!
When I arrived home from Bastia (Corsica), Budapest was enjoying a spot of good weather, which quickly turned to crap, complete with rain and clouds and wind and cold and nastiness and yucchiness. I caught a few movies, did a wine tasting on the Danube at a new restaurant/wine cellar and even caught up with old buds like Jonathon Wilde, who was in town for a visit with his young lady friend Charlotte. We decided to induct Charlotte into The Stage Pub’s ambience, and she managed to distinguish herself by drinking even more than local stalwart Akos and then acting as backup singer for me and Erika. We have pictures.
And other Budapestians continued to slink back in for visits, like Mike Chew and his wife Vanessa. There was a Comedy Club and a couple of English classes and not much else, so generally I just took it easy and relaxed.
I did some admin things, like finally transferring all of my song lyrics to my new PC for posterity. I was still working slowly on my new books, and even managed to finish one of the short ones. I also continued to write reviews for a local expat internet publication, and by October I had submitted nearly 50 articles, only a few of which had been declined due to competition or favoritism or some other such nonsense. You can read these articles by pulling up Xpatloop.com and doing a search for my name in the Search space.
There was one Curry Club with friends at Salaam Bombay. Had a couple of dinners with my doctor at a new Italian place in Buda, which was great! The month of May saw yet another Eurovision contest; unfortunately, most of the performances were rather bland this year, except for one outrageous act which had the participants suddenly sprout butterfly wings; but generally disappointing, after so many fun years of outlandish acts.
There was one more Viking Club meeting before the summer closure and several good Friday gatherings at the Public Pub after the British Embassy Pub closed for the summer. I managed a couple of car trips to nearby Esztergom with friends, then drinks and munchies with several more old friends.
During this time my friend Edit had gone to work for a local Health Center and asked me to write an article on the treatment offered. She arranged a Check Up for me and the Gyalog treatment, which was a sort of advanced Reflexology procedure, actually resulted in a temporary cure for some recurring problems. In addition, it also managed to offer a short-term appetite suppression. It was great, and my article reflected the wonders of this new treatment. I only hope I can go back and get a follow-up. (Ed. Note: I did, in August, but the results weren’t as good as the first time, so I passed on any further treatments)
I decided a beach holiday was also in order for the summer, so I booked my flight and room in Side (pronounced ‘See-day’), on the Turkish Riviera, about 65 kilometers south of Antalya. Shortly after, it was finally time to go to Rome, my first visit back since 1968. Again, details can be found for both trips in other blogs.
I returned from Rome, lightly tanned, rested and full of pasta. After an abortive three-hour-late flight, I rested and took it easy for the rest of June and July. Heard a good Blues band at the Jazz Garden with friends. Had drinks and dinner with a wide variety of other friends, did some test review English classes with another friend, and managed to catch several of the World Cup football matches. Most of them were entertaining, but rather spoiled by the unsportsmanlike conduct of the South African fans who kept blowing their nonstop vuvuzuela horns, annoying players and fans alike. Too bad.
During the early summer the Budapest weather was inconsistent: it was cold one day, and in the high 80s the next. As already mentioned I managed to complete one of my short stories, Danube Dawn, only around 20,000 words. I’m still working on the other stories for yet another book, to be entitled Three for the Road. Or maybe Four, if I get creative.
We had a short but very hot spell of humid weather, with temps in the 90s and humidity in the 80-percent range. Not a breath of air stirred all day or night; brutal. I spent most of those days at a local swimming pool, immersed in the water; I managed to get a nice tan and to stay somewhat cool. My flat was a hothouse, and I had my fan on pretty much all the time I was in residence, which was as little as possible. I mostly sought out air-conditioned stores, movies, etc., to escape the miserable heat.
We continued to gather at the Public Pub on Fridays, which is air-conditioned; Surprise! The summer’s movies were generally crap, so I couldn’t even escape the heat that way. But as always happens, the weather finally broke and the nights were cool again. After I announced my upcoming trip to Side on Facebook, I got a response that one of my Hungarian friends would be there working as a tour guide (probably for Hungarian groups), so I contacted her to put me on one of their tours to Pamukkale, Turkey – the place where they have the calcium pools.
I also found a “new” bookstore in Budapest I hadn’t known of previously; lots of new and used books, and I bought several on my first visit. The clerk told me their entire inventory was online, so I could browse their stock and order what I wanted and either pick up my books or have them delivered to me! Geez. That’s almost 20th century service! What is Hungary coming to?
Even in the summer there are lots of things to do in hot Budapest. I always check our local English-language publications, hard-copy and Internet, to see what’s going on. Of course, there’s always the Hot Jazz band at Fat Mo’s on alternate Sunday evenings. Music concerts – hey, even Jerry Lee Lewis was in town! One expat magazine advertised the upcoming Jewish Summer Festival again. I attended a klezmer concert a few years back and it was so terribly boring and repetitive I left shortly after arriving. However, this year promises to be somewhat different. One of the ads touted someone called Matisyahu: the King of Hasidic Reggae. Now there’s a concert not to be missed. Also, I noted an ad in one of our local magazines for a Fish Pedicure, with a picture of tiny little fish nibbling on your feet. How can I resist?
So I whiled away the time until my next trip to Finland, for the wedding of two friends, Martin Porter (English) and Vilja Larme (Finnish). Nothing spectacular happened as I was whiling, however, but the Britannia Club re-opened on September 3, which was a nice change from the Public Pub. The welcome-back crowd was a good one, with lots of guests invited. The Club also got a new make-over as far as paint and paneling, and new furniture is expected any decade now (they don’t always put a rush order on things over there). All in all, it was a nice, lazy August.
My Finland trip is also covered on a previous blog, so check it out. And by the way, Finland was the 40th country I’ve visited in my life; not bad, hah? Back in town in mid-September, I managed a concert at a local church of classical music’s greatest hits; for the one-hour show the cost was about $33; a touch high, but a good concert.
As I was contemplating my next trips, and trying to decide whether to attend my high school class’s 50th reunion in May 2011 or my daughter’s 40th birthday party in March, I was surprised after a visit to my dentist for a cleaning when he told me I was in bad shape and needed at least three implants – NOW! While the resulting cost for much of the procedure was reasonable, the cost of the titanium implant hardware itself was around 80% of the entire expense, which then became rather outrageous. But not, of course, anywhere near as outrageous as it would be in the US.
Well, I hemmed and hawed and researched the procedure on the Internet and finally said, “Okay, let’s do it.” Luckily, my dentist let me stretch the cost out over several months. The procedure was as painless as he could make it; pulled three teeth on Monday, did the implants on Tuesday and put in the temporary bridges on Wednesday. Bing, bam, boom. Of course, I’m on soft foods until we get the permanent crowns in sometime in January (another friggin’ expense!), but I guess it had to be done.
The remainder of the autumn months were taken up with the standard entertainments, including holding a pub quiz at the British Embassy, seeing a couple of English-language plays, attending a baby shower for my Hungarian/Danish friends, and reading a lot. While always searching for new experiences (museum exhibits, new plays and music groups, etc), I ran across an ad in one of the local magazines for a ‘chocolate massage.’ It touted the health benefits of a salty and concentrated massage while covered with a cocoa butter moisturizer. Apparently, the theobromine in the cocoa fuels the fat-burning process and helps prevent aging. You get your entire body covered with chocolate and there’s even supposed to be an antioxidant chemical which helps stop skin cell damage and turns your skin baby-soft. We shall see. At worst maybe I can get the masseuse to lick it all off when the massage ends.
Being a bachelor in Budapest also has other advantages, including being invited to dinner by married and other single friends. During the Interludes this year, I had a great gourmet dinner with several English and Hungarian friends, with appropriate wines and main courses and some truly excellent cheeses at the close of festivities. Also, even though no American friends invited me for Thanksgiving this year, another English couple did get me out of the flat for a belated holiday feast, complete with turkey rolls, tons of veggies and potatoes, champagne, palinka, wines, limoncello, and more tummy-stuffing goodies. I always waddle away from the table after these meals, but they’re always worth it. Of course, I don’t have to eat again for at least a week. Yummy.
In the autumn, the old Janis Pub (theme pub named after Janis Joplin) re-opened across the street from my flat, complete with much more welcoming new managers and bartenders, so I started hanging out there for Guinness, karaoke and a general good ambience. Nice to have a local such a short crawl from home. One night in late November as I left the pub around 3 AM, I was surprised to find it was snowing! Damn! Too early in the year, a wet, heavy snow, but to be endured until a warm snap returns us to our usual late-autumn weather.
Rugby watching came to the fore in November, and we gathered at Champs Sports Pub for the Saturday afternoon events, always a fun time with the boys. Still a lot of evening entertainment to go, however, including: a couple of wine tastings, a couple of lunches and dinners at friends’ places, a really great musical evening with the Russian Jukebox trio (who sing a capella but also imitate various musical instruments! Have to be seen to be believed), some relaxing easy listening music nights, the first ever US Embassy’s Town Hall meeting with our ambassador, and, of course, too many nights at the Janis Pub drinking and singing and even dancing (that one was on my birthday night, when the pub had a great rock n’roll band playing all the oldies).
We had another good turnout for the annual Xmas champagne brunch again this year at the Marriott, where we all ate and drank too much. Was the season to be jolly and pig out. And for New Year’s Eve? Well, most clubs and pubs and restaurants and hotels offer wonderful package deals of drinks, food and music for just a small fee: one month’s salary plus your first-born child. We decided to pass on that this year and found our new favorite place, Janis Pub, was having their New Year’s bash for free, so several of us gathered there and rang in the new year with happy gusto. A good time was had by all.
January continued cold and nasty and we continued to frequent the warm and welcoming pubs for our evening entertainment. There were more of our regular gatherings now that most everyone had returned from the holidays, so I attended meetings of the Viking Club, Internations and even a wine class sponsored by a local wine company and overseen by one of my former students, so I got in free. Gotta love this town.
I continued to meet new and interesting people at the various mixers, including a lovely American tennis player from Idaho and a hotel worker from Uzbekistan. Another birthday slipped quietly past me, which was fine with me. Did some cocktail nights at the Britannia Club and local cocktail bars, and ran into some Irish contestants from the Hungarian Strongman Contest at the For Sale Pub; fortunately, none of them wanted to pick me up, which would probably have strained even their gigantic muscles.
And so another year passed. Lots of ups, a few downs, some good but not nearly enough travels and no further work done on the five books I have in progress. If you see my Muse hanging out anywhere, please send her back to me. So, all for this year. Let’s hope 2011 brings with it more adventures and travels. Lurking just over the horizon, as mentioned above, are my 50th (Gasp!) high school reunion and my daughter’s 40th (Double Gasp!!) birthday, just to remind me I’m not getting any younger. Will have to see about new travels, as it seems I’ve now visited pretty much all of the places in the world I really wanted to see. Now what?
Anyway, Happy New Year to all and to all a good night.

Finns to the Left, Finns to the Right...

2010-09-15T01:00:00.000-07:00

And so, it was off to Finland for the wedding of two friends, Martin (English) and Vilja (Finnish). We left Budapest on a sunny but cool Wednesday, September 8, planning to spend five days in beautiful downtown Helsinki. I actually had a traveling companion this time, Alan Rees, another Englishman and mutual friend of the bridal couple. He must have been a good-luck charm, as our flight to Finland went off without a hitch, on time, no turbulence, and even the Malev Airlines’ ham and cheese sandwich tasted fairly good.
A short stop at the Tourist Inform booth at the Helsinki Airport resulted in the purchase of our five-day public transportation passes, which really helped, as you’ll soon see. We hopped the airport bus to the main railway station in the center of town, then popped onto the Number 6 tram, which dropped us off just around the corner from our hotel. We had booked rooms at the Sokos Albert hotel, located in the central-western district of the city, just a five-minute walk from the church in which the wedding was to be held. Getting there was almost too easy.
I called my old Budapest friend Marianna, but she couldn’t make a meeting that night, so we arranged to meet the following evening. Both Alan and I were hungry by this time, so we caught the tram back to the railway station stop and walked a block to Helsinki’s famous Irish pub, Molly Malone’s. I’ve now been in a like-named pub in Madrid and Tallinn; wonder how many of them are scattered around Europe? Anyway, the first Guinness slid down like a lifesaver. Unfortunately, the pub didn’t serve food, so we had to go next door to Iguana for some Mexican fare, a large mixed appetizer plate and chicken burrito.
After dinner we walked down the Esplanade, two main streets divided by a grassy mid-section with trees, restaurants and a pedestrian walkway. Nice. We made sure the Gulf of Finland was still there, then strolled back to the hotel, where I dozed off watching Dick Powell as Phillip Marlowe on a local TV movie. And it’s not often I get to say that.
The next day, Thursday, started off with a nice breakfast at the hotel. We lucked onto a good deal at the hotel, as it was the best value for the money in Helsinki. Large rooms, spotlessly clean, helpful staff, good food and, as mentioned, a block away from the tram stops and three blocks from the wedding venue. It was sightseeing day for us. Alan had been to the city several years earlier, but it was my first visit, so we hopped the “sightseeing tram”, Number 3T and 3B (it was the same tram that mysteriously changed its designation twice during its circuit of the city, for reasons still unknown to us) and took off to see what Helsinki had to offer.
As it turned out, not a whole lot. We checked out the Finlandia Hall (a large concert hall), the national museum, the Rock Church (one of the better sights in town) and found the Storyville Jazz Club, where we planned to return the following night. Once again we walked the Esplanade (where I found a great bookstore – my favorite stops on my trips – bought five books) down to the Old Market Hall, which actually was interesting. Reminded me of Quincy Market in Boston, in that it had fresh food (fish, breads, meat, etc.), some tourist goodies and several small restaurants/snack stands which offered the same fresh foods.
I had the reindeer sandwich (yes, Virginia, I ate Rudolph) and Alan opted for the cheese soup. Yummy. Next, we walked around the harbor to the red-brick Uspensky Cathedral, which was, of course, closed. A small blot on an otherwise good day. We decided the hour-and-a-half harbor cruise was in order, so off we went to see the small islands that dot the bay. Cool weather, cloudy and crisp, and a nice relaxing afternoon excursion. Not a lot to see, but being on the water is always a good time. We trammed back to the hotel, grabbed a quick nap, then hooked up with Marianna around 6 PM at the Teatteri Lounge on the Esplanade, where, as we knew, we were also to meet the wedding party late on for a little pre-wedding gathering.
The beer flowed, along with some appetizers, and sure enough, a whole herd of people turned up with Martin and Vilja around 9 PM and the beer flowed even faster. It was a good evening and we got to meet lots of new people. Vilja’s sister and brother-in-law flew in from Alaska, there were people from Spain and the UK and, of course, a small but vocal Budapest contingent.
It was an interesting evening, to say the least. At one point during the festivities, a local drunken Finn flipped a sofa pillow at a couple of the girls, and had to be forcibly ejected from the premises by Martin and friends. But it was Alan who took the prize for Most Entertaining Activity when he managed to spill a tray of five full beers onto himself. It was bad enough sitting through the remainder of the evening with soaking wet pants (and underwear, of course), but he was also out 35 euros (about $50 US) when the bar wouldn’t replace the beers. Finland is expensive and chintzy.
We finally got away a little after midnight and walked back to the hotel where I was so hungry I scarfed down the pack of reindeer jerky I had bought that afternoon at the Old Market. I’d have to go back and get more.
Up early again on Friday, breakfast and away by 9:30 AM to check out the nearby amusement park. Alan is addicted to roller coasters, and has gone on roller coaster tours in Europe and the USA. He’d done this one previously, but couldn’t pass up any city which has his favorite pastime, so it was off to do it again. We got to the park by 10 AM, only to find out it didn’t open until 4 PM on this final weekend of its season. Cue the Big Sigh. Only six hours to kill, so we decided to check out the location of the wedding reception, to be sure we knew where it was going to be held. Nice restaurant, right on one of the lakes. A late morning brioche hit the spot.
OK, back on the tram where we noticed an ad for a local X-treme Car Show. What the hell, why not? We deciphered the Helsinki tram system (surprisingly easy; see how valuable our Tram Passes were?) and found the hall where the show was being held. It was now 11 AM and, naturally, the show opened at noon. This was not a surprise. We whiled away the intervening time with a light lunch and finally made our grand entrance.
Well, it was wonderful. Lots of old American muscle cars, including Dodge Challengers, a 1958 Chevrolet Corvette, Cobras, Porsches, 1930’s and ‘40’s customized hot rods, motorcycles, all sorts of automotive eye-candy for the unrepentant gearhead. You’ll have to check out some of the pictures on Facebook.
Finally it was time to get back to the roller coaster, which turned out to be (why does this seem so obvious by now) rather anti-climactic. Even Alan was somewhat disappointed, as he remembered it was tougher the first time. Of course, he had a couple of cracked ribs back then, which heightened the pain and torment of that earlier ride, so I guess anything would be easier after that. Ah, well, it was okay.
Another short nap, then off to the jazz club. We stopped next door first at St. Urho’s pub for some special English beer Alan enjoyed, Fuller ESB. I tried it and nearly spat it out it was so bitter. The bartender noted my dislike of the beer; he changed kegs and poured me another, which turned out to be ever so much better. Whew! I’d hate to think there’s a beer in the world that I don’t care for (other than the 80-shilling Heavy in Scotland, of course). We decided on dinner at the Jazz Club, and it was as close to New Orleans Cajun food as I’ve had since I was last on Bourbon Street. I had the Shrimps Bayou appetizer (served in escargot dishes; yummy) and the Jambalaya, which was lovely. Tasty and spicy, just the right combination. The only negative point in the evening was when a Finnish diner, lacking the social graces to say “Excuse me,” managed to slam his chair into our table and spill what was left of our beer – Alan once again managed a small dampness on his jeans.
The music was good and we stayed until midnight or so, when we caught one of the last trams back to the hotel. We knew Saturday would be a big day and we wanted to be rested and ready.
Up early again, we indulged in a hearty breakfast, which would last us until the late lunch planned after the wedding Managed a short stroll to another nearby market to see what they had to offer (just antiques, no big deal) and then we hiked the three short blocks to the church around 11:30 am.
The local wedding crowd had gathered, along with several other old friends from Budapest whom we hadn’t seen in some years. The church was surprisingly Spartan, done in light blue and white paint, with minimal gold decorations. Not bad. And the ceremony was another pleasant surprise, lasting just 20 minutes. Zim zam and out! Cool. We lined the path from the main door and threw our ration of rice at the happily married couple. Vilja’s father Laure had been assigned only one task as his part in the festivities, and that was to arrange transportation from the church to the reception. Well, he outdid himself. He found what was the only Checker Cab in Finland and had it waiting at the church to take Martin and Vilja to the restaurant. Well done, Laure!
The reception was held at the Töölönranta Restaurant, and if you think Hungarian is difficult to pronounce, you ain’t seen Finnish! Since it didn’t begin until 2 PM, and it was only 12:30 when the bridal party left to have their pictures taken, the rest of us naturally went to a nearby pub for some pre-reception refreshment. We finally walked over to the restaurant to begin the real party. Drinks and dinner lasted until around 8 o’clock or so that evening, by which time Yours Truly was well on my way to oblivion. We were headed for the Storyville Jazz Club once again and their evening’s performance of Cajun music.
The rest of the evening, reported on below, was obtained from eye-witness accounts, as my evil twin Skippy made his appearance; obviously I was in too bad a shape from then on to remember much of anything. I’d been drinking wine all afternoon and, when we hit the jazz club, Alan apparently bought me a beer. Gee, thanks so much. I was told Skippy danced with at least one large Finnish woman during the course of the evening, in addition to our Serbian friend Katarina, up from Budapest. Finnish women must be used to dancing with inebriated Finnish men, as the country reportedly has the highest percentage of alcoholics in Europe. So, Hey! When in Helsinki…..Besides, dancing with large women is pretty much required when Cajun music is being played.
I was told the following day that late Thursday night Skippy distinguished himself again when he had to be pushed up the spiral staircase at the jazz club and out the front door, where he needed assistance getting to the tram. Katarina also had to keep propping him up in his tram seat, as he kept nodding off and trying to slip onto the floor of the tram. Obviously, not a pretty picture. Anyway, she got poor old Skippy back to the hotel somehow, and he made it into his room somehow, and the next thing I remember is waking up Sunday morning to the sound of a CNN commentator telling me the weather in Brazil. Dick Powell was long gone.
Sunday was not one of my more auspicious days. My stomach felt like that Checker Cab was driving around in it and my head felt like Alan’s roller coaster on the downswing. My eyes remained mere slits all day long and I responded to any questions with grunts and groans and generally failed to be understood. After consuming three bacon sandwiches for breakfast, we met some of the wedding party for brunch at a nearby café. I staggered back to the hotel for a much-needed nap and finally succumbed to Alan’s pounding on my door to get up for dinner. The weather had changed and it was spitting or misting (anyway, doing something wet), so we hustled over to the Amarillo restaurant, near Molly Malone’s (where we were to meet everyone once again at 8 PM for Irish music).
I nearly revived with a giant hamburger and some fries, but slumped back down when we got to the bar and were informed the music didn’t start until 10 PM. Scheisse! I still couldn’t drink anything alcoholic, so took it easy with Cokes until 10 PM, when we were told by the bar staff that the upstairs concert area was now open and the music would begin at 10:30. Well, Hell! Is there some problem with giving people the correct information in Finland?
Anyway, we perched on our barstools expectantly when, at exactly 10:30 (at least they were punctual), two guitars and a drum started playing noisy, loud, un-Irish rock music. What?! Yep, no Irish music that night. Molly Malone’s had good Guinness, but the staff had world-class poor communication skills. Damn! I only lasted about another hour or so, and finally slid off my barstool and found a tram back to the hotel. Sorry, Group, I had planned Sunday as a day of rest and recovery, and never had the chance to do so. Maybe next time.
Monday was our last day in Helsinki, as our plane was to leave around 4:30 PM. We took the opportunity to check out a couple of final sights (Hakaniemi Market, Senate Square, which was surrounded by gaily-painted bears, Finland’s national symbol) and bought our souvenirs at the Old Market Hall. I ended up with more reindeer meat, some famous Finnish black bread and a bottle of Mintu, peppermint-flavored Finnish liqueur.
Our trip home was easy and nap-filled, and we caught our buses and metros just as we got to the platforms, so I made it back to my flat by 7 PM. It was a good trip to a city whose character is difficult to summarize. The weather cooperated by being sunny and nice most of the time, with just a few minor misty mornings.
But it was definitely a worthwhile trip, filled mostly with interesting new people, and I have to say that now I am…..wait for it…..yep, you got it…..Finnished!

The Right 'Side'

2010-08-07T23:35:00.000-07:00

Actually, it’s pronounced “See-day,” and it’s a small peninsular town on the southern Turkish coast, about 65 kilometers southeast of Antalya. I’d always heard good things about the “Turkish Riviera” and, after significant Web searches, I settled on this area. It’s a touch awkward to get to – fly from Budapest to Istanbul, then to Antalya, then bus or taxi or private car to Side – but, as it turned out, it was definitely worth the effort.
Side is an ancient Roman port city, and the stubby peninsula on which it is built is surrounded by a seafront wall which encloses the entire touristy beach resort town. I arrived from Budapest (after a too-brief connecting time at Istanbul airport, where I had to jump the visa line and then do an OJ run through to the Domestic Terminal, skidding up to the gate just as my flight was boarding) and was met by Huseyin, the driver arranged by the Beach House hotel, my home for the next five days. After a fairly quick fifty-minute drive, we wound our way through the old town and pulled up in front of the hotel, located on the southeast side of the town, on top of the seafront wall, around 8:30 at night.
I was hot and sweaty and dirty, the temperature was in the 90s (around 33 degrees C) and the humidity had to be at least 85%. Southern Turkey was experiencing its most unseasonable heat wave in decades and I had stumbled into it. Oh, frabjous joy. For the next five days, not a breeze, not a moving leaf on any droopy tree, not an inch of dry skin anywhere on any of the bodies ambling around the town. It was so hot and humid, my plastic medication capsules melted together. Really.
The family-owned and operated Beach House hotel, small (20 rooms) and cozy and nice and filled with character did not, unfortunately, have air conditioning. Just a ceiling fan. As a result, I sent most of each day chest-deep in the Mediterranean Sea at the small private beach just below my hotel.
But what a relaxing, pleasant stay it was. Side has something for everyone: generally good weather, a cooling sea, water sports, boat rides, Roman ruins (including an amphitheater still used for concerts), good Turkish food, sand beaches, amazingly friendly and happy and generous people, pretty young girls in bikinis, Turkish baths, families who have been coming here for years, generally good prices, cold beer and, best of all, no McDonald’s. Or Pizza Hut, Burger King, KFC. In fact, virtually no Americans. One shopkeeper called his staff to welcome me as the first American he had had in his store all year! Cool; I remain unique.
I checked into my clean and neat room (small, but what do you expect for 18 euros per night – about $23 US), turned on the fan, showered (didn’t take; 2 minutes later I was soaked with sweat), changed into the coolest clothes I could find (light shorts, tank top and sandals) and went down to the open lobby area in search of a cold beer.
At that point I met up with Pat and Norman, and elderly English couple from Chester who had been coming to the Beach House for more than 20 years. They pointed me in the direction of the cold beer, which I got and chugged down half of it immediately, which was necessary in that heat as within two minutes the cold beer had turned warm. I’m telling you, Readers, it was HOT! I called my Hungarian friend Natali, who was in Side working for a local travel agency, and we arranged to meet Saturday evening for a drink. I finished off my beer and another while talking to Pat and Norman about the area, restaurants, hotels, shops, etc.
I finally decided a walk was in order, to check out the town, so I staggered away down the top of the seafront wall toward the end of the peninsula (Hey! After two beers with alcohol content of 5%, and in temperatures above 100 degrees, you’d stagger too). I walked past restaurants and souvenir shops and finally came to the tip of the town, marked by the ruins of the Temple of Apollo. Great setting. I turned right and wandered toward the small harbor, encountering a heavier concentration of the aforementioned tourist sights, then came to the eastern side of Side (looks silly when you write it, doesn’t it?).
In short, Side is a tourist town. Every street is packed with restaurants, souvenir shops selling much of the same crap you find anywhere, bars, tiny markets and beach resort stores. The town was alive with tourists: English, German, Scandinavian, Russian, etc. The Germans were the heaviest lot, and even the local merchants all spoke German, the better to separate the German tourists from their euros. All the people from those cold countries came here to get warm.
Anyway, it was just a quick stroll to check out the area. I made it back to the hotel a ball of sweat. Another shower didn’t help, and there was virtually no breeze even on my seaside terrace. So I lay down on my soon-to-be sweat-soaked bed, under the ceiling fan, and eventually managed to fall asleep. A good but hot first evening.
Next morning I was up and at ‘em at 7 o’clock, ready for breakfast at 7:30. Naturally, they didn’t start serving until 8. Story of my life, always too damn early. So I went for a morning swim instead. The water was nice and cool, as even at that time of the early morning the temperature was in the 80s. Dried off and walked back up the stairs to find my typical Turkish breakfast in the hotel: tomatoes, hard-boiled egg (in an egg cup, no less!), two cheese slices, sliced cukes¸ bread, watermelon slice and some small unidentifiable raisin-type things. The hotel also advertised a full English breakfast served all day (at an extra price), but it was just too hot to eat so much so early.
I whiled away the rest of the morning at the beach, mostly in the water. I lunched back at the hotel’s seafront wall around noon, then scampered back in the water. To my surprise, the beach was actually sand instead of the rocks I had anticipated, so I didn’t even need my Teva sandals. After spending most of the afternoon in the water and lazing on a lounge chair, I showered and met Natali, my Hungarian friend, at the hotel around five for cocktails. We chatted and walked around the town, with her giving me some of the local history and tips on which restaurants to avoid.
After she left I was once again a ball of sweat, with beads of moisture on my arms, back, legs, face, etc. The sweat just rolled off me. I grabbed a burger at the hotel, as I was just too tired and hot to walk to a restaurant. My room fan tried its best, but was just barely able to cope with the heat. I tossed and turned and finally drifted off again.
Sunday morning, August 1, I arose around 7:30 for breakfast at 8. My sheets and pillow were damp with perspiration. I showered off then took a morning walk to the Roman ruins at the entrance to Side. I came back after a stroll around the peninsula, had breakfast (the same as the previous day; in fact, the breakfast was the same every day), and hit the sea again as quickly as possible.
Since I was back in Turkey, I needed to visit the hamam (Turkish bath), so I made arrangements with one of the big tourist hamams to pick me up around 11 AM. The hamam was definitely a modern representation of the older ones I had visited in other cities. And it was coed! The entire procedure of steam rooms, Jacuzzi, wash, cool down, face mask and massage (I looked like the Green Hornet) ran 100 euro – expensive for what I got. Next time, back to the older, more established hamam. My masseur made certain to hang around the desk when I paid so I’d feel guilty and give him a tip. As a result, his tip wasn’t quite as big as it could have been. The Turks obviously need to bone up on tipping etiquette.
The hamam’s car drove me back to town and I stopped off to check out the amphitheater. What an anti-climactic ripoff. It cost 10 Turkish Lire (TL) – around 5 euro, or $7 US, to enter. I walked into the entryway, up some stairs and was standing inside the amphitheater. There was no place to go and nothing to do except look at the stones and seat and rows. Turn left, walk about 20 meters, then back down some inside stairs and out. I was inside all of five minutes. Boooo.
Walked slowly back to the hotel and jumped in the sea again – I told you, that’s where I spent most of my days. Had a nice chicken kebab for lunch, accompanied by a nice breeze for a change. Showered in the late afternoon and decided to walk the town again, checking out all the tourist shops – and there are legion. But the merchants were really nice and courteous. Several of them offered me some tea, not to entice me into their shop to buy anything, just as a nice gesture. Picked up a few souvenirs for the grandkids anyway, then headed back to the hotel where I showered (again!) and walked down to a small bar called Kiss, where I had a nice cold Efes beer.
I got the name of what was supposed to be a good seafood restaurant from one of the merchants, and went over there to meet the maitre d’ named Imran. He was pleasant and courteous, and told me he’d fix me up with a mixed seafood platter: lobster (a small amount), two giant shrimp (love that oxymoron), some fried calamari, potatoes, a dish of mezes (dip appetizers with veggies and bread) and a nice bottle of white wine.
Well, it was quite good and filling and I drank most of the wine. I was supposed to be getting a good deal, so you might imagine my surprise when my bill came; on a piece of paper was written the figure 260 TL. 260 Turkish Lira, which equals around 130 euros, which translates into about $170 US. I almost shot Imran on the spot. But I hadn’t checked a menu or asked the prices, so I was stuck – again. The meal was good, but not THAT good! I must have a sign on my forehead that says ‘Stupid Tourist.’ Ah, well, that’s what credit cards are for. Thus endeth Sunday.
(Ed. Note: The seafood in the area is not particularly wonderful, as there is no local fishing industry)
Monday I was up early again, true to form, and back in the sea by 9 AM. I stayed there and on the beach until lunchtime, when I dried off and walked into the main part of town for some cheap food. I found a nice kebab place (after the previous night, I couldn’t afford much more than that) and had a kebab and soft drink. At least the tiny kebab shop was air conditioned in the rear. I stayed as long as I dared, then went shopping again for souvenirs. I finally found a gift for Tony, my son-in-law, who is very difficult to buy for: a Harley Davidson T-shirt (because he has a Harley) with the country name on the back: Turkey. I try to find these for him wherever I go, but haven’t always been so lucky.
I walked by Imran’s place and he rushed out to greet me (as well he should!). He offered me two colas, so we sat and chatted for awhile, which was nice, but not worth the price I paid for dinner. Ah, well, when in Turkey.
I showered and relaxed and had a beer on the hotel’s terrace, waiting for the 8 o’clock dinner hour at the hotel, when a barbecue would be served for the guests who were interested. Naturally I was, as the cost was only 20 TL and I got to meet several of the other guests, including a couple from Edinburgh and two teachers from Yorkshire. A really pleasant dinner.
After dinner I made arrangements to go on a river rafting trip the following day, pickup at the town entrance at 8:50 AM, so I turned in early. Sure enough, the van arrived on time to pick up myself and another couple, the first ones on the list. For the next hour we ran around gathering up the rest of the rafters, then finally headed into the nearby mountains to the raft site. We had our briefing, got our life vests and paddles (and helmets for some, but not for Yours Truly; I have rafted the Taos Gorge and a Nepal river, after all), trudged over to a nearby small waterfall for a photo op (the Turks used every opportunity to try and squeeze that last little bit of cash out of our grubby little hands) and finally to the rafts.
We were separated into nationality groups, so I got on an English-speaking raft. There were nine of us, but three were children who weren’t allowed to paddle and who just hung on for dear life. The six of us, plus our Raft Master, Ali Karim, headed out into the Yoprulu Canyon River, which had to be one of the prettiest rivers I’ve ever seen. It put the trashed US rivers to shame. It was green and clear and cold, around 55 degrees F, which made it invigorating when we wanted to escape the hot air in the canyons; all we needed to do was flip over the side of the raft and we were cool again.
For all you rafters out there, it was a nice outing, but it was just a Class 2 river, so no real challenges at all. But we floated down the minimal rapids and had water fights and rammed other rafts and chanted our rowing chants and swam alongside the raft and just had a generally good time. We stopped for a drink break and lunch, and finally emerged four hours later to head back to the hotel. A good day. And yes, I did buy a couple of photos of me rafting, plus a CD which goes to Morgan eventually.
Back at the hotel for a shower and a walk around looking for dinner. I had my only bad experience that night at a restaurant called Nergiz, right on the harbor. Overpriced, the waiters had a bad attitude and hassled me regarding my order, so I paid for my water and took off. I guess every trip has to have at least one bad experience. I posted a very negative review of the place on Trip Advisor, and I hope no one ever goes there again. So there.
I wandered some more and finally found myself at Stones restaurant. The host/hawker was friendly and courteous and we discussed the menu and my choices before I sat down. Another good experience. This time I had the durum kebab, which is like a chicken (or beef) stew made and served in a clay pot, which is surrounded by fire. Once the waiter puts out the fire, he takes a hammer and begins tapping the outside of the pot in a circle, eventually getting to the point where the pot breaks at the tapping area and he just lifts it off. A cool dinner show.
Back at the hotel, I was informed the Jacuzzi was once again filled with cool water, so I took advantage of it and took a dip. Aaah, it felt good and was a much-needed balm to my poor sweat-covered bod.
So, Wednesday, my last day in Side. I slept late for some reason, but had breakfast and spent much of the morning in the sea. The weather was still brutal, no breeze at all and the temp still over the hundred mark. I managed as best I could, and spent part of the late afternoon in the cool Jacuzzi talking with an English couple. Another shower (didn’t take) and off for dinner.
I walked around awhile, but finally wound up at the Gül restaurant, right around the corner from my hotel, which had been highly touted on Trip Advisor. I check these things out before I travel, just so I can choose the best places to visit. Anyway, the dining experience at Gül was perfect. Maybe better! The price was right – steak and garnishes and chocolate cake and a beer for around 24 euro - $32 US. A bargain. Plus, the manager gave me a complimentary small plate of mezes appetizers, some nuts and grapes after dinner, and two (count ‘em folks, two) shots of raki, the local Turkish answer to ouzo. Great place, highly recommended. Gets the Gary Seal of Approval.
I came back to the hotel and packed up my stuff. My plane was scheduled to leave at 6:45 the following morning, so I decided, rather than go to sleep, just to stay up until my driver appeared around 4:30 to take me to the airport. So I read books and lazed around and then managed to nap during the drive. Got to the airport around 5:30 and was told my plane would be an hour late. Figures. I could have slept after all.
The plane finally took off and I napped again to Istanbul, where I followed my previous trek in reverse to the International Terminal. I had plenty of time this time around, so didn’t have to hurry. Cleared Passport Control and found my gate (after an abortive search for the wrong posted gate) and the plane got off around 12:30, only 45 minutes late. Once again, a nap into Budapest, and arrived home around 3 PM. Unpacked, showered and crashed. I slept until 7 o’clock the next morning. I was bushed.
So, it was another successful vacation. I really like Turkey, international and government concerns notwithstanding. Every time I’ve been there, the people have been pleasant and helpful and welcoming and friendly. The country is generally very clean and trash-free, much more so than some of the western countries I’ve been in. The ‘riviera’ is quite popular with tourists from the northern climes, especially Englishmen, who can run around all day and night without their shirts. The English (men only, as far as I can tell) have this penchant for removing their shirts whenever they can, especially when drinking. I’m not sure why, and so far no one has been able to enlighten me.
I’ll be at home for a month, then off to Helsinki, Finland, for the wedding of a couple of friends of mine. Never been there before, so should be another interesting time. No plans yet for my winter trip, but will start looking soon. Maybe some diving in Jordan. We shall see. Until then, So Long, Bloggers. Catch you next time.

Livin' La Dolce Vita

2010-06-23T00:27:00.001-07:00

Okay, so I didn’t actually frolic in the Trevi Fountain (the lurking Carabinieri sort of put one off for that), but I did throw my coin in, which means I’ll return to Rome again. It took me 42 years to get back after my first visit, but, Hey! I made it!
Actually, it was great to visit one of the world’s most wonderful cities once again. The architecture and feel of ancient Rome, the little narrow side streets filled with surprises, the relaxed ambience and, of course, the incredible food. Everything seems to taste better in Rome. The food, the wine, the air, even the water. The homemade bread burst like a flavored explosion on the tongue. The pasta, served at least seven hundred different ways (and I’m sure there’s a seven-hundred-first I missed) urges the food lover to search for a new and better trattoria, the better to try new and even better dishes. What a treat for the senses.
Okay, so, this time I traveled with a couple of friends from Budapest, Mike and Ida Apted (he’s English and in his sixties, she’s Hungarian and ageless). We took an evening flight to Rome on Thursday, June 17, just one hour and 25 minutes away – and costing just $90 US on Wizz Air’s discount airlines. Ida had booked a taxi to the hotel (60 euro!, but it was nearly 11 PM by the time we got our bags and got out of the airport), which got us there easily and in comfort. The weather was hot and humid, and we hoped it would continue during our long weekend stay.
We arrived at the Hotel Julia in Central Rome around 11:30 PM. The hotel, a small but acceptable three-star establishment, is on a side street just a minute or two from the Piazza Barberini, which is also the start of the famous Via Veneto. The rooms are basic and, in my case, did not have an en suite shower (it was just down the hall), but since I spend very little time in my hotel when I travel it was certainly adequate. And it was clean and the bathrooms spotless, which pretty much fulfills my requirements.
I was starved by the time we arrived, so I hastened over to the Piazza and found a late-night snack bar where I had a couple of pieces of nice oily pizza and a fruit smoothy. Yum.
Up bright and early Friday morning for breakfast at the hotel, then out onto the streets of Rome. I still remembered the sights I saw back in 1968, but had no idea how I got to them, so, armed with a map of the city, I was off and running. I probably walked at least five miles that first day, but I saw a lot. First it was over to the Trevi Fountain, about five minutes from the hotel down some neat side streets. I turned a corner and suddenly there it was in all its glory. What a treasure. I stared at it for awhile, then set off again for the Colosseum.
I walked down to the Vittorio Emanuel monument, the huge white building referred to locally as The Typewriter or The Wedding Cake, circled around to the left and passed Trajan’s Column on my way to the Forum, about another hundred meters or so on the right. I had not been able to walk the Forum during my last visit, so I made up for that lapse this morning. Bought a multiple ticket for admittance to the Forum, Palatine Hill and the Colosseum, which turned out to be quite handy.
Wandered the Forum for awhile, lost in antiquity, then emerged near the Colosseum – or Flavian Amphitheater, as it was originally called. Got to the entrance to find three access lanes: one was for groups, which contained about 700 people, one was for people waiting to buy tickets, and contained about 600 people, and the center lane was for people who already had tickets (Me!), so I walked right in – no waiting. How do I do it?
Wandered the Colosseum for awhile, then down past the Arch of Constantine to the Circus Maximus (or what’s left of it, which is just a grassy field), and across the Tiber into the Trastevere section for more jaunts down those great Roman side streets. It was nearly lunch time, so I decided I needed food and drink. My map indicated a Scottish pub in the center of town, and also stated that if I showed the map I’d get a 15% discount. Cool. So I trudged off for the long trek.
I was dragging by this time, as I always tend to overdo the walking my first day anywhere, but finally managed to find the Nag’s Head Inn, which was just opening. I was the only customer. I’d passed several inviting Irish pubs along the way, but I was aiming for that 15% discount. I hiked myself onto a barstool and ordered a McFarland’s Scottish ale – cold and delicious. Yum. Refreshed, I thought I’d try a nearby pasta place I’d also found on the Net, so asked for my bill and showed the waiter my discount map. He was Italian and surly and immediately said, “No discount.” I argued sort of half-seriously and half-jokingly, but he wouldn’t budge. No matter what my map said, no discount. I was not happy. So, DO NOT go to the Nag’s Head when in Rome. That’ll teach ‘em.
Found my pasta place on another side street near the Trevi Fountain and had a wonderful lunch of spaghetti and clams, along with another beer. Aaaahhh, this is the life.
Caught a short nap at the hotel, then hooked up with my traveling companions for dinner. They’d put me in charge of restaurants, and I’d found a beauty for our first night in Rome: Africa, an Ethiopian restaurant where you eat with your fingers. Just a short 15-minute walk from the hotel in the warm Rome evening. Good food, good ambience and more beer. The food was placed on top of thinly-baked bread, with the consistency of American pancakes, only with a better cohesiveness. Then you peeled off some bread and goodies (meat, sauces, etc) and popped it into your eagerly-waiting mouth. Mmmm. A successful first evening in Rome.
Saturday was another full walking day. I hiked off to the Spanish Steps, again about 10 minutes from the hotel. I arrived at the top of the Steps, and immediately noticed a lovely little restaurant overhanging one side. I knew that would be tonight’s dinner place. I’d come back at lunchtime when they were open and make our reservations. Meanwhile, I descended the Spanish Steps, still a cool place to be, to the Piazza di Spagna and its designer shops and stores. Walked over to the Piazza Navona, which I remembered from my last visit, then checked out something called the Time Elevator, a visual experience tracing 2700 years of Rome’s history. It was okay, killed 30 minutes and 12 euro, and at least it was cool inside.
Walked over to the Pantheon, which was undergoing renovation, so there was lots of scaffolding all over the front. The inside was still interesting; it’s pretty basic; the top is a large dome with a hole at its apex, to let in sunlight and rain and birds. Amazingly enough, there were literally dozens of tourists taking pictures of the hole! Craning their necks, even lying on the floor to get a better angle. What possible artistic interest can there be in a photograph of a hole in the roof?
Anyway, had a light lunch at a nearby trattoria, walked back to La Palazzetto restaurant at the Spanish Steps to make our dinner reservations, then repaired to the Hard Rock Café on the Via Veneto for more air-conditioned comfort and one of the World Cup football matches. It was Japan vs. Netherlands, so there were lots of orange jerseys in evidence. I was surprised to notice, however, that when I ordered another beer the bartender poured it in the same glass as my previous beer. I expected more of the Hard Rock. It was, however, a nice afternoon.
Met Mike and Ida around 7 PM and we walked to the Spanish Steps and dinner. My friends were pleased and impressed with the location, food, ambience (real tablecloths!) and the young British couple seated next to us. I am now the King of Restaurant Selections – at least in Rome. Had a wonderful meal, more pasta and salads, then walked down the Spanish Steps and mingled with the crowds. There was a military-type band playing on the Steps, which was fun and entertaining. No karaoke, though.
We strolled the nighttime streets around the Trevi Fountain, browsing in stores and shops, spotting places to which to return for shopping on Monday, our last day in Rome. A nice casual evening. The weather was still holding, hot and humid, but with a gentle cool breeze at night. Couldn’t have been better.
Sunday we all hooked up for the day and decided to visit the Rome Catacombs. Metro-ed to the southeast corner of the city, then took a ten-minute bus ride to the appropriate area. A short walk and we paid our money and caught the next guided tour in English down into the burial place of the ancient Romans. Interesting place, with small vaults cut into the lava rock up the sides of the tunnels, some larger rooms that served as vaults for popes and other high officials. There were no more bones in the part we toured, as they had been exhumed some time ago and carted down to the third level. Of course, it was rather cool 30 meters down in the ground and our tour, which lasted about 45 minutes, was long enough. At the end, our guide told us that over the centuries about half a million people were buried in this one catacomb. Half a million people? Damn! I had no idea.
We bused and metro-ed back to the city center, to the Piazza del Popolo. After a short sojourn in one of the ubiquitous Roman churches, (due to the rain, on my part, at least), we stopped at a small trattoria for pizza and beer, another good meal. Mike and Ida then continued on to the Piazza Navona and I split off to find the Trinity College Irish pub and that day’s World Cup match between Italy and New Zealand. The pub gradually filled up with fans from everywhere and I watched the entire match. Italy dominated the match but just couldn’t score and it ended in a 1-1 tie. But I had my Guinness, so was happy.
We were all pretty tired out by then, so opted for dinner at a nearby restaurant. As it was Sunday, many of the shops and restaurants were closed anyway, so we really didn’t have much of a choice. At any rate, it was still a nice place, small but good food. I had the Fettucine Alfredo and enjoyed every bite. A post-dinner limoncello at the Pub Albert rounded off the evening.
Monday was our last day in Rome, but our flight didn’t leave until after 10 o’clock that night, so we had, effectively, one more full day in Rome. Naturally, the major concern was that we had all done all of the sightseeing we wanted to do, so were sort of at loose ends. Anyway, we decided to go to the train station in the morning and check out the procedures for getting to the airport by train, and also to buy our tickets. Well, it was the morning from hell, a real stress walk around the Termini station. It’s huge and only fairly well signed, so it took us a long time to find what we needed. After about an hour of searching and asking and trying, we finally got our tickets for that evening and also located the way to our track – 400 meters from the station! That’s a quarter of a mile. Good thing we did our reccy early so we knew what to expect later. I was developing shin splints by then, but soldiered on.
We walked back to the metro, which was another labyrinth in itself; at any moment I expected the Minotaur to leap out from behind a pillar. It must have been nearly another quarter-mile walk from the train station to the metro line.
We left our bags in the hotel and split up to do some shopping. I bought a few fun things – colored and strangely-shaped pasta, a bottle of good limoncello (Italian lemon-flavored liqueur) and some nice olive oil. We hooked up again for lunch at a really neat little nearby trattoria, the outside of which was covered with leaves and ivy and flowers, a real country haven in the middle of Rome. And the food was, once again, delicious. My pasta with seafood was yummy, as always, but the homemade bread they served with it was scrumptious – I must have eaten half a loaf easily. Really tasty.
We finished off our afternoon at the Hard Rock café watching half of another football match and sucking down more limoncellos. Around 5 PM, we collected our bags and caught the metro to the Termini train station. Our earlier scouting expedition paid off, as we immediately found our way to our track; and yes, it was at least a quarter of a mile away. Long damn haul. The walk was partially alleviated by moving sidewalks; however, they moved at a snail’s pace so it probably took us longer to use them than it would have if we’d have walked. But we were all pretty wiped out by then, so what the heck.
As we got to the correct track our train was getting ready to depart, so we caught a break there and 30 minutes later arrived at Fiumicino airport. It was then around 6:30 PM. Mike’s web ticket said the check-in counter opened at 7:45 PM, so we had a light snack in the airport restaurant and got in line to check in. Of course, the counter didn’t open until nearly 8:45 PM, another long wait in line. At least we were first.
Checked in and did some more duty-free browsing, waiting for our boarding, which was to start around 9:45 PM. Well, Patient Reader, I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice it to say there were aircraft problems which delayed and delayed and delayed our flight so that we didn’t leave Rome until around one o’clock in the morning, arriving in Budapest at 2:30 AM. Got that – AM? Beat and tired and sweaty and yucchy. We shared a taxi to Kalvin Ter where I said a final arreviderci and crawled into bed, not to awaken until late Tuesday morning. Thus endeth our Rome adventure.
And it was a wonderful weekend trip. I did everything I wanted to do and re-acquainted myself with the good memories from 42 years in the past. Some things I decided to pass on, as I just wasn’t interested this time around. I didn’t see the Vatican or St. Peter’s or the Sistine Chapel again. I knew I’d just get depressed thinking about all that panoply and riches built on the backs and pennies of the poor and ignorant followers around the world.
Anyway, I’d seen a previous pope, John XXIII, out at Castel Gondolfo, his summer palace, in 1968. As we waited in the audience chamber, everyone was hushed, and I expected a quiet reverence when he finally came in. The doors opened and he was carried in on his palanquin by his Nubian slaves and the crowd went wild. They started cheering! “Yay, pope!” “Alright Papa!” “Gimme a ‘P’, gimme an ‘O’….” You get the picture. I must admit to surprise at the noise and cheering, as I thought a more toned-down reverence would have been in order.
I failed to visit the Campidoglio again and didn’t do a Tiber cruise. I didn’t visit any of the museums this time and missed out on a famous tourist restaurant, Fettucine Alfredo, owned by its namesake who prepares his signature dish with solid gold fork and spoon presented to him (or his ancestor) by Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks – or so goes the advertising hype. Maybe next time. And I missed Harry’s Bar, where a simple meal will set you back 50 euro without drinks. Pass.
But I did throw a coin over my shoulder into the Trevi Fountain, so I will undoubtedly return to Rome again someday. I can but hope.

Corsican Adventure

2010-05-06T13:24:00.000-07:00

And so I returned from Nepal, tanned, rested and ready. I got up early to see Sandra off to her work and to say goodbye and thank her again for her generosity in letting me stay at her place for a whole month. We did our hugs and waves, and she was off to work. She called a few minutes later to ask me to have her driver return and pick her up, as she needed to go to the doctor. It seems her long trip from the states, and staying in her airplane seat the entire time, sleeping and not moving, had left her with a pain in her leg that had become worrisome.
To make a long story shorter, she had a blood clot in her leg and came home to rest for awhile. Macha finally ran me to the airport. I checked in and then ran the gauntlet of security and x-ray machines to the “Lounge Area,” a large, Spartan hall where one could do anything except lounge. The security checks were many and varied. I was x-rayed and passported and screened and scanned and finally my carry-on bag was literally turned upside down and its contents dumped out onto a table and thoroughly scrutinized before I was allowed to get anywhere near the emplaning ramp.
I sat in the Lounge Area for a couple of hours and then got to pass through one final security check, this time a pat-down, before getting on the bus for the plane. As I was walking from the terminal to the bus, I happened to look up at the nearby horizon and what do you think? Yep, the skies had cleared and the Himalayas were bright and beautiful in all their glory. I got to see the peaks for about 20 seconds on the day I left Nepal.
My plane this time was one of Qatar Airline’s newest, with several innovations. Each seatback contained a PC screen with selections of movies, TV shows, games, etc., all controlled via touch-screen technology. Cool. And the overhead bulkhead space with its ‘fasten seat-belt’ light and ‘no smoking’ light also now had a ‘no mobile phone’ light. Excellent.
I checked the TV shows on my PC and found some US shows I’d vaguely heard about, but obviously never seen: 30 Rock and The Big Bang Theory. Not a huge choice in TV shows. Oh, well, why not, how bad could they be? As it turned out, even worse than I’d imagined – and I have a great imagination. 30 Rock was one of the most insipid, gratuitously stupid shows I have ever seen. American TV seems to have hit a new low in inanity and pointless offerings. The acting was execrable, the plot was silly and the characters were buttock-clenchingly annoying. The Big Bang Theory was marginally better than 30 Rock, but that’s like saying being forced to drink your own piss is marginally better than being forced to eat your own shit.
Those two programs have cured me forever of watching US television sitcoms. Never again. I searched the movies and found, to my immense surprise, Young Frankenstein. I happily whiled away a couple of hours satisfying myself that comedic genius still exists in the world of cinema, then napped the rest of the time.
My 7 hour and 40 minute Qatar flight left on time and I vowed to sleep as much as I could before getting to Gatwick, but only managed a few hours overall.
We finally boarded our plane and got underway only one hour late. Good old Malev Airlines and the Hungarian cavalier attitude toward punctuality.
My buddy Mike Apted was waiting for me,and 20 minutes later I opened the door to my little flat for the first time in a month. It was warm and cozy, which was even better, as the outside temperature was hovering near freezing. There had been snow all over the ground at the airport. It was winter here! I’d left Nepalese daytime temperatures in the high sixties to come back to this. Weather shock!
Yes, it was December 18 again, which means yet another birthday for yours truly. The holiday season was full as always. I did the rounds of parties and dinners and wine tastings and generally had a quiet New Year’s Eve.
After the first of the year I happened upon a flat for rent in my old Kalvin Ter neighborhood, 40 square meters, small but nice, with a view of Gellert Hill; the total outlay was around the same as my present flat, so I figured why not. In short, I took it.
More socializing followed during the next few months, along with my gradual move to my new flat. I managed to catch the new Sherlock Holmes flick – not bad, depicts he and the good Dr. Watson as 30-something supermen, fighting and brawling and having a great old time of it. Not sure if that’s what Mr. Conan Doyle was thinking of when he first began his scribblings about these characters, but guess it’s the modern version. Of course, having grown up on the old 1930’s B&W movies featuring Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce as the Dynamic Duo of their day, guess I’m still sort of biased in thinking of them as a more intellectual team of crime solvers.
Attended a Pub Quiz at a local pub (how appropros) and also, after a hiatus of several months, reconnected with my young Hungarian lady friend, which is always a nice reunion. Turns out she was in jail in Vienna, Austria (hanging out with the wrong friends), and was deported from Austria and told not to come back for ten years. Can I pick ‘em or what?
But mostly during the middle of January I was occupied with moving flats and sorting out finances resulting therefrom. February continued the social whirl with the three Burnas Suppers, Curry Club and reugby.
And by the way, it’s now official: this is the WORST winter since I moved here in 1999. Budapest has had more than three feet of snow dumped on it, and there’s probably more to come. It just keeps on snowing, and lots of businesses and stores have closed as people can’t get to work. If I lived outside of the city, I’d be basically stranded. At least I’m back in my old neighborhood and can walk to the stores and pubs – if they’re open, of course..
March and April, just more of the same. Judged a couple of speech contests, and attended the St. Dyvdd’s celebration at the Corinthia hotel. Of course, the only connections with Wales I have ever had were a t-shirt I had long ago with the inscription Save the Wales; and, of course, I once knew a guy who welshed on a bet. That’s it.
I attended an international Indian traditional dance performance and found a great little English-style pub near Deák Tér – The Public Pub. It has two levels, no tvs, no kitchen (a couple of bar snacks only), and Guinness at 690 forints a pint! That’s about $3.50 a pint, undoubtedly the best prices in town – hope they last awhile. It’s a great place for conversations with no distractions.
I also picked up another English class, so now have two, which fills up my Tuesday afternoons and early evening and, not incidentally, pays my rent. I evencaught a couple of museum exhibits.
A nice surprise was a Friday evening phone call from Matt Bresler, former Budapest resident, who was back in town for the weekend. He joined several of us at the For Sale pub later that night. The big surprise was that Matt has hair! We met a few more times over the weekend and got caught up on all the news.
My past expertise was also called into play when I was asked to do an audit of the books of the Britannia Club, which revealed some very interesting procedures on their part. A few more busy nights and then it was time to head off once again. Luckily, the Icelandic volcano’s ash was pretty much dissipated by the time I was to leave, so I got off okay. Had to fly to Charles de Gaulle aiport in Paris, then bus over to Orly for the final leg of my flight to Bastia in Corsica.
Naturally, to make my connection I had to allow plenty of layover time between CDG and Orly, so I took the early flight – up at 4 AM, to CDG by 9:30 AM or so, bus to Orly (at 19 euro!) and six hours later off to Corsica from Orly. Yucchh. But it all went OK, and I bussed in from the Bastia airport (another 9 euro) and walked to my hotel, which was the only one in Bastia facing the sea.
I arrived around 6 PM, dumped my stuff in the hotel and went in search of a beer. The Irish Pub, O’Connor’s, was just around the corner from the hotel; when I got there I asked the young woman having a cig in the open door if the pub was open. “No.” What? Well, when does it open? “At 9 PM” Well, hell, that won’t do me any good. So I wandered around the streets, using my internet map, until I literally stumbled on the Vieux Port (Old Port), a small marina just a few minutes away.
The first place I saw that looked inviting was a small café, Le Mediterranee. I asked the young girl working there for one of the local beers – Pietra – and sat down at a table facing the port – marine – parking lot – small boats. The port was U-shaped and ringed with restaurants. Great place to have a beer and people watch. Turned out the Pietra was really good; of course, a large beer was 6 euro - $8 US – around 1600 forints. Jeez!
I finally found a restaurant on the water named Café Meme – and had a great meal of moules marinieres (steamed mussels) and another beer. Yummy.
Friday morning I walked the town, including St. Nicholas Square, the Vieux Port again and the hilly hike to the Jardin Romieu and the Citadel. Bastia is a quiet town, only around 45,000 inhabitants. I had a nice lunch of Vietnam curry, rice and a Pietra – for 17eu 50! – Then took my afternoon stroll and wound up back at Le Med for a beer and sandwich.
Saturday I got up early and caught the train to Ajaccio. It was a three-and-a-half hour trip over the mountains in a two-carriage electric train. Cool. Hooked up with another American traveler on the train, a lawyer from Texas, Robert, and we whiled away the time talking about things. We arrived in Ajaccio – in the southwest corner of the island – and I walked over to the tourist office for some info on Napoleon’s house; of course the tourist office was closed until 2:30. Anyway, by asking directions and checking the street signs, I finally found Napoleon’s house and it was….closed! Scheisse! Or Merde, as the case may be.
Well, I also found one of those Little Trains that take you all over to see the local sights, so figured I could do that then still have time to tour Napoleon’s house before heading back at 4:45 PM. So, I took the train ride - 10 euro! – and we stopped at a huge monument to Napoleon and then headed out the coast road for several miles, finally to stop at our destination – a nougat stand.
Well, the damn ripoff trip took nearly two hours and when we got back I didn’t have time to tour Napoleon’s house, so just walked back to the train station and rode in silence back to Bastia. Not one of my better day trips.
I walked around the town that evening and realized that for a Saturday night, this place was really dead. Nothing happening at all. Where was everyone? Where were all the young people singing and dancing and drinking and having fun? I guess they went someplace unknown to me, ‘cause I couldn’t find them. I was back at the hotel by 10 o’clock.
It rained off and on all day Sunday, but at least there was a flea market in the main square to check out. Now, everyone who knows me knows that I am genetically incapable of passing a flea market, bazaar or souk without buying something. Can’t do it. And this place had something for everyone. It was chock full of lots of junque - oops, pardon me, “priceless family heirlooms” – and I wandered happily for a couple of hours. I passed by the Bugs Bunny mug, the old 45 records and the Titanic cookie tin, but I finally picked up a couple of Louis Armstrong CDs, a nice casual belt, some new sunglasses and a Corsica tank top. I was happy.
After a lunch of giant cheeseburger and fries on the square, I realized that everything was closed on Sunday. Bummer. I finally headed back to Chez Meme for a dinner of fried calamari, shrimp in whiskey and crème caramel (a flan by any other name..) and a limoncello. 46 euro, but very good. My waitress, the same one I had had the previous visit, was so happy to see me she gave me the farewell kiss on both cheeks. Wow. There may not have been much ambience to Bastia, but the people were sure friendly.
Monday and Tuesday were boring, with nothing left to do. I ate and walked and had a last beer at Le Med with Viktoria.
And that was it for my Corsican adventure. A reverse trip home the next day (bus to the Bastia airport – 9 euro – flight to Orly, bus to CDG – 19 euro – and a seven hour layover until my flight home. All in all, it cost me 56 euro just to change airports and get from the airport into town – about $75 US. Friggin’ expensive transfers. I arrived in Budapest around 11 Pm and was home by 11:30 or so.
So, that’s it for now, Faithful readers. Bunches of social gatherings and events coming up, and I hope the sun stays out for awhile – gotta work on my tan. Next trip is mid-June to Rome – haven’t been there in 42 years. Hope it still has all the fun stuff I remember. Until then, take care and watch this space for more adventures from your favorite intrepid traveler.

KATHMANDU AND DON’T

2010-01-09T02:44:00.001-08:00

If there is any place I’ve been so far in the world that offers Culture Shock, it has to be Kathmandu. There are more extremes here than pretty much anyplace else I’ve traveled. Good and bad, whites and blacks, ups and downs, ins and out, and all the shades of grey you can imagine – especially in the polluted air of Kathmandu. So, for the traveler unlucky enough not to have visited this Asian Mecca, and for the traveler lucky enough to be about to go there, here are some impressions you might find useful or informative.

1. Air Pollution. Kathmandu, nestled in its own valley, and still only 500 meters above sea level, has to be one of the most polluted cities in the world. Exhaust fumes from hundreds of thousands of buses, trucks, cars, motorcycles, tractors mix daily with the natural haze in the valley, along with the dust clouds raised by vehicles and people and by smoke from fires to create quite the most lethal combination of polluted air anywhere imaginable. Most days even the mountains surrounding Kathmandu aren’t visible.
Los Angeles used to declare Stage Three Smog Alerts when I lived there, which means the air outside is bad enough that people shouldn’t venture out into it if they can possibly avoid doing so. In Kathmandu, every single day is at least a Stage Nine Smog Alert, which means that, even indoors with the windows closed tightly, if you inhale more than three times during the day you will die. Many of the Kathmandunians (just made that one up) have taken to wearing face mask filters to alleviate some of the effects of the terrible air pollution. Traffic police, such as there are, routinely wear these masks, many of which are decorated with patterns and have become fashion accessories.
One often finds oneself standing on the street when a bus or truck comes by, belching huge clouds of black carbon engine smoke directly into one’s face. Yummy. You can commit suicide right there in town. So be prepared, wary traveler, for the unbelievably bad air you’ll find in Kathmandu.
Oh, I forgot to mention another source of air pollution: dead people. Yep, the Hindu method of disposing of the dead is cremation, and there is a wonderful little cremation park just on the east side of the city which runs cremations pretty much all day long. The resulting clouds of white smoke from the funeral pyres also add their interesting roast pork aroma to the other city smells. Lovely.

2. Traffic in Kathmandu is absolutely horrendous. Los Angeles, Athens, London, Rome – no comparisons. Kathmandu has no traffic flow infrastructure whatsoever. Nothing. No traffic lights, no stop signs, no lane markers, no crosswalks and probably no rules. Everyone just gets in their cars and motorcycles and buses and trucks and pushcarts and pushes and shoves their way onto the streets, oblivious of others. All drivers just cram themselves onto the roads, most of which are one- or two-lane (often made into three- and four-lane by the weaving, dodging drivers), and surge ahead. Naturally, when everyone tries to get through an intersection at the same time, everyone stops dead and nothing moves.
Motorcycles are probably the biggest traffic hazard. Hundreds of thousands of them, crowd the streets, weaving and swerving and taking up space, driven by helmeted locals again oblivious to others, and singularly intent on getting where they want to go with no regard for anyone else; let those automobile heathens watch out for themselves.
The streets in Kathmandu are often so narrow there is no room for traffic to flow. Buses and other passenger carriers stop in their unmarked lanes to accept and disgorge riders. Pushcarts have the same right of way as any other wheeled vehicles. And, since there are no crosswalks, pedestrians are always crossing the streets wherever they want, again slowing traffic, which sometimes gives way for them.
And all during this dance, everyone is beeping their horns, which leads us to Number Three:

3. Noise Pollution. Damn, Kathmandu is a noisy city. Most of the noise comes from the continuous beeping of horns: cars, motorcycles, buses, trucks, kids on tricycles, etc. Picture 200,000 demented road runners wandering blindly around the streets, making beep-beep noises to let everyone else know they are there or to get out of the way. It’s a constant din. And the amazing thing is that no one pays any attention to the horns. No one moves out of the way, no one jumps when a horn sounds next to them, everyone just goes about their normal business, walking slowly across a street or continuing to drive their motorcycle down the center of the street. Amazing.

4. People. Lots and lots of people. Everywhere. Standing, sitting, walking, loitering, jostling, drinking, driving, there are simply hordes of people everywhere. Streetside sellers of everything you can possibly imagine, people lighting fires on the sides of the roads (I think those were Buddhists burning offerings), people crossing the roads, people going about their business or about no business at all. It’s a madhouse of people. Get ready for the crowds.

5. Trash. The mounds, streams, bundles, heaps of trash leap out at even the casual observer. I never saw a single trash can anywhere in Kathmandu, which means people just throw their trash – and often garbage – on the street. Finish a pack of cigarettes and drop the empty pack on the ground. Eat a sandwich and drop the wrapper on the ground. The heaps of trash have completely overwhelmed the ability of the local government to cope, so it seems they just gave up and said “To hell with it.”

6. Lack of building maintenance. Most of the buildings are old, old, and falling down, which can easily be observed from the street. Apparently no one has the money to maintain the buildings, so they are just generally left to fall apart in their own way through misuse, bad use, overuse, etc. The resulting general filth and peeling walls and rusty banisters and really nasty toilet facilities will have Westerners reeling in dismay. Again, steel yourself for the experience.

7. Friendly People. OK, it’s about time we got to something good about Kathmandu. The people are incredibly friendly, and will talk to anyone. They always ask where you are from; my response of “Hungary” was usually met with blank stares, as most of them had never heard of it. Of course, many of the people who talk to you want you to buy some little tourist gewgaw or have your shoes shined, which is understandable in a tourist economy. The touts and hawkers are everywhere, always hustling. We all know this is common in third world countries, as everyone hustles just to put a little food in their mouth. But it does get old and annoying after awhile. My favorite was an old woman who, after I told her seventeen times I wasn’t interested in her cheap pendants, said, “No buy? Bye bye.”

8. Prices – they are usually ridiculously low and bargaining seems silly when offered a “genuine” kukri knife for about 5 euros. But the Nepalis love to bargain, and are offended if you don’t do so. Again, the bargaining culture is part of their society, and also includes talking to people and getting to know them and socializing. Food is also generally very reasonable, although the prices seemed to be climbing when I was there; however it is still often below what you might pay elsewhere. And it’s good food, too, so take advantage.

9. Weather. Well, what can I say? It was great! In late November it was still in the 70s during the day (20 degrees C). I was in short-sleeved shirts most of the time, and even the nights were still only worth a light jacket or sweater. By the time I left, mid-December, however, winter was closing in and the nights were chilly enough for heavier jackets.

10. Food. As I mentioned above, the food is generally of good quality, and is generally tasty and filling. I only got food poisoning once, and even that was fairly mild compared to the Delhi Belly I got in India. The Nepali restaurants try to please all the tourists, however, and their menus usually include dishes from Nepal, Italy, China, Thailand, America, India and Mexico. Like Budapest, most of these dishes tend to taste the same. However, when a menu says spicy, it means spicy, so be prepared to have your palate scorched from time to time. Especially try the sukuti, sort of a dried fish or meat, heavily spiced, which goes nicely with a cold beer.

Okay, those are the primary things a traveler should know and should be prepared to face in Kathmandu. It’s still a wonderfully vibrant city, even with its differences, so immerse yourself in the atmosphere and enjoy your stay. It’s worth it.

So Long, Nepal!

2009-12-14T18:34:00.001-08:00

Rested and ready, I hopped out of bed the morning of Sunday, December 6. I was all set to hit Kathmandu and run all my errands: get more film developed, check on my bespoke pants, buy a new watchband (I broke the old on in Pokhara), mail more postcards, etc. I also looked forward to another lingering lunch at Kumari. The sun was shining and the weather was warm and it promised to be another beautiful day in central Nepal.
Around 9:30 the land line phone rang. It was Macha, telling me there was a general strike and he wouldn’t be able to come over today. Damn Maoists. So there I was, stuck at home. Ah, well, make the best of it. All part of the Nepal experience. There’s always the internet and HBO and relaxing on the rooftop with a good book and a Samuel Adams beer. I could do that. Of course, I really had no choice, so that, in fact, is what I did.
Monday dawned bright and sunny again and I was off to town - finally. Picked up my new pants, bought a new watchband, got my film developed, and a few other things. Even had time to meet Rabin for lunch at Kumari, which was a nice interlude. I still had a few hours to kill, so I decided to take a rickshaw ride up to Thamel. I could have walked it faster. The tiny streets were packed, jammed, crammed, smashed with oversize cars, motorcycles, bicycles, pushcarts, pedestrians – a veritable crush of people, all trying to get through. As a result, naturally, no one got through. What a mess. Kathmandu desperately needs traffic controls, including traffic lights, stop signs, better rules and regs for motorcycles (that really screw up the traffic) and, in fact, an entire traffic infrastructure. It’s gotten far too big and crowded for the authorities to handle. Plus, Durbar Square needs to be wiped clean of cars and motorcycles – pedestrian only. Kathmandu has a long way to go traffic-wise.
I stopped off at the Fire and Ice restaurant for a chocolate brownie and some ice cream which, I supposed later, was my undoing. Yep, it got me again. Nepali Belly. Not quite the ring of Delhi Belly, but just as lethal. At least this one, although it kept me up all night with the runs and other ways of anointing the porcelain receptacle, didn’t incapacitate me for more than a day. The next morning Macha gave me some pills that helped, and I spent the day at home, resting and catching up on my lost sleep. Guess I’d have to do Bhaktapur another day.
Wednesday it was finally off for a day trip to Bhaktapur, another interesting town about 12 km from the southern part of Kathmandu. Macha and I got there around 10:30 in the morning after an hour’s drive through some of the worst traffic I’d seen yet, exacerbated by road construction for much of the way. As usual, the reality of what I found was far removed from what I’d anticipated. According to the maps I‘d seen, Bhaktapur seemed to be out in the country, a small, isolated oasis of calm amid the lush greenery of the Kathmandu valley. When Macha pulled the car up to a dusty gate at the side of a long two-lane dirt and asphalt road off the main road a short way out of Kathmandu, it was with a sense of disappointment that I climbed out and began my tour.
I fought my way past the hawkers and souvenir sellers up the hill to the main gate of the local Durbar Square and entered one of the main parts of town. Actually, it wasn’t too bad. Not as colorful nor as active as the other Durbar Squares, nevertheless it was okay. I wandered around through the main square and through back streets to the other squares in the area, Taumida and Tachupal squares, took my photos and soaked up the local atmosphere. Lunch at the Sunny Café overlooking Thaumida Square was pleasant, lots of rice for my sore tummy and some 7 Up to keep it soothed. A nice afternoon.
On Thursday I got an early start for an early finish for my pretty much final shopping day and cruise through the Thamel area of Kathmandu. I was able to find most of the items I wanted, including a nice CD holder with photos of Elvis on both sides. Hey! The alternative was Ironman. I think I did pretty well. Decided to try the New Orleans restaurant for lunch, as I’d read they had jambalaya. Well, the service was execrable and slow, it took 20 minutes to get my order, the jambalaya came on a plate with veggies mixed in and was alternately hot and cold, depending on where I scooped the rice and it was overpriced. I told the waiter to withhold my compliments from the chef. Not a restaurant I would recommend.
Friday was probably my last full day of sightseeing in Kathmandu. In the morning I visited Pashupatinath, at the intersection of the Ring Road and the Airport Road. This temple complex lies on the Bagmati River and is the primary site in Kathmandu for cremation. Yep, a nice way to start the day. According to Lonely Planet, there is almost always a cremation going on, and Friday was no exception.
I got there around 10 AM and immediately noticed an unsolicited guide had attached himself to me, limpet-like and eager to please – and to get paid. But Dilip was friendly and nice and personable, and he took me all over the complex and pointed out areas of interest. He even talked me into having my picture taken with one of the local sadhus before he was all painted up. This holy man had dreadlocks down to his ankles and a smile as wide as the Bagmati River, so why not. It was only 50 rupees (about 65 cents).
The entire area was actually quite fascinating and a quick instruction on the differences between cultures. Nepal doesn’t have room for cemeteries, and the Hindu religion, I believe, requires immediate disposal of the remains after death, mainly by cremation, so there you are. There were a couple of wrapped corpses being prepared for their ultimate fate on one of the ghats (cremation stands) by the riverside and even as I watched they were laid on the wood-and-straw pyres and the whole thing was set alite.
Now, naturally, fires of this type consume the remains within a couple of hours, and for the first part of that time huge clouds of smoke ascend into the surrounding skies. Of course, when the wind changes, spectators – and there were quite a few, including herds of Chinese and Japanese photographers eager to shoot every moment of the cremation – always get nice lungfuls of dead body smoke. Smells rather sweetish, sort of like roast pork. I managed to stay upwind most of the time, but occasionally found myself enveloped in the smoke. An hour and a half was about all I could take.
That evening I had been invited (again, after my abortive first attempt due to food poisoning) to Rabin’s home for dinner. I arrived there around 5-ish, with my arms loaded with flowers ($28 friggin’ dollars’ worth; man, did they see me coming!), again recommended by Lonely Planet for the traveler lucky enough to visit a local home. I’ll get them for that. However, the evening was fantastic. What a warm, nice, welcoming, friendly, happy family. Rabin, his wife Punam and their year-old baby Prayesh. You can almost always tell the sense of a family by the baby, and Prayesh was a smiling, happy, chubby kid if ever there was one. We had beer (too much Iceberg beer, in the 6.5 dl bottle) and lots of appetizers and even a main course, which I gobbled down as it was getting later.
A great evening, filled with good conversation, Tom and Jerry cartoons on CN, Punam jumping up and down with the food and baby, Rabin settling in as the benevolent lord of the manor, and, of course, Prayesh, ruling over it all with his cries and smiles and giggles and gurgles. Travelers rarely get to visit a private home in our many travels, and this was such a nice exception, just like Copenhagen, that I was entranced for the evening. We even had sukuti as an appetizer. I was in heaven.
On Saturday I had no plans until meeting Ferenc in the late afternoon for a program at the British School, so I took it easy once again, giving Macha most of the day off to relax. I met Ferenc at the British School in the southern part of Kathmandu for an evening of holiday caroling by a local choral group. Lots of families and a nice crowd for the second show of the day. Afterwards we all needed dinner, so started on our restaurant trek. Several were closed, but we finally found one named the Red Dingo open, and we settled in for a late supper.
The restaurant was lit by candles when we got there, an obvious result of the load-sharing in effect, i.e., no electricity for this part of town for some hours. Fortunately, while we were there the power came back on and we could actually see our menus and food. The other three ordered appetizers in addition to their main courses; the starters turned out to be bigger than the mains! Everyone except me went home with a doggy bag, as I had only some garlic bread to start. My Red Dingo Meat Pie was very nicely done – I guess it wasn’t made with real dingo.
Sunday I went back into Kathmandu for a few last-minute items, and found them all. Monday I decided to stay in the house and wait for Sandra to arrive. As far as I knew, her plane was due in around 2 PM or so. So I lounged around and ate breakfast and read some of my new books, an around 3 PM or so I got a call from one of Sandra’s colleagues informing me that Sandra’s plane was, for reasons unknown to me, forced to divert to Lucknow, India, where it was at the present time. I think she said something about the weather being too bad to land here, but as I looked out the window and saw a sunny, clear day, I was confused. However, the fact was Sandra was in Lucknow and the airline would try to get her back either later Monday or, perhaps, on Tuesday. Interesting. OK, I’d just wait and see what happened.
What happened was that about two hours later Sandra called and said she was at the Kathmandu airport and would be at the house in about an hour. So all was well.
So, that’s pretty much it for my Nepal month. The next Newsletter will contain my impressions of this interesting country, things I saw and did and observed that aren’t covered in any detail in my past few epistles. For today, my last in Kathmandu, I’m just resting up for my long trek back to Budapest – and hope I can get on the plane with my extra baggage. Y’all take care, more to come when I’m home again.

Keep on Rafting

2009-12-05T19:49:00.001-08:00

Back from Chitwan, it was time to rest up for whatever came next. Thursday afternoon after my return was just that, taking it easy, relaxing at home, watching a movie or two, catching up on my Blog, etc. A nice restful night. Friday, November 27, I headed for town once again with a long list of things to do. First was to check on the status of the custom slacks I’d ordered the previous week. When I tried them on, naturally they were too long and had to be fixed, so will go back next week to see how they’re progressing. I had my recent photographs of Kathmandu and Chitwan, taken with my old but serviceable Pentax real camera, using real film, developed and printed, and they came out great.
Then, it was lunch at Kumari again, and I looked forward to another one of those wonderful steaks. I settled into my seat, the same one I’d had last time, ordered my beer and steak, and sat back to wait for lunch. The waiter came back about 10 minutes later (not sure why he waited so long) and informed me there were no steaks that day. No steaks? This restaurant is famous for its steaks, it’s touted in Lonely Planet, ex-hippies and trekkers from coast to coast shout the praises of Kumari’s steaks. And they were out of steaks?
OK, I’d have a cheeseburger instead.
My taste buds prepared to wind down a couple of notches, but was I ever surprised when my burger came and it was one of the best I’ve ever had anywhere. It could have been the model for Jimmy Buffet’s Cheeseburger in Paradise. Out-friggin’-standing! I happily scarfed and snaffled and pigged out on burger and beer, and was a happy camper. After lunch I wandered around Kathmandu’s Old Town again, and again got a touch turned around and ended up out on the main street of Kantipath. Damn, how long will it take me to learn that muddle of streets and chowks? Well, I’ll keep trying.
Macha and I went grocery shopping at one of the big new markets, picking up food for me for the next week or so. In and out in 15 minutes, then had to wait another 20 minutes while the traffic snarl in the parking lot and street somehow got untangled. Then it was another early night with pizza and movies.
Saturday saw me up and out of the house by 10 o’clock. I mailed my postcards at the post office and then walked back to the Royal Palace along Durbar Marg, which was preparing for a local music festival at the north end of the street. This street is Kathmandu’s upscale shopping area, which I could tell as a new KFC and Pizza Hut recently opened here. Fast-food Imperialism.
I bought my ticket immediately for the Palace tour (they took the “Royal” out after the last turnover of the government early in this century), and took the self-guided tour. It was…..interesting. A lot of the furniture was still in pretty good shape, but much of it was starting to show signs of wear and tear and revolutions. A touch threadbare at the seams. A patina of dark on the brass. A lack of maintenance on the lawns. Of course, the Palace isn’t in use anymore, so that’s understandable, but still, for tourists and locals alike, one would think a former Royal Palace would be kept in a condition which would bring credit on its country.
A nice pizza lunch at Fire and Ice restaurant, and I checked in with yet another travel agent about my next trips. I still have some options, one of which is quite expensive, but will have to see how best to arrange the schedule. And on Sunday he rested.
More or less. Up late, a nice breakfast of steak and eggs at home, some light reading on the rooftop terrace, then a nice walk up to a nearby café for lunch, which consisted of hot and sour soup, mutton mo-mos, chocolate pudding and Sprite. A nice walk back and nap time before starting the day’s round of movies. See? I rested.
Monday was the beginning of another week. Finally got hold of Rabin, my travel agent, and we agreed to meet that afternoon. Until then, Macha drove me to see the Boudanath, possibly the largest Buddhist stupa in Nepal. And it was amazing. And BIG! I wandered around it for awhile (always in a clockwise direction), spun a few prayer wheels, jostled a few monks, and generally enjoyed the late morning sunshine. I finally found one of the rooftop restaurants and had a tasty meal of tofu chili and pita, which hit the spot. I set off in search of the Tranquility Spa I’d seen advertised on the Internet, but was unable to find it. Damn, and I was looking forward to a nice massage and lazy hour of relaxation. Ah, well, a piece of chocolate cake and some Sprite went down almost as well.
Macha picked me up around 3 and we visited Rabin at his office to finalize my next trip. All was okay, so again we went to his friend’s hotel to imprint my credit card. We were to meet Tuesday morning for him to give me all the vouchers I need. Then Wednesday it will be off to river rafting and a couple of nights in Pokhara. And we shall see what that brings.

SURVIVING THE “WATERY GRAVE”

My young driver for the next four days, Vishnu, picked me up around 9 AM on Wednesday and we were off to see the Wizard. We drove about two hours over interestingly-potholed Nepali highways, which were actually more like secondary mountain roads, full of ruts and holes that could easily swallow a car. In addition, monster trucks and buses cruised both directions, spewing out clouds of noxious black smoke that we drive through carelessly. There was no room to maneuver on the narrow mountain roads, although Vishnu, bless his little race driver’s heart, certainly tried. He nonchalantly passed on hills and curves which, if we’d been sideswiped, would have found us plunging off a Cliffside to end up a small ball of tangled metal and Gary in a ravine far, far below. I white-knuckled it all the way there.
Anyway, we made it to the put-in point and I joined our group of intrepid adventurers. There were only three other rafters that day: a young Spanish couple and Ali from Dubai. The Spaniards had rafted once, but it was Ali’s first time. I was the most experienced, having survived the Taos River and a two-day trip in northwestern New Mexico.
We were supplied with pullover waterproof wetshirts, life jackets, helmets and paddles, and we waddled down to the riverside. After a short safety lecture, and a review of the Raftmaster’s commands (plus a little practice with same), we were off. Much of the river was Class 1 and 2, but we progressed from rapids with names like Stepladder and Baby Washboard, to more difficult ones named Surprise, Upset and Monsoon, until we reached the Class 3-plus rapids named Bonecrusher and Watery Grave. But we survived them all. We didn’t lose anyone overboard, and each time we shot our rapids we did the rafter’s cheer: cross paddles in the middle of the raft, let out a loud cheer and slap the paddles down on the water. We were cool.
It was only a three-hour, 15-kilometer trip, but that was enough excitement for everyone. When we reached the take-out point, which was also our campsite for the night, I was surprised to find out I would be the only person camping there. Well, hell. Not much fun if you can’t sing campfire songs in Spanish and Arabic as well as English, so I decided to push on to Pokhara, my final destination on this trip. It was only about another three-hour drive, and I could sleep in a real bed instead of in a sleeping bag in a tent. No contest.
The city of Pokhara is actually quite big, and I was staying in the Lakeside area which, as you may surmise, is next to the lake. (Pokhara in Nepali means “lake”). My hotel was at the north end of the tourist strip of shops, restaurants, bars, etc. I checked in and found I was on the 4th floor – with no elevator. Oh, joy. I checked out the lake view, which was wonderful, and then hit the town. I passed all the trekking shops and souvenir shops and the surprisingly many bookstores and finally found the Everest Steakhouse, highly touted by Lonely Planet. I was ready for a steak. From the multitude of selections on offer, I chose the steak with rum sauce and a nice large bottle of Everest beer. I chomped and chewed and sipped and swallowed my wonderfully flavorful meat and beer. I was a happy non-camper.
Afterward, it still being early, I found the Blues Bar on a side street and stopped in to hear what they had to play. The small band was pretty good, with a sterling lead guitarist, and a singer who was generally okay, although there was one song in which he was so off-key the lead guitarist smacked him in the back of the head to get him to shut up. Another Everest beer finished off my night.
I headed back to the hotel, weary and ready for a good night’s sleep. I threw back the bed covers and threw myself down onto what I knew would be a soft, yielding wonderful tourist mattress, preparatory to flying off to the Land of Nod and into the blissful arms of Morpheus. BONK! Oh, No!! It was another Chitwan bed, a slab of steel covered by a thin pad. Not again! Damn, what do these hotels think their guests want after a day of rafting or trekking or rowing on the lake? I settled in as best I could and felt my bones crack against the unforgiving pad. No restful sleep for me.
Vishnu picked me up at the hotel the next morning at the crack of ten, after a mediocre hotel breakfast, and we drove off to see Devis Fall, which is really just a large worn-away crevasse near the town through which water flows in a series of falls. It’s named after a Ms. Devis, who was having a picnic lunch there some years back and was swept away by a sudden flood. That’ll spoil your egg salad sandwich.
Then we walked a short distance to another cave, from the bottom of which you could see up into where the Devis Fall river went underground. This next cave was hot and humid and wet and dank and dreary and had way too many steep steps. I must have sweated out a liter of water on the way down, and another on the way up. From what Vishnu told me, the next item on the itinerary, the Bat Cave, was even worse as far as closeness and dampness, so I decided I could pass on seeing the bats. Their loss.
I had the afternoon off, so, after a cool shower (no hot water in the hotel room, just some tepid liquid for a few minutes, then back to cool again) it was lunch at the Elegant View lakeside restaurant. A burger and fries topped off the morning nicely, and I repaired to the hotel for a nap on my slab of hardwood.
I liked the atmosphere and ambience of the Lakeside tourist district, so decided to wander the entire length of it during the late afternoon. One of the things that surprised me was the number of used bookstores along the strip. Apparently, when the trekkers have finished trekking for the day, they like to curl up on the mountainside with a good book. I browsed most of the bookstores, looking for new and used books I was unable to find in Budapest. And did I find a few? You betcha! I probably bought seven books during my stay in Pokhara, some of which I had been trying to find for years. A successful shopping trip.
I also decided to succumb to the many shoeshine guys hustling me along the promenade, so I whiled away about 20 minutes while my guy shined my hiking shoes to a high gloss. Well, actually, a low gloss, but it was a nice job and my poor mistreated shoes needed the lift. While I was sitting there in my holey socks, a wandering Tibetan woman named Pema stopped to try and sell me something, anything. She was fun and her English was very good, so I ended up buying a nice silver bracelet from her for a ridiculously low price (OK, it was probably a ridiculously low grade of silver). I now have my very own Tibetan-made silver bracelet with the characters for “Om Mane Padme Hum” engraved on it. Not many ex-pats living in Hungary can say that.
Dinner that night was Chinese. Since I was so close to China, I hoped I’d find some real Szechwan food that would give me a nice burn along with my jasmine tea. The food at the Chinese Tower was pretty good, with lots of little red chili peppers hiding in my Szechwan chicken. Again, I was happy.
Friday was my last full day in Pokhara and I planned to make the most of it. I caught a taxi from town to the World Peace Pagoda, since cars with Kathmandu plates aren’t allowed anywhere near this holy shrine. The driver took me up winding mountain roads, then took a sharp right onto a steep rocky path. I’m talking dirt and dust and pointed rocks and ruts and rock-filled potholes and more rocks thrown in for good measure. In fact, the entire two-mile rocky trail was only broken by intermittent piles of yak droppings. And just to make sure you knew you were in the mountains, there were no guardrails on this Rocky Horror Mountain Road.
We finally came out in a large parking area (dusty and rocky, of course). We got out of the taxi and the driver pointed to some steps and said, “World Peace Pagoda,” and strolled off to rest in the shade while I trudged my way to the top of the mountain, which turned out to be another 300 yards or so of rocky stairs and then no stairs up a steep and winding footpath. Crap! Took me at least 20 minutes to get to the top, where I found a large white dome with some Buddha statues at the four points of north, south, east and west.
The views, however, were incredible. The WPP looks out over Pokhara, lake and city, and to the east was the Annapurna Himalayan mountain range, none of which could be seen, of course, due to the heavy haze and clouds. But it was still cool being there. I had a soft drink at the small café on the way down, then descended again to the parking lot, wending my way carefully and warily down the rocky path and, incidentally, through a small herd of yaks working their way up the trail.
The taxi driver fought the same dusty, rocky trail back down the mountain, then dropped me off at the southern end of the Lakeside district, so I could walk back to the hotel and see any souvenir shops and bookstores I’d missed the previous day. I decided another visit to the Everest Steakhouse was in order, so I dropped in on them for lunch. This time, accompanying my Everest beer, I had a giant hamburger, served on toasted bread; the burger was easily larger than the bread surrounding it. Great food, and a real, true hamburger, thick and juicy and yummy. I’m salivating just thinking about it.
That evening around 4:30 Vishnu and I set off to nearby Sarangkot, one of the high spots in the area (in fact, where paragliders take off), to watch the sunset and see if we could spot a Himalayan peak this time. About halfway up the mountain road, a bus in front of us was also trying to make the steep road. The bus, like all Nepali buses, was crammed, packed, jammed full of people, so much so that they actually hung out of doors and windows. As if that weren’t enough, there must have been 30 or more people perched on top of the bus. Safety be damned, they were going home no matter what.
Well, maybe not. The bus started off from a stop on a steep incline and suddenly lurched to a stop, apparently having locked itself in gear. Clouds of black smoke issued from its exhaust, but the bus didn’t move. Stuck! Well, damn!
Some of the riders got out of the bus, and some climbed down from on top, and the driver was finally able to back the bus down to a place where it didn’t block the road. Vishnu squeezed past and we were on our way again. Unfortunately, when we reached the summit the sun had already gone behind the clouds and the Himalayan peaks were no longer to be seen; well, maybe just a few glimpses of some snow-capped ghosts in the far distance. Scheisse! Foiled again.
After that abortive attempt, the only thing to do was have a beer, which I did, at the Old Amsterdam bar, where I met Willum from Scotland. We passed a convivial hour or so, until one of the Nepali bartenders offered Willum a proscribed substance, which he proceeded to smoke and then to become pretty much incoherent, at least to me – not that his Scottish burr was all that understandable anyway. But I’m sure he made perfect sense to himself.
I let one of the bartenders lead me off down a dark side street to a tiny native hutch which apparently featured my new much-loved appetizer, sukuti, that spiced mutton I mentioned in an earlier Newsletter. They had it and it was okay, but not like what I got in Kathmandu. I finished it and escaped back to the light and my by-now favorite local haunt, the Everest Steakhouse, for my last dinner in Pokhara. Steak Flambe it was, set alight at the table. Almost warmed up my Everest beer, but it was delicious and a perfect top-off to my stay. A short session with the Blues Bar again, and it was off to the world’s most uncomfortable bed. We were scheduled to leave in the morning at 9 o’clock and I wanted to be sure I had absolutely no rest when we departed.

BAD DAY AT BLACK ROCK

The morning started off badly and progressed to much worse. Yep, it was: The Day from Hell.
Reception called me around 7:15 in the morning to tell me there would be a Maoist demonstration at 9 AM which would pretty much close down the town and my driver suggested we get on the road at 8 instead. No problem. I rushed through my morning cold-water ablutions, wolfed down the tasteless hotel breakfast, and we were off on the road to Kathmandu.
We actually made good time, arriving in Kathmandu around 1 PM, thanks to the mountain driving skills of Fireball Vishnu, King of the Hill. All during the trip I didn’t dare close my eyes in fear I’d miss my death when it came. Also, I couldn’t talk to Vishnu for fear of breaking his concentration and having him plunge us over a Cliffside. Thankfully, there was very little traffic on the road, and Vishnu continued his weaving and darting until I became confident he wouldn’t hit anything or anyone. Well, fairly confident anyway.
I got back to Sandra’s house and Gate Guard Krisna was there to open the gate for me. I dragged myself to the house and opened the door, secure in the knowledge that Sante, the housekeeper, had turned off the alarm when she left that morning as she knew I’d be coming back that afternoon. I opened the door and immediately heard, “Beep, beep, beep…..” Ah, Crap. The alarm was still on. And, of course, I didn’t have (or need) the code. The siren went off, waking every Nepali for three miles around. The Embassy Security guards came racing over and we spent a nice hour or so making sure all was OK and waiting for Sante to arrive so she could disarm the alarm. Wonderful.
I finally got inside and first thing went to charge my borrowed phone, which had lost its charge while I was in Pokhara. Nothing. I plugged the charger into several outlets. Nothing. Blank screen of death. Damn phone wouldn’t even hold a charge. I was just too tired to care at that point. Screw it. I went upstairs, unpacked, took a quick shower – in real hot water this time – and decided to check my email before taking a nap.
All email seemed OK, but when I attempted to respond to one of the items, Yahoo requested I enter some almost illegible letters and numbers in a little box – ostensibly to ensure it was me, a real human, using the system and not a robot – apparently like the idiots who run Yahoo. I entered the figures, hit Continue, and the message came back that Yahoo had somehow, some way, discovered “suspicious activity” on my account and wouldn’t let me send my emails. WTF??!!
Yep, it was the final straw. I immediately whipped out a razor blade and slashed my wrists right there in front of the non-responsive computer, bleeding to death as I watched my message not being sent.
Okay, I didn’t really do that, but I sure wanted to. Either that or dive into the computer and strangle the Yahoo administrators until their tongues turned black and I had my revenge. Jackasses. Never a hint of problem or “suspicious activity” in the ten-plus years I’ve been using Yahoo, and they pick this time to hassle me?! Shit. Only one thing to do. I turned off the PC, went upstairs, got into bed (a nice soft one this time) and pulled the covers over my head until the world stopped going crazy. Enough.

So, another adventure successfully completed. Just ten more days left in this mountain and valley paradise, and only a few more local sights I need to see. You’ll have to wait for the next Newsletter to see what happens during my last days in Nepal. Goodnight, sweet prince.

The Chitwan Experience

2009-11-27T03:56:00.001-08:00

Monday afternoon, November 23, I squeezed myself into a Twin Otter, 20-seater, two-propeller airplane along with 19 other tightly-tucked-in passengers and we took off for Bharatpur airport in the Chitwan National Park in Nepal. Luckily it was only a 30-minute ride, and I slept part of the way, so no big deal. I was met at the airport by reps from the Unique Wild Resort, with which I had arranged a three-night, four-day package. They loaded me into one of the most beat-up old safari jeeps I’ve seen outside of old Tarzan movies, and we were off to the Resort. The jeep had almost no dials and gauges, and the ones that were left clearly didn’t work, but no one seemed to mind. I looked in vain for a seat belt, and then just settled back to content myself with the rolling, bumping, jostling, bouncing ride along a basic asphalt highway and later dirt and rocky roads. All part of the Chitwan experience.
The road wound through native villages and fields, most of which reminded me of Africa – large open dry areas with distant jungle. The other traffic on the roads included trucks, buses, jeeps, ox carts (with real oxen), camels and elephants. Yep, the elephants were everywhere, rolling from side to side and lumbering down the roads. As we approached one giant beast from the rear, I noticed he had the following tattooed on his right and left sides: “Passing Side” and “Suicide.” Nepali humor. (Ed. Note: They drive on the opposite side of the road here, like in the UK).
The ride also included a wide variety of jungle smells: smoke, dust, dirt, exhaust and elephant farts - at least that’s what they smelled like. Could just have been my driver. Anyway, we arrived at the Resort in about 30 minutes, and I was shown to my room, located across the road from the main camp area in the B Compound. Next level up from Ground, it had a couple of double beds and a clean bathroom. What it didn’t have, I found out later, was hot water. Damn. But the staff were extremely welcoming and friendly, and they greeted me with a smiling “Namaste” and fed me lunch right away, which was good, as I was quite hungry. Next (or first) on the program was a Nature Walk through a Tharu village, one of the local ethnic peoples. A nice stroll, as we went through the elephant compound (where the big boys were chained to posts), a couple of local wildlife museums and the village proper – mud huts, grass and hay structures, goats, poverty. Real third world stuff.
We ended up at a riverbank to watch the sunset – not quite as good as watching it from a Greek island, but not bad. At least, after the long sweaty walk, in 80-degree temperature, there were a couple of Everest beers to cool us down. After dinner, we were also treated to a local Tharu Cultural Program in a nearby village. This one was actually pretty good, with young men dancing in a circle and whacking each other’s sticks with their own sticks, and the ravening crowd was mightily impressed. The tall, thin Tharu emcee was obviously fluent in English, but his accent was from somewhere near Liverpool, and the crowd also had a difficult time understanding him. But it was still fun, and a good time was had by all.
The next day I was awakened by someone pounding on my door at the ungodly hour of 6:30 in the morning. And it was cold in that room. And there was still no hot water. I shivered into my clothes, ran over to the dining hall for breakfast (just to get the blood flowing), and we were trucked off for our first day’s excursion – a canoe trip, in native canoes, no less. Ten people to a wooden dugout canoe, one native in the rear poling, and a guide in front to point out interesting sights, like exotic birds, sleeping crocodiles and early-to-rise elephants and their mahouts. It was a short tour, only about 30 minutes, but all my poor buns could take seated on that hard wooden seat in that narrow canoe.
We also did a short walking tour, checked out the elephant breeding ground, where we got to cavort with the elephant babies, and then repaired to another area of the river for the highly-touted elephant bathing. Immediately upon arrival, I stripped down to my swimming trunks, donned a t-shirt and sandals, and headed for the riverbank to find out what was what. I was directed to climb onto the back of one of the elephants – I’ll call him Jumbo – and the mahout headed him out into the river, about five yards from shore, where it was only about five feet deep.
The mahout then started yelling things to the elephant that sounded like, “Chhopp, takart, hardling, fukkin, panch,” or words to that effect. Apparently, these sounds were intelligible to Jumbo, and they obviously had meaning for him. What they apparently meant was, “Fill your trunk with cold river water, bend your trunk back over your head, and spray the old fat guy with as much water as possible.” Which Jumbo did. Oh, yeah, that was fun. The advertisements I had seen for this activity appeared to indicate we would be bathing the elephants; instead, they bathed us.
The mahout then urged Jumbo into deeper water and had him shake himself, which, naturally, resulted in my being thrown off, much as a rodeo rider is thrown off a bucking horse. He was too big to be a bucking elephant, but the result was the same. Into the water I went. I scrambled back onto Jumbo’s back as quickly as possible, as the river was aswarm with elephant turds the size of volleyballs. Atop Jumbo again, I was subjected to several more trunk-filled sprays of water before the mahout let me off. I hope the photos came out.
I dried off and retrieved my sandals, after loaning them to a Canadian who also wanted to try out the elephant bathing, and we all walked back to the Resort for a hot shower, a tetanus shot and lunch. After an hour’s rest, it was off on a jeep safari through thick jungle. It was slow going, as we were watching for any indigenous animals. We did manage to see some deer, a couple of wilds pigs and a few birds. Not a great safari, but the German tourists enlivened it by singing for us. Just what I wanted. After dinner, I walked into the nearby village of Sauraha for some shopping and a beer at a rooftop restaurant overlooking the street. Nice. That picture did come out.
Wednesday was another 6:30 wakeup knock, and I bounded out of bed, ready to start the day, especially since I’d gotten to bed the previous night by 10 PM. First was a bird-watching walk through the early-morning dewy jungle. Those who know me know bird watching is not particularly high on my list of priorities, but it was part of the program and I paid for entire program and I was by God going to watch some friggin’ birds or else! I think I saw maybe two birds, but at least I got my shoes and pants soaking wet, so that was alright.
Back to the resort for breakfast, which I wolfed down, then went back to my room to see if I could take a shower. Nope, still no hot water, so I had the manager put me in a new room, this time in the A Compound, next to the dining hall. I got hot water, which was nice, then later that night found out the beds were actually planks of teak wood with a thin mattress pad on top. My bones still hurt.
Anyway, after lunch was my last activity of the package, the elephant safari. This was also a cool deal, as were all of the activities involving elephants. Each elephant had a wooden boxlike frame on top of some pads on its back. Four people sat in the frames, one at each corner, with their legs dangling over the sides, so the weight was evenly distributed. Our elephant, I’ll call her Dolores, wasn’t the biggest one of the lot, but she was friendly and smart. During the jungle tour, at the commands of her mahout, I saw her search through some ground leaves with her trunk and pick up a dropped lens cap belonging to one of the passengers. Not bad.
Anyway, we rolled and bounced along the jungle paths, and came upon some deer, a couple of large rhinos, a few sleeping crocs and a canoe-full of other tourists. An hour and a half was about all our poor numb butts could take, and we dismounted slowly and painfully. Mr. Mahout gestured if I had enjoyed the tour, and I answered “raamro” (good) in my best Nepali. We each gave Dolores a bunch of bananas, which she accepted gratefully and with a trumpeted thanks. Upon return to camp, I headed to town again for a beer and some spicy meat munchies before dinner. I sat on the rooftop restaurant and watched the elephants and oxen and camels troop through the town, on the way to their own dinners. A good ending to a good day and, in fact, to a good trip.
During my stay in Chitwan, I’d met a young English teacher from Yorkshire, a couple of Canadians and some really nice young people from Beijing. The food was plain but good, with very few meat dishes. Mostly it consisted of fruit, veggies, potatoes, oatmeal, eggs, tea and coffee, and rice. Inquiries by the staff as to the tastiness of my meal brought out more of my fractured Nepali: Dherai mitho chha (What I am eating is good). Everyone was hungry after a day’s activity, and ate quite well.
The weather was also wonderful, sunny and clear and around 75 or so (22 C) during the day, although cold at night, down near freezing. The rooms were clean and neat, and we even had electricity most of the day.
The ride back to the airport on my final day was another adventure, one I hadn’t been expecting. My driver used the same safari jeep I had been picked up in, but the intervening few days had not been kind to my old pal. When the driver got up to speed on the highway, the front end shimmied badly and I thought a wheel was going to fall off, or maybe even the front axle, which made the entire trip much more interesting. Then, about halfway there, the driver suddenly stopped right on the road and hopped out and ran to the side of the road to relieve himself. No pulling onto the shoulder, no hazard lights (Hah!), no warnings, just stopped and peed. Hmmm. Then back into the jeep and off we went, shuddering and shimmering.
We arrived at the airport and I unclenched my hand and pried it off the door. I’d made it again. Checked in at the minuscule airport, no candy stands or newsstands or food or souvenir shops, just a couple of toilets which evidenced their keepers’ cavalier attitude toward cleanliness. It was just a short wait, however, and a half hour later I was back in Kathmandu and being met at the airport by Macha Raja, my driver buddy. He took me back to an empty house, and I settled in for a quiet night updating my journals and watching a movie or two and scrounging for something to eat. It was nice to be home. Only a touch under three more weeks to go. Now – what about that river rafting trip?

Namaste!

2009-11-22T18:45:00.001-08:00

After a quick two-hour flight from Budapest, my backpack and I wandered around the Athens airport for a few hours before my next four-hour flight to Doha on Qatar Airlines. It’s advertised as a five-star airline, and it wasn’t bad at all. I settled in the barely-enough-legroom seat with my headphones, moist towlette, piece of complimentary candy, in-flight magazine, in-flight duty-free shopping guide and in-flight entertainment guide. I was ready! I said goodbye sadly to the Athens airport, which has drinking fountains (!) and wonderful new politically correct signs directing people of “reduced mobility” to special places. Gotta love it.
So I arrived at Doha airport around 11:30 at night to begin a seven-hour layover. Not looking forward to that. Anyway, I checked in at the Qatar Airlines Transit Desk to find out my gate number for the early-morning flight.. The young woman there gave it to me, then asked me if I had had dinner yet. I told her No, and she gave me a voucher for a free dinner at one of the fast food outlets nearby. Not too shabby, Qatar Air. Had a nice meal of samosa, vegetarian rolls, fries and a drink. Only six and a half hours to go. I cruised the large duty-free area, thought about buying a $200 raffle ticket with a Lamborghini as a prize, realized I’ve never won anything, so resisted the temptation, wandered around a little more, and finally found a marginally-comfortable chair and settled in for the long wait until my flight was called. Think I got around two hours sleep.
Checked in for my flight around 5:30 AM, bleary-eyed and stumbling. Found my seat on the Qatar Airlines plane and immediately nodded off again. Another speedy four-hour flight and I was in Kathmandu. Damn. Another adventure about to begin. And everything went so smoothly at passport control and baggage claim. I had already completed my visa application form, just had to do another one at the airport (!), pay my $40 visa fee and go find my suitcase. It was checked all the way through from Budapest, so I was hoping it had survived the trip. And it had! In fact, as I walked up to the baggage carousel, it was the first bag off. Wow! How often does that happen? Makes me think my departure in mid-December will be really horrible. We shall see.
My friend Sandra, with whom I would be staying, had sent her driver to pick me up. As I exited the airport, 10,000 people were crammed into the arrivals area looking for their friends, family, loved ones, etc. How would I ever find Macha Raja? Turns out Sandra had shown him my photo on Facebook, me and the tiger, and he was waiting for me in the front of the crowd. Another quick, easy process and we were off to the wilds of Kathmandu in his little purple Subaru Zen.
Sandra lives about 200 meters off the Ring Road, northeast of the city, and we drove through some of the worst traffic I’d seen since my trip to India in 2007. No lane markers, no traffic lights, no pollution laws and apparently no understanding of the rules of the road. Banged-up cars and motorcycles and buses everywhere, spewing out tons of pollution into the beautiful Kathmandu valley. And since it is a valley, and there’s not much air movement, the bad air just hangs there, casting a noticeable pall over everything. Many of the Nepalese wear face masks to cut down on their inhalation of all the terrible fluorocarbons and even worse dust floating around. But, hey, the temperature was around 78 degrees (F), the sun was shining gaily through the smog and the road was alive with the vibrancy of the local people. All 1.5 million of them crammed into poor little Kathmandu.

Anyway, it was only a short drive distance-wise, and we drove through the gate to find Sandra’s three-story luxury house (at least by Nepal standards). Bright yellow on the outside, trimmed with wood, inside it was even better. USAID does alright by their employees. Lots of wood and carved doorframes and Tibetan rugs and barred windows. There’s even a pool table in a large common room on the second floor. And the view from the rooftop terrace has to be seen to be believed. Sandra’s cleaning lady was there, but her cook was off for the time being. Tough life, hah? Cleaning lady, cook and driver. My kids’ tax dollars at work.
Sandra was still at work, as it was around 3 o’clock in the afternoon, so I unpacked and tried to catch a few winks before she got home She finally arrived around 7 PM with a couple of her colleagues in tow. Brianna had offered to fix Thai food, which was a nice treat, and Ferenc (from Budapest, naturally! Darn Hungarians – just can’t get away from them) was along to help greet the new arrival. I scarfed down too many Samuel Adams’ ales and pigged out on salad and Thai noodles with chicken. Yummy. I finally got to my bed around midnight, and slept the sleep of the weary traveler.
But the next morning, I was up with the sun and ready to check out Kathmandu. I rode in with Sandra to work at the US Embassy, and Macha dropped me off in the Thamel area, a place filled with tourist shops, trekking stores, cheap prices, local restaurants and happy natives. It was just like most bazaars you’ve seen in your travels, everyone hustling and trying for a buck – or, in this case, rupee.
I was armed with my trusty map I’d printed off the Internet, so I was ready to try finding my way down Kathmandu’s back streets from Thamel Chowk (which means “intersection”) to Kathmandu’s major attraction, Durbar Square. Not a long trek, but lots of winding narrow streets. Of course, to add a touch of spice to the adventure, Kathmandu’s streets do not have names or any signs posted whatsoever to identify the streets. Hmmm, should be fun. So off I set toward Durbar Square, Naturally with my unerring sense of direction, I immediately got on the wrong street, took a couple of inappropriate turns at other busy chowks and eventually found myself emerging at a main street, which I incorrectly identified as the New Road on my map.
It wasn’t New Road, of course, as I found out while wandering forlornly up and down it. I finally chanced upon a big sign that did identify New Road, and realized where I had made my error. Stupid tourist. I corrected and took off toward Durbar Square. Finally found it, paid my entrance fee and acquired a local guide, Misha, to escort me through the ins and outs of this temple-filled area. He was great and really knew his history and buildings, and I had a fun time wandering with him. If you’re interested, you can check out the buildings on an Internet site, so I won’t bore you with them here.
Anyway, after my tour I managed to connect with my Internations friend Rabin. He took me to lunch at a nearby Nepalese restaurant, Alina's Café, where we had a wonderful tray full of food: mutton, sauces, potatoes, spices, a large plate of rice with which you’re supposed to mix the other stuff, and some yoghurt. Good solid home cooking. Along with a bottled soft drink, it ran me a little over $4 US. I was off to a good start on my Nepal adventure.
We arranged to meet the next day to finalize the schedule and payment for my trip to Chitwan National Park the following week, and I walked back the main road to Thamel, managing not get lost this time. I did a little more browsing in various shops, looking for one of those great striped cotton shirts worn in this part of the world. I found several I liked, but the sizes! Suffice it to say the Nepalese extra-large shirts aren’t the same as my extra-large bod these days. Bummer. Finally managed to find one that mostly fit (I won’t tell you the marked size), so I was somewhat mollified. I also had a cold drink at one of a chain of small restaurants called the Bakery Café, which employs deaf waiters. Ooops, sorry, hearing impaired. I’d forgotten I had read about this place in the guidebook, and I blithely told the waiter what I wanted. He motioned to his ear and shook his head, and I remembered about the deaf waiters, so I sort of redeemed myself by pointing at things on the menu. The American Tourist abroad. Macha picked me up around 3 PM, and we headed home for my nap. I was still a little jet-lagged and tired, so needed to refortify myself periodically.
Macha and I picked up Sandra at work around 7 PM and we headed a short distance away to Kotetsu, a nice little Japanese restaurant, where everyone sits around a long open grill and the cooks fix everything right in front of you. No knife-twirling this time, but the food was great. I had the spicy tuna sushi and grilled calamari. Mmmmm. The party that night was in honor of some of Sandra’s embassy friends whose parents had come to visit from Florida and who were leaving shortly. Around nine US Embassy employees and family members. A nice group. I also accompanied the meal with white wine and then some sake, so I was feeling pretty good by the end..
Managed to make it to bed around midnight again, and sleep was welcome. It had been a good first two days in Kathmandu.
Wednesday, November 18, Macha took me to meet with Rabin in the southern part of the city. Rabin didn’t have his credit-card imprinter, so we had to meet later that day to finalize my trip payment. Macha then dropped me off at Patan’s Durbar Square, another great area of temples and palace architecture, south of Kathmandu city. I acquired another guide – or, to be more precise, he acquired me – and off we went to explore the local sights and sounds of this really beautiful little Square. Raz was another good guide, and after an hour’s tour and explanation of everything, I found a nearby rooftop restaurant for lunch. I climbed five flights of stairs to get to it, and was breathing heavily when I arrived on the terrace, but the view was worth it. And the food was good again. This time I chose mo-mo, a Nepalese appetizer, which is really just dim sum. I had the chicken-filled and buffalo-filled ones. Just what the hungry traveler needs. And only 390 rupees, or about $5.00.
We found Rabin later that afternoon and settled my payment for my upcoming Chitwan trip, then headed home for some rest and so I could bring my journal up to date. And now it is.
Wednesday night Sandra took me to a club she hadn’t been to before, called Tamas, to hear a band she had had play at her house for a party. Good band, better munchies. We had Nepalese tapas, which included: chicken lollipops (like chicken legs with sauce), chicken satay on a skewer, mutton balls, fries, and something called sukruti, which turned out to be a nicely spicy mutton mixture. Really spicy – Sandra couldn’t eat it, and her eyes were still tearing 30 minutes later. Of course, being an old New Mexican chile scarfer, I had no problems at all, and downed the sukruti like it was going out of style. Went perfect with beer, equally as good, in a totally different way, as the grenkiy I had in St. Petersburg, Russia, especially with Everest beer, a local brand. The beer came in a 650 ml bottle and cost about $3.50, or 700 forints in Budapest. What a deal.
The next day, Thursday, November 19, I had a full day planned of wandering and sightseeing. I rode in to work with Sandra and asked Macha to drop me off at the Royal Palace, the first stop on my day’s visits. I thought I’d work my way from there through Thamel and down to Durbar Square, seeing selected sights along the way, with lunch at the Rum Doodle restaurant. So, I hit the Royal Palace at 8:30 AM sharp; naturally, it didn’t open until 11. Okaaay, plan revision. Got some breakfast at the Bakery Café, the one with the deaf waiters (which is probably why the music is so bad), and was satisfied for the nonce. Scrambled eggs, sausage, toast and tea, very nice. Then hit the streets for some souvenir shopping, intending to go back to the Palace around 11. Well, this time I looked more carefully at all the goodies on sale, and started buying and just couldn’t stop. Picked up all my gifts and souvenirs, and even had to buy a bag to carry them in. The Shopper returns. Rabin called and wanted to meet for lunch at noon at the Rum Doodle, so that also curtailed my Palace visit. I did get to the Garden of Dreams, however, which was a nice side trip into a pretty, quiet little garden area off the main drag.
Lunch was fun at The Rum Doodle, one of the favorite stops for mountaineering folk. I even left my footprint on the wall on the terrace level; check it out next time you’re there. Rabin gave me all the documents for my trip to Chitwan next week, and after lunch I shopped some more and finally called it a day around 3, when Macha picked me up. I’ll live to visit the Royal Palace another day. That night was a restful one at the house, with pizza and a movie. HBO – wow!
November 20. After visiting the Post Office to buy some stamps for my many post cards (and getting a major runaround as to where to purchase them), I walked over to New Road and found the tailor Sandra recommended. All I could order were a couple of pair of nice slacks, but that was enough. Custom-tailored slacks – alright. Then I walked down the street to Durbar Square and onto Freak Street, the primary gathering place for hippies in the 1960s. Still a few of then left, from the look of it. Anyway, it was nearly lunchtime, so thought I’d try the Kumari restaurant, recommended in my guidebook. Well, it was wonderful. A little tiny place on Freak Street, I ordered a garlic steak and a bottle of Everest beer. The steak came on a sizzling platter, with fries and veggies and, with the beer, was just about as perfect a lunch as I’ve had in awhile.
After lunch I wandered Durbar Square for awhile, taking in those sights I’d seen when I first arrived in a touch more detail. After a lazy late afternoon, Sandra took me to the local newly-opened Irish Pub, which was, well, nice. Good food, though – more momos. Ferenc joined us and we discussed EU politics for way too long. After a short stop at The Factory for just one last drink, Sandra and I ended up in a late-night pool session at her place, until my eyes began to close of their own volition and I hit the sack with a vengeance.
November 21. Saturday, I was up at the crack of nine, way too early. Macha picked me up and I asked him to stop for breakfast at a place called, appropriately enough, Mike’s Breakfast. Another wonderful meal. Two poached eggs, two hamburger-sized sausage patties, fried potatoes, interesting brown Nepalese bread and butter and tea – boy, I needed that.
Refreshed once more, we headed over to the Buddhist Temple and stupa of Swayambunath, on the northwest side of Kathmandu. I did manage to climb all 300 steep stairs to the temple, stopping often along the way to admire the view and catch my breath. But the climb was worth it, with amazing views over all of Kathmandu and an astonishing stupa (like a basilica) at the top of the hill. This landmark is also called the Monkey Temple for all the wild monkeys running all over and around it. Hundreds of monkeys looking for food, cigarettes, whatever, from the tourists.
I strolled around the area for awhile – always remembering to go clockwise around a Buddhist stupa – and decided to feed the poor starving monkeys. I bought some nuts for them, and started my rounds to feed them. They were gone! Not a monkey in sight. Really. Every friggin’ monkey had disappeared from the temple area. I couldn’t find even one. Well, hell, screw you, then, monkeys. I took my monkey nuts (so to speak) and started back down the staircase from hell. Fortunately (for them, anyway), there were monkeys along the way down, and I managed to unload the entire bag of nuts on them. Even had a couple of them eating out of my hand. Cool.
By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, my thighs were actually quivering, so I sat down to rest and wait for Macha to find me. My afternoon was restful again. That night Sandra was invitrd to dinner at some newly-arrived friends’ home, so she asked me to come along, which I did. The dinner party was for eight people, including the hosts, and the food was wonderful, especially considering the couple’s household goods had only arrived two days previously. The wine flowed and conversation was spirited, but I was still adjusting to the time difference and the food difference, so I called it a night around 11 or so.
Sunday, November 22 – up early again to meet another Internations contact at the Rum Doodle for lunch. Arabinda Subedi. Nice giuy, nice lunch, we chatted away the time until I had to leave. After lunch, we were supposed to tour some neew art galleries, but Sandra got sidetracked or waylaid or something, and Macha finally picked me up 1 ½ hours later. I got to go to the American Club, where Sandra was sitting with a few friends for afternoon drinks. We headed home shortly, then it was off to the wedding of some Hindu friends of Sandra’s, which was a ball. Held on the top floor of a large hall in the Patan district, way south of Kathmandu, it was crowded with revelers, some of whom were Sandra’s work colleagues. The women mostly wore beautiful saris, and the men were in suits, except, of course, for me, but no one seemed to care. The food was great and the DJ was lively, and I danced away the evening.
Monday morning, November 23, Macha drove me to the airport around 10 AM for my noon flight to Chitwan with Tara Air. It was the beginning of my four-day package with Unique Wild Adventures in the Chitwan National Park. And for more about what happened next, you’ll have to wait for the next Newsletter installment.

Autumn Interlude

2009-11-12T01:09:00.000-08:00

As is usual at this time of year, with everyone back from vacation and summer holidays, the fall social season swung into full gear early in September. There were, of course, the standard gatherings: Viking Club on the first Thursday of the month, wherein all of the Scandinavians in Budapest find each other at a local bar and celebrate the difference between the incredibly expensive alcoholic drinks in their home countries and the really cheap drinks here in Hungary; the Monday evening Happy Hours at a local Italian restaurant, wherein a small but truly international group of expats gather to sip the Italian national drink of Spritzzz (basically, just a white wine spritzer with Aperol) and catch up on all the gossip the Viking Club didn’t supply; the monthly Internations meetings, an expanded version of Happy hour, with well over 100 attendees and as many as 20 different nationalities; the Friday ritual Happy Hour at the Britannia Club, Brit-centric but with a nice sprinkling of other countries thrown in; the Curry Club, still going from Indian restaurant to Indian restaurant to see which is the best in town; and a host of other infrequent events such as birthday parties, Pub Quizzes, comedy clubs and special gatherings to Save Budapest’s Gardens or to celebrate one of the many failures in Hungarian history.

Whew, lots to do. Of course, all of these gatherings attract not only the usual suspects, but also many newly-arrived people, so we get to meet and greet newbies all the time. Since many newbies are also attractive women, I attend as many events as I can.

I also flirted with something called Bikram Yoga. I’m still trying to lose some weight, but without the strenuous exercises of the local weight rooms or running till I drop, so I decided to try some low-impact exercising via yoga. Of course, I couldn’t pick just any yoga – it had to be Bikram Yoga. Picture doing the standard yoga stretching exercises for 90 minutes in a dry sauna. Yep, that’s what it’s like. This large, very hot room - say, 100 degrees F – filled with young women and maybe 3-4 men, and me, all doing yoga exercises – stretching and pulling and balancing and sweating out all the poisons – at least a liter’s worth of liquid. Whew. Too bad my poor old bod won’t stretch or bend or entwine in the positions desired. I did my best, however, and was able to do about two-thirds of the postures and stretches, but there were all too many times I just sat there and sweated while the limber young women did things with their bodies that I haven’t even been able to think of since 1962. At the end of the session, I had sweated out at least two liters of liquids, and my floor towel, floor mat, wipe-off towel and my shorts and tank top all looked as if I had dunked them into a large warm bathtub filled with water. I mean, I was WET! A couple of trial sessions were enough for me, and I happily went back to my couch-potato exercises, wherein the heaviest exercise I perform is to thumb down the TV remote controller to change channels. Much better.

I renewed my residence permit for another couple of years, so I’m legal once again. Guess I’ll be staying for awhile. I’ve thought of maybe moving on, but I just can’t find a place in Europe or the Mediterranean area as nice or with as many good friends as here. Or, probably, as inexpensive, even with the price rises over the years. Maybe Asia, but for the long haul I just can’t stand the humidity. And then, on Tuesday, September 29, 2009, I celebrated the tenth anniversary of my arrival in Budapest. Ten years. Damn! It’s all gone so quickly, and I’ve done so many things I never thought I’d ever do, and seen so many things I never thought I’d ever see. I’ve met all sorts of wonderful people and had lots of incredible experiences. My second life has truly been, overall, the best part of my entire life. I just wish I’d taken up a career in my first life that had allowed me to travel as much. Ah, well, no regrets; maybe next time around.

I also toyed with the possibility of taking on another English class or two, but nothing definite yet. We shall see. One evening I also attended a special program at the local Holocaust Center, complete with a tour of exhibits which were new since the last time I was there, and some reminiscences of a survivor of the camps. Naturally, we’ve all seen the movies and read the books and even, in some cases, visited one of the infamous camps, but to sit there and actually listen to an 80-year-old survivor talk about what it was like to be a fifteen-year-old Hungarian girl having dinner with your family and suddenly have Arrow Cross thugs (the Hungarian equivalent of Nazis) literally break down your door and yell at you to pack a bag in five minutes and hustle you off to the train station at gunpoint – and then describe what happened after – being separated from her mother at the Auschwitz arrival platform, never to see her again – being “liberated” by Russian soldiers (mostly Mongolians) whose idea of liberation was to rape every female in sight – well, it doesn’t make one feel too positive toward Hungarians for awhile. Women like her are becoming scarcer all the time, and I hope people of today’s world have a chance to hear someone like her before they are all gone.

Also managed to maintain my standing as social prince of Budapest. One week I was out every night in a row. Guess I’m not getting too old for this stuff. Among my many events were: I helped the Brits celebrate Guy Fawkes Night at yet another party at the Intercontinental Hotel along the Danube; managed to catch a rugby match or two; also helped select the new shirts we plan to sell to help promote rugby for Hungarian youth; caught a new jazz combo at the Cotton Club; and joined some new aficionados for a karaoke night.

Anyway, I generally took it fairly easy (!), watching my diet and getting ready for my Nepal trip. Yep, my friend Sandra with USAID okayed my visit for mid-November to mid-December. To me one of the most fun aspects of traveling is planning the trip, doing research on what to do and see and where to go. So, I spent many happy hours on the Internet and in various bookstores around town, checking websites and travel books for things to see and do in Kathmandu and excursions therefrom. Once again, I sent out a request on the Internations Forum for anyone from Kathmandu who might like to meet up when I got there, and got two hits. Both Nepalese locals wrote back and welcomed me, and I arranged to contact them during my stay. One of them, Rabin, owns a travel agency and arranged for my first excursion from Kathmandu about a week after I arrive. I’ll be going to Chitwan National Park for four days, package to include an elephant safari and bath, jungle walk, village visit and probably other goodies I didn’t note. Gotta love that Internations. In preparation for my trip, I had to get more shots, of course, make my flight reservations and decide what to take with me. The best flight I could find routes me from Budapest through Athens to Doha for a seven-hour layover in the middle of the night, then on to Kathmandu. Coming back I have the same long layover in Doha, then fly to London and back to Budapest. We’ll see how it goes.

And so, on to Nepal. Watch this space eagerly for the next installment, the first of my Katmandu adventures.

Last Trip of Summer

2009-09-17T03:00:00.000-07:00

Budapest was sweltering in the midst of a fierce heat wave during the remainder of July and early August, so I compensated by spending as much time as possible at a nearby water park. It’s only a ten-minute walk from my flat and I can usually spend the morning and most of the afternoon there, soaking up the sun and lounging in the cool waters. I also caught some of the Tri-Nations rugby matches in air-conditioned Champs’ Sports Bar, which helped keep my body temperature down.
Farewell parties, birthday parties, social gatherings continued to take up my time, which is always a good way to spend the summer evenings in Budapest. I even got to tend bar at the Britannia Club a couple of times, which is fun and a nice way to pay the British Embassy back for having to put up with us Colonials as members. Caught a good exhibit of the photographs of Robert Capa (actually born in Hungary as Endre Friedman) and generally slipped through August with barely a ripple.
Although I had thought I might like to visit friends in Scotland in August or September, I checked out a couple of other places too. I still want to see Izmir, Turkey, along with nearby Pamukkale and the fascinating geographical formations there. I looked up the airfare and found it was nearly $800 US - a touch too much for such a short trip. Maybe another time. As I perused my map of Europe, however, I realized I still hadn’t spent enough time in the northern areas, so I closed my eyes and threw my dart and it landed right in the middle of Copenhagen, Denmark. So that’s where I decided to go in mid-September. Just a short five-day trip, but enough to assuage my travel bug before my big trip in the winter.
One option for the winter was Capetown, South Africa, which will remain on my list, but instead I heard from former Budapest resident Sandra Minkel, who works for USAID and is now stationed in Katmandu, Nepal, and who kindly offered to let me stay at her place if I wanted to visit, which I most definitely do. So – will finalize trip details in September and head out for the wilds of Asia around mid-November, staying a month and returning in time for my birthday and Xmas. Gonna be another great year-end.
August ground slowly into September. I tried to stay cool by sitting in dark bars and watching the Ashes cricket tournament between England and Australia. I think I now understand about half of the game, but damn it’s slow. The Ashes consists of three five-day matches. I managed to catch about two hours of the third match. That was all I could take. But I while watching the match in the Caledonia Scottish pub I did try a new (for me, anyway) soft drink from Scotland called Irn Bru, the taste of which is good, but hard to describe. Try it, you’ll see.
Also finally managed to move one notch closer to the 21st century by getting free movies on my PC. So now I can watch some new and old flicks when TV doesn’t offer me any good fare. Not bad.
We had another Internations gathering at the end of August, along with our weekly Italian Happy Hours, our monthly Viking Club meeting and various and sundry unexpected visitors from places far and near. Always fun to see everyone – people just cannot seem to stay away from Budapest. It really does grab you.
Of course, the local councils don’t always see it that way. One of their more inane decrees lately was to pass a law that all bars, restaurants, pubs, and other businesses in the Sixth District (the heart of Budapest’s nightlife) must be closed by 10 PM. If enforced, such a law would effectively kill Budapest’s nightlife to the extent that the city would probably never recover. And all because a few old farts don’t like the late-night noise where they live. Tough bananas – they’ll all be dead soon anyway, so who cares? The bar and restaurant owners are, naturally, contesting this idiocy, and I’ll update you on the latest results as they happen. Meanwhile, it was off to Copenhagen for me.

COPENHAGEN

Every time I get upset about the ongoing price increases in Budapest – and they are legion – all I have to do is take a trip to another large European city, stop in at a local pub and buy a beer. Those beers always cost two-to-three times as much as in Hungary, so I do my sightseeing and rush home to my sane-cost-of-living landlocked city in the middle of Central Europe. My trip to Copenhagen was no exception. A local premium beer was $12 US! Scandalous! And the food was just as bad – in fact, almost all of my money went for food and drink. So many things were so overpriced: a standard paperback book was $20 US. Nice city, but too rich for my poor wallet.
Anyway, I arrived at Copenhagen’s ultra-modern airport on Friday afternoon, September 11, caught the train into the Central Station, walked two blocks and checked into my hotel - also just two blocks from Tivoli - got some local updates at the Tourist Information office and headed out for the Stroget, the world’s longest pedestrian shopping street (so advertised in Denmark, anyway). And it is a long street, filled with shops and restaurants and pubs and fast food places and buskers and fountains and all sorts of wonderful sights and sounds. Reminded me somewhat of Grafton Street in Dublin, only about three times as long.
I did my acclimatization stroll, then found The Irish Rover pub, where I had my first - and one of only a very few - $12 beers. Jacobsen brown ale, put out by Carlsberg. Good stuff, but the price was only for a 0.4 L draft. Another ripoff. As the sun had passed the yardarm, I called my Internations contact to see if we could meet up.
See, the main reason I joined the Internations international social networking group was to meet people when I travel. When I know I’ll be visiting a particular place, I post a message on the Internations World Forum bulletin board and ask if any local Internations members would like to meet for a drink and help me get orientated to their city. I’ve only tried this twice so far: in Seville I connected with someone, but our schedules didn’t match and we never met up. However, Copenhagen was a different story.

THANK YOU, SUZANNE

Internations’ Copenhagen Ambassador (local group leader) is Suzanne Sommer. She was kind enough to answer me when I posted my arrival on the Internations’ bulletin board. She gave me her phone number and I called her from the pub. Well, she entered the pub as if it were her own personal stage, and immediately brightened up the room. The energy picked up from there and the evening proceeded apace. She was accompanied by a friend, Neils, and we all had a leisurely dinner at the nearby Sultan’s Palace, after which a tour of local Copenhagen was in order. We grabbed a taxi (complete with portable bike rack for the many locals who ride their bicycles around town) to an outdoor gathering somewhere in Copenhagen. There was live music (hard rock by a group from Jutland, but at least I didn’t have to jump up and down) and an outdoor showing of the International Air Guitar Championships. Who would have ever thought there would be awards for people who only pretend to play the guitar? An amazing and interesting comment on today’s cultural wasteland.
Anyway, we hooked up with more friends and headed over to the flat of yet another Danish woman friend of Suzanne’s. Tina is a tall striking blonde who welcomed me into her home with open arms and Irish whiskey. What a great evening. Even in my previous travels, it wasn’t often I actually got to meet local people and get invited into their homes, so this was a real treat. I sipped my whiskey (and said a reluctant “No” to the spliffs being passed around). All I had really expected from Suzanne was a drink or two and some general information on things to do and places to go, and then I presumed she’d leave me on my own. Surprise! She is so much better than that and she started my visit to Copenhagen with a super night. I finally had to call a taxi around 1 AM, as I had no idea where I was. A ten-minute taxi ride cost $21. No more taxis for me!
My hotel room in the Cab Inn was reminiscent of an economy stateroom on a cruise ship, or perhaps a Pullman berth. It was small and narrow and combined the shower with the toilet area, but it was really all I needed, as I only spent the necessary time there to change clothes and sleep. Of course, this teeny haven in the middle of Copenhagen still ran $100 a night.
Saturday morning was another Tri-Nations rugby match, so I headed for The Irish Rover to catch the opening kickoff at 9:30 AM. A big Irish breakfast ($20) helped wake me up. Afterwards, I signed up for the Hop On/Hop Off tour bus, which was actually a pretty good deal. All three routes for only $30. I did the city tours, saw the Little Mermaid (hey, she was cute, and not as little as I had been led to believe), Amalienborg Palace and the changing of the guard, Nyhavn canal, and all the other major sights on this round. I decided to save the remaining two tours for Sunday, so I lazed away the afternoon, walking and eating falafels and looking for the places I still wanted to visit. Had a small, fair local beers at Bloomsday Bar and Charlie’s Bar, then took it easy for dinner.
Sunday was another tour day. Did the Carlsberg Brewery in the morning, which was fun, then bussed over to Christiania in the afternoon. Christiania was opened up on one of the islands in the Copenhagen area by hippies in 1971, who then declared it an independent state and moved in all their friends. It’s pretty shabby, but the local residents like it because they can do anything they want there, including smoking lots of dope, which is illegal in Denmark. In fact, there are signs in the “downtown” area of Christiania indicating no photography is permitted there. I was initially surprised at the restriction, until I saw half the local residents smoking dope; obviously, they don’t want their pictures taken doing that. I got my first contact high since a Rolling Stones concert in 1994 in Pittsburgh.
I had a pita there, and craved some sweets, so thought I might get one of the blocks of chocolate I saw the locals selling on their tables. On closer inspection, the chocolate was actually blocks of hashish. The last time I smoked hashish I could feel my brain sliding back and forth in my head, so figured it wasn’t a good idea to try it again. Instead, I opted for a nice steak at the Hard Rock Café, next to Tivoli. $60, but my brain didn’t slide nearly as much – just my wallet.
My final two days I mailed my mandatory postcards, did a river walk and took lots more photos. I also did a harbor/canal cruise, but could easily have passed, as it wasn’t all that great. I did, however, come across something I hadn’t seen in many, many years – a pissoir, situated next to a canal. Shades of Paris, France. I also did Tivoli, which was interesting. Disneyland need have no fears of being outclassed. Tivoli is a nice, small amusement park: several rides, but mostly restaurants and souvenir shops. Basic adult entrance was $17, but with all rides it was $60! Spend that money, people! The weather was fair, low 60s, but the wind chill made it much colder, so it was good I’d brought a light jacket. I left early and had another nice dinner at Rosie McGee’s, just across the street. Great old-fashioned pub and restaurant, lots of dark wood and statues and red velvet chair coverings and stained-glass windows. Cool place. A hamburger and beer was $40.
A visit to the Rosenberg Palace was also in order, after which I had a nice last-day lunch at one of the famous open-faced sandwich places. This delicacy is Copenhagen’s entry into the international culinary experience, and it was quite good. It’s called a “smorrebrod,” (put slashes through the two Os). A final snack at Rosie McGee’s and I was ready for a more normal pricing structure. Got home Wednesday, September 16, and it was good to see my little flat in Budapest.
So, that’s it for now, all you regular readers. Got some parties and gatherings coming up, as usual, and will begin planning for my next trip: Katmandu! Y’all hang in there, watch this space for more updates on my wonderful life in Budapest. Take care and write soon.

I Find Black Mountain

2009-07-31T00:35:00.000-07:00

Ok, I was back in Budapest after my month in Spain and I was ready to relax for awhile. The weather was great for the first five days, then the rain hit and didn’t let up until early July - bummer. I did my share of parties, gatherings, events, happy hours, farewell dos, new dad wettings, Danube dinner cruises, sporting events (rugby and some soccer), generally just taking it easy. I did get a call from a former student who wanted short-term classes, as she was moving to the UK in September, so I now have two classes a week for the time being; what the heck, it pays the rent.
I caught a summer cold in late June, which I nursed for 5-6 days. In the meantime, I was getting ready for my Montenegro trip. My living room will be painted while I’m away, but I have to box up all my stuff to get the flat ready for the painters. No prob. Things were humming along nicely.
One day, while perusing Funzine, one of our expat magazines, I noticed an event at the Holocaust memorial center here to be held in late June. Things would be happening in the House of Acceptance (!?), including Tales of Patience, Choose a Family and Learn Their History, and several concerts. They all appeared to be very dignified and educational experiences concerning things that happened during the Holocaust. And then, at the end of the article, the following paragraph appeared (this is no joke, Gang, rather the absolute height of Tackiness):
“You’ll also be able to exchange books and ideas in The History Corner, or glance into the Mirror of Tolerance (a billboard welcoming tolerant and useful ideas, questions and opinions). Themed food and drink will be on offer, too, and at the Bar of Acceptance, you’ll be able to grab a Tolerance Sandwich, a Dilemma coffee, Coexistence cocktails, and a piece of Empathy cake…all three areas will be running continuously in the inner courtyard.”
Any further comment I might have on this paragraph would be superfluous.

And finally it was time to get on the big silver bird again and go winging off to exotic places. This time I headed out to Montenegro on a hot Sunday in mid-July, flying on one of Malev Airlines’ nice little two-engine prop-driven planes. (Free beer to any American who can tell me where Montenegro is without looking it up)
Former Budapest buddy Matt Bresler, who is also the present US Embassy Office Manager in Podgorica, Montenegro, met me at the airport with Big Red, his Jeep CJ, which survived the Kazakhstan winter and is now happy and smiling in sunny Montenegro. The side doors were off and on the way back to his flat Matt gave me the short tour of the city – and it was short, as Podgorica is a fairly small town. It does have an eight-square-block downtown area which is crammed full of restaurants, shops, pubs, etc, and is a nice place for a stroll.
It was still early when I arrived, so we dropped my bag at his flat and went off to see the Roman ruins at Duklija, which was interesting but somewhat anti-climactic, as there aren’t many ruins actually there. Then we headed up into the nearby mountains to check out the views from the Ostrog Monastery, built into the side of a cliff waaay up high. The views from the many switchbacks on the mountainside were worth the drive up. There were a lot of visitors waiting to be healed when we arrived at the monastery, so we skirted the long line and went through the main area to the balconies, where the best views are.
We came back into town and, as it was now around 7 PM, we had dinner at a downtown restaurant Matt likes – Carine. As is my usual routine when anywhere near the sea, I had as much fresh seafood as I could stuff into my face; this time it was the shopska salad and grilled calamari – wonderful. The local beer, Nikisicik (sorry about the spelling, Matt) served as a nice refresher. Another plus during dinner: every night several of the downtown streets in Podgorica are blocked off to vehicular traffic and the locals (and tourists, I guess) wander around, checking each other out, looking for friends, stopping for a drink here or a cigarette there. We lounged in our restaurant table near the street and watched the crowds. Lots of pretty young women out for a stroll, so the scenery was lovely to look at. We ourselves took a short stroll around the area, then headed home around 10 PM. Matt’s apartment is US-Embassy-supplied very nice – three bedrooms, beautifully finished with wood trim everywhere, real showers, and air conditioning, which was desperately needed, as the temperatures outside hovered in the mid-90s all the time I was there.
The first few days of the week Matt had to work, so I was generally left to my own devices during the days. Matt works at the US Embassy, which is located less than 200 meters from his flat and, like a true American, he drives to work. I took a 20-minute stroll into town from Matt’s flat, walking along the riverside and just generally inhaling the peacefulness of Podgorica. It’s located in a valley ringed with mountains, so the heat is somewhat oppressive, but cool breezes near the river help even things out. I had breakfast at Carine – a tasty omelet with which I ordered a glass of orange juice, but got a glass of orange pulp. Then I checked out the rest of the town. Looked for some postcards to send, but there weren’t any! Finally found a small selection of 5-6 at the post office itself. Guess Podgorica isn’t high on the tourist destination list. We had dinner that night at Leonardo, where I succumbed to more seafood.
Tuesday I checked out Podgorica’s first and only shopping center/Mall, and it was nice. Had a late breakfast there and caught the new Harry Potter flick in air-conditioned peace.
On Wednesday I found a nice restaurant near Matt’s place and had a great truffle omelet. Then Matt took off work early and we drove to Kotor along the coast, about an hour or so away. Had lunch in a small roadside café near Cetinje, which consisted of Nijesti ham and cheese. I must have confused the waiter, as our food and a few Cokes came to 30 euro! A lot for lunch. Anyway, we drove through the mountains and came out on top of a high – very high – cliff face overlooking the bay in which Kotor is situated. The road down the mountainside – and it was literally on the side of the mountain – had 30 switchbacks which, for those of you who have ever driven mountain roads know, is a lot of switchbacks.
We finally got down and strolled around the small walled old town of Kotor, sucking down Cokes wherever we could. Another hot day. We drove around the bay and found the ferry crossing to the southern part of the bay, then drove down the coast past Tivat, through the pretty little town of Budva and on to a lookout near Matt’s seaside flat, from which one can see the entire Sveti Stefan Bay. We were due to return the following day, so we didn’t linger this time. Headed down the coast again to Petrovac, then climbed back into the mountains on the back road to Podgorica, stopping on the way for some fresh corn, which was a good dinner.
On Thursday afternoon we drove back to Matt’s place on the coast again, this time along a different mountain route. Not quite as many switchbacks this time, but the views (and lack of guard rails) were just as amazing. Matt’s flat is just off the coast highway a few kilometers south of Budva and his balcony overlooks the entire bay north, which includes Budva and the island hotel of Sveti Stefan. Look it up on the Net for detailed photos. A really cool place, although not in use at the present time.
Matt’s landlady Zoritsa welcomed me to Montenegro with a glass of Slivovitz (homemade raki – deadly stuff), then we drove into Budva for a stroll and to check things out. Had a Guinness at the English Pub, then Matt left for home, leaving me to my own devices for the evening. I quickly found the Irish pub – which was out of Guinness, a mortal sin in Ireland – and settled in with some of the local Irish lads for some beer and craic. Got a good recommendation for a restaurant, and walked down the boardwalk, along “Yacht Row,” to find Porto, where I once again satisfied my seafood cravings with mussel-stuffed mushrooms and seafood skewers. Mmmm.
I was pretty wiped out by that time, so taxied back to the flat (a 15-euro ride, which should have been 10) and watched the nightlights on the bay from Matt’s balcony for awhile. I could get used to that kind of living.
On Friday I was up early. I walked down the steps and winding streets from Matt’s place to Sveti Stefan, stopping along the way to pick up a meat pie from a small shop. I satisfied my yearning to see SS up close, and then started the trudge back up the hill. Luckily a taxi happened by when I was halfway up, so I flagged him down and went to the beach at the Maestral Resort and Casino, a mere 5 euros away. I lolled away the morning on the small rocky beach and waited for Matt to show up for lunch. He arrived around 2 PM, and we ate more seafood at Languste, next to my little beach. Good food, terribly slow service, but my veal soup and seafood salad were nice.
Matt caught some sun for an hour or two, then we went back to the flat, showered, napped and headed back into Budva for an evening on the town. We settled in at Caspar’s bar in Old Town and watched the local and tourist talent walk by as we consumed a bottle of vodka. I heard mostly Russian among the tourists, as Montenegro is one of the few places where Russians can still visit without a visa, so they flock there in droves. We finally succumbed to the night around 2 AM and taxied back to the flat (only 10 euro this time) and talked away the rest of the night on the balcony. Good living.
Next morning we were up at the crack of ten, moving slowly. We decided to just pack up and head back to Podgorica, so we took it easy on the drive back. We stopped at the nice Konak restaurant on the way for a light lunch, then cruised the town of Cetinje, former capital of the country, finally arriving back in Podgorica in the late afternoon. We were both rather tired, so whiled away the evening watching American television shows, which, of course, I had never seen. Lots of series have come and gone since I’ve been away from the states. I did enjoy the series Arrested Development, and we watched the first two season’ worth of episodes.
Finally, it was time to leave. Another short prop-driven flight back to Budapest, and I arrived home to a freshly-painted flat around 6 PM. All of the boxes I’d packed up were in my bedroom, so I had to unpack them and put everything away before I could find my bed. Managed to get it mostly finished by 9 PM, after which I could rest. It was another fun trip, and I thank Matt for putting up with me for a week and for showing me much of Montenegro and for driving all over the place. Another good friendship made in Hungary.
It was a busy week after my return. A good Happy Hour Monday at our local Italian restaurant, where I saw old friends and made several new ones, including some possible English students. I don’t teach much anymore, but once in awhile – especially if the students are lovely young Hungarian women. A nice change from my Hungarian businessmen. Then it was another Internations gathering on Tuesday and a birthday party for a Finnish friend on Wednesday at our new cocktail bar. Thursday it was back to the Britannia Club, and on Friday I rested.
So, Gang, all for now. Summer is still in full swing, and the temps here have moderated to the mid-70s. Will begin checking possibilities for next trip(s) shortly, and will let you all know what I decide. Until then, everyone have a good summer and stay well.

Vaya Con Cerveca

2009-05-28T01:12:00.000-07:00

I’ll start this last week early, with my Saturday trip to Tangiers, as that was the culmination of my travels. On May 16 I caught a very early bus to Algeciras, on the Mediterranean coast. I was worried about how to get to the port in time to catch a ferry to Tangiers, but my worries came to naught when I watched the bus pull into the bus station, which was located at the ferry port! I hopped off the bus, walked the 45 seconds to the ticket office, bought my ferry ticket, and walked onto the hydrofoil ferry for Tangiers. Piece of cake. A two-hour journey across the Straits of Gibraltar and I was in Morocco again, this time at a rather dirty and crowded port city. I had booked the Hotel Tanjah Flandria hotel for two nights, but one would have been enough. I had booked this hotel mainly because it advertised a rooftop swimming pool, and I envisioned several hours of lazing around in the Moroccan sunshine. Alas, it was not to be; the pool was closed for renovations. Bummer. Another well-planned trip foiled by the diabolical renovators.
Anyway, I found and walked around the souks and the Medina and the old city. I saw the Kasbah (I kept waiting to hear Charles Boyer’s voice echoing from a nearby café saying, “Come wiz me to zee Kasbah”). Plus, wonder of wonders, when I turned on Moroccan television, who should greet me (and in English yet) but The Blues Brothers. Incredible. Dinner at the hotel was overpriced, but okay.
The next day I did more wandering in the souks, and headed for the huge beach which is near the port. It had to be at least 300 meters wide and a mile long. But dirty, you know? Camels festooned the area, waiting for unwary tourist riders (of which I was not one). While I was having lunch overlooking the beach, I even saw one local lad walk out a ways on the beach, drop to his knees and then obviously urinate in the sand. Hmmm, good thing I wore only my high-top walking shoes and not sandals.
At least in the Medina I found a neat leather shoulder bag and during my two-night stay I stuffed as much couscous into my face as I could stand. Yummy.
One prominent feature of the Arabic countries I have visited is that the men gather at tables lined up along a restaurant wall where they talk and smoke water pipes and drink tea, basically just lazing away the day doing nothing. Apparently, this is the modern-day equivalent of sitting outside their tents sharpening their knives and waiting for the next attack, while the women do everything else to keep the community going. No wonder they still just have to look over their shoulder to see the Stone Age.
Two nights in Tangiers were more than enough. On Monday morning I caught another early ferry to what I thought would be Algecrias, preparatory to finding my way to Gibraltar. It turned out the ferry took about 90 minutes to get to Tarifa, a closer port city in southern Spain, where we had to board a bus for the 30-minute trip to Algeciras and the bus terminal at the port. Interesting logistics. Once there, I found out a taxi to Gibraltar would only run me 24 euros, so I thought, what the hell, and cabbed over to The Frontier, which is what the entrance to The Rock is called.
My original plans had been to spend the day in Gibraltar, seeing as much as I could during that short stay, then bus back to Seville that evening. So upon arrival I did the cable car tour up to the top of The Rock. While there I saw the Barbary apes at play. One of them jumped onto the shoulder of a poor tourist who was carrying his frightened small daughter; I also watched as another ape, upon spying a bag of crisps peeking out of the backpack of an English tourist, leaped onto the railing next to her, reached in her backpack, grabbed the bag and ripped it open with his teeth. Aggressive little buggers. The view from the top of Gibraltar is, of course, spectacular.
Upon reaching the bottom again, I planned to walk back to The Frontier along Main Street, have lunch along the way, then catch a bus back to Seville. Well, Gibraltar was just too cool. Okay, it’s like being in Oxford, but I liked it. I had a great fish and chips lunch and the shop owner recommended a hotel for me to stay the night if I was so inclined. My incline was working, and I did. The Canon was one of the few one-star hotels I have ever stayed in anywhere, but the tiny rooms were clean and the bathrooms down the hall were generally unoccupied, so it was satisfactory.
I found Pusser’s Landing, a great restaurant and bar in the marina, and downed several rum concoctions: a Pain Killer, Rum Punch, Reef Juice, Jamaican Me Crazy and Grog. Hell, I may even have had a Boat Drink in there somewhere. A good lazy afternoon. I bought a couple of Pusser’s shirts and had dinner of conch chowder and conch fritters. Mmmm, love that conch (pronounced “conk”), which I had only previously found in the Bahamas, at another Pusser’s, amazingly enough. And to make my day, it turned out the bartendress was Hungarian, so it was almost like being home, but with more sunshine and cool breezes. The next day, after a big English breakfast, I caught the 11 AM bus back to Seville.
For the rest of my final week in Spain I just relaxed. I walked around, ate sparingly and got more sun. Thursday night was my final karaoke night at Flaherty’s, and I was known as a regular by this time. I did several oldies, alone and accompanied by local women.
Late in the evening I was sitting at the bar, contemplating whether to sing again or head back to the flat, when a young, tall, blonde, very attractive Dutch girl came over and introduced herself to me. Now, it’s been a very long time since anything like that happened to me, and I must admit I was somewhat taken aback. Luisa and I chatted for awhile, and over the music and noise I thought she mentioned something about seeing her hotel. I agreed, and we chatted some more, then she said she and her friends had to get something to eat. Disappointment, naturally, but I thought we then arranged to meet the next evening. Needless to say, it never happened. Another potential adventure lost. Ah, well, I gave her my card, so who knows?
And finally, all too quickly, it was over. On May 24 I flew to Lisbon then home to Budapest around 8 PM. I entered my flat, tanned and sweaty and happy, to find my carpet gone, my plants moved out onto the balcony and all of my stuff and furniture moved around. There were also a number of still-wet towels drying on my drying rack in the living room. What the hell? I looked around and then looked up and what do you know? A large chunk of my ceiling plaster had apparently come unglued and fallen and covered my flat with dust and debris. Luckily, it had all been cleaned up by my landlords, but still. The chunk came out right where I usually sit to watch TV. Maybe things aren’t so bad after all.
So, that was my month in Spain. Good adventures, a nice relaxing time away from Budapest, new people, great food, welcoming sea breezes and a nice culture. But expensive, Gang, quite expensive.
Okay, one final note. Two days after I got back our InterNations Group had a gathering at a local Indian restaurant. I was able to hook up with many friends I hadn’t seen in while (obviously), and the evening progressed nicely, with the beer flowing and the samosa being consumed. All of a sudden I felt a small group gathered behind me. I turned around and they were all wearing red t-shirts with a really bad picture of me on them, and the caption “Everything is Gary’s fault!”
It was my welcome home present. They even had a t-shirt for me, which I donned then and there, taking off my Hawaiian shirt to the whistles and clapping of many of the other guests (a few diehards looked embarrassedly away, but I figured they didn’t know what they were missing, so to hell with them). A really nice gesture to mark my return to Hungary. Good friends – how could I ever leave here? You can see the photo on Facebook.
All for now, Readers. Take care, write me sometime, and watch this space for future events. Next trip: Montenegro.

Spanish Interlude, Weeks 2 and 3

2009-05-28T01:10:00.000-07:00

Vamos a la Playa! On Monday, May 4, I bussed to Cadiz, just over 90 minutes south of Seville and right on the Mediterranean coast. I did the bus tour of the town, then walked around checking out the cathedral and beaches, which were extremely nice and clean and not crowded at all. Powder sand, soft and fluffy. After a lunchtime snack, I bussed down to the Playa Victoria beach and rested for a couple of hours in the sun and surf. A pretty town, but not a lot to see, so I came back to Seville around six, waited until 8 when the restaurants re-opened, had some sushi at a nearby Japanese place.
The next two days I spent setting up my Tangier hotel and Gibraltar tour, checking the Tangier ferry schedules and walking a lot. I also did a couple of museum visits: the Archivos de las Indias, a museum dedicated to Spain’s activities in the New World, which was actually fairly interesting; and the Belles Artes museum. I pre-purchased my bus tickets for Cordoba and checked out the local shopping streets. And guess what? I finally found my navy blue Blazer! After nearly four years of searching, El Corte Ingles actually had one in my exact size. No alterations needed. Finally! I even found an English-language bookstore, so I was able to replenish my stock. I had a pretty good Tex-Mex burgers and fries at the Texas Lone Star Bar near the Giralda, where I also met a nice young couple from Sydney with whom I watched an exciting Chelsea-Barcelona football match, which Barceloina won with a tying goal in the 93rd minute of penalty time. Wow!
On May 7 it was back on the bus again, this time to Cordoba. Did another 90-minute tour of the city and walked along the river, but there is really not a lot to see in this isolated city in otherwise beautiful country. For the remainder of the week I did my relaxing walks and ate and drank too much down by the riverside.

On Monday, May 11,the beginning of Week Number Three, I took the 9:30 AM bus to Granada, arriving there around 1:15 PM. As we pulled into sight of the city, I was very surprised to see snow on the nearby Sierra Nevada mountains. I taxied to my hotel, since this time it was a long walk from the bus station. My hotel room was not quite as big as my bathroom in Budapest, but adequate for all that. Granada gives the impression of a busier city than Seville, but at least the tapas were served free with your meals. And there was a lot of graffiti around, which is a shame for the city which boasts the Alhambra, another World Heritage site. Anyway, after checking in, I caught another local bus to the Alhambra, which is perched on a hill overlooking the city. I got there before the official time for my tour, so I was able to do my own unguided tour of the gardens and palaces left by the Moors.
Lonely Planet says, “The Alhambra is simply breathtaking.” Well, Faithful Readers, I gotta tell you, I had no trouble retaining my breath. The gardens are well-trimmed and pretty (although the pools were scummy and green with algae), the flowers were sweet-smelling, several of the fountains were turned off or just plain didn’t work and the decorations, as previously commented upon re: Arabic “art,” were just repetitive squiggles. In short, it was okay, but nothing to write home about. I guess once you’ve seen the pyramids and Sphinx at sunset, and the Taj Mahal at sunrise, most other sights pale into insignificance.
I spent the night in Granada, and did another bus tour the next day, but there wasn’t really anything of interest to keep me there, so I headed back to Seville in the early afternoon. Again, I spent my time in Seville walking around the city, absorbing the sights and smells and sounds. I had snacks of chocolate and churros (plain fried dough, not the sugar-covered wonders I was used to in New Mexico) at the Café Duque, and even managed to do another karaoke evening at Flaherty’s. That night the pub held its Miss Flaherty contest, and I cheered on the lovely and pleasingly busty contestants along with the other testosterone-filled and slightly inebriated males. After six Guinnesses, it was time to head off.
(Ed. Note: by this time, I had been phoneless for two weeks, and until my hotel in Granada, I hadn’t seen an English-language newscast in all that time. No newspapers, either. And you know what? The world just kept right on spinning, even without me to help it along.) So now, one more week to go - let's drag it out as much as possible.

Andalucia - Land of 10,000 Churches

2009-05-28T01:07:00.000-07:00

Alright! An entire month in Spain; or, to be more precise, Andalucia. Southern Spain. Well, why not? Nothing to keep me in Budapest these days other than friends and social gatherings. Time to go sightseeing again, only this time for a somewhat longer period. Get to know the cities and people, take it easy seeing everything instead of rushing through a short weekend visit. So, okay, southern Spain it is.
On the Internet I found a flat rental agency that found me what turned out to be a really nice bedroom in a shared apartment in Seville. The young couple living there were the owner’s younger brother and his girlfriend. Nice kids. Plus their small black cocker spaniel Jacko. We basically passed each other during the month, as we were each mostly out of the flat when the others were in. Easy living.
Anyway, the First Week. After an afternoon flight and a four-hour layover in Lisbon, I arrived in Seville around 12:15 in the morning of April 25. A helpful taxi driver took me to the flat I had rented for the month on Calle Florencio Quintero, just north and outside of the “ring road” that circles the main part of Seville. I met my landlord, and got settled in to my bedroom, which consisted of a bed, wardrobe, desk and chair. Space was available for me in the refrigerator and bathroom, but I had to bring my own towel.
The next day, Sunday, was Sort Out Day, when I figured out what was what and how things worked and got myself orientated. Armed with an Internet Map, I walked into the center of town. Naturally, it was raining. Happy holidays! Anyway, first thing to do was figure out the buses and pick up a bus pass, a bonobus, which got me ten rides for six euros, half the single-ride price. I bought my pass at a newsstand, or Prensa. Turned out my flat was only two short blocks from a bus stop. Excellent. The rain finally let up late morning, so I had an early snack, then caught the Hop On Hop Off bus tour to see where everything was.
After that, it was lunch in the Barrio Santa Cruz, a small area next to the Alcazar palace, filled with narrow winding streets, tourist shops and restaurants. I also visited the Tourist Information Center on Avenida Constitucion and got some good local maps and lots of information about the places I wanted to visit. Extremely helpful Tourist Info people; they even had maps and information about other cities in southern Spain.
I had some tapas and beer at Bar Giralda near the Cathedral – pulpos asado (octopus Galician style), langostinos al ajo (prawns with garlic sauce), pimientos asados langostinos (roast peppers and shrimp).
The next day, Monday, I did some early food shopping, to stock my minuscule larder for the coming days. I also still had some of my bus tour left, so took it again and got off at the Maria Luisa gardens and the Plaza Espana, both of which were beautiful. Got some stamps at the Correos for my mandatory postcards, and had lunch at Boston Burger – paella with seafood. Mmmm. Got lost in the Barrio Santa Cruz – which is easy, as it contains lots of nooks and crannies, hidden tiny plazas, tapas bars and shops. Supposedly the literary character Don Juan lived here. Also saw the Tabaclero, the tobacco factory which was the setting for Carmen. Had a snack and took my siesta around 3 PM, then went to Flaherty’s Irish pub for more tapas. This restaurant/pub was one of the few places that served food and tapas right through the siesta hours. Most places closed between 3 and 8 PM, so it’s difficult to find food for early diners. At any rate, I had some tasty prawns, garlic mushrooms, bread and cider.
The week continued with morning walks into town via a different route each day. One day I passed some Roman columns and then I visited the Torre de Oro (Tower of Gold). I also managed to purchase my bullfight tickets and toured the Bullring’s museum. Lunch was, naturally, more tapas and beer. Yummy. During this first week I was also looking for the guy I was told to find – Al – Al Cazar. Turned out it’s a palace and gardens in the heart of Seville. One day there was no afternoon line at the Alcazar palace, so I walked right in for my free tour – I’m a Pensionista!
It was nice, great gardens and interesting interiors. Of course, all the decorations were made by the Moors and the Muslim religion doesn’t allow the depiction of people or animals or any living things, so the decorations are all repetitive squiggles. Really boring, nothing to catch and hold the eye. After a late afternoon snack of tapas at Flaherty’s, I wandered over to the bull ring around 5:30 or so on Tuesday. Had a beer at a crowded pub just behind the bullring, then bought a seat cushion on the way in (which was sorely needed, as I found out).
The nearby bars were packed with drinking men, many of whom were outfitted in their Caballero and Gaucho costumes. They were accompanied by women decked out in their flamenco dresses for the Feria de Abril (April Fair). The Seville Plaza de Toros, the oldest bullring in the world, holds 13-14,000 people. I found my seat and put my cushion down, being careful to situate it directly over the number on the cement. As the ring filled up, an older man eased in next to me, looked down at my cushion and, as he babbled at me in his machine-gun Spanish, he assertively bent down and adjusted my cushion, moving it one inch toward me. How those people can talk so fast in that heat I’ll never know.
But I did find out why the bullring’s seating space is so tightly regulated by the fans: if you put twice as many sardines in a can as usual, that was what it was like sitting in that bullring. Talk about squashed together! Anyway, I made two new friends very quickly. I barely had room to raise my arms and take photos. Plus many of the men seemed to think it was macho at the bullfights to smoke cigars – yucchh! The fights themselves were okay that night, but there were too many bad bulls, and only one good matador out of the six fights, but it was still a fun experience. Everything finished around 9:30 PM, and I headed home as I was going on my first bus trip in the morning.
On Wednesday, April 29, I caught an early bus to Ronda, one of the White Cities. These cities are mostly built in the hills and are generally painted white. Ronda was no exception, except that, spanning the gap between the old and new parts of the city, it has a “new” bridge (built in the 18th century). The small city was mostly just pretty touristy. I looked in vain for the pub frequented by Miguel de Cervantes, but to no avail. I finally had lunch at a nice restaurant on a side street. I thought I may have sat in Cervantes’ chair, even though mine was decidedly plastic. Ah, well. I bussed back to Seville around 5:30.
The next day I checked out the Triana district, across the river from the main part of Seville. Then I followed some guidebook advice and went to the Casa Antonio for lunch, where I ordered the recommended dish of caracoles, which are teeny tiny little snails, the biggest of which were about the size of my thumbnail. I actually ate 155 of these minuscule snacks; yep, I counted them just to be sure. The restaurant, as does most of them in Seville, brought out a bread basket without my ordering, so naturally I presumed it was free. Silly me, nothing is free in Seville. They charged me for it, as did all of the other restaurants in town. Tacky. That night was karaoke night at Flaherty’s, so naturally I joined in, rocking and rolling with the oldies. Karaoke bars love new singers, so I was welcomed with open beer taps.
After the May 1 holiday, during which everything was closed, I managed to sort out my future Alhambra visit on the Internet and then did the Torre de Oro. It was only one euro, and the museum of old ships and paraphernalia was interesting, but the view from the top of this circular riverside tower made the climb worthwhile. I had another paella lunch near the Catedral, took my siesta, then headed off for my Famenco evening at El Tablao Arenal. Damn, those people work hard at their dancing and singing and guitar strumming. Sweat popped off their faces as they stomped and twirled around the stage, but it was curiously unmoving, at least for me. Just a lot of stomping and banging and noise. Guess I’ll never be Spanish.
May 3, Sunday, was a perfect day for the Arab Baths. After an early lunch of tapas, I headed off for my aromatherapy and massage and general sybarite’s delight at the well-hidden Arab Baths in central Seville. I love these places, and visit them wherever I can, and this one was no disappointment. Moody, soft lighting, warm/hot/cold pools, resting areas and a wonderful massage that left me tingly and relaxed. A great experience, leaving me rested and ready for the rest of my vacation.

A Busy Four Months in Budapest

2009-04-13T12:18:00.000-07:00

I returned from Athens on January 4, 2009. I didn’t do any more traveling until late April, when I decided to spend a month in Spain. I’d been to Madrid and Barcelona, but never to southern Spain, so I thought I’d base in Sevilla and venture out from there. I hopped on the Internet and found a room in a flat near central Seville, at the amazing price of just 380 euro for a month! Incredible. Plus, the flight I found there was only a touch over $400, so my month was already a bargain-hunter’s dream. Until then, I’ll hunker down and save some money and enjoy the winter social season in Budapest.
Which, by the way, turned out to be a whirl through mid-April. There were times when I was out every night for a week or more on end. Parties, dinners, meetings, pubs, concerts, rugby, football, soirees, wine-tastings, chambers of commerce events, movies, theater – it never seemed to end. After somewhat of a social drought since my trip to Malta, it was back in the saddle again. The Viking Club still meets the first Thursday of each month, and I caught most of their pub gatherings. Lots of new people, and many old friends. I also got the chance to attend some salon concerts sponsored by a Finnish friend. I hadn’t been to these in awhile, but it was nice to get back. One such concert featured old friend Hiroko Ishimoto, a Japanese pianist I’ve known for several years.
The Britannia Club also welcomed us all back on January 9. By January 23, the Friday night crowds had grown to 40-plus, and the Club seems to be well on its way back to the glory days of the early 21st Century. Membership is up again and people are coming back. We had another pub quiz evening in March, put on by the Club and emceed by myself and friend Stuart McAlister, as we’ve done in the past.
During January my then-newest book also came out; it’s entitled Travels with Myself and is available on amazon.com. It is a collection of all of my Newsletters and Blogs since leaving Los Angeles in 1985, 23 years of adventures, moves, travels and general fun stuff. For interested parties, I now also have a personal book website: www.glukatch.com. Look me up and find out something about all of my books. It appears I now have an oeuvre. In addition, yet another of my new books appeared on the Net in late March: If You Can’t Take a Joke…, a collection of jokes and stories and other humorous material received by me over the years via email. Good for reading a few pages then putting down until the mood strikes you again. Excellent companionship for those lonely hours in the bathroom.
On January 20 I gathered at Beckett’s Irish pub with several hundred other American expats to watch the swearing-in of America’s 44th President, Barack Obama. The crowd watched every move expectantly, but after the inauguration speech most people just drifted away. Not much camaraderie in the American expat community around here. Then on Sunday, January 25, our favorite Scottish pub, the Caledonia, held its annual event celebrating the birth of Robert Burns. This year it was a Burns’ Brunch, with the traditional pipers, haggis, neeps and tatties, and an amazing Glen Moray Chocolate truffle Torte – on a par with the legendary Sacher Torte, but almost too rich to finish. Not to be outdone, the following Tuesday, January 27, was the “Wee” Burns Supper, a toned-down version of the monster annual charity ball held at a posh Budapest hotel. I’ve been to all but one of these dinners since I came here. There was the usual sellout crowd and this year even some new participants. The reel dancing was, as always, a highlight of the evening.
About this time I was asked by the editor of Xpatloop, a local ezine (for, who else, expatriates in Budapest), to write some short articles on whatever struck my fancy, including pubs to visit (or not!), restaurants, things expats never discovered, etc. So I did. You can find all my articles by pulling up the ezine on the Net at www.Xpatloop.com, then doing a search for my name. All my articles should appear, and you can happily while away the minutes perusing them. It’s been fun doing them and I hope to continue for awhile.
Several new events, gatherings and happy hours raised their happy heads during this time. The Italian Chamber of Commerce sponsors a monthly happy hour, and another Italian happy hour put on by a local Italian restaurant also started advertising its Monday-evening gatherings. There goes my only night of rest each week! But it’s good to get out to new events and to meet new people. We have lost so many of our old friends I need to replace them with new ones. It’s still slow going, but has been made easier by the wonderfully outgoing nature of almost all of the expats here. And, of course, the fact that so many are beautiful young women doesn’t hurt either.
The Six Nations rugby tournament started in early February, so it was back to Champs sports pub until late March for the matches. Good crowds, lots of beer consumed, excellent rugby, and the BRWBDF even managed to raise over a million forints (about $5,000 at today’s exchange rates) for Hungarian youth rugby.
Two Curry Club dinners and two boys’ nights out also dotted the social landscape in the first quarter of 2009. On February 24 there was a wine tasting with Xpatloop and the Zwack company (which makes Unicum). It was another well-attended event, where I got to meet even more new people, including newly-arrived expats from France, Italy, Russia, Sweden, etc. One especially-welcome arrival was Ekaterina Naumenko from Moscow, a beautiful young Russian woman who functions well on either side of the camera. Check her photos out on my Facebook site.
I thought you might like to see some of the interesting dishes we were served along with the many different wines during the tasting, so here they are:
* Home-made dill flavored goat cheese with avocado in extra virgin olive oil
* Salmon and smoked sword fish carpaccio with fresh figs
* Rosé breast of duck in porcini mushroom oil served with duck liver stuffed sun-dried plums
* Serrano ham with shaved peccorino and pear flavored onion chutney
* Goose liver paté in Tokaj jelly with pistachio and apricot
Yummy, hah?

The Britannia Club also put on a Farsang party in late February, sort of like Mardi Gras. There were only around 160 guests this time, as compared to over 350 at the last event. Ekaterina and her Italian friend Patrizia showed up looking wonderful. Lots of people wore costumes, but I did my simple yet elegant Russian Cossack dancer in a shirt I’d bought in St. Petersburg.
On March 7 old friend Mike Chew was in town from Aberdeen. We met for dinner at Pata Negra tapas bar, then hit the For Sale pub for “one or two” beers; of course, an Irish party turned up during our second beer, and I ended up leaving around 1 AM. Damn! Shortly thereafter, I was invited to dinner with some new friends at their place, and I never turn down home-cooked food! They have a really nice flat, also inhabited by a very cool large cat, a Mancoon (sp?), named Fenway.
My Serbian friend Sanja had her annual birthday and spring party the next weekend, which is always a fun happening. The Serbs, with their Mediterranean attitude, are usually loud and fun and crazy and happy, and there is always lots of food and drink to fuel the fun. I gorged once again.
Monday, March 23, had me attending another new expat gathering at InterNations on a Danube boat. This is a new group I’d never heard of, but it appears it’s a world-wide organization and hopes to be expanding here in Budapest. BTW - Lest you think there were major gaps in my social whirl, please be assured that most weeks I only got to spend one or two nights at home. Just too many things to list here, and I don’t want to bore anyone with an ongoing recital of all the fun things I do to fill up my nights. But they are legion.
After the Britannia Club’s Pub Quiz, I was asked by one of the organizers of the English-Speaking Union to be a judge for their Annual Speech Contest at the British Embassy. There were eight finalists from all over Hungary; luckily, the speeches were in English, hence the name of the sponsoring group.
The last Sunday in April saw the playing of the Central European Rugby Cup by Hungarian and other teams. The style and level of play were quite good for these non-professional teams, and, even though it rained intermittently during the matches, it was still a nice way to spend a quiet Sunday afternoon.
The social scene continued to corrupt most of my time through mid-April. Footie matches at Caledonia, spring parties, dinners, brunches, comedy clubs, visits by old friends, Viking Club, etc. Budapest had its annual one-day spring on April 2, then it was on into summer. Which is especially nice this year. In previous years, it’s continued to be cold and rainy until mid-June, when a short summer finally arrives. This year, however, we were pleasantly surprised by a very early bout of nice weather beginning early April and, we all hope, continuing on through a late summer. It’s about time. As long as it lasts until April 25, however, I’m happy. That’s the day I leave for my one-month holiday in Seville.
So, I think it’s time to close my first Blog of 2009. I realize it’s been a long and somewhat dull one, at least as far as travel is concerned, but things should begin to pick up with my Spanish adventure. More to come, Gang, so watch this page for wonderful tales.

And Another Year Gone!

2009-01-05T05:06:00.000-08:00

November started with another round of parties and festivities. After recovering from the Eur-Club Halloween party on October 30, I hit a couple of “real” Halloween parties the next night. None were as good as ours, but one never knows. Tuesday Noember 4 was time for the Corinthia hotel to host the American Chamber of Commerce’s quadri-ennial US Presidential Election Night party. I was there in 2004, and the crowd was lively and happening. I really wanted the corn dog booth back again this year, but sad to say it wasn’t.
I was up and about that evening again for a great time at the Alcatraz supper club and the Hot Jazz Band. I got to introduce Lydia, newly re-arrived from the UK, to the joys and delights of our favorite Dixieland and swing band. Readers of past Newsletters and Blogs will recall the band usually plays at Fat Mo’s restaurant on Sunday nights. I stopped by Fat Mo’s in September to check the schedule and was told they weren’t having live music for awhile. Hah? Got news for you, guys, it’s the live music that brings in the customers, locals and tourists alike, not the overpriced food (good though it is) nor the complete lack of ambience after the remodeling. Hungarian “businesspeople” – not a clue.
Old bud Matt Bresler cruised into town one weekend to attend the Marine Corps Ball with a bunch of us, but our bunch just didn’t have the $100 each, plus tux rental, to go, so we all settled for evenings at The Stage, brunches at the hotels and some more rugby at Champs. We had our monthly Curry Club at Shalimar, our old favorite Indian restaurant. My follow-up doctor appointment on November 27 resulted in a completely green board. I can now drink and carouse again, and even do some more strenuous exercises if I so choose.
Thanksgiving was a bust this year; not a single American expat tendered me an invitation, so no turkey. Of course, also no American football games, no Wizard of Oz and no It’s a Wonderful Life. So the holiday wasn’t all bad. There were actually a few fairly decent movies out this month, so I spent the next weekend catching up on them.
December 6 was the Eur-Club Xmas party. We did a gift exchange this time, which was well-attended. The parties are still at the Passage Club, but the building in which the club is located, which includes flats, offices, restaurants, etc., apparently was very poorly made and is cracking and peeling and has, in fact, been judged unsafe. The Spanish construction firm that built it went bankrupt and has disappeared. Hmmm. Well, the party was good again, and well over 100 people showed up, many with gifts! The Gift Exchange was only partly successful; we wanted people to choose a gift and then seek out the giver (whose name was on the gift) and thank them, thus ensuring people met someone new. Unfortunately, as is the Hungarian way, most people just took a gift and left.
On December 13, I had a lovely dinner with four sweet young women at Shalimar again (I had picked my friend Zoe’s business card at the Eur-Club drawing the previous week, and she won the dinner and was kind enough to invite me along). Later that same night we had our annual Sagittarian Birthday Party at the Stage. Only a few of the local Sagittarians showed up this year, however, our worst turnout ever in the seven years we’ve been holding this party. The three of us who were there were very disappointed. However, one of my friends more than made up for the low turnout by giving me a gift she had bought on her last trip to the states and was saving for the right person: a box of Oreos! Omigod! I know when I open them they’ll last about an hour, so I’m saving them for a special occasion. Even better than the cans of corned beef hash I usually request of stateside visitors.
Thursday, December 18, was another annual red-letter day in the history of the world: my birthday. I refuse to tell anyone how old I am now, but so far I’m still kicking and hope to make it to another birthday next year. Friday December 19, was our first Boys’ Night Out in waaaay too long. We did an Indian food dinner, but the night was rainy and cold, so after too much fun at dinner I merely ambled on home. Saturday December 20 was my friend Stuart’s company party at the Caledonia, which I managed to crash after the food had been cleared away. I know most of the staff, so we sang the night away again. I just have too much fun here in Budapest. Then Sunday, December 21, was a private party at the Stage for all of us regulars. As usual, I intended to go for a couple of drinks and get away early. Once again, my best laid plans went aft aglay. The party was great. It was small, just many of the people who regularly frequent the Stage over the years. Stage management even gave all of us our own discount cards – we now get 10% off all drinks! Eat your heart out, Mark and Matt!!
Christmas was better than Thanksgiving. A new British friend invited me to dinner at her father’s place,which was really nice and cozy. I was also invited for Boxing Day dinner at my friend Jeremy’s
BTW – my 5th book has been finalized and should be available on Authorhouse.com by the end of January and on amazon.com in February. My 6th book is in publication and should be available for purchase on Authorhouse by the end of February. I’ll let everyone know when the big event occurs. I actually thought these two latest books would be the end of my writing career, but since then I have started two more books; three if you count another short one I have almost finished. Damn, when do I quit?
So – New Year’s in Athens, Greece. Much better than Athens, Georgia. Lots more drunk students and smokers. I decided five days in Athens was mandatory to escape the below-freezing temps in Budapest, so I hied myself off for a good time, my first in Athens since 1993. And it had hardly changed at all. Even The Pub Love was still there, one of the more disreputable joints I stumbled into one night back in the day. I avoided it this time, but just barely.
My hotel was off Omonia Square, about a 15-minute walk (or two-minute metro ride) from the Syntagma, Athens’ main square. I booked the hotel on the Lufthansa web site, after getting my ticket. I know, I swore no more Lufthansa, after they destroyed my bags twice, but I carried my suitcase on this time, so I figured I was safe. Besides, they had the best airfares: advertised at $200 US, with taxes etc., the final price was nearer $500!
Anyway, I figured how bad could the hotel be? I got air miles and it was recommended by Lufthansa, after all. It was advertised as a four-star hotel. Hmmm, well, it looked nice from the outside, and the hallways had been recently remodeled. The rooms were rather, ah, basic, but acceptable. Not four-star, of course, more like a three-star wanna-be. Nice view of an air shaft. Room key card didn’t work. And there was a sign above the toilet that said, “Please do not throw paper in the toilette.” Hah? No paper at all? Yep, no paper at all. Rather gross when completing one’s business, but there you have it; apparently, the toilets of Athens can not handle paper in the pipes. Eeeww, yucchhy.
I did a one-day bus tour of Delphi (pronounced Del-fee by the Greeks), which was not even close to being worth the 96 euro they charged. Three hours each way, one hour at Delphi and 35 minutes at the museum. A one hour lunch, and that was it. I was underwhelmed. Of course, getting to stand at the spot which had harbored the Oracle at Delphi was cool. When no one was looking, I ducked into the inner sanctum and whispered my question for the new year: “Will I find love and success and happiness?” And I could have sworn I heard a sibilant response murmur: “Beware of a woman named Joyce.” Well, okay, somewhat less than germane, but one takes what one can get from the Oracle.
I had a little more time this visit to check things out, so I spent an evening at the James Joyce Pub in the Monastiraki section of Athens; had some Guinness Beef Pie and a couple of Guinnesses – aaaahhhhh, home! I was surprised at the 5.50 euro charge for a Guinness, however – definitely Temple Bar/Dublin prices. I did a lot of walking and even picked up a few souvenirs for the family. The self-imposed walking tours were fun, and I got to see some interesting sights. Saw a young man snorting coke outside a darkened restaurant (my neighborhood was not the best in town), and watched the locals get fleeced at the old shell game being run outside the flea market. They still fall for it, don’t they?

I spent a few hours at a Rembetika club, listening to the local music, which was a gas. Diners often got up and did some impromptu dances; a woman passed out red and white roses so the other diners could throw flowers at the dancers and musicians. One rather inebriated Greek paid the woman for plates of flowers to be dumped on the young, very attractive female tambourinist/singer. I threw a flower at El Greco after his dance, and he bought me a beer. Cool.
The food was also good. I ate a lot of street food, gyros and soft drinks, which were the cheapest stuff around., restaurants were not cheap, so I tried to avoid the most expensive of the genre. I had some saganaki (flaming Greek cheese; apparently, the flames had been applied before I got it), calamari and other local specialties. The Athenian beer, Mythos, is pretty good, too.
The street markets and flea market are great places to wander. I even bought a couple of ties - wait till you see them. My friends here are tired of seeing my same old Hungarian Rugby Union tie, which I wear to every occasion, so I’ll wow them with these.
New Year’s Eve was…..interesting. The locals celebrate at home, and then erupt onto the streets at 12:02 AM for a night of revelry. There were great fireworks over the Acropolis and there was dancing in the streets. Noise-makers abounded, as did certain controlled substances which shall not be mentioned here. I stopped to watch a strolling band, and a happy bouzouki player jumped up and kissed me – thank goodness it was on the cheek!
So, yet another fun trip. New Year’s weekend saw the temperatures in Athens in the mid-60s, so needless to say I was somewhat shocked when I emerged from the Budapest airport into the 23-degree weather. Brrrr. Home again. And that’s it for another year, sports fans. Hope everyone’s 2008 holiday season was fun and safe and happy and Santa Clause was good to all you boys and girls. Until next time, Happy New Year and may 2009 bring you everything you want.

Fall Party Season

2008-11-01T09:43:00.000-07:00

So I rested and took it easy and walked a lot and ate really boring food, but at least not too much of it, so that evened out okay. I spent some time shuffling back and forth between the hospital and my flat trying to settle my hospital bill. Finally got that taken care of, and decided to see what the horizon looked like. During this time, I got a call from friend Richard Rifkin, who was interested in setting up a new social networking group that would meet monthly. It would be aimed mostly at expats and others who speak English as a common language, and would be a chance for people to get together and schmooze – network for business, if desired, do some social networking (for which read “chatting up”) and generally just get together and see old friends and make new friends, and maybe even get more out of the evening. We really haven’t had this type of specialized English-speaking gatherings for awhile, if ever.
Anyway, we met and discussed the details of such a monthly event, and started putting it together. Richard had found a venue, one of those new multi-purpose entertainment spots, with several individual areas for different needs, including a sports bar, dance club and “Schmooze” club. There were areas for food (light snacks or meals) and even areas where people could sit and talk away from the music and noise of other rooms. Very nice, and right near the center of town at Deák Tér. After Richard and friends put together a flyer, I emailed it to bunches of my friends and even set up an Event on Facebook, which also got sent to a whole lot of people I know here in Budapest. I can’t wait to see how it works out.
The Britannia Club finally opened again the first Friday of September, and it seems the present Ambassador, after some input from the Associate Members (only 14 or so of us left), has decided to allow the Club to begin expanding to try and regain some of its former glory. We can now bring in guests again and we were assured the Club would try and plan some special events in the future. We shall see.
Before my minor heart attack, I had signed up for a one-day outing on the Nostalgia train. A group of 15 of us met at Nyugati train station early on Saturday morning, September 6, and boarded an old-time train for the two-hour run to Kismaros, a small town up the Danube. I thought the train would be mostly couples and would be somewhat formal. Boy, was I wrong! It was full of families with little kids, many of whom were running up and down the train and between the cars. Even in the bar car. And the locals had all brought their own food, which they happily chewed and munched and drank in their separate compartments as the train rolled northwards. Anyway, the train itself was an old coal-burner, and actually made the huff-puff --- chuff-chuff sounds when it started up. An engine plaque indicated the engine was made in 1955. The train had an old-time whistle along with an accompanying carriage décor of green, red and gold velvet.
We got off at Kismaros and spent an hour or so waiting for our next train, a small diesel, which took us up into the hills to a place called Kiralyret, or King’s Meadow. There we disembarked for a several-hour layover and barbecue and fun and games in the hills. One look at the barbecue was enough to disabuse most of us of that particular activity. The food to be barbecued was a Hungarian specialty: skewers of alternating chunks of pork fat and onions. Mmmm, yummy. And so good for a recovering heart attack patient. A smaller group of us left the healthy Hungarians to their feast and found a nearby restaurant and had a normal lunch before starting back.
Once back in town, I scooted over to Stuart’s for an end-of-summer party, at which I had my allowed glass of red wine, then headed home for a well-deserved rest. I don’t feel bad these days, but I do get tired more easily than before. But at least I’m eating better – salads, no fats or red meat, no beer or booze (damn!), and getting some more exercise, so I hope my clean-out will last me awhile. Also made it to the September Comedy Club, which was better than some, not as good as others. The comedians are up and down. This time we had a German comedian who lives in England, and he was actually pretty good.
Richard and I continued to plan the Eur-Club gathering (“Eur-Club is Your Club”), and I even had an unexpected visitor from the West come in on a Friday for lunch: Mark Wills, former US Air Force Major and Budapest Man-About-Town, cruised through on his way to check out a possible future employment opportunity. Good to see him.
Also started the publication process for my next book, Travels with Myself, which I hope to have out early this winter. This one will be a collection of all of my Newsletters and Blogs sent to friends since I left Los Angeles in 1985. In addition, the book will include special extras and surprises, like song lyrics I’ve written over the years, articles I’ve had published in Budapest newspapers, interviews, etc. Now people who’ve inadvertently thrown away their copies of my Newsletters will have the chance to have them gathered all in one lovely volume, which they can read over and over and thus relive all those heady days when they trudged to their mailboxes only to have their day unexpectedly lightened by the receipt of a Lukatch Newsletter. Oh, Joy!
I had another hotel Mystery Shopper visit, this time at one of the hotels here in Budapest, out near Acquincum, the old Roman settlement. Just a short weekend visit, but enough to get me out of the house. The hotel has a nice spa, of which I took advantage, and I had a restful stay.
I went back to see my heart doctor late September and he told me all was okay. Gave me some prescriptions for more expensive meds, but they keep me alive, so what the hell. Actually, if I were to get Hungarian insurance coverage for reduced med prices, it would cost me 69,000 forints per month (at that time, more than $450 US), as compared to about 20,000 forints for the meds. Hmmm, let’s see, which should it be? Ah, the former auditor knows – let’s go with the lesser of the two costs. Even I can figure that one out.
And our Eur-Club gathering on September 26th was a huge success! We met at the newly-opened Passage Club on Kiraly utca, just off Deák Tér. We had well over 100 attendees from many countries. Lots of my Hungarian friends and former students showed up, plus the usual suspects from my time in Budapest, plus several newbies, whom it is always good to meet. Everyone had a good time schmoozing and meeting new people and seeing old friends. I renewed my acquaintanceship with several of my former Hungarian students, which was lots of fun. Hope to see them again in the near future. Richard has several monthly theme meetings planned for the months ahead, so hope they all come off and we keep getting more and more new folks to attend.
Saturday, September 27, was Troy Weeks’ wedding at the Basilica, followed by a reception in the castle. Jonathon Wilde was in from England, as well as John and Margaret Young from the UK. Good to see old friends again. And, of course, Troy and Anna beamed the entire evening. Lots of fun (albeit long-winded) speeches followed the buffet dinner in the castle, then Hungarian dancers and what was probably a night-long party. I say that because I had to leave too early, due mostly to the new meds I have to take, which pretty much wipe me out early in the evening. Damn, could I have reached my Fun Apex? Am hoping to recover to the point where I can continue to be THE party guy in Budapest. Guess we’ll have to wait and see.
Another monthly meeting of the Curry Club on September 30, at a Nepalese restaurant this time. There were several new attendees, including some new Americans in town, one of whom is from Georgia – the state, not the country. Old home week. On that same night I celebrated (quietly and without fanfare) the nine-year anniversary of my arrival in Budapest. There was no special celebration, as the Curry Club included one member who was celebrating his 65th birthday that day; I was overshadowed.
Dinners and lunches with friends took up some of the days. Then I was expecting two old friends in for the weekend of October 10. Monica Edgerton and her son Seton were due in on Thursday, October 9. I hadn’t seen Monica for too many years. She’s one of my old World Savings and Loan buds (or budettes), with whom I’ve kept in touch over the years. She’s been an extensive world traveler for many years, along with her husband Reggie. Two days before she was due in town from Vienna, I got an email from her saying she had lost her train tickets and wasn’t sure if she could replace them. Further emails resulted in the fact that she couldn’t. Bummer. Three hours away and can’t get over for a visit. Ah, well, at least Seton made it to town. He stayed in Budapest for several days and I got to show him around and guide him to all the best places of ill-repute.

Another old friend, Tim Langrish, former Budapest resident, was also due in for a surprise visit that weekend. At 5 PM on Friday, he called from London and said he, too, wouldn’t be able to make it, due to a flight screw-up. Well, hell, two people canceling visits for the same weekend. Not good.
October’s comedy night was held on the 14th. After many inconsistent comedy nights in the past, we finally got one that was a winner. Miklos Galla, a Hungarian comedian (!), whom I had seen several years ago, was the intro act, and he was as funny as ever; I just wish he could have been on longer. The headliner was a “San Francisco gay comedian” who lives in London. His act was generally San Francisco gay funny, but often quite a bit over the top. However, the Hungarian men in the audience rolled with laughter; I actually saw one guy fall out of his chair. Hmmm. The Comedy Club chose a new venue this time, the Cotton Club, which is normally a nice restaurant and jazz club, and the site turned out okay.
The British Ambassador turned out to be as good as his word, and kicked off the renovation of the Britannia Club with an International Beer Night on October 17th. We’re apparently allowed to bring in guests again, and everyone who attended enjoyed the evening. The Club is down to only 14 Associate Members (i.e., non-embassy members), but a new reasonable membership drive is on to attract more interesting local people and to bring the Club back to its former glory. This was a good start. The Night’s activities had 350 registered guests; I think we had maybe 200 show up, possibly a few more. It was a fun evening for the first part: good food from various restaurants around town – Indian, strudel, etc – and then a magic show, which is always a kick. There were massages and cheap beer, always appreciated. Finally, the drawing for raffle prizes, in which I once again failed to even come close to winning anything, then Stuart and Lydia (a new addition to the Budapest expat community) and I took off for the Caledonia pub, where we whiled away the hours until early morning.
The next night was a music evening at Repetasarok cellar bar and club, with several competing styles – R&B, rockabilly, etc. I checked it out and stayed for awhile, but left early. Must be getting old. Then Sunday night (whew!) there was another new expat gathering at Caledonia, which I’d never heard about. I thought it might be fun to continue meeting new people, so I headed over to the pub around 7-ish. Several of the group had just finished a paintball match, and a few of them even still had strange colors on various parts of their body. Turned out to be a small group of rather scruffy-looking guys, so I passed on that particular event.
Our next Curry Club was on the 23rd, at the Rickshaw restaurant in the Corinthia hotel, one of my favorite places. Great food and the service was excellent, as always. Of course, October 23rd is another Hungarian holiday, and the police were in from all over the country to quell any possible disturbances. Streets were blocked off and it wasn’t always possible to get where one wanted to go. I finally made it to the hotel, after several detours, so all was right with the world.
The other good news is that the US dollar is up again against the Hungarian forint. So much so, in fact, that if I could have paid my hospital bill just two months later, I would have saved more than $4,000. Damn – just my luck. Ah, well…..
Lunch with more old teaching friends in town for awhile, Steve and Bea, and a final Eur-Club Halloween Party meeting with Richard to be sure all was well on that front. Then the actual party on October 30. We decided to do our party a day early, so as not to conflict with the many other Halloween parties in town on the 31st. Along about 8:30 only a few people had shown up and Richard was beginning to sweat off his zombie make-up. But a little after 9 PM, the crowd started flocking in, and we ended up with probably 60-70 people, many in costume. Not a bad turnout. Richard announced prizes for Best Costume (male and female) and the DJ kicked in with lots of old-time rock and roll music. I even danced once!
And so ends October. Another good month. Still a few parties to go before the end of the year. Matt Bresler is due back in town, along with Mike Chew from Aberdeen. Thanksgiving coming up, and hope some other American expat takes pity on my turkey-less state and invites me over for a traditional repast. And, of course, the American Chamber of Commerce (AmCham) is holding its second Election Night party on November 4. I was unaware of this event until the registration had closed but, shifty expat that I am, I was able to wangle an invitation. Looking forward to the corn dog booth again. So, everyone be good and stay well and let’s hope the good old US of A doesn’t turn into an Obama-nation. Think good thoughts and maybe we’ll come out of this election okay. Until next time.

And The Beat (Still!) Goes On.....

2008-08-28T09:17:00.000-07:00

The time between trips wasn't as lazy as usual. Stuart’s first ex-fiancé’s 19-year-old blonde sister Gretta was in town for a visit. During dinner one night at Iguana, she told us a beer in most Norwegian bars is now 10 euro, or about $15.00 US! No wonder everyone drinks at home up there.
Then, Matt cruised through town on a five-hour layover one Sunday night, and the usual suspects turned out to have a beer with him at Caledonia. Included was Anita Laszlo, my former Hungarian teacher and long-time friend. She’s still living in Germany and teaching English for Audi, but possible moves are in the wind for the future.
A few Tri-Nations rugby matches on Saturdays, dinner at Indigo Indian restaurant, and a farewell party for Kirstin Sekimoto, our German friend who’s moving back to Japan with her husband. The party was at an outdoor bar and restaurant on Margaret Island, in the middle of the Danube.
Much of the rest of the time before I left for Malta I spent trying to figure out how to work my new digital camera that I had bought in Berlin, as noted in the previous Blog. This little computer has more damn knobs and controls and settings than a 747, but I’ll persevere and see if I can figure out how to actually take a picture with the damn thing. I’ll get it eventually, so watch for wonderfully clear pictures coming your way on emails and in my Blog.
So, Malta. Easy trip, and I was looking forward to my stay. Murphy was looking down on me and laughing his head off.
I picked up my suitcase at Baggage Claim and found that Lufthansa had, for my second consecutive trip with them, destroyed my suitcase. Incredible. I’ve been flying for more than 50 years, and these two trips are the worst I have ever experienced as far as baggage handling goes. Damn. So I hefted my wheel-less bag out to the Arrivals area, where I was to be picked up by a taxi arranged by the hotel. No one with my name on a board was anywhere in sight. Well, hell, the day just went from bad to worse (with, little did I realize, the worst still to come).
So I found another taxi and headed for the hotel. The temperature was 32 in the shade (that’s about 90 degrees Fahrenheit). Got checked in about 3:45 (check-in time is 2:00 PM, as usual in most hotels) and was told my room wasn’t ready yet. All I wanted was a shower and a cold beer. I hung around for 15 minutes or so and was finally advised I could get in my room.
The first checklist item I have to complete when I get in my room is a general inspection, which includes just basic areas such as maintenance, cleanliness, etc. Well, the room was a pigsty. Trash on the floors, bathroom not cleaned, stains on the furniture – and this is a five-star hotel, remember. I lurched down to the Reception Desk and requested the Duty Manager attend me. When he did, I told him what had happened to me that day and that I was very upset with his hotel and I expected it to be fixed rapido. He gave me a great big phony smile and assured me all would be taken care of.
I strolled around and found a place that sold really good Guinness. Back at the hotel somewhat later, I was assured the room was spotless. Great. When I went back to the room and into the bathroom, I noticed a toothbrush on the floor – and it wasn’t mine! The hotel was an inspector’s nightmare – I filled up two notebooks with my findings. Not an auspicious week for the hotel chain. And this was their flagship operation, in Malta where the corporate headquarters are.
I did avail myself of the hotel’s free shuttle and went into the capital city of Valletta. Once there, I strolled around, caught the views from the Upper Baraka Gardens, did the Malta Experience video show, and walked around Fort St. Elmo and Fort St Angelo. Toured St John’s Co-Cathedral, with its huge Caraveggio painting, and taxied out to the Hypogeum, which is a really cool thing to see. It’s a tomb carved out of granite about 5,600 years ago, long before the pyramids were built or people invented the wheel or even iron tools. Super site – check it out on the Internet.
I spent a lot of afternoons in the hotel’s pool, as the heat was truly astonishing. I did a cruise one day of the two primary harbors, but even that didn’t produce any breezes. The Sliema waterfront was fun for shopping, but I was mightily disappointed in Paceville, which is the area near where I stayed. I walked over there a couple of nights looking for a good jazz club or bar or restaurant, but the area was full of herds of twenty-somethings. Rowdy and drunk and obnoxious and annoying – probably just like I was at that age. Anyway, not a fun place for an old codger like me.
Malta has two hotels of my chain, so after four days I checked out of one hotel and taxied to the corporation’s second hotel in the area and checked in. This one was better, more of a restful, relaxing therapeutic place, quiet, calm, surrounded by trees and with a great Health spa. Aaaahhh, better. I managed to spend a lot of my time in and around their pool, soaking up the calming breezes and sucking down some good Cisk, a surprisingly good Maltese beer.
While at this hotel I also caught a bus to the nearby towns of Rabat and Mdina and strolled their walled streets and enjoyed their unrelieved baking sunshine and spots of cool tranquility. I did the catacombs of St. Paul and an interesting Roman villa and even bought a Maltese falcon.
So, back in Budapest for ten days before I headed to Paris. Had to type up my checklists and get my findings in order and prepare my two reports. I attended a birthday party for one of my Finnish friends on a Danube boat, which was fun and reminded me of one reason why I still remain here; the view of Budapest from a nighttime river cruise has to be seen to be believed. I also did a day-long canoe trip on the Danube with a small group of enthusiasts. We must have paddled 247 miles upstream – at least that’s what my poor muscles felt like when I managed to limp home.
SO – how much fun was Paris this time around? Well, I don’t know, ‘cause I missed my plane. Two days before I was supposed to leave, I came home late at night and in the midst of preparing myself a small midnight snack, I reached into the fridge for the mayo and that’s when the first chest pains hit.
It was a low-medium myocardial infarction that wasn't much fun while it was hapening. Come to think of it, it wasn't even fun after the event. So I called up a local all-night clinic and they arranged an ambulance visit. I just had time to grab my glasses and phone, and away we went.
Naturally, the ambulance driver, Andras “Wild Man” Molnar, managed to find every single pothole in Budapest’s many-potholed streets, so a normally smooth, restful trip turned into a Demolition Derby, Hungarian style. Of course, we did get to the Cardiac Institute in record time. Minus the right front wheel.
From there on, however, it was professional all the way. Got to the hospital at around 6 AM Saturday, August 23. I was hauled up to the ICU, and then wheeled to the OR for an angioplasty. That’s where they go into your femoral artery and up into your heart with a little tool and then clean out the crap which has accumulated in one’s badly-occluded heart valves. I was awake the entire time, didn’t feel a thing. Took about an hour or so.
So, I got to spend five days in a Hungarian hospital. The ICU was the high point of my stay, very professional and kind. They took great care of me. Kept my water glass filled, gave me daily sponge baths, and brought me something to put in my mouth and stomach. This was the only negative aspect of the ICU treatment, as what they gave me at mealtimes could not, in all actuality, be classed as food. Worse than any hospital I have ever seen anywhere, anywhen.
Several friends showed up during my incarceration with water, books, fruit and even some toiletries. My friend Tania thoughtfully included a murder mystery about a doctor doing away with his patients in a large hospital; good choice, Tania.
You Americans may think some of these offerings a touch strange, but, let me tell you, when you go into a hospital in Hungary, anything you want or need you better take with you, ‘cause the hospital ain’t supplyin’ it.
Meals, when brought, were not accompanied by any eating utensils. Soup – no spoon. Bread and margarine – no knife for spreading. Water – bring your own. Glass to drink from – bring your own (really!). Toothpaste and brush, comb, shampoo, soap, pajamas or gowns, anything – bring it yourself or go without.
Anyway, I mostly slept and read, as there was no TV, no radio, nothing at all to do in the room, and we couldn’t leave unless it was in a wheelchair for tests. Monday night I finally, after three days, was allowed to take a shower (those bed baths just don’t cut it) and brush my teeth. Bliss!
So, out of the hospital now and back to real life. Pretty much still resting up for the time being. Now have to finish my latest book and do another hotel visit. Not sure how this little episode will change my lifestyle, but I do know some weight loss is in order.
Guess that’s all for this Blog/Newsletter. Hope everyone else had a good summer without any cardiac episodes. This sounds like a good time to end for now, so I will. Y’all take care, watch this space for more to come.

Life is STILL Good!

2008-07-15T11:19:00.000-07:00

After returning from St. Petersburg I took a rest for about a month. Caught up on my reading, bought a few new books, made sure my one remaining English class was still going (it was) and caught a local English-language production of Equus, which I’d never seen, at one of our basement playhouses.
Friday, May 24, we gathered at the Caledonia Pub for the annual Eurovision Song Contest, always a fun time. There are usually about 25 or 30 finalist from many of the nations of Europe. The singers and dancers chosen to represent their country put on a wide variety of singing and dancing acts, most of which have to be seen to be believed. This year’s contest was held in Belgrade, winner of the 2007 contest. Caledonia pub put on a Guess the Winners contest and my Ukrainian friend Tania joined me for the evening. The singers were all quite good; after all, two of the previous Eurovision Song Contest winners were Abba and Celine Dion, although most of the winners fade into international obscurity soon after their triumph. Anyway, I voted my personal likes, but Tania voted politically, and picked Russia as the winner. And guess what? Of course, Russia won going away. It was a fun evening, and Tania’s choice won her the use of a free rental car for a weekend. Not bad.
The following weekend was good, with a visit to yet another Bread and Circuses presentation by the government of Hungary, a two-day-long Gallop, with horsemen in short races around Heroes Square. Unfortunately for the horsemen, who were wearing heavy wool uniforms, armor, and other weighty, hot clothing, the temperature was in the low 90s, and they looked like they were none too happy in their costumes.
The next weekend it was off to the countryside town of Etyek for a weekend of wine-tasting, music, dancing and general carousing. A good time. About 15 people showed up at the winery, and we tried all of the Winery’s offerings during the evening. Someone finally poured me into a car around midnight, and shoved me out next to the guesthouse where I was staying. Much appreciated.
Morning was hell with the lights on. I caught a ride back to town with one of the other revelers and managed to make it as far as my sofa, where I collapsed for the remainder of the day and night. Let’s see, what else in June? Two birthday parties, one at Iguana and Stuart’s party on June 20, a knock -down, drag-out, karaoke, buffet dinner, all-night fest at the Caledonia Pub. We sang and drank and danced and ate and cavorted until the wee hours, and I missed another Saturday. Damn.
I was scheduled to go to Tripoli in July, but still had some problems getting the required documents so I had to postpone my Tripoli visit until who knows when. But then it was off to Prague for another hotel job. This time I had to do two hotels in the same trip. Yep, I stayed at one hotel for four days, checked out, walked around the corner and caught a taxi for the other hotel, where I stayed for two more days.
Spent a nice week in Prague and did some fun things this time around. One night when I went to a performance of Mozart’s opera Don Giovanni – done with marionettes! The show was one of those not-to-be-missed tourist attractions, with the marionettes doing their thing to the opera, including lots of humorous jumping around and bashing each other. Anyone going to Prague shouldn’t miss it.
I attended a Spanish guitar concert, had lunches and dinners at outdoor cafes and restaurants, hit a couple of good pubs for Happy Hours, and watched a semi-final match of the European Soccer Championships. Also had dinner with another old friend, Ioanna Olariu from Romania, now Chief Financial Officer of the Prague Marriott, at Kogo, an upscale Italian restaurant near the Powder Gate.
In keeping with my usual penchant for stumbling onto fun and interesting places if I just keep wandering around, I happened on Fat Boy’s Bar just in time to catch the Australia-France rugby match on Saturday. Australia crushed France, always a good thing to watch. Got back to Budapest the evening of Sunday, June 29, did my reports over the next couple of days, taught a class, and got ready for my trip to Berlin. I landed back in Germany (my first visit since February 1970) mid-morning of Thursday, July 10. I had booked a flat for my stay this time, which was right around the corner from the Nordbahnhof S-Bahn station, so I was within easy, quick reach of pretty much everywhere in central Berlin. Three stops from my flat I emerged on Unter Den Linden. Alright!
My first visit to a new city is often more easily accomplished doing one of those op on/Hop off city tours, so I did just that. We saw the Reichstag, the famous Kurfurstendamm shopping street, the Berlin Dom cathedral, the Bebelplatz, site of Hitler’s first book-burning party, and much more. We crossed the river Spree several times and, after having read about this famous river that cuts through the heart of Berlin, I must say when I first saw it I was surprised it was so…….dinky.
After a quick snack of Berlin’s famous currywurst, I set out the S-Bahn to Potsdammer Platz and headed out at a brisk trot. I walked down the street that was formerly the home of the Gestapo; the street still bears a remnant of the Berlin Wall. All along the street was an exhibit called The Topography of Terror, outlining the Nazi murder of Jews and other undesirables during their not-short-enough reign.
I stopped by the former Checkpoint Charlie, then found the Oscar Wilde Pub. Aaaah, home again. The Guinness was just right and, along with a snack, put me in the mood for an early evening, especially since I’d been up since 4 AM to catch my plane. Tomorrow would be another day.
I was up early the next morning and took the S-Bahn to Alexander Platz (square). The S-Bahn usually travels above-ground, as compared to the U-Bahn which goes underground. The S-Bahn carriages were mostly new and pretty and modern, and, of course, subject to that vaunted German efficiency. Inside the cars, each station was announced on a scroll-board, along with the following two stations. Of course, sometimes efficiency can be taken too far. When the S-Bahns stopped at a station and the doors opened, the scroll-board on the cars also sprouted an arrow pointing to which doors were already open, so all good Germans would know which door to use to exit the car. It was a clear case of efficiency giving way to anal retentive.
So, I walked went to the Pergamon Museum which has a permanent exhibit of Babylon: Myths and Truths. The exhibit included the amazing Ishtar Gate and whole bunches of stuff dealing with ancient Babylon. Great audio tour which covered such famous people of the Babylonian Empire as Hammurabi, Nebuchadnezzar and Gilgamesh. Cook exhibit.
I walked back over to Unter Den Linden and strolled over to the site of Hitler’s Bunker, now completely gone. A plaque advises the touristically-inclined what was originally there. I also did the Holocaust Memorial and the Holocaust Museum underneath the Memorial, which was just like Yad Vashem in Israel, and just as depressing and sobering. No one spoke while going through the exhibits. And one didn’t feel particularly warm and fuzzy toward the Germans one encountered after leaving the exhibit.
Then I needed sustenance, so I went American and downed a couple of Dunkin Donuts and a Slushy. Comfort food. Later that evening I checked out two of the advertised pub crawls, but they were pretty sleazy so I passed on both and, since it was Friday night, thought I’d see what the Oscar Wilde Pub’s karaoke night held in store.
The festivities began around 10 PM. The crowd was small at first – a few regulars and an Irish stag party – but people kept on coming in and the pace picked up around midnight. The Stag in the Stag Party was forced by his friends (and with friends like those, who needed enemies?) to dress like Borat, with the wild Borat wig and the strange monokini that covered one’s groin (almost) then stretched up to one’s neck. Will try and include a picture in this Blog. There were lots of good singers there, and I waited until the crowd got going and the beer was flowing, and hit’em with Great Balls of Fire. Well, they loved it! Old time rock and roll gets’em every time. After Minnie the Moocher, I had lovely women wanting me to sing with them, I had Irishmen buying me pints of Guinness and I had passers-by stopping in to bop a little. I finished off with Johnny Be Goode, and was the hit of the evening. Of course, any new blood is always appreciated, and I even got a leaning ovation from the stag party boys. Another successful night in the pub.
Saturday was a bust! Went down to the Kurfurstendamm (Ku’Damm) for some shopping and couldn’t find anything I wanted. I’ve been looking for a plain navy blue blazer for the past six months, and have had no luck anywhere. This time I found a men’s store that actually had 2,376 navy blue blazers of all shapes and sizes and button types (I know, because I counted each and every one), and not one was my size. Incredible! Screw it, I had a late lunch and went back to the flat and crashed. Later that night I went in search of the Speakeasy Berlin and found it, but it was closed. Not a good day.
Sunday was Big Tour day. I showed up at Starbuck’s near the Brandenburg Gate by 11 AM and signed up for the tour to Sachsenhausen Concentration/Work Camp. We finally got to the town where the camp is around 1:50. Our guide then gathered us all together and told us we had a 10-minute walk to the Camp site. Turned out it was more like 20 minutes, and she neglected to tell us it would be an Olympic event. I kept falling farther and farther behind, until I had to shuffle my stubby little legs faster and faster just to keep up. Must have lost about 2 kilos on that march.
Anyway, got to the camp and it was as grim and foreboding as you might imagine. Our guide, a young Irish lass, was well-informed and informative, and led us through all the critical areas of the camp: main gate, barracks, prison, extermination area (complete with ovens) and infirmary. Suffice it to say the tour was depressing and difficult, but one which everyone should do. We can but hope that period was the last we shall ever see of such atrocities. Never again.
My last day in Berlin started inauspiciously. Madame Tussaud’s has opened a new exhibit, right near the Brandenburg Gate, so I thought I’d catch it and see if it was as good as the one in London (the exhibit, not the Gate). I’d seen signs and ads for the exhibit all over town, but all of the people displayed on the signs were all people I’d not only never seen but never heard of. Okay, maybe George Clooney, but that was it! Anyway, got there around 9:15 AM for a 10:00 opening, but there was already a line forming, so I stood in line – something I rarely ever do these days, as not much is really worth it – until the doors opened. I shuffled in with the rest of the crowd and checked out the price list above the reception desk. 18.50 euro for a ticket! That’s like 27 US dollars! No way was I paying 18.50 euro to see a bunch of wax figures I didn’t even know anyway. I was unpopular with the incoming crowd as I bulldozed my way out the door. What a ripoff!
And that was Berlin. A good five days. I even got to use some of my long-unused German, learned in the wilds of the Ruhr district lo those many years ago. The Berliners almost understood me, as it turned out I had picked up Low German where I lived instead of the High German spoken in the more cultured areas of the country. But they sure understood how many Euros everything cost!
August will bring two more trips and I will update everyone when they’re over, then I plan on taking a break for awhile. We shall see. Until then, hope you all are well, safe and happy. Life is still good on this end.

Travels and Travails

2008-05-16T02:07:00.000-07:00

The last week of January 2008 was spent in quiet low-level suffering after my dental surgery on the 25th. I was in the chair for an hour and a half, while my dentist scraped and gouged and cut and ground and picked and generally made a nuisance of himself. Luckily, he has good drugs, so I didn’t feel a thing. He put in some artificial bone and then stitched me up nice and pretty. I did very little for the rest of that week, mainly just sat around the house and took it easy, gulping antibiotics and pain pills and reading some of the new books I’d gotten the previous weekend at Treehugger Dan’s Book Sale.
Caught some more Six-Nations rugby at the pubs and sports bars with the guys, and began preparing for my next Mystery Shopper trip, this time to Lisbon, Portugal. Took off for Lisbon in the early morning hours of Sunday, March 9; arrived in Lisbon around noon and found my limo to the hotel. Hotel management picks up all of these little perks and charges, as I need to audit them as part of my hotel reviews. Cool, hah? Anyway, I checked in OK and went out to walk around the area and see what I could see. I immediately found an ATM and tried to get some cash. Imagine my surprise when the Multibanco system, which is the only one in Lisbon, and to which all of the banks in the city subscribe, told me my card wasn’t valid for the Multibanco system. Oh, joy, another wonderful glitch in my travels.
Well, undaunted, I figured I needed some food before doing anything else. So I found a local restaurant in the central part of Lisbon and decided on seafood for lunch. My first choice was paelha, which I presumed was Portuguese for paella. It was. The waiter brought me a large covered bowl of stuff, along with a separate plate which contained the tools I was supposed to need to eat my lunch properly: a small hard-plastic hammer, a claw crusher, a meat pick and two other strange-looking utensils I didn’t recognize. Great; I hadn’t even lifted the lid off my lunch and already I was feeling daunted.
I wasn’t really in a mood to fight for my food, so I just picked out what I could and ate the rice and peeled prawns and calamari and mussels and to hell with the damned shelled beings. If I wasn’t prepared to kill my food, I certainly wasn’t prepared to attack it and beat it after it was already dead.
Next day I trammed downtown and walked around in the rain for awhile and finally had the obligatory hamburger at the Hard Rock Café. My tours during the week included a nice tram ride up to the castle district and the Baixa-Chiado area. I also did the Alfama district and the Bairro Alto, where I walked around and found all the good fado music clubs. One evening I had my mandatory Guinness at O’Gilin’s Irish pub. Also did a fun evening at the Luso fado music club, which was actually a dinner show complete with folk dancing and songs.
On my last day in Lisbon I stumbled across a free wine-tasting establishment and got quietly inebriated tasting quite a few of the Portuguese wines. I had a nice conversation with the young woman who ran the tasting, and even gave her my card, as she was interested in coming to Budapest for our wine festival in August. You never can tell.
So it was another good week on my trail of hotel reviews. Upon my return to Budapest, I was immediately swept up into our early spring social whirl. First it was off to Champs sports pub for an afternoon of the final matches of the Six-Nations rugby tournament. That day, March 15, is also an annual Hungarian holiday and yet another occasion for the locals to demonstrate their disfavor with their government. The police were out in force this time, however, so the hooligans were kept to a mild rumble. Monday was St. Paddy’s Day and another celebration at Beckett’s Irish pub. Tuesday was a monthly Comedy Club evening, one of the best we’ve had so far. Wednesday was our monthly Curry Club meeting at a place I never much cared for. It was a little better this time, but not enough to make me want to go back anytime soon.
The following Monday I checked into the Corinthia Royal five-star hotel here in Budapest for my first Quality Audit, which is a big expanded version of the Integrity Check. I had to make my reservation in a false name so they wouldn’t know I was coming. It was an interesting experience, after having been out of the real audit business for so many years. I have a 51-page audit checklist to go through, and the detail is truly amazing. Stayed in the hotel for five days and worked my butt off! I also probably gained about 10 pounds due to having to sample the food in all of the hotel’s restaurants.
During my hiatus between hotel audits I kept generally busy with dinners, friends and relaxing. Also got word that Budapest’s former party animals, Mark and Matt, will be in town the first weekend of May. Better start practicing now, as don’t want to be left behind when the Last Call bell rings (Ed. Note: it never does in Budapest).
This time in Tunisia I was in Gammarth, right on the Mediterranean Sea. Nice area, beautiful beach, but, like The Gambia, nothing to do around the hotel. Anyway, I spent five days at the Ramada Plaza Gammarth, resting and getting a great suntan. My visit started off rather inauspiciously, when I checked into my room, opened the bathroom door and found a HUGE cockroach perched on the edge of the bathtub. I exited the bathroom quickly, and subsequent visits revealed he had apparently gone back to his cockroach hideout. Whew!
I mostly stayed around the hotel, although I did go in to Tunis one day, to visit the Medina (like a souk), which was fun. It hadn’t changed in the five years since I was there last; of course, it probably hadn’t changed in the past thousand years or so either. Got most of my Christmas presents and even visited the little sidewalk restaurant at which I ate most of my meals back in the winter of 2002 (see Newsletter #39). Still a great place to get crepes thon fromage.
One afternoon I signed up for a Quad Bike 50 ride around the area. You should have seen me – pumping my Quad bike at around 40 mph down the beach, laughing maniacally and spitting bugs out of my teeth. We raced by the tourists riding their tame camels and even managed to demolish a couple of sand castles left by previous beach builders. How much fun was that?! But mostly I just lazed around the pool and worked on my tan, and I was really dark by the time I left.
In the 12 days between trips, the spring party season kicked into high. Old buds Mark Wills and Matt Bresler were in town for the May 1st weekend, which also included the annual Cinco de Mayo street party at Iguana restaurant. A Friday visit to The Stage pub was pretty much mandatory. Good to see the guys. A special surprise was a visit from Sandra Minkel, who is in Tbilisi, Georgia for the present, but will be going to Nepal later this year. She said I could come visit next summer. Katmandu, watch out!
And then St. Petersburg. My trip started off poorly (although the situation was mended quickly) and ended even worse. Got to the Budapest airport on time, only to find my plane was broken. Luckily, I was flying Lufthansa and, no matter what else anyone might say about the Germans, they are efficient. The Reservations people managed to get me on another plane within a couple of hours, routing me through Munich and on to St. Petersburg.
Anyway, got to Pulkovo airport around 12:30 the same night, May 8. I had emailed the hotel to request a limo pick me up, and there it was, waiting just for me. Another item I need to review for my checklist. Gotta love it. The Nevskij Palace hotel is another five-star place, but, the room was small and cramped, and not anywhere near worth the 252 euro charged (plus tax = 305 euro! That’s about 450 dollars US per night). However, the bathtub did have a nice little yellow rubber ducky perched on its rim – much better than a cockroach. And yes, it did squeak when squeezed.
The next day, May 9, was Victory Day in Russia, like our VE Day. There were parades and military uniforms all over town, and most everything was closed. Oh, joy, another well-planned trip. That evening I stopped off at the Tribunal Bar for a quick beer or two, and hopefully some karaoke, but the bar, in its new location just off Nevsky Prospekt, is not the good old scene it once was. The girls still dance on the bar, but the karaoke list is all in Russian these days.
The hotel’s five-star award-winning restaurant was closed during a major renovation, but the Concierge suggested another place nearby, Palkin. Well, lemme tell ya, that dinner was one of life’s perfect moments. It was the Taj Mahal of dinners. It replaced other dinners on my Lifetime Dinner List as Number One. It was truly amazing. Everything was perfection: the atmosphere; the service, which was what service should be – attentive but not intrusive; the food and the price.
I began with an iced shot of Russkiy Brilliant vodka, then a complimentary order of Borodin bread and garlic butter, along with a small piece of salmon in cream. As a starter, I had the Carpaccio Tiger shrimp served with a light sauce which covered the plate and which was --- frozen! It was an iced sauce.
My entrée was turbot, served with black ravioli stuffed with crabmeat and a small shell of red caviar. Roman, my waiter, surprised me again with a small dish of sorbet, then I had to have the Palkin Carousel of desserts. There were berries and mints and other fruit and chocolate to satisfy even the most hedonistic of tastes.
OK, so you’re wondering what all this cost. Well, Virginia, it wasn’t cheap. Final total was about $150 US, but I have rarely if ever gotten my money’s worth to the extent I did that night. The meal was a true feast for the senses: sight, taste, feel, aroma, and I swear I could even hear some of that lovely food talking to me, urging me on to greater and greater culinary heights. In fact, it was such a sensual experience, I felt like I should hurry back to my room and take off all my clothes and touch myself all over.
Saturday morning I breakfasted at the hotel, which was a big disappointment. A five-star hotel which served frozen fried potatoes! Shame on them!
Saturday and Sunday were tourist days. On Saturday I took a tour to Peterhof, Peter the Great’s palace. We went in a minivan with our guide, Raiza, a middle-aged Russian lady who knew everything about everything at the palace. Peterhof was an amazing sight – everything in gold leaf and opulent silks and rare china and silver. Almost too overpowering, there was so much of it.
When we got back to town decided on the Office Pub for a burger and fries and Guinness. Good burger, great Guinness. Sunday it was yet another tour, this time to Catherine’s Palace (that’s Catherine the Great). I boarded the minivan with the other tourists and who should get on as our guide but Raiza. I wonder if she planned that. Catherine’s Palace was even better than Peterhof, if that was possible. This time we got to see the reproduced Amber Room, which was sublime. The original was lost during WWII and has never been found, but there were detailed pictures of the original, so Russian artisans decided to try and duplicate it. They did a fantastic job.
I had an okay dinner in the hotel’s Beerstube restaurant (hey, I get reimbursed for all meals in the hotel), then relaxed in my room. Part of my checklist is to visit the hotel’s bar late at night, so around 11 PM I wandered down to see what was happening, I figured a shot or two of vodka, then call it an early night.
I started chatting to one of the guys at the bar, as one does in bars, and it turned out he was the Harbormaster in Galway, Ireland, and was in town for the annual conference of Harbormasters from all over Europe. We started buying each other vodka shots, and it was all downhill from there. A bunch of his buddies and a few wives came in, and the party kicked up a notch or three. You know who they were, right? Yep, all my old buds and budettes in the Association of Credit Union Internal Auditors. Well, not the same people exactly, but exactly the same type: partiers, drinkers and fun folks.
I lost count after seven vodka shots, but the craic was flowing. There were harbormasters from Dublin and Cork, Rotterdam, Amsterdam, Copenhagen, Oslo, and others I couldn’t quite catch. It was a fun night, but Brian (Galway) told me the next morning he paid dearly for it.
Monday I met old bud Patrick Naughter, former Chief Financial Officer of the Budapest Marriott and now General Manager of the five-star St. Petersburg Renaissance hotel, for dinner. His wife Irina, one of my former students, couldn’t join us, but we had a memorable dinner in his hotel. The tiramisu was sublime.
The rest of my stay was just relaxing and quiet. I was pretty much whacked out by then, so I just took some short walks and ate some light meals and took it easy. All in all, it was good to get back home. My return was marred only by the fact that some baggage handler along the way had trashed my suitcase. Luckily, nothing was missing.
So, May is almost over. Not sure where my next trip will take me, but I also have to say I am not really happy with the Mystery Shopper arrangements. May have to bag the whole thing fairly soon. Will let you now in the next Blog. Until then, y’all take care and keep the home fires burning – never know when I might show up.

And It's 2008!

2008-02-20T13:07:00.000-08:00

The year 2008 started off auspiciously with with a visit from old bud Matt Bresler. We did dinner at Iguana followed by a late evening at The Stage pub. A fairly quiet Saturday at For Sale pub and restaurant, then Sunday brunch at the Corinthia hotel. My jeans continue to shrink.
The Viking Club had its first 2008 meeting on January 10. I renewed my Britannia Club membership again this year, even though the old club, which has been a continuing source of fun and activity in the past, has gone seriously downhill as of late. Hope it will pick up.
Also got my shots and pills for Gambia, which should protect me against anything short of being eaten by a crocodile. I had no idea the shots and visa and other things would be so expensive. Of course, I get reimbursed for them by the Hotel, but still… The shots I had to get, for yellow fever, hepatitis A and meningitis, cost about $142 US. Then I had to get 24 malaria pills, which cost $124 US, more than $5 per pill! My visa cost about $112. Getting expensive for the hotel.
I had some specialized training for my new job during the week of January 13-18, conducted by the hotel’s Director of Talent and Development – today’s euphemism for Personnel or Human Resources. The training consisted of a week’s worth of going through the hotel area by area and having her point out to me all of the things I should be looking for when I do my reviews. And they are legion! We discussed the checklists to be used in the Mystery Shopper Integrity Checks and in the detailed, very expanded Quality Audits. When my mentor left I put in for and received my visa for Gambia. I confirmed my B&B reservations in London for the rugby match over the weekend of January 31 through February 3. Rest? Who needs it?
Suddenly it was Robert Burns’ time again. Yep, January 25 is the date of the great Scottish bard’s birth, celebrated the world over by Scotsmen near and far. So, on the evening of January 26, I attended my first BIG annual Robert Burns Dinner and Dance at the Corinthia Hotel in Budapest. (For details about the traditional Burns supper itself, see Newsletter 41). Normally I don’t get to go to this one, as it’s a charity event costing nearly $150 US per head to attend. This year, however, my good friend and organizer of the event, Stuart McAlister, wanted to do something different with the Toast to the Lassies and their Response to the Laddies.
He asked me if I could write a new set of humorous lyrics to the song That’s All I Ask of You, from Phantom of the Opera, which would incorporate both toasts. So one cold and blustery winter weekend I sat down in front of my new Laptop PC, donned my best lyric-writing costume of old, grey Windjammer shorts and Corfu tank-top, opened my bottle of 12-year-old Bushmill’s whisky, and got to work. So I got to attend the Dinner for free, as Stuart’s guest. The crowd was properly appreciative, as Stuart and one of his employees sang the toast at the supper. As Lyricist to the Stars, I was duly honored.
The following Thursday, January 31st, it was off to London for the England vs. Wales live international Six Nations rugby match at Twickenham Stadium. As long as I’ve been a rugby fan, I’ve never seen a live international match, so this was to be a first for me. And, according to all of my English rugby fan friends, Twickenham is the place to watch English rugby. After a really fun and expensive runaround with British Rail, during which I caught the wrong train and had to pay extra to get off, I found my way to the suburb of Twickenham. I finally found my B&B, dumped my bag and headed out to find a beer with my name on it, which I really needed by that time. I figured that, since every sports stadium in the world has pubs and bars surrounding it, I would find the same at Twickenham. Wrong. After a too-long walk the wrong way, I trudged back past the B&B and into town and finally found some friendly pubs and restaurants. I had my Guinness and Shepherd’s Pie at the Cabbage Patch pub, and finally crashed around 10 PM. It had been a teeth-gnashing day.
The next day, Friday, I spent walking all over Twickenham and environs. I had a nice lunch at The Fox, Twickenham’s oldest pub, where I a monster burger and the pub’s special ”strong dark ale,” went down just fine. I did the Happy Hour at several pubs: The Eel Pie, The Grand Union and the William Webb Ellis, where I also had a nice dinner of British Beef and Abbot Pie. The menu at this well-appointed pub and restaurant contained some wonderful information for diners and drinkers, things like:

”Weatherspoon is committed to using range-free eggs and has received a Good Egg award;

Our Lincolnshire sausage won the 2006 gold award from the British Pig Executive; and

Our cod is sourced from recognized, sustainable fisheries.”

Saturday morning I met fellow rugby fans Mike and Ida Apted and Jonathan Rees at the Up n’ Under pub. We had a drink there and walked to the stadium, about 15-20 minutes away. We stopped on the way to ”eat street,” picking up a really good British Beef baguette and some freshly-made donuts (yep, the enterprising salesmen had an actual donut-making machine with oil and dough and everything). Twickenham Rugby Stadium is wonderfully cozy for all that it seats 80,000 people. Our seats were about 20 rows up from the field, at the east goal line. We settle down with our beer and watched England wipe out Wales during the first half, 16-6, then watched Wales annihilate England during the second half to a final score of 26-19. A slaughter, and the first time Wales has beaten England at home in 20 years.
We allowed ourselves to be hustled by the crowd of 80,000 fans back into town for dinner at Pincho’s Mediterranean restaurant, which offered tapas and other goodies. I had a huge plate of seafood paella, which was heavenly.
Sunday morning I was up at 7 AM and caught all of my trains to Gatwick Airport. Got back to Budapest and spent the next few days packing and ironing and washing and teaching a couple of classes. I got a call from old friend Sue Wilson, former Budapest resident now living in the Netherlands, before I left on my trip. She was in town for a conference and hoped we could get
The following night old bud Mark Wills was in town on a side trip from Paris, and The Stage rocked under our combined karaoke efforts until the wee hours. I had to drag myself to the airport the next day to catch my flight to Gambia.
I left Budapest midday on Saturday, February 9 to Lisbon, then on to Dakar, where I had a lovely six-hour layover from 2 AM until 8 AM. Even if I had had a visa for Dakar, there probably wasn’t much to do in the middle of the night. And to make things even more pleasant, the huge Check-in Hall at the Dakar airport didn’t have any chairs or benches for the weary traveler. Lovely. Anyway, I finally got to Banjul, Gambia (or, technically, The Gambia) at around 8:30 in the morning of February 10th.
I was guided to a falling-apart taxi by a local hustler who seemed to think I should pay him for walking me out of the airport and showing me a taxi. He was quickly disabused. However, I began to rethink my penury when the taxi refused to start and several of the driver’s buddies had to push him to kick-start the engine. Several times. I should have realized there might be a problem when I noticed the ignition switch didn’t have a key in it; rather, just a couple of bare wires sticking out of it, which the driver touched together to try and start his lovely machine. Not an auspicious beginning.
Anyway, I finally got to the hotel, checked in and took a five-minute walk to a small outdoor restaurant called Billy’s, in the shadow of Arch 22, a major Banjul monument. Billy himself greeted me and we immediately became best friends for life. Actually, he was a really nice, really black Gambian, whose fish and chips were excellent. And the local beer, Julbrew, served nice and cold, was a real treat, at 4.7% alcohol!
I won’t bore you with the lazy days I spent relaxing around the pool or on the beach. Nor will I get into detail about my Mystery Shopper program. Let’s just say I had a good time in West Africa. I ate most of my lunches and dinners at either Billy’s or Michel’s, another nearby restaurant specializing in seafood. The beer was good and cold there also, and they served up the best seafood paella I have ever had anywhere. The town of Banjul was only a ten-minute walk from my beachfront hotel, so I walked into town several times to see what was happening. The answer was, not much.
There is a busy, dirty, smelly, wonderful central market, with food and raw fish and flies and bees and fruit and arts and crafts, which I visited for my gifts and souvenirs. Each time I left the hotel on foot I was tracked by the local “bumsters,” hustlers who try to accompany you to places you might not really want to go and then try to extort money for their “services.” They usually throw in the new baby scam, or the sick mother. Not much luck with a survivor of the Egyptian souks.
Of course, the taxis would be glad to take you to town for about 2.50 pounds, or $5 US. Not bad for a two-minute drive. There is absolutely no nightlife around the hotel, which tries to compensate by having a live band every evening on their poolside stage. These bands were advertised as playing different types of music, such as 80s, 70s, Reggae, African, etc. After a few nights listening to them, however, it became obvious the band merely played the same songs to different beats. I really hope it will be many years before I have to hear “Give Me Hope, Joanna” again.
I did take a couple of excursions to the surrounding countryside. The Banjul Highlights tour included the local hospital and School for the Blind, which were just two higher-level Bumsters. A visit to the Julbrew Brewery was okay, however, and the Crocodile Pool was pretty cool. I even got to pet Charley, an old croc featured on a BBC documentary some time ago.
I did a nighttime tour of the Makasutu area, which translates as Holy Forest. Shared a stroll through the forest with a troop of baboons, visited a 75-year-old Marabou (fortune teller, or JuJu Man), who told me I’d live a long time if I gave a kola nut to an old beggar. Not one to leave things to chance, I did. After dinner we watched the native dancers strut their stuff around the bonfire. Man, those girls can move! Talk about your flying feet. They were obviously well-practiced at stirring up their men and sending them off to fight and make babies.
My last day there was the Gambian Independence Day. I walked into town to see what was up. Other than the crowds and military parades and soldiers in their jeeps with hands on their machine guns, there wasn’t a whole lot to it. I was glad to get back on the plane with my gifts and suntan and good wishes from the Marabou Man and a seafood paella settling nicely in my stomach. Another eight-hour layover in Dakar, then home to the Budapest winter, which was surprisingly mild when I arrived.
So, that’s it for now. More oral surgery the last week of February, will spend the next week recovering and getting ready for my trip to Lisbon in March. Hope everyone is well and safe and happy. Watch this space for more updates as the adventure continues…..

Gary

So Long, 2007 - A Good Year

2008-01-02T06:19:00.000-08:00

Well, after the warm, sunny, relaxing days in Barcelona, it was a shock to come back to winter. Yep, the seasons finally changed again here in Budapest, and Old Man Winter reared his cold and nasty head again. Ah, well, we’d never appreciate good weather unless we had bad weather to compare it to. Anyway, I no sooner arrived back home than I was swept up into the mad winter party season of Budapest. Got back on Monday evening and was at the Caledonia Scottish pub the next three nights for meetings, wine-tastings, football matches and the monthly Viking Club gathering.

The British Women’s Association held another Quiz Night at the British Embassy on Friday of that week. It was another long, Brit-centric quiz without enough general knowledge questions. One team of Hungarians was actually disqualified because they were all Hungarian and therefore weren’t expected to know most of the answers. As a result, our team came in last. We got our own back when we won the karaoke prize at The Stage pub later that evening.

In keeping with trying to touch base with my ”lost friends” during the holiday season, I got in touch with my friend Aniko. Remember, Newsletter/Blog devotees, I stayed with her and her ex-husband in Moscow back in 2004. She’s divorced now and her new boyfriend Laci looks like a keeper. Anyway, he moved in with her and needed someone trustworthy to watch over his flat, and Aniko suggested I might be the perfect tenant. Well, other than being a touch farther out from the center of town than I’d like, it was perfect. And the rent was definitely perfect, nearly half of what my good friend and landlord had been charging me for one room at his place.

So I moved in late November. It’s nice to have my own flat once more; it’s quiet, and with the east-facing windows I’ll even get some sun in the mornings. It’s small, but cozy, and the windows look onto one of the main streets leading into Budapest. So, things are good again and I can afford to do more stuff now that I’m not spending so much on rent. For those of you who are interested, my new address is:

Me
XIII, Váci út 138/c, V/18
1138 Budapest
Hungary

One evening I once again met up with my favorite group of former students from the local energy company, including Andras, who had gone to Thailand to teach English for a year. It seems they innocently enquired of the mayor of the small town they lived in what getting married there would entail. The mayor was so ecstatic to have such a request, that he and his staff planned and carried out a complete wedding for András and Kati. Since the town in which they lived had almost literally never seen a white person in the flesh before, the entire town turned out for the ceremony. Our meeting here in Budapest was to view the video taken of the wedding, which András kindly cut down from five hours to only about one hour. The town paid for everything – drinks, flowers, food, etc. How cool is that?

Next up on the social calendar was a birthday party for a Danish friend of ours. After a soiree at her flat, we repaired to The Stage for more fun and games. A few days later I attended another Comedy Night with more expat comedians. The evening turned out okay, and the comics were much better than the previous group.

An American friend of mine invited me to a two-days-late Thanksgiving dinner, complete with turkey and stuffing and potatoes and veggies and wine. Better than my standard holiday fare of spaghetti and meatballs.

Caught a performance of a friend’s band at The Stage one evening, and was pleased to see another old bud back in town for a visit – Jonathan Wilde, formerly of Budapest, now lawyering in Cornwall, England. November and December needed lots of mulled wine to keep me warm. I also had to visit my dentist several times, an activity I always enjoy. At least the prices here are reasonable: three visits with the dentist looking for a root to deaden only cost me about 75 dollars US. More money for the parties.

Then it was time once again for our 6th Annual Sagittarian Birthday Party at The Stage pub. If one can judge a party by the really terrible way one feels the next morning, this one must have been an all-time knockout. My gifts included wine and a small stuffed donkey. The following week saw yet another Indian Curry Night at Kohinoor restaurant, where the food was some of the best yet. Unfortunately, the service continued to be down to Budapest standards. They still haven’t got the service thing down.

But the big news of the winter season is my upcoming new part-time job. Unfortunately, I still can’t tell you much about it at the moment, as I need to keep my name from getting out in conjunction with the job. Sounds mysterious, hah? Actually, the word ”mystery” does appear in my job description. It will involve lots of all-expense-paid travel to such exotic locales as Russia, Libya, Portugal and Africa. When my book comes out in the fall of 2008, I’ll include details. Maybe even in my mid-summer 2008 Blogs. Watch this space for more information.

Let’s see, what else? Ah, yes, I had my Hungarian residency renewed in December, this time for two years. I was also invited to a concert at the new Millenium Concert Center on the Danube. I was expecting holiday music and chorales, but was bitterly disappointed. The St. John’s College Choir from Cambridge, England, was there, and their songs were technically perfect and beautiful, especially those sung by the younger boys in the Choir (some of whom couldn’t have been older than 5 or 6). But the songs they chose were sad and low and depressing. Then the world-renowned English organist Thomas Trotter performed several pieces, pretty much all of which were really terrible. Such a shame to waste what is obviously a major talent on such bad music.

December 25th once again saw a bunch of homeless ex-pats gathering at the Marriott hotel for one of their infamous all-you-can-eat-and-drink Christmas brunches. The champagne flowed freely and a good time was had by all. Troy Weeks cruised into town the final weekend of the year and regaled us with his tales of travels to Mongolia to represent companies that make mortgage loans on yurts and want to market a Mongolian vodka called Chingiss Khan on a worldwide basis. Cool. New Year’s Eve was spent at the Caledonia Pub once again, and the evening included drinks, food, music, dancing, stumbling home, etc. The parties are beginning to run together and stomp heavily on my liver.

And 2008? Well, based on present circumstances and future plans, it promises to be another great year. More on my new job as it progresses, complete with lots of travel. Will be heading to West Africa in February, then will spend some time in Lisbon. Watch this space for updates.

In the meantime, I hope everyone had a fantastic holiday season and that the coming year will see all your dreams and schemes come true. And by the way, an email or two to bring me up-to-date on all of YOUR activities wouldn’t be remiss. Bye for now.

New Job and Sunshine

2007-11-06T02:35:00.000-08:00

Even with all my travels, it’s always good to be home again. Since I celebrated the Eighth Anniversary of my arrival in Budapest on September 28, I guess Budapest is home for me these days. Anyway, it took me almost no time at all to get back in the swing again. Within the first week back from my summer in Dublin I picked up with my buds at The Stage and Caledonia, and I was also just in time for the start of the 2007 World Cup Rugby Tournament at Champs sports bar. Champs always has good craic and we always meet some people we rarely see when they come out for the matches.

I also picked up my two remaining English classes, and it looks like I’ll be teaching them both through next spring, or for as long as I’m here this tour. My other bud Zoli has a new job and will have to decide if he has the time to pick up his classes again.

The Viking Club met my second night back, and I was able to reconnect with bunches of my friends there. The World Cup Rugby Tournament started my first Friday back, September 7, with France vs. Argentina. Wonder of wonders, Argentina won! A shocking upset and defeat for France. Of course, to rugby (and soccer) fans in Europe, France is like the Dallas Cowboys to US football fans. The team everyone loves to see get beat. The next day it was England vs. USA, and, of course, we lost.

One of my Aussie friends, Linda Cusak, was in town from London the next weekend with friends of hers, and we hooked up at the Iguana Bar’s 10th anniversary street party. Always a rowdy night. I also met up with one of my Serbian friends, Sofija, who’s looking quite good these days. We had a Comedy Club performance one Friday evening, and it wasn’t too bad. The small club venue was packed, as we haven’t had this type of performance previously, and the comedians, from various countries, were generally OK. Hope we have another one sometime soon. And speaking of performances, Stuart and I once again had a Pub Quiz at the British Embassy’s rapidly-deteriorating Britannia Club on November 16. It appears the few remaining Brits at the embassy don’t really want anyone else in their club anymore, which is a real shame, as it used to be such a fun place. Ah, well, all good things…..

The Budapest Rugby Watching and Beer Drinking Funatics have been having a great World Cup Rugby tournament this year. We celebrated the world cup by presenting the Hungarian Rugby Union with a check for 1 million HUF (about $5,000 US), which we raised from various ventures connected with rugby during 2007. The world cup matches have been generally great, with several upsets in the quarter-finals. England, France and Argentina all won, then England upset France in the semi-finals, but Argentina couldn’t overcome South Africa. BUT – the Argies once again showed their mettle by annihilating France in the third-place match, 34-10. Not a good tournament for the French. So the final match on October 20 is England vs. South Africa, who shut out England in their only other match this world cup, 36-0.

And the BIG NEWS – a new venture for Your Intrepid Adventurer. Can't say too much about it right now, but will include more here when the time is right. Suffice it to say I will be traveling all over the place: Europe, Russia, Africa, etc. Cool, hah? And I get paid for this!

So, looks like English teaching is pretty much by the wayside, unless my remaining students want to have their classes piecemeal when I'm in town. My contact lady confirmed details and prices with me and will come to Budapest to train me in what to look for in hotel operations. Not sure of timing, but probably soon. PLUS - as a bonus - she told me that when I do the evaluations I can often stay an extra day or two – at the hotel’s expense! - to see the sights. Alright! The chain has 20 hotels, and I would probably have to do each one once a year, which is just fine with my schedule. The salary is not great, but, hey, travel expenses and a free room in a five-star hotel sort of compensate one for the lack of a large salary.

My landlord and roomie Andrew still couldn’t find work in London after sticking it out for more than five months, so he’s back in Budapest and I’m once again relegated to the small bedroom. No biggie.

After viewing the prohibitive airfares to Montenegro to visit buddy with Matt, who is now there with the American Embassy, I decided my long weekend would be better served with a trip to Barcelona. Getting a good price on the airfare was something of a hassle, but I finally found a good travel agent, as the Internet fares were prohibitive. Then I searched for a hotel on the Net, and selected ------ are you ready for this? ------- The Hotel California! Yep, what better place, I figured? Sent in my request, but the next day was notified that there were no rooms for my time period. Probably just as well as it turned out, since I Googled the Hotel California in Barcelona and found out it is a ----- are you ready for this? ----- Gay-friendly hotel. Not that there’s anything wrong with that! But, hey, I’ll stick with the straight world.

Of course, after I made all my Barcelona arrangements, I re-checked something called Montenegro Airlines and found their prices were much better than other airlines. Of course, it all depends upon the state of the hamster that spins the wheel that works the propellers on the plane. Anyway, we shall see what happens with that visit.

I’ve also started planning my next potential teaching assignment or a place to live for a few months. I’m considering Seville or Granada, Spain, or possibly Malta. Depends on how my other plans come together. I’ve also pretty much finished editing my next book, which I will complete at the end of the year and hope to have available on the Internet by next spring.

So, while sitting quietly in my flat and surfing the local TV channels on the evening of October 22, 2007, I come across live coverage of the riots now going on around Budapest. Yep, it’s almost October 23rd again, anniversary date of the failed 1956 uprising against the Russians. Last year the populace attempted to demonstrate quietly and decorously against the current government, but the local professional hooligans took over and caused a “major” riot in town, including burning cars and overturning the local police’s water cannon. This year’s start of the “celebrations” isn’t much better. Molotov cocktails were thrown by the hooligans and tear gas was used by the police. The cops used admirable restraint and only arrested one demonstrator, but the holiday is young and we shall see what happens tomorrow. (Ed Note: the demonstrations petered out pretty quickly and no more of material content was heard from the participants. Guess the tear gas discouraged them).

Anyway, back to my planned Montenegro visit. I visited the Montenegro Airlines office to see what was up. When I originally decided to go to Barcelona, it was on the strength of an advertised airfare of 19,900 forints, about $100 US. Of course, the travel agencies here have adopted the annoying and disconcerting practice of advertising ONLY the airfares, exclusive of taxes, fuel, and whatever other charges the highway-robber airlines have tracked onto their fares these days. So, what originally started out as a good $100 deal quickly morphed into a $300 not-so-great deal.

Naturally, the Montenegro advertised airfare of 47,500 forints ($250 US) became more than $350 US with the add-ons – more than my flight to Barcelona!! So, Matt, too bad, had to bag the Montenegro trip for the time being. Maybe in the spring.

I needed to see if there was still some sun left in the world so I did a long five-day weekend in Barcelona. It was a great fun place, and the sun was shining and warm and the food was great and the ambience was vibrant. My hotel was near the Statue of Christopher Columbus. I immediately did the Hop On/Hop Off bus tour, which took about four hours, but I saw all the major sights, including the Barcelona Football Club’s stadium. I arrived back at my starting place and headed up La Rambla, THE main pedestrian promenade in Barcelona. Tree-lined, busker-filled and stuffed to the rafters, gills and rooftops with souvenir shops and stands, restaurants, tapas bars and all manner, shapes and sizes of walkers and gawkers, it’s a wonderfully Spanish place to be.

I had some Spanish tapas and beer for lunch, but found out these tiny plates of munchies cost anywhere from 5 euros up to 14. Damn, Barcelona was going to be expensive. I wandered and rambled, which, of course, is what one is supposed to do on La Rambla. Checked out the Erotica Museum (it wasn’t very) had a bad Guinness at a small Irish pub, but since it was overpriced at 5.50 euro things evened out. I caught Flamenco show at the Cordobes Club and hit the sack around midnight.

The next morning I had a wonderful large breakfast on the Plaza Real: eggs, bacon, toast, tea, tomatoes and mushrooms (loaded with garlic) and juice. It was a nice start to the day. Until I got the bill: 18 euros! That’s over $25 US. From now on, it’s the patisseries for me.

I took a 90-minute sea cruise along Barcelona’s coastline and then, metro-ed over to check out Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia, a church that’s been under construction for over 100 years. The design has to be seen to be believed. Check it out on the Internet. Found my way back to La Rambla and a nice seafood paella lunch. After a long stroll I ended up at my hostel for a well-deserved nap. Back on the streets around seven, I had a great burger, then repaired to the Jamboree Jazz Club on Plaza Real for some late night jazz.

After a bagel and cream cheese Friday morning, I toured some of the Roman ruins underneath the Catedral. Visited the Chocolate Museum and walked around the Arc de Triomphe (yes, they have one in Spain too), then back to Flaherty’s Irish pub, and a very tasty chili lunch. Flaherty also does a full Irish breakfast for only 7.90 euros, which is great!

At 1 AM I decided to try the Bagdad Club live sex show. It was hardly worth the steep admission price, but I figured I had top see one of these shows at least once in my life. And once was enough. Lots of really pretty young girls, and the onstage acts left nothing to the imagination. But I gotta tell you, the entire show was sexual but not sexy, explicit but not erotic. Strange.

The entire weekend was restful more than exciting. Saturday I walked around a bit, then headed for the harbor area, where I enjoy lots of Spanish sunshine at a seaside restaurant. In the evening it was Flaherty’s again for an evening of Guinness and football and tapas.

In this still Catholic country, I soon found out everything was closed on Sunday. I had another wonderful breakfast at Flaherty, then metro-ed to Diagonal and found Las Pedreras, another of Gaudi’s architectural. I strolled down the Passeig de Gracias, one of Barcelona’s main thoroughfares, lined with all the designer stores – which were, of course, closed, as it was Sunday. I sat in the sun for a few hours at an outdoor cafe at the southern end of La Rambla. In the evening, I did the Wax Museum, an activity which was downplayed by the tourist rags, but which I really enjoyed. Had a wonderful and tender Argentinean steak at Gauchos restaurant and called it another early night. One can only ramble up and down La Rambla so many times.

All in all, it was a good weekend and a good introduction to Barcelona, a city I’ll have to revisit someday.

Summer's End

2007-08-03T06:21:00.000-07:00

So, my last month in Dublin finally wound to a close. It was filled with new experiences, rain, new pubs, rain, new friends, rain, old friends, more rain, great students in my classes and, last but certainly not least, more damn rain! And cold. Damn, it was cold here. Some nights down in the high 40s (9 degrees Centigrade, for my non-American friends). To paraphrase Mark Twain, "The coldest winter I ever spent was one summer in.....Dublin!"

One Sunday I took a bus tour of Newgrange, one of the most famous - and most ancient - of the neolithic Irish passage tombs. Naturally, the day dawned (sort of) dark and cloudy and rainy and windy - an inauspicious start to the tour. Our first stop was the Hill of Tara, home of the Irish kings. I did the church tour and audio-visual presentation nearby, then hiked over hill and dale to the actual "peak" of Tara hill and coronation spot of ancient Irish kings. Our guide assured us that on a clear day we could see 23 of Ireland's 32 counties. Unfortunately, on this day, all we could see was a bunch of wet sheep and some nearby trees - and lots of rain. Our group stood there in the pouring rain and listened to our tour guide tell us pretty much the same things we had heard and seen in the audio-visual presentation just a few minutes earlier. Of course, this time we got to be lashed by the blowing rain. Umbrellas kept our head and shoulders dry, but everyone's pants were soaked through by the time we finished. And, of course, we had to dodge the sheep dip to and from the site. Interesting.

Next stop was the Boyne Valley, site of a famous battle lo those many years ago. Finally, the tomb at Newgrange. This passage tomb (i.e., a tomb which goes into the side of a hill which is reached via a long rock-sided passageway) is estimated to be well over 5,000 years old, older than the first Egyptian pyramid. Cool. The rain let up for awhile, and we were able to go in the tomb. The entrance and passage to get to the inner tomb were interesting, having been constructed by moving giant rocks into place. The tomb was also filled with ancient carvings and more modern graffiti from the people who discovered the tomb 200 years ago. Good stuff. Unfortunately, the tomb didn't really possess a "WOW Factor." In other words, it was really interesting, and the corbelled rock construction of the tomb was pretty damned sophisticated for stone-age people, but there just wasn't any real impact. It was, when you get right down to it, merely a man-built cave in the side of a hill. Too bad, as it is the oldest known tomb in the world.

Modern sculptors also did their thing in Dublin Castle this summer, when they carved a series of sand sculptures of various Irish writers and other personalities. It wasn't quite the same as Black's Beach in San Diego, but not too bad either. Dublin set another new record this summer, for consecutive rainy days: 59 at last count. Floods and damaged crops and bedraggled people all over the country. BTW - the cost of Guinness in Dublin is all over the place, from 3.80 euro at Nancy Hands pub to 5.30 euro at Oliver St. John Gogarty in Temple Bar. That's about a $2.00 difference in real money. Early on I switched to Smithwick's, which is also pretty good beer, and not nearly as pricey.

Forgot to mention in last Newsletter - when I visited Belfast it was near the end of the marching season, which is a pretty scary time in that benighted city. The Protestant groups, many of them paramilitary, take up their flags and drums and march all over the city, ostensibly just to show their English patriotism, but, it appeared, more likely just looking for a fight with errant Catholics. The incessant pounding of the drums, along with the stone-faced marchers, was enough to set anyone's teeth on edge. I gave everyone a wide berth.

My classes also fluctuated pretty wildly during August. I was down to two students as of August 3, then got an influx of nine more the following week and ended my teaching career at DSE with the full complement of 15 students. I also did one week of afternoon classes again, just to help out the school and to come home with a little extra money.

One Friday night on my wanders I finally found what is probably the only karaoke pub in Dublin, a place called Harry B's, on Nassau Street, just down from Grafton Street. For such a musical country, with so many wonderful singers, I was rather surprised to find none of them came to Harry B's to practice. The singers were generally pretty bad, but the ambience was fun and lively. I was also told karaoke had had its day here, but by one hour before closing the karaoke guys had maxed out and weren't accepting any more requests. Obviously, there is still a call for this type of entertainment in Dublin.

All during the time I was in Dublin I continued to eat well - when I could afford it! Lots of different restaurants and tastes and cuisines, including: Cajun and Creole at Tante Zoe's in Temple Bar; a great Spanish tapas all-you-can-eat brunch at the Morgan hotel, same location; wonderful Moroccan food at Bahia; Some good Chinese food at the Imperial restaurant on Wicklow Street; Japanese at Yamamori; incredible pizza at Botticelli's; Middle Eastern at Zaytoon; and traditional Irish and English food at various other venues around the city. And, of course, the low-cholesterol Irish breakfast: two sausages, egg, bacon, mushrooms, beans, tomatoes, black and white puddings, toast. Mmmmm. Lots of food. But American breakfast eaters BEWARE! In Ireland, hash browns on a menu does NOT mean hash brown potatoes; it means black pudding, which is sort of like fried blood sausage. Fooled me, too, the first time I ordered it. I thought I was getting a REAL American breakfast, but Noooo. And the foreign-born waitress had a really fun time trying to explain the difference to me. An interesting breakfast.

Also, Joe's parents, Romy and David, invited me over for another wonderful dinner at their place in August. They were leaving on a Danube River cruise the next week, but wanted to have a gathering before they left. Joe was there, of course, plus his sister Jenny and her friend Elspeth. We had Connemara lamb, so tender you could cut it with a spoon. Fresh young potatoes, green beans, peas, gravy and a cheese-covered and baked cauliflower casserole. Dessert was strawberries and whipped cream, plus meringue shaped into golf-ball-sized irregular balls and - baked? Not sure, but they were light crusty on the outside and melt-in-your-mouth tender on the inside. Yummy.

Some of you may have noticed in past Newsletters and Blogs that I often talk about the interesting and varied foods and dishes I experience in my travels. That's because to me trying different and exotic foods is one of the best parts of traveling to other countries and cultures. I make a conscious effort to stay far away from American tourists who are only interested in McDonald's or Burger King or KFC wherever they go. I always try the local cuisine, even, sometimes, to the point of getting somewhat queasy or downright ill from undercooked food or from food that's been handled by people who forgot to wash their hands before preparing my dinner. But hey, that's what traveling is all about. Even the illnesses, which, thankfully, have been rare. Gotta eat what the locals eat. And it's almost always worth it.

One of my favorite things to do in Dublin was something I never would have expected or anticipated: I got to watch English-language TV! Yep, all those great programs I've missed for the past eight years on the History Channel and the Discovery Channel and the Biography Channel, and all those great old movies on the MGM and TCM channels. I haven't missed American television very much, but I do really enjoy the "educational" programs. So, while in Dublin, on many of those rainy, windy, cold, nasty days, I was able to stay in after class and watch some great programs about ancient Rome, Troy, biblical and Egyptian times, the Crusades, ancient Britain, the troubles in Ireland, plus biographies of some of the great old film stars, like Joan Crawford, Bette Davis, Alan Ladd and many others. Plus, as an extra added bonus, many, many old movies that I either haven't seen before (amazing as that may sound), or haven't seen in too many years, including: Gaily, Gaily; Mark of Zorro; Shane; and The Prisoner of Zenda. I even saw Phaedra, one of the all-time classics of the early 1960s, and never remade; Melina Mercouri, Tony Perkins, Raf Vallone - outstanding. I know I won't get the same chance when I return to Budapest, since I only get CNN and BBC in English, so I took advantage of this glut of wonderful programs while I had the chance.

Spent a few Friday nights at the pubs with new-found friends. Even caught the Ireland-Scotland "friendly" rugby match at Farrington's one rainy Saturday afternoon. And yet another Small World story: walking down by the Liffey one evning in Dublin I ran into Maurice and Linda from Budapest, two teachers I worked with at Corporate Communications. Amazing. Actually, he's Irish and she's Hungarian. They're married, but Linda still lives in Budapest and visits when she can. Good to see them both. I also had drinks and dinner one night with my last one-to-one student from Czech Republic, which was fun. He was alone in Dublin, with no one from the school to help him find his way around or to entertain him, so it was even more fun showing him some of the fun places I had found.

One sunny day - the ONLY sunny day - in August, I decided to take the Liffey River cruise through Dublin. An hour on an open boat, a nice river cruise up the Liffey and down to the docks, a nice way to spend a sunny afternoon - or so I thought. Turned out the boat was completely enclosed, making it hot and stuffy even when the sun didn't shine. The boat backed down stream from O'Connell Street to the Docklands area, turned around, motored another 1/3 kilometer, and returned to its dock, and all for the annoying price of 12 euro. The Dublin ripoffs continue.

Also joined Joe and his sister Jenny one evening for drinks at The Stag's Head pub (best pub Guinness in Dublin) and later for dinner at a French restaurant, L'Guelleton, which included escargot, some nice red wine, and Toulouse sausages with pommes frites and salad. A Park cognac topped it all off. And only cost me around $95 US! Apparently a good deal for downtown Dublin. But definitely worth it - the company was great and Jenny even invited us over to her home for dinner the following Thursday. ...

And it was grand! Joe and Jenny were there, of course, plus Jenny's roommie Elspeth and her parents, Alastair and May, octogenarians who will probably outlive us all. The food was wonderful, home-cooked pork with veggies and sauce, potatoes, and profiteroles for dessert, along with a nice wee dram of single-malt. Really enjoyed talking to Alastair and May, as they've lived through a lot of history and are just as mentally active and outgoing and young as ever. They invited me to stay with them in Manchester if I'm ever up that way, and I hope I will be one of these days.

The Dublin School of English held its Farewell to Teachers party on Friday, August 24, at a place called Sin in Temple Bar. It coincided with our last day of teaching for the summer intensive sessions. Only about 10 teachers gathered for the free beer and munchies. A nice gesture on the school's part, and a fun time was had by all.

And, of course, I just HAD to go see how my friend Tracy is doing after her move to Glasgow. Got to Glasgow-Prestwick airport Saturday, August 24, around 12:30 - only half an hour late. Entrained to Paisley Gilmour, changed to Greenock, and when I pulled into the station there was Tracy, waiting patiently for me. I dumped my backpack at her place (a mere 10-minute walk from the station), and we were off to explore the wonders of Greenock, Scotland. First thing was to have lunch at a local pub, then a nice long stroll on the seaside promenade. Met some 10-year-old girls in a local convenience store who modeled their homemade t-shirts for me and asked me if I liked them! Nice to be in a place where young people can feel free to talk to strangers. A short nap was in order, then a nice dinner at Cafe Balfe. The pubs were sort of dead, even on a Saturday night in this small Scottish seaside town, so we packed it in early after meeting a friend of Tracy's at the Argyll & Sutherland pub for one drink.

Sunday morning I was awakened by the screeching of seagulls, which wasn't nearly as bad as the screeching of cockatoos in Sydney. Then it was off to Glasgow on the 9:30 train, took about 45 minutes. We found the Hop on/Hop off bus tour and took it around the city. First Hop Off was the Barras, a local flea market, which I had been told was good fun. I was told wrong. It was sort of a poor, down-at-the-heels, small, not-much-of-a flea market. We Hopped back On the tour, and saw the rest of Glasgow, which was interesting. Managed lunch at Rogano's seafood restaurant - oysters, mussels, fries, aioli, wine, sticky pudding dessert. Yum. We spent the remainder of the afternoon walking around Glasgow, which is really sort of a nice old city, with heavy brick and stone buildings, but fun to see. Had a beer at Skotia, one of five pubs billed as Oldest Pub in Glasgow.

And for my final day trip back in Ireland, I did a train/bus tour of Northern Ireland's Antrim Coast area, which included the Giant's Causeway and the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge. Entrained to Belfast, where we picked up our bus tour. Drove along the sunlit coast of northern Ireland to the famous Rope Bridge, Northern Ireland's second most popular tourist attraction. And yes, after walking about a kilometer to get to it, I did actually cross the bridge. Scary, what with the wind blowing and the kids running up behind me and jumping up and down. Little buggers. I tried to swipe one of them off the bridge, but missed and dropped the remains of my breakfast bagel instead.

Lunch next in the little town of Bushmill's, famous for - you guessed it - Bushmill's whiskey. Good tour of the distillery after a lunch of steak and Guinness pie, washed down with another Guinness. Had to buy a bottle of Bushmill's Distillery's 12-year-old single-malt whiskey, which is sold ONLY at the distillery. Even had the bottle personalized. Come to Budapest and you can have a nip with me - and it is smooooth.

Finally, on to the Giant's Causeway, the story of which I won't bore you - Google it. But a really interesting geological formation, and Northern Ireland's most popular tourist attraction. It was all downhill after that, so bussed back to Belfast and trained home. Got back around 11 PM, and crashed.

I spent the next few days finishing up any shopping I still had to do and just generally relaxing and taking it easy. Of course, there was the standard Friday evening Happy Hour gathering at Brogan's with my new-found Irish drinking buddies: Joe, Simon, Alan, Ken, Richard, Francis and, I'm sure, others whose names I seem to have forgotten. Sorry, guys, you know who you are and it's been a slice. Hope to see each of you in Budapest one of these days. The Guinness flowed and the talk was fun and wide-ranging. I think we may have settled some of the world's problems, but, of course, we couldn't remember the solutions the next day. Probably just as well.

Francis finally fulfilled a long-standing promise and he and his wife Angela had me over for dinner with some friends of theirs. It was my last Saturday in town, and Fran whipped up a lovely lamb shoulder cooked in olive paste, which was scrumptious. And the complementary French wine was just the right touch. My Budapest friends Mike and his wife Ida were in town Sunday evening, September 2, so we celebrated our reunion with a beer at The Stag's Head. A final Monday evening Happy Hour at Brogan's and Tuesday it was back to Budapest. Arrived home around 7 PM, ditched the bag and headed out for dinner with Stuart, Anita, Alan, old bud Matt (in town from Kazakhstan) and several others. A good first night back. Of course, after suffering through 100-degree heat this year, it is now winter in Budapest - rainy, windy and cold (in the 50s!). Missed summer this year completely!!

A few observations about my summer in Dublin:

No one said "Faith and Begorrah" to me during my entire visit. Ireland is still forty shades of green. I thought I saw a leprechaun one evening after a visit to the pubs in Temple Bar, but maybe it was just a small person who was green-tinged from the drink. Or maybe I was green-tinged form the drink. I did, however, find out what a "Baby Guinness" is: a shot glass 4/5 filled with Tia Maria, then topped off with Bailey's. Looks just like a tiny shot of Guinness. Yummy.

My search for best T-shirt captions and Pub Names continues. Noticed one great new T-shirt: "665 - Neighbor of the Beast." No really great pub names yet, but thought up a few names I'd like to see: The King's Arms and Phalanges; The Dangling Phallus; The Weeping Bush; The Scrabbling Crab.

And - lest you think I forgot - Gary's Best of Dublin:

Best Pub Guinness - Stag's Head, Central Dublin

Best Hamburger - Rick's (Dame Street)

Best Pizza - Botticelli's (Temple Bar)

Worst (Most Disappointing) Pub: The Auld Dubliner (Temple Bar)

Best Value for Money - Dublinia Exhibit

Best-Looking Women - sorry, Ireland, it's the Polish girls who have emigrated to Dublin.

And so we bid adieu to yet another successful summer. The teaching was fun and challenging, the weather sucked, the people were grand, the Guinness was always wonderful, the food was amazing, the prices were outrageous, and the sights and sounds and aromas were fantastic. Hope I can do it again one of these days. And for my next performance? Well, I'm sort of thinking about southern Spain, say Granada or Seville. or maybe Malta. We shall see. But for the nonce, I'm back home again in Budapest, gearing up for the world cup rugby tournament and loking forward to karaoke nights back at The Stage pub. Hope everyone's summer was as much fun as mine. Y'all take care, and watch this space for more adventures.

And The Rain Never Stops!

2007-07-08T10:09:00.000-07:00

So - what is it really like in Dublin? WET! Lots of rain. From mid-June through July, the damn rain just never stopped! It rained every day at some point, usually more than once. Heavy, light, drizzles, downpours, all types and colors and smells and shapes of rain. I've already gone through three umbrellas, what with the wind turning them inside out and the rain slashing through the skimpy material they use here and having to open and close them every five minutes. Plus it's COLD here. Down around 12-13 at night (55 for my American friends and family). I didn't think I would find winter here in July.

Also, it seems half of Poland has moved to Ireland in the past few years. In addition to American English, I hear mostly Polish on the streets, and even some signs and newspapers in Polish grace the avenues. Coupled with the influx of tourists and foreign English students, Dublin City in the rare old times seems to have been submerged under the strange new times. But it's still fun and happy and bustling. The Buskers are out in force; even saw a woman on one street corner playing the harp.

During my travels I noticed that Ireland also seems to have lost touch with its interest in apostrophes, possibly due to those pesky Australian immigrants. Signs all over the country read, "A typical childs bedroom," and "Its time to consider a new bank," and "Every dog has it's day." The English language still takes a beating, even in the homeland of so many famous and well-known literary figures. Sad to see.

Anyway, July was a good month. I continued to get more and better acquainted with Dublin and its surrounds. I took regular walks along the Liffey River in town, listening to the sounds of seagulls as I walked along the Quays - pronounced "keys." I finally found the shopping street where the locals go: just walk north on O'Connell Street and turn left at the spire. Lots of good deals and sales, and even picked up a couple of real Irish linen shirts. Of course, it's a real challenge dodging and weaving through the throngs of European teenagers crowding everyone else off the sidewalks and out of the shops in Dublin. Estimates run as high as 50,000 teens, mostly from Spain and Italy, in Ireland attending local English language schools for the summer. Nice enough kids, but way too many of them on the streets.

One weekend I DART-ed out to Malahide Castle, just north of Dublin, for the afternoon. It's a beautiful, rather small castle nestled in a lovely park of green grass and trees and winding hiking paths and playgrounds. Definitely worth the visit. Also continued my quest for the Perfect Pub. Finally found The Bleeding Horse Pub, which was apparently frequented by Captain Bligh of Bounty fame. Not recently, of course. This pub is now second on my list of all-time great pub names. Still in First Place is The Slurping Toad in London. Also, The Stag's Head pub in downtown Dublin is a cool old place, complete with stained glass windows, dark wood and a stag's head (what else?) over the bar. And a really competent bartender who pours one of the best pints of Guinness in town.

Caught Arthur Miller's famous play The Crucible at the Abbey Theater, and it was amazing. One Saturday evening I went out looking for traditional Irish music. You'd think it would be everywhere, but I tried two pubs that night, both of which were supposed to have Trad, and neither of which did. Bummer. My friend Francis, still in his arm and leg casts, and his buds got me wasted one Friday. I lost count of the pints of Guinness I had, maybe 7 or 8. I staggered away from Thomas Read's pub in Smithfield Square (north of the Liffey) and hailed a taxi. It pulled over and as I reached for the door handle I -- slipped? tripped? dizzied out? -- not sure, but next thing I knew I was on the ground. I popped up immediately - well, okay, maybe a slow pullup using that slippery door handle to help - to find the driver laughing his head off. Damn Dubliners. Guess he's seen it all before. How embarrassing.

Teaching continues to be challenging and fun. After a good start with only five students, my classes began to fluctuate between five and fifteen kids, depending on how many new students showed up and tested for the Advanced Senior group (teens, ages 16 - 19, whose English is pretty good already). I had 15 students for two days, then lost all my Polish students to shrink the class to five lovely Italian teenage girls plus a Spanish guy. He seemed to be enjoying his class, when it got even better and I got six more Italian girls and one guy. Beginning in July I was only teaching morning classes, as I also opted not to continue my afternoon classes with Paola, my sweet young Italian law student. Nice as she was, the full day of teaching was just too much. After all, this IS my vacation!

The other teachers are also a really nice mixed bag. Lots of younger teachers, some just out of university, some still in and supplementing their income with summer work. We gather in the teacher's Lounge at St. Andrews' University out in Booterstown, a short DART ride from Dublin, every morning to relax and discuss our classes and have some breakfast. They usually bring yoghurt or fruit or cereal. They're all so damn healthy. I, of course, bring either my Danish or a bacon-and-egg sandwich. I'm way past worrying about healthy eating. And even if I weren't, the daily Guinnesses would certainly counteract any healthy food I might put into my rapidly decaying body. (Although, detractors take note: as of the middle of July I was able to tighten my belt two full notches! How about that?!)

With my afternoons free, I hoped I would be able to get out and see more of Dublin and nearby areas. I did catch the Da Vinci Exhibit at the Chester Beatty Library in Dublin Castle, consisting of his Leicester Codex. It was free, which was nice, as the exhibit was just OK. The Codex, in Leonardo's own hand, and written on flimsy paper, was pressed between glass sheets, but, since it was written in Latin, was unreadable to the majority of attendees.

Saturday, July 14, was my grandson Nicholas's birthday. Happy Birthday, Nicholas. All of France also celebrated with him, although I think it may have been for a different reason. But maybe not... Anyway, I had a pint of Guinness for him. Other interesting updates: Matt B. has secured his next appointment, to the US Embassy in Montenegro, which means I will be moving in with him permanently as soon as he gets settled. Sunshine!! Mark is back home in Chicago, starting to look for work and hoping for a traveling job around Europe. Morgan and kids doing well. Very little input from anyone else, however!! Let's go, people -- start writing. I need news!

And Then --- The Rain Finally Stopped!!

Yep, the weekend I chose to go to Cork, it was sunny and nice - at least for the morning! Took a 2 and 3/4 hour train ride from Dublin, got to Cork around 11 AM. Cool little town, consisting mostly of retail stores, restaurants and pubs. So, if you have the urge to shop, eat or drink, Cork is the place for you. Strolled the city center, took the Hop on - Hop Off bus tour, although not much to see, shopped some, ate some, drank some and came back to Dublin that night. Next day it was off for Dun Laoghaire for the morning. And there's a free beer in it for anyone of you Americans who can correctly pronounce the second name of this city without looking it up or asking anyone. It'll surprise you. One Sunday evening my landlord Joe invited his extremely attractive friend Laura over for dinner and we managed to polish off 3-4 bottles of good Australian wine. Made it to class the next morning, but was moving very slowly.

Also caught several movies and plays during the month, including Moliere, Harry Potter (Hey, I like the movies!) and Noel Coward's Private Lives. Joe even got some free tickets to Riverdance from one of his clients, so I was finally able to see the real thing live. Great show. Sort of like traditional Irish music on steroids. Much better than the televised versions, as are most things live.

One Friday evening, Joe had a gathering at his office for his clients (he runs an IT company specializing in small businesses). Along with some munchies, he also had a keg of Guinness, complete with all the apparatus necessary for pouring a perfect pint. The clients came early, then thinned out by the time I arrived, around 7:30, after which a whole bunch of Joe's friends showed up and we proceeded to party and drink Guinness and socialize until the wee hours. I met several new people that night, including Jenny, Joe's sister, and Helena, a lovely young Irish colleen, who kept trying (unsuccessfully) to refuse more wine being offered to her insistently by Michael, a young Irishman, who continued to leak testosterone all over Helena's shoes throughout the evening. I finally took off around 1:30. A good night for all. I was unable to drag myself out of bed the next morning to catch my planned train to Belfast, and had to wait until the following weekend to make the trip.

But that Sunday I did catch the DART down the southern coast to a small town named Dalkey. The rain persisted, but I had a nice walk around the town, including the coastal and harbor areas. As I approached the harbor area, what did I spy from afar but a local man diligently polishing every nook and chrome cranny on his beautifully restored 1956 Chevrolet Bel Air. Haven't seen one of those in awhile, and this one was really a classic and in outstanding, showroom condition. Then did a really great tour of the Goat Castle, named for the Cheevers family who were the previous owners. Cheevers is derived from the French Chevres, which means "goat." I was expecting a standard stroll through the castle, you know, pay 5 euro and wander around by myself, looking into niches and out of windows. But NO! In each area of the tour, we had a guide, dressed in period costume, who explained various aspects of life in medieval times in such a castle. Also got a short course in the origin of various English expressions, such as:

1. While the lords and ladies were served their meals on round pewter plates, the bowmen, soldiers and clerks were fed on square wooden plates; thus the expressions, "It's good to have one square meal a day."

2. Crossbows fired their bolts into the air at the enemy, and when said bolts came arcing down unexpectedly onto the enemy position, it was a "bolt from the blue."

3. The pointy end of a crossbow bolt is called a quarrel; attempting to steal an enemy's bolt was called "picking a quarrel."

4. And, of course, since the English longbowmen used the first two fingers of their right hand to pull their bowstring when firing at the enemy, if they were captured the enemy cut those fingers off. So at the start of each battle, the English would thrust up those same fingers at the enemy, just to show them their fingers were still there and were still capable of firing their longbows. Thus the source of the English double-finger upward thrust, still used to this day.

Cool, hah? A really good tour, well done, and well worth the minimal price. Afterwards, the rain still pissing down, it was a perfect day for a hot lunch by a warm fire. No fire, but found a place in Dalkey called The Club, bar and carvery. A really nice old pub, lots of dark wood, decorated in Victorian and Tudor and other mixed architectural styles, including stained glass windows, indoor balconies, wooden columns and a nice little carvery tucked into the rear, offering a full roast beef lunch (including potatoes, veggies, horseradish, stuffing, and other goodies) for a very reasonable price. I tucked in and had a pint of Smithwicks to round off lunch. One of the better afternoons.

Gotta tell you'all, however, Dublin is FRIGGIN' EXPENSIVE! About two-to-four times Budapest prices in too many areas. Guinness is usually only just a touch higher, around 1200 forints, compared to 950 in BP. But tram and bus tickets are outrageous. I ride the bus and take the DART usually twice a day, which runs me about 25 euro a week, which equals about $33, or 6,600 forint per week. I can get a monthly pass in Budapest for all public transportation for around 7,000 forints. And the things they charge for here are very strange. One day I ordered a bagel sandwich in a chain eatery. The price was 4.25 euro. The clerk asked me if I wanted my bagel toasted, so I said sure. Turned out the toasting of a bagel was .70 euro extra, or just under $1.00 US!!!! Talk about ripoffs! So I haven't been going out as much as would like, due to the high prices. I still tried to catch the free music in the pubs in the afternoons, nursing a Coke or one beer through the performance. Tough place to live.

Then another Saturday I took the two-hour train ride to Belfast for a nice day trip. Did the Hop on-Hop off bus tour of the city, which was interesting. I've read so much about Irish history and especially about the Troubles and the specific areas in which they centered, that I had to see for myself what it was like. Well, I was surprised to find something other than what I expected. I thought the Protestant/Loyalist stronghold of the Shankill Road would be clean and pretty and...British, and that the Catholic Falls Road area would be run down and desolate and burned out. Turned out the reality was just the opposite!

The Shankill area (which, BTW, is just an AK-47 shot from the Falls Road area) is full of loud, lower-class people, just waiting, it seemed, for the fuse to burn down to the bomb and set off another explosion. Union Jacks everywhere, and the wall murals were truly frightening. You could feel the tension and almost palpable, seething anger just under the surface - and not so far, at that. The Falls Road, on the other hand, was clean and pretty and didn't seem at all threatening. Interesting. I even had lunch at a local Falls Road pub, The Fort, where the servers were friendly and the food was cheap and tasty.

While in Belfast, I also saw some of the sights in the city center, like the Crown Pub, an old Victorian pub with lots of snugs and interesting decor. Unfortunately, it was being renovated, so was not at its best. Belfast has lots to recommend it, and I'd like to go back for a longer visit. Will see what can be arranged.

So, that's July. August promises to be even more fun and exciting, if that's even possible. I continue to meet more and more fun, interesting people here and to take shameless advantage of their hospitality but joing them for parties, pub crawls, dinners, etc. Still have a lot of places to visit before I leave, including the Newgrange/Boyne Valley area, the Giant's Causeway and possibly even Belfast again. Might get to do Kilkenny, but the Dingle Peninsula seems to be in doubt. Ah, well, just have to come back again. Anyway, everyone take care, be good and stay well. I'm thinking of all of you in between pints of Guinness and Shepherd's Pie. Until the next posting.........

Slainte!!

2007-06-23T06:48:00.000-07:00

Yes! The cymbals were crashing, the drums were beating and the brass was....brassing, as I began my 10-week visit to Dublin, Ireland. Aer Lingus actually got me to Dublin 15 minutes early, which was nice. Of course, they only offered food and drink on their flights if you paid for it, which was not nice. Anyway, I got into town around 10 PM Wednesday, June 20. The person I was staying with, Joe, picked me up at the airport, which was really thoughtful and saved me about 25 euro in taxi fares. We drove back to his cozy, recently-renovated row house, dumped my bags and the car, and headed out to his local, Brogan's, right on Dame Street, just off Temple Bar, in Central Dublin. The first round of real Guinness was on me. I met Ben, the proprietor of Brogan's, and, four beers later, since I hadn't had any food since lunch, we headed around the corner to a great little kebab restaurant. Aaaahhh, sustenance.

Home again, Joe had to try the palinka I had brought him. I think he's still burping remnants of it after all this time. For an Irishman, he seemed somewhat taken aback at the Hungarian national drink. I finally hit the sack around 1 PM. Joe's row house is nicely done up, with living room, kitchen and bathroom downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs. My bedroom is really tiny, but then I don't need all that much room. Thank goodness.

Thursday morning I decided to walk to the school, which is on Westmorland Street, between the Liffey River and Trinity College, right in the heart of Dublin. Took me about an hour, as I apparently took the long way around. But it was a nice scenic walk, and I found Grafton Street, the main pedestrian shopping area, after not having been in Dublin for eight years. Got a tasty bagel and cream cheese along the way, then checked in at the Dublin School of English (hereafter the DSE) and met my bosses for the next two months. Also saw Will Dowling, another friend who had visited Budapest with Francis, my first Irish buddy and contact. Who, by the way, was out riding his bike one day recently and swerved to avoid a woman who walked out in front of him and fell and broke his arm and leg. Not a fun time for Francis. Anyway, I went over to the Tourist Information Center and got my bus passes sorted, plus picked up a bunch of literature on things I want to do here.

Had lunch at Pacino's Italian restaurant, and then it was mid-afternoon, so I headed over to the Oliver Saint John Gogarty pub and restaurant for more Guinnesses and a couple of hours of great live Irish music. Took the yellow-and-blue double-decker bus home, and shopped for food on the way at a place called Lidl, a German chain that offers food at ridiculously low prices.

Friday I was up early and bussed into town, then DART-ed out to Booterstown, south of Dublin, and walked to St. Andrew's College, which is where most of the classes will be taught. Just wanted to see if I could find my way and familiarize myself with the area, buildings, classrooms, etc. No worries, mate, although the entire trip door-to-door was just over an hour. Back to town and I braved the periodic rain to check out several sights on my list of things to see. First stop was Dawson's Lounge, billed as the smallest pub in Dublin. And it was!

"How small was it," you ask? I thought you'd never ask. I had to edge down the stairs sideways, then sidle up to the bar and squeeze onto my barstool. Just had enough room to rest one arm on the bar and drink my half-pint of Guinness, which was all that would fit on the bar. Of course, when it came time to give back some of that rented Guinness, I had to stand in the doorway to the men's room to use the urinal, it was that tiny and close to the door. Anyway, I made friends with John the bartender, so I can easily slip back there anytime -- as long as I don't gain any more weight!

Next stop was McDaid's pub, on Harry Street just off Grafton, which used to be Brendan Behan's hangout. I went in for one - yes, just one - Guinness, intending to kill about half an hour before the Chinese buffet I was after opened. Naturally, a middle-aged Irishman sat down next to me and we started talking and, yep, four Guinnesses later I staggered out of there and made it to lunch. The rain continued off and on all afternoon, so I figured one more pub wouldn't hurt me. It turned out to be Kehoe's, a really atmospheric old place. I was to meet Joe and his mates at Brogan's at 6, so figured I better get some more food into me before starting up with them. On the way to Brogan's I found Abrakebabra, a nice little chain of kebab stands, good for a light snack, which I had. (BTW - I was later informed the branch of this Middle Eastern food establishment near the DSE had an unfortunate incident a few months back, where one patron was stabbed by another; natrually, the newspapers began referring to the restaurant as "Stabrakebabra.")

Got to Brogan's just before 6 (you know I'm always early for almost everything!), and when I sat down at the bar Ben, the owner, came up and said "Hi, Gary." And he was already pouring my Guinness. Gotta love Dublin! So, I met a bunch of Joe's friends, and they were so friendly and outgoing and welcoming it pretty much wiped out the bad taste of that awful super bowl party in the states. I lost track of the pints I had that evening, I think it may have been six or seven. Finally I had to get more food, so I wandered around until I found the Hard Rock Cafe in Temple Bar. Just what I needed. A big old juicy hamburger. Great. Caught the last bus home and crashed.

Saturday it was off on the DART to Howth, a small fishing village about 20 minutes north of Dublin. Nothing special there, just a quiet morning by the Irish Sea. A light lunch of seafood chowder and prawns, then back to town where I made a reservation for a Storytelling Evening that same day and then spent the rest of the afternoon in Fitzsimmon's pub watching the New Zealand/South Africa rugby match. Nice.

That evening, I got to the Brazen Head pub and restaurant (Dublin's oldest, founded in 1198) around 6:30 to await the start of my Olde Irish evening, complete with dinner, tales of yore, poems, etc. The presenter was Johhny Daly. Apparently Johnny's entire family also decided to show up that night, and I met most of them. Even got invited to a soiree by his aunt. The show was fun and interesting and the food acceptable. But I still want to hear a real Irish storyteller one of these days.

Sunday I was invited to Joe's parents' house for dinner, which was a wonderfully hospitable thing to do for an out-of-towner. We got there around 6 and settled into the dining area, which was actually an octagonal room added on to the rear of the house. Seven sides of the room were glass, as was the roof, and the views into the rear garden were fantastically bright and soothing. Romy and David were the perfect hostess and host, and I believe I have found two more kindred spirits in the wilds of south Dublin. A really nice evening, and I hated to leave.

And Monday morning it was up bright and early to start my summer classes at the DSE. Out of bed at 6:30, bussed into the center of Dublin, walked to the DART station and DART-ed down to Booterstown, where I had a 15-minute walk to the college. All in all, still about an hour's commute. Monday was level-testing day, and the few teachers in attendance only stayed until around noon, monitoring the 60 or so kids as they took their tests to determine which level of English class they would be in. Caught a ride with another teacher back to the main school, just off the River Liffey, where I taught my afternoon class from 1:45 until 5:00. A lovely young Italian woman who wanted Legal, Economic and Business English in a one-to-one class for two weeks.

The rest of my first week was basically the same, except I taught my morning classes. I was awarded the advanced senior classes, which consisted of (at first) five 17- and 18-year-old students, four of them Polish and one Spanish. Really nice kids and with a good level of English already. Just needed to learn more colloquial English and expand their vocabulary. Anyway, after arriving at the college, it was teach from 9:00 to 10:35, 25-minute break, teach from 11:00 to 12:35, race down to the DART station and get back to town around 1:10 PM, inhale a quick sandwich or burger at a nearby fast food shop, teach from 1:45 to 3:15, 15-minute break, teach from 3:30 to 5:00. Whew! Too much work for me! I can last out the two weeks, then it's mornings only for the rest of the summer. Still need to see the museum exhibits, catch some theater (will do Arthur Miller's The Crucible next week) and check out the surrounding coastal areas north and south of Dublin.

Finally hooked up with my friend Francis on Thursday night, along with a bunch of his buddies, at Frank Ryan's pub, just off Smithfield Square in North Dublin and down a short little side street named Coke Lane. Cool little pub, very old, with the best pint of Guinness yet in Dublin. There were six of us guys, and I do believe we polished off 5-6 Guinnesses each over the course of the evening. A good time. Also checked in at the Guinness Brewery, but arrived at 6:15 PM and it closed at 6. Bummer. Maybe next time.

Friday was just another heavy teaching day. That evening I hooked up with Will and his wife Mary Clare at Brogan's for a pint or two, then we went over to The Palace Bar for a nightcap or two. Will was definitely in his cups, just like the guy we knew and loved in Budapest, so the night ended early. Another weekend, and I was ready for anything. Saturday morning I bussed over to the Kilmainham Gaol (jail, to you Americans in the crowd) and did the grand tour. Interesting place, and just as depressing and forbidding as all jails. Reminded me of Alcatraz.

Also thought I might see if the Guinness Storehouse was open and not too crowded, so walked there, only to find a line halfway around the block. Hmmm. I walked to the front of the line and asked the young attendant if I could just go to the Gravity Bar (seven stories up) for a drink, as I didn't need to do the tour. And maybe stop at the Gift Shop and pick up a shirt or two. He informed me that just to get into the building I had to have a ticket, which was not inexpensive. Now, think about that a minute. In order to go to the Gift Shop in the Guinness Storehouse and buy some souvenirs, I had to pay a fee. Hmmmm, again. Does the phrase "rip-off" sound familiar. Needless to say, I was quite disappointed in the crass and over-the-top commercialism exhbited by what used to be a fun company.

Decided I had to do the Literary Pub Crawl that evening, beginning at The Duke pub, just off Grafton Street. The Crawl was put on by two Dublin actors, Brendan and Ethna, who acted out scenes from the works of some of Ireland's most famous writers and poets. We hit four pubs: The Duke, O'Neill's, The Old Stand and Davy Byrnes. The Crawl was somewhat less than I expected, as the acting was limited to only two of the pubs. Of course, it only cost 12 euro, so I guess I was satisfied. The other two pub visits were devoted to what our actors referred to as "quality drinking time." We used the time to our advantage.

Of course, as often happens to me these days, when at Davy Byrnes Pub I started talking to Niamh (pronounced "Neem") and her fiance David (from Glasgow). A really nice young couple, getting married in the very near future and honeymooning in South Africa and Mauritius. Spent a really nice hour with them, two friendly and outgoing people. Hope I get to see them again. The Guinness inhalations continued during the evening, but I did manage to catch the last bus home. Sunday was warm but rainy (Gee, what a surprise!) and I headed into town to see the Dublinia exhibit of early Viking memorabilia and other Irish artifacts. Good show. Home early, as had to be up at 6:45 once again the following morning.

And the summer goes on. Will update again soon, and just hope the remaining weeks of my summer holiday and teaching experience are as much fun as the first 10 days. I plan some weekend excursions all around Ireland, so as soon as my afternoons are free I'll start getting out more. Until soonest....

Spring into 2007

2007-04-23T02:52:00.000-07:00

So I finally got home from India and my around-the-world tour and generally took it easy for awhile. I arrived home at 5 PM on Saturday, March 25, unpacked my stuff and at 9 I was at The Stage, singing and partying with the group. No booze that night, as stomach was still sore and tender, but stayed out till 2 AM. Then died for awhile. Vacationed that week while I settled into Andrew's place, my new abode, just behind the Rakoczi Ter market. Did some long-needed laundry and ironing.

Budapest was in the throes of an early spring like we hadn't seen in awhile, so the weather was beautiful - cool and sunny. Got out and walked, saw some movies, took it easy. Picked up one of my old classes and even got one new one. My TOEFL class did not start up again until May, as I told my student his company still had not paid my for his January classes, and I couldn't teach him any more until I was paid. They finally came through in mid-April - only 2 1/2 months late!

BUT - I heard from my friend Francis at the Dublin School of English, and my summer teaching job came through! Yep, I will be teaching English to foreigners in Dublin from June 25 - August 24. Since I only teach in the mornings I can also see lots more of Ireland - Belfast, Cork, Killarney, Dun Laoghaire, Howth, the Giant's Causeway, etc. Should be a good summer. Hope I can do it again. I get to Dublin the night of June 20, and leave September 4. First thing I'll do is check out the language school and class lessons, teaching facilities, meet the school staff and other teachers, etc. Second thing is to hit the Guinness Brewery. They missed me these past eight years, but I have no doubts they will pour me a perfect pint all the same. Looking forward to heaven.

Not much to report for April. Lazy days. My flat owner Andrew moved to London late April, and I was alone for awhile. We had agreed on rent while I was there and a reasonable (to me, anyway) retainer when I was gone, both of which were at the far end of my budget, but I figured I would try it out for awhile and see how things worked out. When I return from Ireland I will re-evaluate my finances and see what the future holds.

During the spring we had some barbecues way out north of town, and I saw some more movies and walked a lot. Got myself back in the groove at The Stage and Caledonia. Everyone liked the pictures I brought back, especially the ones of me holding a tiger's head in my lap. I also handed out some Thai silk scarves to my lady friends and presented a couple of frogs to one of my former students (she collects them).

THE BOYS WERE BACK IN TOWN!

Mark Wills and Matt Bresler both visited early May, which was drunken fun. Updates on them: Matt is doing well in Kazakhstan, but is ready to get a new posting. He has applied for Montenegro, but would be content with Estonia, Lithuania, etc. His present posting is up next March, but he'd like to get out sooner. Mark will be officially a civilian again June 1st, after 20 years in the US Air Force. He has rented an apartment on Lakeshore Drive in Chicago, overlooking Lake Michigan, with his old friend Mike. After his whirlwind tour of Scandinavia and southern Europe, visiting old friends and making new ones, he'll look for honest work for a change.

Mark entitled his visit here as his "You Had Your Chance" Tour. He met up at some point with most of the young Hungarian women with whom he had hooked up while he lived here. They apparently denied him their further charms, all of them telling him, "You had your chance." A difficult time for Don Juan de Marco, so he had to party even harder during his stay.

In fact, while both Matt and Mark were in town, the party levels kicked up several notches, as we did For Sale Pub, Caledonia (on Matt's first night in town, just him and me and 10 different women coming and going), Iguana, Stage and a couple of others I seem to have forgotten. But it was good to see them both. Hope their next visits won't be so infrequent.

Spent many other fun evenings in the spring. Watched the Championship League Football finals, Liverpool vs. AC Milan, at Caledonia Pub. Too bad Milan won. Spent an interesting evening with a women's rugby team from Aylesford, England, about 25 of them. For some strange reason, they were all dressed as black and white spotted cows. (They had shirts printed up with the logo saying "Dancing Cows Rugby Tour, Budapest, 2007." Go figure. But they were a fun group, as we played "Boat Races" and "I've Never Had Sex." First one was when people got into four even columns, with everyone holding their drink, then the first person chugged her drink, then sat down, at which time the second person chugged her drink, etc. You get the picture. Our team came in last.

Second game was everyone sitting in a circle, and one person stands up and says, "I've never had sex..." and finishes with something improbable, like "I've never had sex when there was someone else in the room." Then, anyone in the group who HAS done whatever the first person hasn't done (or said she hasn't done!) has to stand and take a drink. Got some interesting drinkers. Myself included.

Anyway, in the midst of packing for Ireland, as I leave next week. I wrote my friend Francis about arrival details, and got an email back from his sister (who also works at the language school) that Francis had fallen off his bike and broken his arm and leg! Damn!! What will that do to his pub crawling? Also heard from another language school bud, Will, who volunteered to take Francis' place as tour guide, so all is well in that area. Plus, the person I will be staying with, Joe, another friend of Francis', offered to pick me up at the airport, which was really nice. Plus saving me the taxi fare into town.

So it appears all is right with the world as we know it, at least for the time being. Bog willing and the river don't rise. Hope Aer Lingus is on time, as I can taste that homemade Guinness already. Everyone have a good summer, look for an update when I get back to Budapest in September.

Ta Ta for now....

And Finally - India.

2007-03-14T04:17:00.000-07:00

I had a relatively easy flight from Bangkok, but discovered a major problem when trying to check in. I had been told of a time change for my flight, but not of the airline change by my travel agents. This was quite confusing, as it turned out I was actually booked on a different airline, and had to go standby. Fortunately, I got on the plane at the last minute, so all was OK. There was one interesting event on the plane: one male Indian passenger was a loudmouth jerk and yelled at the Stews. When the plane landed and the doors opened, in came the soldiers and frog-marched him off. Last heard, he was screaming at the troops, which is not a good idea to do to men who carry loaded weapons.

I was picked up by the driver for my India Tour right on time. We drove into Delhi through horrible traffic. My driver, Veyd the Weaver, was wonderful. He weaved and dodged through the horde of other cars and motorbikes/scooters and tuk-tuks like a real Indianapolis 500 Pro. I got to the hotel and immediately went up to the rooftop restaurant/bar for a badly-needed beer. The weather had turned and the resulting breeze was cool and almost cold. It got down to about 60 (15 C) at night, and even the daytime temp was better at the mid-high 70s.

I sat and enjoyed the coolness after the enervating heat of Bangkok. I met up with a couple from Bath (He was Welsh, she from Cumbria) and enjoyed the night and the beer. He was a wild-haired ex-hippie type, with a great accent, and the evening went by nicely. We were also joined by a young French person - I think it was a girl, but short hair and high voice don't always qualify. S/he was ressed in Amy fatigues and very Butch, so excuse me if I'm not certain.

My first full day in Delhi was spent touring all the major tourist sights of the city. The long day began with a cruise through a Delhi park which was the habitation of several herds (tribes? Schools? Prides?) of wild monkeys. A good start. The Lakshmi temple: marble floors, no shoes allowed. There were swastikas all over the temple, which are seen as a lucky sign in India. We drove by Parliament, the President's house and India Gate. Streets in Delhi do have some broken-white-line lane markers, but drivers generally ignore them. As a result, two-lane streets often have three or even four lanes. We did the National Museum and the Tomb of Humanyun. At a local department store I found a really nice cashmere/silk sweater for about 1/3 of the price I would have paid in the USA. Lunch was at an Indian restaurant in strip mall sort of place. Good, but not spicy. We did the Bahai temple, which obviously owes a lot of its design to the Sydney Opera House! The Qutub Minar tower and grounds were also neat. We then finished up with a set of three temples to: Krishna, Vishnu and Hanuman, the monkey god. Beautiful.

The traffic in Delhi and, as a matter of fact, everywhere we went, was truly amazing. But Veyd had obviously adapted to his milieu and was able to handle his driving tasks with aplomb. This consisted of straddling the center line in order to be able to take advantage of any possible opening on either side of the road. He also tailgated shamelessly and used his horn like a Rome taxi driver. Actually, I think it is required to sound your horn here (they're more like Road Runner "Beeps") whenever you approach another car, want to pass, ask another driver to move out of the way, or just for kicks. Anyway, Indian traffic is extremely noisy and raucous with all the beeping. But never dull.

I finished the day at my hotel with a cooling beer on the rooftop and a light dinner. The next day, it was off to Mandawa in the mountains, about 5-6 hours southwest of Delhi. My driver, Veyd the Weaver, proved his name by using his Grand Prix weaving skills to get us deftly through all sorts of traffic, in and out of cities. And the traffic was terrible at times. Everything is allowed on the roads of India, and everything has the same right of way as everything else: cars, motor cycles/scooter/bikes, donkeys, goats, tuk-tuks, buses, camel carts, cattle, old men in wheelchairs, tourist cars coming your way on a one-way street - everything. But we got through them all, mainly by not driving faster than about 45 mph. I saw Veyd hit 80 kph a couple of times, but not often. A really special sight along ther way was the 7-foot-high mounds of drying cow patties, to be used as materials for fires. A sign leaving one small burg said, "Thanks." That was it. Interesting drive. Of course, you must remember Veyd and I spent about 5-6 hours each day on the road between cities. Luckily he wasn't a demanding conversationalist, so I had plenty of time to observe the scenery and wildlife.

The roads were fair to poor, like back-country, unmaintained asphalt roads in rural Alabama. After a major winter snowfall. Dirt and gravel through the villages. But I stayed in an old converted fortress/castle in Mandawa, reminiscent of the Raj. Great place. Had a city tour of old houses (haveli) which was a trek through trashy back streets and was not great, and then the guide then took me to his shop to try and sell me stuff. Boooo. But I did have a nice massage at the hotel, followed by a really nice buffet dinner in the garden.

After breakfast the next morning, we drove to Jaipur. I was hot and tired, so just took the respite to find an ATM, get some cash, and then hit the pool for a refreshing afternoon. After a nice nap, Veyd steered me to a favorite tourist restaurant of his, Indiana. The place was filled with only tourists, and I had what I thought was a good dinner with Richard from Edinburgh. The dancing show was good too. About 45 minutes after dinner, the stomach rumblings started, and within an hour they had progressed to a ful-blown case of Gandhi's Revenge, known locally as Delhi Belly.The snake was writhing and contracting and making his presence known in my guts, and was insistent upon hearing me cheer its efforts with loud gasps and explosions of my own. It was really nasty stuff, and I was up all night evacuating liquids from both ends. I spent most of the next day in bed, missed a full day of my Jaipur tour and my elephant ride. Bummer.

I was better enough the next day to drive to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal, my major purpose for taking this particular tour of The Golden Triangle. We drove right to the hotel through the west part of town, which revealed Agra is really just a huge trash dump. The worst I had seen so far in India, and that's going some. Anyway, after a bland dinner at hotel (my stomach was still not back to normal) I was off to sleep for an early rising the next morning.

Most of the time, a person's high expectations are not reached when coming face to face with the object of those expectations. In this case, my high expectations were hugely exceeded. Everyone should see the Taj Mahal at sunrise. I'll be writing more about this intense experience in a longer version of this Blog when I include it in my next book, a collection of all my Newsletters since 1985. For now, the words would be just too much. Let's just say that if you truly want to see what human beings are capable of achieving, you should see the Taj Mahal at sunrise.

After almost literally tearing myself away, we toured the Red Fort at Agra, also a magnificent structure. Shah Jehan, builder of the Taj Mahal, died there. Lots of white marble. Then it was back to Delhi, still feeling the ill effects of the snake in my stomach. That evening I got some new medicines and hoped they would help.

They did, and the next day I was almost back to normal. I had two days left in Delhi, and spent them riding around with Veyd the Weaver, checking out the few places I hadn't seen during my first tour of the city. The Delhi Red Fort, Akshradayam temple (built on 100 acres of land, a really huge thing), Gandhi's cremation site and a great Gandhi museum, which included the exact site on which Gandhi was assassinated. Also did a few other minor sites and sights and a market or two, just to be sure I had left all of my rupees in India. Bought a few more gifts, but generally just lazed around, nursing my sore and tender guts. No more beer for this soldier on this trip.

Anyway, my flight home leaves Delhi at 7 AM Saturday, so tonight I will prepare myself to arrive at the airport around 4:30 Saturday morning, to be sure and check in on time. And, if all goes well and my plane leaves on time, and I am still booked on it, that will mark the last leg of my 2007 around-the-world tour. It's been great fun and has included some outstanding sights, adventures and food, not to mention all of my wonderful family and friends who made the trip even better. Thanks to everyone for everything - can't get more general than that. Not sure where the next trip will lead me, but will let everyone know as soon as I find out. If you recall, Dublin for the summer was a possibility! Y'all take care and keep smiling --- and NEVER eat at the Indiana restaurant in Jaipur, India!!!

On to Asia...

2007-03-13T03:23:00.000-07:00

I must admit I approached the Perth airport at 5:30 in the morning with some trepidation. I was to catch a Garuda Indonesia Airlines flight to Bali, before getting to Singapore that afternoon. It seems Garuda Indonesia Airlines had lost a plane the previous day. It had taxied off the runway upon landing and exploded, killing 23 people. Hmmm... Ah, well, when it's time, it's time. Anyway, I made it okay and, while waiting in Bali for my connecting flight to Singapore, I struck up a conversation with a fellow passenger, an Englishman, who just happened to teach English in Bali. Amazing. I had a three-hour layover in Bali, which I spent at the airport. The Balinese hucksters kept trying to interest me in food and massages, but I stayed steadfast and held out for Thailand.

Got into Singapore around 4:30 PM. Their airport was organization personified. I managed to retrieve my suitcase, find the Bag Storage area, check in my bags, catch a taxi and get to the Singapore Zoo for the Nightime Safari by 5:30 PM. A new personal best! Of course, the first Safari tram didn't leave until 7:15, so I had some time to kill. The weather was so hot and humid, I quickly downed 5 beers in 2 1/2 minutes. The sweat just wouldn't stop, as the humidity had to be 97%. Anyway, I grabbed some dinner at one of the zoo's restaurants and sweatily waited my turn on the tour.

Finally got on the tram, and it was sort of an anticlimax. Oh, it was okay, but nothing special. not like I had been led to believe. The animals were cool, but it was dusk and getting darker, so we really couldn't see too well. Anyway, not too much to be said. I finished up and caught another taxi back to town and to the Long Bar of the Hotel Raffles. Now THAT was cool! Check it out on the Internet. Raffles was THE place to be way back when, and the Long Bar was where everyone who was anyone in the Far East met to exchange information, swap lies and tell stories. The ceiling was still full of those old rattan fans (although the air conditioner did more these days to keep the customers cool), the bar and chairs were all in dark wood, and the floor was marble tiles. Surprise - for such a classy place, customers are encouraged to throw their peanut shells on the floor! I had my Singapore Sling, then switched to beer. It appeared every first-time visitor to the Long Bar ordered the obligatory Singapore Sling, but it seemed no one ever ordered a second. I passed the time talking with a traveling Canadian, then decided I needed some rest. I taxied back to the airport, and spent the rest of the night snoozing in one of the hard-backed chairs.

Morning came slowly, but I managed to wake up and wander over to the Departures Board to check on my flight's status to Bangkok. Hmmm, my flight wasn't on the board. Double Hmmm. When the Garuda Indonesia desk finally opened, I checked in with them. It seems I had been switched to Cathay Pacific airlines, for reasons unknown to me. Whatever, as long as I got to Bangkok I was happy. So I finally arrived in Bangkok, Thailand, around 4:30 in the afternoon. Treated myself to a "limo' ride to my hotel, through some horrendous traffic. I thought it was bad just because it was Friday afternoon, but found out later it was always this bad. Motor bikes, scooters, cycles, and mopeds abound in Bangkok, and keep the cars always on the alert for their weaving and dodging tactics. Anyway, I finally got to take a shower and clean up, then hit one of the most well-known streets in Bangkok, a place called soi (pronounced "sawy") Cowboy. Lots of bars and clubs and entertaining young Thai ladies. And, if you're not careful, lots of young Thai ladyboys! I sucked down my Tiger beers and wandered around, soaking up the atmosphere. Grabbed a bite to eat and caught a couple of the shows in the clubs. It's truly amazing what those girls can do wiuth a ping-pong ball!

My room was OKAY in the Royal Hotel Bangkok, a three-star establishment located near the Royal Palace. My only window looked into an empty courtyard, but the air conditioning worked just fine. I walked around my general area for a few hours, catching the Royal Palace (I couldn't go in since I was wearing shorts). I decided to try and beat the heat somewhat (it was 98 degrees (37 degrees for my British friends) with 123% humidity - and while the temperature got hotter during my stay, the humidity never lessened. Reminded me of one of the many reasons I left St Louis, Missouri.

Next morning I found out my hotel served up a great breakfast buffet, including American pancakes, eggs, sausage, toast, croissants, etc. There was also a separate buffet for the early Asian riser, consisting of rice and other Asian goodies. It was all really good. Still brutally hot and humid (March is apparently the lowest of the Thai seasons, which are: Hot, Very Hot and Very Very Hot. Luckily I was there only in the Hot season!). Anyway I decided a river cruise was in order. It was cool and interesting. Saw many of the side canals off the main river, the Chao Phraya. Lots of rundown ramshackle houses, with some nicer ones thrown in. Kids were swimming in the river, which astonished me. Those kids must be immune to every disease known to man. I saw the Wat Arun temple, then found Khaosan Road, one of the main tourist areas in the city. Had a good lunch at Buddy Beer: stir-fry ostrich with garlic and black pepper. More Tiger beer. Then I walked slowly back to the hotel (running would have laid me out) and spent the next two hours in the hotel pool. Not lying on a lounge by the saide of the pool, but actually IN the pool. Damn, but it was hot! Next day was more shopping at Khaosan and more Tiger beer and another lunch at Buddy Beer. Love that place. The afternoon was spent in the pool again. Too hot to do anything else. But the evening crowd on Khaosan Road was something to be seen and enjoyed. I sucked down my Tiger beers at a streetside cafe and watched the entertainment. For the men, it was the Coolest Shirt contest. I saw shirts from Barbados, Trondheim, and Carlos & Charlie's in Puerto Vallarta. I thought my Tribunal Bar in St Petersburg (in Russian, of course!) shirt was in the running for the main prize, until I caught a shirt from Sheep-Shifter's Bar in Tierra del Fuego. Had to give him the main prize.

For girls it was the International Rear End Cleavage Bakeoff. All of the tourists and local girls wear their pants so low-slung that when they bend over to inspect some item of tourist junk, their rear cleavage (we always called it The Vertical Smile) is clearly visible for all to admire. Underwear styles included black, white, cotton, silk, thongs, American, German, French, etc. Never did get a winner, but got to judge a lot of contestants.

Dinner was shrimp, rice and more beer. While in Bangkok I was continually approached by taxi and tuk-tuk drivers, wanting to take me somewhere - anywhere - but especially to a favorite Thai Bathhouse of their acquaintance. My first encounter with a tuk-tuk driver (these are little motorcycle-like vehicles, with a sort of carrier cage built on to them, capable of transporting 2-3 people in much less than comfort; but they are a Bangkok experience, so one must do it sometime) was surprising and fun. As I was walking down the street in the evening, one of the drivers came up to me and said, "Tuk-tuk?" I answered "Mai Chai" (no) politely. Then he said, "Boom boom?" Caught me off guard and I laughed for the next 2 minutes. At least they're honest about what they have to offer.

Monday was a full 12-hour day. Picked up too early by the mini-bus for all-day trip around Thailand. Our driver, Fireball Kwok, proved his worth by breaking every speed record to get us to our first destination: one of the WWII cemeteries for prisoners of war who died making the Bridge on the River Kwai. Next on the list was the Death War Museum (odd name), which included a portion of the actual wooden Bridge constructed by the prisoners. Just down the road was the completed metal bridge, which I walked across. It was an experience. I then had to visit the Gift Shop on the River Kwai, and finally had to find the Toilet on the River Kwai. Fireball then drove us madly to an isolated train station, literally in the middle of nowhere, where we caught a train for another isolated station. (Ed Note: Fireball had the disconcerting habits of passing on curves, tailgating and playing chicken with oncoming cars when he tried to pass another car. Gave us some moments, but, for all that, he was actually a pretty safe, smooth driver. No worries, Mate!) Anyway, the train was great; all the carriages were made of wood, including the hard-backed seats. Windows were pulled down to admit the hot rushing air. We bounced down the tracks for about an hour, met our minibus at the last station, and broke more speed records to get to our floating restaurant on the River Kwai for lunch of rice and chicken.

Next stop was "one of Thailands best and most beautiful waterfalls." I gave it a C minus. It was okay, nestled in a sylvan setting, but their were kids swimming in the pools and it was bare dirt all around and the waterfall was just fair. No big deal. I guess you have to go with what you've got. But our final stop of the day was the best: the Tiger Temple Sanctuary and Conservation Project. Pictures are available for interested parties of me petting a tiger and holding a tiger's head in my lap. I wasn't as nervous as I looked. The facility also had hordes of wild pigs, bullocks, horses, peacocks and a couple of really cute baby tigers. Cool place. We got back to the hotel around 6:30 and I raced to the shower (I was getting better at racing the humidity by now). Aaaahhh. Had another good dinner near Khaosan road, of lobster bisque and stir-fried shrimp with pepper and garlic. Yummy.

Tuesday I did a couple of more tourist sights: the Jim Thompson house and the Sampeng market. The Thompson house was interesting. Jim Thompson was an American who, after WWII, moved to Thailand and was almost single-handedly responsible for promoting the international Thai silk industry. When he was 61 years old in 1967, we went on a trip into the Malaysian mountains and was never heard from again. But his house is truly beautiful. I picked up a six-place setting of amazing Thai silk dinner napkins for Morgan - ask to see them if you visit her. The Sampeng Chinese market area was also fun, and I found a really nice Chinese jacket and some soft, cool shirts for myself. The rest of the day was spent at the pool. Dinner was once again in Khaosan, as it was easy to get to and the food and ambience were great.

Since I had pretty much done all I wanted to do in Bangkok, I decided to immerse myself fully in the Thailand experience and go to one of the "Thai Baths." This is where you can choose one (or more!) young Thai women who will attend to your every need for a couple of hours: bathing, massages, etc. What the hell, when will I be back this way? And, of course, when in Rome...Needless to say - but I'll say it anyway - it was a fun and relaxing and interesting experience, one I won't forget soon. Just what the doctor ordered for poor, tired old travelers.

Finally, all I wanted to do was relax around the pool for my last day in Bangkok. It was still too damn hot and humid to walk around outside, so I lazed and read and sunned and generally took it easy my final day in town. An early dinner and a stroll around the area near my hotel, and I was finished with Bangkok. Next stop: India.

A few final observations. The general ambience in the tourist areas was grubby, dreadlocked, young men in flip-flops and their sweaty female counterparts. Lots of backpackers. Got caught in the smoky haze near Kanchanaburi (River Kwai Bridge site) due to the Thai farmers' burnoff of their excess vegetation. Everyone was smiling and friendly, some of them probably even honestly so.

Okay, Readers, that's it for Thailand. Hope y'all have been keeping up with my adventures and are continuing to live vicariously through me. It's still a gas. Take care, more to come as the adventures continue to pile up.