Milan

We arrived by train to Milan yesterday. Whereas Venice is a very unique city in the sense that it is trapped in a bubble of history, Milan is a strange mixture of modern and old world. Milan is considered one of the foremost fashion capitals of the world and it is prevalent in the attire and attitude of everyone here. The women are dressed in the most up-to-date fashions in both dress and accessories and are unbelievably beautiful. The men, too, are all very well put together in dress and look. When you open a fashion magazine like Vogue or Elle, it's the inhabitants of Milan that you are seeing. Models walk by on the street right out of the catalogs. It is quite surreal.

People have called Portland a "European" city, which I always thought was just a bunch of pretentious people in a small town trying to be cooler than they actually are. Don't get me wrong: I love my home city. I think that after you've lived in Portland for a while, you tend to take for granted all the things that make up the city's culture and forget that many of its bragging rights are actually quite well deserved. I haven't been very many places within the U.S., but I have yet to find a city that's quite like Portland. It's home and I miss it very much.

Especially considering where I am now. Like I said, people say Portland is a very "European" city. I now understand what they mean. Milan reminds me of Portland so much, it's hard not to walk around the corner of one of its historical architectural buildings and imagine seeing Powell's Books in the distance or Rock Bottom in one of the many commercial areas on the ground floor. It's raining like it's an average winter day in P-town: cold but not hard, a light drizzle that comes and goes like a mood swing. I've given up the light travel clothes I bore with me to such exotically hot places like Australia and Thailand in exchange for a light sweater, a hoodie, jeans, a scarf, and a coat. Every time I go outside, I bundle like I used to on chilly days in Portland: like I'm preparing for a war with the elements... or at least a friendly skirmish on the streets of my hometown.

I love this weather. I can't imagine living anywhere that doesn't have this kind of wet sheen on the pavement or these kind of green, lush grassy parks where bundled people walk like it's just another day. I love breathing refreshingly brisk air and drinking cappuccinos cooled by the frosty mist of my exhaled breath. Milan reminds me of home more than anywhere else I have been. I could easily find myself here again and again.

My Italian is still weak, but I'm trying my best. I get mostly amused frustration at my innocent ignorance and a patient understanding at my poor mispronunciation at even the most basic turns of phrase. But! I got "pronto", "prego", "gratzie", "permisso", and "ciao" down pat. And, of course "toilette?" I want to learn this language so bad if for no other reason than, when I come back here, I can get by knowing what's being said to me and with the confidence to say it back to the locals. Because I will be back here. On that, you can guarantee.

So far, out of all the places we've been to on this trip, the top three are:

1) Venice
2) Phuket
and
3) Sydney/Melbourne

I include Sydney and Melbourne together because both are close enough to visit back-to-back as one trip. Phuket and the Indigo Pearl resort was heaven on earth. And Venice?

Ahh, Venice...

Venice is my new permanent vacation destination. Plus, it's only an hour train ride away from Milan if I ever get homesick for Portland and want that feeling again while I'm in Italy.


By the way... to be able to say I'm Italy is kind of a dream I thought I never thought would be possible. Growing up, listening to albums like "Get In the Van" and "Black Coffee Blues" by Rollins, and wishing I could get out there, as far away from my suburban nightmare and the incestuousness of a small town as I could; I always felt as if I would never amass enough financial stability or courage to see where my comfort level bottomed out and my true reserve began. I now know, above all things, that the instinct to build a nest around you and trap yourself within it with all the modern convenience and entertainment distraction one could need for a lifetime of solitary existence is a confinement that is completely self-imposed.

Yes, money is a necessary commodity to allow you to get you out of your world. And I know, better than most, that it seems as if (if you are like myself or, as I believe, most people) there will never be a way to gain enough financial leeway to make a journey away possible. And I completely recognize that my particular situation allows me a modicum of leisure in my travels. But the thing, I think, that keeps most people where they are is the illusion that you need to work to pay the bills to have a place to sleep so you can be rested for work so you can make a salary or paycheck so you can pay your rent and feed yourself so you can be well rested for the next day of work where you go to make a paycheck so you can afford the various forms of modern convenience and entertainment needed to sustain your leisure mind so you don't get so stressed out while you wait to go back to work tomorrow so you can make some money so you can support the life you've constructed for yourself.

This is the biggest lie society has told us: that you must construct a life that suits your wants and needs; that the expression of life is bound by the routines you have chosen to participate in and nothing more. But, regardless of the monetary good fortune which has allowed this trip to manifest for me and my wife, the truth is that travel is not an impossibility for anyone. Out here, I have seen so many people from all over the world who are in the places I'm in. Some have children. Some are simply vacationing or honeymooning. Some are just traveling. Some are working their way across the country. Some are on school trips and some are just out here. Some have friends they meet online who put them up or work the travel sites like pros. Some work the bargains like an art form, saving every penny from student discounts, traveling bonuses, credit card points, frequent flier miles, and hotel points like they're gold coins. The point is, they aren't at home right now. And that's pretty amazing. And, not surprisingly, very few of them are Americans.

(Regarding the Americans I have run into out in the world: I would like to personally apologize to every citizen of every country I have been to for their loud, obnoxious, raucous behavior. We're not all like that, I swear.)

Those of you who have traveled before in life, I have envied you for so long. I now get what you were talking about all those years of trying to pull your stories out of you. I'm out here now and it's life changing, even if the change is subtle and goes mostly unnoticed as it's happening. Thanks for feeding my ambition all those years.

To those of you who think that you "can't" or "will never", I can only say this: the only thing stopping you is you. Traveling is easy and it's a kind of living that is indescribable. It can seem like there will never be a way for you to tear yourself away from the life you're bound to. It can be scary and daunting.

You should also totally do it.

Everywhere I go, I want to take everyone I know to that place, wherever it happens to be. I hope this blog accomplishes at least a little bit of that in some weird "osmosis" way.

Okay, I've rambled on long enough. Time to pop open this bottle of wine I got at the grocery store and relax looking out over the wet streets of Milan.

Ciao, bella.


-d@n

Irony is a dish best served Greek

I wanted to tell this story a few blogs ago but got caught up in the glory that is Italy, which has been a well-needed relief from the chaos of Athens. So, it's chronologically out of order, but if I don't tell it, I may just forget it even happened; a shame considering the drama that unfolded a few days ago. Plus, it's a doozy.

As you well know (because apparently I can't stop bitching about it), I lost my iPhone in Melbourne. This was, as I have mentioned previously and with great verisimilitude, a whole lot of suck. I thought I could rectify the situation by buying a new iPhone online and having it shipped to me via courier to arrive at my hotel in Athens. But (Athens being Athens) there was a strike wherein Customs workers walked off the job for three days and the package that was supposed to arrive to my eagerly waiting arms instead sat in a warehouse somewhere in Greece. I called FedEx to be told "Sorry, Charlie... you're screwed" and figured that was that. I told them to ship it back to my mom's house in Vancouver, WA.

This was on the 17th of February. We left for Heraklion, Crete on the 19th. I was told the strike would last until the 24th. Ce la vie.

After arriving in Crete, I discovered that the strike actually was a 3 day strike and was over the day we left and that the strike in question that was to take place on the 24th is a general strike (ain't democracy grand?). I check the status of my package on FedEx online to find, hey lookit that!, my package's status is unchanged. We return to Athens on a 7 hour layover on the 23rd and I decide to give 'em a call and find out just how far up their asses their heads really are.

We are literally two minutes off the plane, finding a comfortable place to veg for 7 hours, when I call FedEx. They tell me to call the Customs Department because there is some issue with the paperwork regarding the package. I call Customs and a very nice man tells me the package is there. He asks where I am and I tell him I'm at the airport. He gives me the slightest glimmer of hope by saying, "We are close to the airport". I tell him I'm on my way and he says, "I don't know if you'll make it. The offices close at 2 o'clock." It is ten minutes past 1. I say "I'll make it". He says, "If you walk now, you will not make it". I say, "I'll catch a cab". He says, "If you take a cab, they will charge you an arm and a leg". I say, "I'm coming to get my package. Get ready, bitches!" Okay, not that last bit about the bitches, but you get the idea.

I abandon my lovely, tired, and tolerant wife to go catch a cab to the Olympic Air Cargo building where I am charged 3 euro by a very confused cabbie who acts like I've just ruined his day by taking him out of the queue for arriving passengers... about a block away from my destination (I come to realize later he didn't want to take me all the way to the building because he would have to go past he turnaround that takes him back to the airport). I run... literally run... to the building, up a hill, up three flights of stairs and arrive in the tiny FedEx express office where the guy proceeds to tell me that he isn't sure he can give me my package because it's already been earmarked to be returned to sender. I tell him, "I. Am. Dan. Tabayoyon. That's my name right there. I hereby authorize you to give me. my. package. " He says okay and proceeds to charge me 27.50 euros. For taxes or something. Not sure, don't care: want package. BUT! I don't have any money. They don't take cards. I rush to the ATM downstairs, take out 50, and rush back up. They have no change. I break the 50 with one of the other guys in the office but only in whole bills, so I tip the guy 2.50 euro. Big whoop.

He fills out some paperwork, tells me to take my receipt and head downstairs to the warehouse.

I'm thinking, "Sweet! No sweat!"

Oh no. Not so easy as all that. Strap yourselves in, kids. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.

I stand int he wrong office, being ignored, for about 5 minutes before someone finally tells me to go and talk to a guy in a cubicle in the actual warehouse. He gives my paperwork to a lady who find my package. HOORAY! It's in my hands! Oh wait, no it's not: she takes it away from me and tells me to go get the Customs guy who has to come over to see the package, inspect it, and then sign off on some MORE paperwork. I go around the corner 10 feet to find a surly man dealing with a couple of pissed off people who hurriedly tells me to fuck right off until he's ready for me. He comes over, looks a the package, gives me some shit, then proceeds to tell me to come with him back to his cubicle to sign off on papers. I come with him, kill him with kindness and his tune changes. He says, "You are very polite. For this, I will do you this favor. Take these papers across the street to the Customs office and pay the duties on it. Go to window number 7". I say, "Across the street?" He nods cryptically and adds, "I do not think you will make it. The office closes at 2:00". I check my watch:

1:35.

I haul ass across the parking lot to enter a madhouse. Window after window of people, all tossing papers around, hollering in Greek, pointing at everyone and everything. I saddle up to window 7 who then points me to a man in an office. I careen into the office to find two guys sitting around b.s.-ing like two old fishing buddies who then stare at me like I'm in the wrong place. Neither of them speak English. I wave my papers around and he sort of smirks at me, signs the papers, then points me back out to window 7. Window 7 guy enters some numbers into his computer, stamps my papers, then tells me "Window 11".

So far, so good... comparatively.

I get to Window 11 and the window is completely blocked by four people who are sorting through 4 huge stacks of papers, trying to find one the Customs Office has misfiled. One lady in front of me throws a stack of them and her belongings on the floor in frustration. The guy next to her, not speaking English, sees me, takes my form, and hands it to the lady in Window 12 who then yells at him, hands it back, and he hands them back to me, pointing at Window 11. Thanks for trying, buddy.

Here's where things get sticky. The guy at Window 11 tells me to come back tomorrow. I say, "Please, sir. I leave in 7 hours. Just sign the papers. I can't come back tomorrow." He holds his hands up dismissively and shoos me away. I lean into the little slot in the window and beg, "C'mon, man. Please. I'm begging you. Just sign my papers". He proceeds to ignore me. I beg a little more, but he's not having it.

Just as I'm standing around, just standing there trying to figure out what the fuck I'm going to do, a nice young man standing next to me, also waiting for something to be signed, whispers stoically, "Just hand him the papers." I say, "Excuse me?" He says, "Do not beg. He must take them. Hand him the papers". I timidly slide the papers in Window 11 guy's direction. The man next to me (mid-twenties, I think), takes my papers and puts them on the man's desk. "Do not beg. He must take your papers if you give them to him. He will sign them. Do not be afraid". The guy looks at the papers, looks at me, shakes his head, then starts filling out the computer information to process my shit. The man next to me says, "They have had a strike for 3 days, so it is like this. See? He will sign. It is his job. He cannot refuse". Sure as shit, the papers are stamped and I'm ushered to yet another window. That window is friendlier but more confusing. He tells me to hand over my papers and come inside the room where the people working are at. I go in, watch my papers get copied, signed off on, passed through two different tables sitting right next to each other, handed back to me and told to go to a last guy in the room to sign off on them again.

This is where it was scary.

As I turn to face the guy who I'm supposed to get my shit signed off from, I notice another guy leaning over his shoulder, stuffing euros into the official's front shit pocket, patting him on the shoulder. He looks up and they both realize I'm standing right there. There's a moment of pissed off-ness and irritation that emanates from them both... until the guy stuffing bills into his buddy's pocket says something in Greek which, by virtue of my ability to read people regardless of language, was something along the lines of "Ah, don't sweat it, he's just a stupid American". I shoot them both my most innocent, unassuming, "I-don't-care" face and the guy sitting down smiles wickedly and signs my papers with a chuckle. Off to the last window.

Oh yes, there's a last window...

He tells me I owe him 35 euro. I say, "For what?!" He says for the taxes. I say, "I have no cash!" he says there's an ATM outside... he'll hold onto my paperwork until I get back. I say, "Don;t fuck me here. I will be right back". I dash outside to find an ATM, take out some cash, and run back inside. It is now 2:15. I pay the man and he hands me back a wad of change I have no idea if it's right or not. He tells me to take my accumulated assortment of papers back across the street and have the man inside sign them.

I have no idea what man he's talking about, but I book across the street anyway. As I'm working my way inside the building, I notice how everyone is rushing to get the eff outta dodge cuz it's quittin' time. I talk to the guy in the cubicle in the warehouse and he tells me to go around the wall and talk to the guy in the first office I was in where I was told I was in the wrong place way back at the beginning of my story.

I find the guy as he's leaving the building. He signs my papers. He tells me to go into the office on the first floor and pay the cashier. Pay the casheir? Didn't I already do that? Apparently not. I go into a cashier's office where the girls all look like they are watching the clock. One window remains open. A woman hands my paperwork to another woman who makes copies of the whole thing and hands them back to her. She charges me 24 euro. "What about the paperwork from FedEx saying I already paid that?" She says this is different: you have to pay for processing. "Pay for processing? Isn't that what I paid the guy at the last window in the Customs Office for?" Apparently not. Well, it's a good thing I didn't try and bribe anyone: I've spent a shit ton of money just trying to get a goddamn package. But... I had come too far to back down. I paid the lady and got my receipt.

I go back to the cubicle in the warehouse where the guy, very humorlessly, says, "You made it! Right on time!"

It is now 2:30 pm. I am handed my package. I thank the man and the woman who brought it to me and they have a laugh. I walk out with my package under arm to wait for the bus to take me back to the airport. I'm out around 100 euro for a package that was supposed to be paid for when it left the States that was supposed to be delivered half a week prior or, at the very least, shipped back to the States where I could have had Lupe's mom bring it to me in Spain. I'm tired because I've had no sleep from the night before and I'm hungry because I thought I would eat when we got to Athens for the layover and instead I'm chasing down a package that should have been brought directly to me when I was in Athens the first time. I catch the bus back to the airport.

I get back to find Lupe waiting for me, get on a plane, and make it to Italy to find...

I need to connect to an AT&T network for my phone to function. The only two places where this works? America and the UK.

Yeah.

So...

The moral of this story?
Dan is an idiot.

That's a pretty good moral, right? I think so. Very fitting.

That was the Greek Customs Debacle 2010. All for a stupid fucking phone I can't use. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention... my backup of my old phone was on the old hard drive on Lupe's computer which got fried in Melbourne and the version of iTunes I backed up can't be accessed by the new computer because it's already been replaced with a newer version of iTunes that was updated when we got the new hard drive. Hooray Apple!

At least I can use the apps and functions to listen to music, take photos and video, and to play games and stuff. I guess there's that, at least. And I have a new phone, so that doesn't totally suck.

But yeah! Customs in Greece was a bureaucratic nightmare! And here, I thought the U.S. was bad.... sheesh! Remind me to never, ever do that again. There is nothing like the panic, chaos, and confusion that comes from being a non-native speaking tourist in a Customs office overseas. That was something else.

That's my story. Sorry it took so long. Told you it was a doozy. On these travels, one thing I have absolutely learned above all other things: there is normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill, mundane, boring, stressful, real-life bullshit everywhere you go. It doesn't matter how well-planned your trip is or how magical the destination may be... real life always manages to rear its ugly head when you least expect it.

Thanks for bearing witness to that.

-d@n

Ah, Venice...

What can I say about Venice?

No, seriously.... what can I say? Some suggestions would be greatly appreciated. I am so overwhelmed by this city. Everything you think you know about Venice is absolutely, 100% true. It is remarkably beautiful. It is romantic in a way that is indescribable. It is sinking and it is an amazing city filled with history and architecture that will blow you away.

If you are aware you're next to it that is. Venice is a superhero friendly city. That is to say that if you like to crouch in the shadows on rooftops like Batman or just wanna fly around without anyone paying attention to you like Superman, Venice is the place for you. No one looks up to the sky. Because all the buildings are tightly knit together and tower over the city streets, it's easy to miss the sheer amount of historical buildings and architecture... not for lack of trying, mind you: they are EVERYWHERE. You can't throw a rock without hitting some site where something awesome happened 500 years ago.

Venice can't get any bigger. It also can't get much newer. So it sits in the water like a museum you can touch and feel and sit on and explore. The people are extraordinarily friendly to the point of ridiculousness. The streets are busy but no one is in any sort of hustle-bustle hurry to go anywhere. You can wander the streets freely without any worry about dark alleyways or bad folk or, most importantly, cars of any kind. It's something to really wrap your head around: there are no automobiles; only boats. And it's not like a harbor town like Heraklion where the boating community is so prevalent that it could be a commotion. The water doesn't really have an odor either. Occasionally, you catch a whiff of the rot that's going on, but, in truth, it doesn't even smell like a city. You can literally walk the entirety of Venice in less than a day, getting lost in the corridor of mazes that make up its buildings and alleys, without ever worrying about going to the "bad part" of town. It's a very small city with only one way in or out so the crime rate is minuscule. There is also something going on at all hours of the night: people roaming the streets looking for a place for wine, or a snack, smoking cigarettes and saying "ciao" a lot. Even the touristy spots aren't really that touristy except for the fact that there are tourists in them.

It's Italy, baby... and it's awesome.


Today we slept in, got gelato at the snack bar down the street, wandered around the northern part of the islands, got some amazing food at one of the hundreds of restaurants, and played tourist: we took a gondola ride through the canals where we got some great pictures and learned that Angelina Jolie and Johnny Depp are filming a movie in town (the driver pointed out the house they were staying in, the place where they shot this morning, and a room they were filming in as we passed by). Later, as we passed over the Rialto, I swear to all that is holy that Angelina walked by and then ducked into one of the many back alleys to avoid the push of people coming up the walkway. By the time I told Lupe I thought it was her, she was long gone. We got some wine and snacks for the train ride to Milan tomorrow and I went downstairs to get some amazing white sparkling wine called La Morandina 2008 and a couple of cups. I am now downloading pictures and not wanting to pack up and leave. The weather here has been cold and gray and reminiscent of home. We met a little doxie puppy that looked a lot like Rudy and that made us miss our old life in a bad way.

I wish you all could see these places. They are not to be missed in life. They transcend your expectations and your disillusions in a way that cannot be described (no matter how verbose I get in these little blog thingies). Venice is a place to behold. If ever there was a city you should get on you, this one is it.

As always, more photos are available on facebook so check me out there. Time to pack up for Milan.

Ciao!

-d@n

Damn Ubisoft... [SPOILER ALERT!]

Everywhere in Venice, I am struck by a sense of deja vu. We'll walk by an alleyway or under a clock tower and I cannot, for the life of me, stop myself. Invariably, everywhere we have gone, I take a moment to acknowledge where I've seen a particular place before and lean to whisper to Lupe:

"See that tower there? The one with the cross on it? I once dove off the top into the canal water below..."

"See the Rialto? Underneath there was a hidden symbol left by the stone masons that I decoded to uncover the Ultimate Truth..."

"That archway over there? I once had to pay some thieves to run over and distract a couple of guards because there was a piece of Leonardo DaVinci's Codex in that room that I simply had to have. One of them turned around and I used my Hidden Dagger to gack him in the throat... but one of the other guards saw me do it. Then the alarm was raised and I free-ran up the building until the coast was clear."

"My name was Ezio Auditore and I was an assassin..."

My wife doesn't think it's funny anymore but I just can't help it. Assassin's Creed 2 was a brilliant video game that was so well mapped out, it is really tough not to stand in the center of the Piazza San Marco without saying, "Here, I had to use Leonardo DaVinci's flying machine and the help of the Thieves' Guild in Venice to get over the walls to kill my target. That one had me stumped for almost a whole day until I figured it out. Also, at the top there's a secret room where you can find a piece of Altair's armor". [See? I told you there was a SPOILER ALERT!]

Yes, I am a geek.

Still, these geekgasms aside, seeing Venice for all its glory is an amazing thing. The city is rich and full and friendly. I have quite instinctively fallen in love with it. Today was hours of fun and excitement exploring the city.

Kinda like Assassin's Creed 2 but, y'know... live...
... and I can't run across the rooftops...
... or gack people.
... sigh...

On a serious note, I will have more pictures to post on this amazing city sometime in the next couple days as I am very tired right now and don't wanna post pics, so there. Please check my facebook page for any albums you may want to peek through or any new ones to come. I promise this blog will return to its proper "holy crap, that was cool!" mission statement it began with in the coming days... sans "hipster-bashing", of course.

Ciao!

-d@n

When in Rome...

It's refreshing to know that you aren't alone in your anxiousness and terror when you finally touch down on the tarmac and the entire plane explodes with raucous cheers and chants and applause from the other passengers.

This has happened twice now on flights I've been on. The first time was when the plane from Thailand that was originally supposed to land in Munich after 12 hours of flying diverted to Nuremberg due to weather conditions. I'd like to think that that time had more to do with the fact that everyone was just happy to be on the ground again after so long. The Captain even got on as soon as we landed and made some short joke that the Germans found mildly funny but that I couldn't understand because, y'know... I don't speak German.

This time was a little different. Strong head winds buffeted our small craft all around and the motion of the lane was hard for even me to to bear. As I've said before, I never get motion sickness until I'm on still ground again which is usually okay since I'm, y'know... on the ground. But this plane was rocking and rolling. I thought the plane ride from Athens to Crete was rough (I white-knuckled it almost the entire time) and the ride from Seattle to Portland is generally unpleasant but this was scary.

It's not much of a stretch for most of you who know my dumb neurotic ass to imagine my hesitance to flying. I don't do it very often though so, when I do, I can bear through it. But this trip has been a lot of flying. And with every flight, it's a crap shoot to see if I'm gonna be all "Cool Hand Luke" about it... or gripping Lupe's hand with a vice-like strength at every bump and loll. I can usually tell that my tension is just my own private hell and that keeps me all right with the world. But, every now and then, I am rewarded with the understanding that a bunch of strangers I don't know anything about have shared in my fear, even for a minute or two.

When we landed in Rome, the whole plane began chanting and singing. It started with those sitting in the forward part of the plane and was then echoed from passengers from the aft. It was a confirmation of life, a celebration over fear, and a great way to land. I highly recommend it. It was awesome and relieving and something I have never experienced before in any form. I was glad to have been a witness to it.

Who knows, maybe they were just cheering for their favorite soccer team. Italians are like that, you know. But still, it's the little moments of being swept up in a cultural difference that makes this trip really worthwhile. I've found that most Americans are quick to judge and dismiss and say, "psh, whatever" to anything not deemed "cool" to their own cultural ideologies. It's no wonder we have no real sense of community anymore: we're too busy trying to pretend like we're too cool for school. Where I come from, hipsters rule the streets: what with their carefully hand-picked disheveled wardrobe and their neurotic apathy and their geek-chic attitudes and their snide subjective morality and they fucking annoy me so very, very much. All so very worldly without ever having gone anywhere. But that's me: the old fart standing out front of my house in my jockey shorts, half-crazed with Alzheimer's and bitching at the young whipper-snappers to "stay off my lawn!"

[If you're a hipster and you feel I've offended you in some way with this last bit of ranting, please take into consideration that you are most likely a douche who has no real or meaningful connections to anyone and will probably end up miserably disillusioned at the waste that was your life, sickened by the clove cigarettes you smoked throughout your twenties (which have caused the lesions to grow in your chest at an excellerated rate) and surrounded by cats in your later years... all-the-while lamenting that you never actually did anything with your time except listen to shitty bands who nobody has ever heard about nor have any care for anymore. Cheers!]

Where was I?...

Oh yeah, Italy! Italy is pretty great. These folks know how to eat! We had an amazing slice of margherita pizza at the airport in Rome while we waited for our plane and marveled at the Wine Bar where old Italian businessmen ate smoked meats and cheeses while smoking cigarettes and wearing their coats on their shoulders like cloaks of old. And Venice is a strange and wondrous place. I always thought that the cheesy representations of Italy and its overt romanticism was something for the tourist to buy into to get them to come here but, lo and behold: it's TRUE! There is a quality of life here that is bizarre to be around. At once, it is so obviously impoverished economically and yet rich in history and culture. I just got here and already I find it fascinating. I can't wait to get my hands on it and really see what it has to offer.

As I'm writing this, a chorus of voices from the street has begun wafting through the cold gray air, its snippet of song lost in the labyrinth of crumbling and sinking buildings in only a few seconds. This morning, I ate a croissant and had a cup of cappuccino under glass chandeliers while watching the boats pass by outside. It was pretty grand. Can't wait to go exploring.

Talk more soon.


-d@n


P.S.
My wife hates it when I get all "Angry Dan" with my writing and feels like it gets in the way of some real talent. I try, of course, to defend myself with such nonsense as "creative freedom" and "it's good, even if it's angry" but still... I understand where she's coming from. So... Sorry, babe: I'll try not to be so mean to the hipsters in the future. Love you! :)

You Cretan!

I'm in Crete. Crete is to Athens what Seaside is to Portland. It's about the same distance to Crete from Athens by plane as it is to get to Seaside from Portland. Like Seaside, not much about the place really makes any sense logistically. Back alleys meld into main streets with no single thoroughfare, there is a lot of really cool things to waste your day at the beach doing but no real "wow" factor like the "big city". Of course, Crete is a lot bigger than Seaside (by quite a bit), but still retains its coastal city feel: fishermen untangling line after a day out on the water, cool cafes and shops and markets to be found, the smell of fish and salt water everywhere.

The sun here is stranger than anywhere I've been so far and that's the truth. There is a thick fog that spans the horizon in every direction and blankets the city at all times yet the sun, hidden behind the haze, beats down on the city in an unrelenting way. It's hot here in a way that Athens was not. It's just as windy, but the coastal wind carries none of the cool sea air on its back towards land. Honestly, we gave up roaming around our hotel for the blessed sanctuary of air conditioning inside our tiny room.

Yes, our room here at the Lato Boutique Hotel is tiny. The shower is a stall no wider than my elbows extended from my sides (if that). The toilet sits right next to it and right next to the sink. The patio is a ledge where two seats and a table sit, unusable because they take up the entire surface area. It is a room with a bed in it and a nook with the outcropping of a desk as the headboard. But, as Lupe and I have both agreed, it is a bed far more superior than that of the last hotel we stayed. It is a soft, comforting luxury that has swept us into unconscious bliss numerous times since we have arrived. It is awesome and I want to take it home with me. I am probably going to go and lay on it the moment I retire from this missive.

Today, we wandered around and I took some photos of the main square. I stumbled, quite by accident, a comic book/internet/gaming store called Papercut where the co-owner and I had a laugh at new inexperienced gamers who wrap themselves deeply into the fantasy world where they play and try to encapsulate their characters fully vs. the old grizzled die hards who use role-playing as a means to play out their silly subconscious desires to raze villages and bang bar wenches. Nothing decent as far as comics go, so I got some presents instead and we walked home to watch TV and order room service.

This is my vacation from Athens. While there, we saw every sight we could see. We ran around ragged trying to get it all in. And, we tried to get some real life shit taken care of to no avail. I've commented that this may be my "Brisbane": the place we stay where I take a break from seeing things and just catch my breath. We're headed to Knossos tomorrow to see what that's all about then fly back to Athens on our way to Venice via a stopover in Rome. We'll eventually backtrack to Rome so I can get back into the habit of geeking out at every column, stoa, and rectangular rock that juts out of the ground. For now, however, I am content to examine Aaron Sorkin's new prime time word drama about the making of a late night comedy sketch show and it's fast-talking cast members, producers, and musical guests. Like Sport's Night, (Sorkin's other wittily dialogued yet short lived show), Studio 60 seems to be a mixture of "greatness" and "doomed for failure". It's as if 30 Rock and Sport's Night had a baby that grew up knowing everything about funny people but was not, in any way, funny. Matthew Perry, Amanda Peet, and a slew of others star and it was really good which, in network terms means "canceled in half a season."

Then again, it's not on ABC so there's hope after all.

...

I'm talking about TV on a world trip.

See? I need a break.


Time to rest.


-d@n

Some stress

When I hadn't heard anything about a package I was expecting two days ago, I looked into it myself. This is how FedEx works: they don't tell you they fucked up; they let you figure it out on your own. I came to find that my package was stuck in transit due to a "Shipping Exception", saying that there was missing international paperwork and to call Customer Service. I call customer service to get a lady who tells me that I need to call the Customs Department at a different number. I call that number to be told to wait on hold 'til the next representative can get to me. No one answers, not even an automated system to put me on hold. I call back three times before a very nice lady answers and then puts me on hold. A few muzak bars later and she informs me that the Customs folk have gone on strike and there is nothing to be done. I ask tell them I am leaving Greece tomorrow and to please just send the package back to the sender. She says okay in that way that means "yeah, yeah... I'll get to it". I ask if she needs any information or my name or anything like that and she says, "You can tell me your name, if you like" as in: "You can if you want, but no matter to me".

I get off the phone and the wheels start turning. What if the Customs strike affects my travel plans outta here? That would be the suck. I'm already writing off any chance at getting my VAT refund back at the airport because who knows if the strike is going to affect that. I do some digging to find that the strike should last three days (ending the day i go to Crete) and, oh yeah, a bomb went off in central Athens at a JP Morgan financial center. "Huh," I think. "That can't be good". So we call the American Embassy in hopes of finding out just what the fuck is going on with travel and if it's at all safe for us to be in Greece. The nice Greek lady tells us.... nothing. She says there's no way to know how the strike will affect travel and we should just show up at the airport and see what happens.

So that's what we're doing. Waiting to see what happens.

Now my wife is ribbing me for being sooooooo "in love" with Greece, especially in my last couple blogs. I'm laughing because it's funny. And true. I could be panicked about getting the hell out of this country and wondering whether or not I should step outside to get to the post office to ship all my crap back home but, really... what can I do? I'm somewhere else right now and that means that shit is going to happen. And it will probably cost me some money (like being charged for the driver who waited for us at the airport until 1 a.m. when my flight in here was delayed overnight). But so what? What does panicking do? I can't control anything that happens out here. And I can't regret what I didn't have any control over to begin with so....

What the hell, right?

Still, I totally think FedEx is fucked, no matter what country it is. Good to know some things are dumb on a global scale.


-d@n

Pros and Cons

And now for the specifics of my trip to Athens.

First off, let me tell you about the hotel. The Stratos Vassilikos Hotel on Mikalakapoulou St. is a very nice hotel. It is considered a 5 star hotel but, in truth, it's nowhere near the quality of some of the more expensive hotels closer into the city. But, then again, downtown Greece is a very busy, very loud, very crowded, very smelly place: I don't know if I'd want to stay at those hotels. Once again, the hotel we're staying in may not be for everyone but it works for me: it's close to the Metro, the free breakfast is fresh and tasty (fresh squeezed orange juice everywhere in this city is unreal!), and I got an old fashioned haircut from the in-house barber. My only complaints are that the room is one floor above the street level and the noise outside never stops. It's not brutal, especially if you're like me and you've spent any amount of time living in city, but it's there. I can drone it out so not that big a deal. The other thing I have to complain about has little to do with the room and more to do with Greece in general.

Like Thailand, smoking is a large part of the culture here in Greece. But, whereas Thailand seemed to be about the sheer amount of people smoking in the city, Greece is about the amount AND the location. You can smoke anywhere in Greece. I'm not exaggerating here; I mean literally anywhere. Restaurants. Cafes. Inside shops. The employees smoke as they ring you up at the mall. The bus stops. The taxis. The platforms. Everywhere. It's really hard, even as a former smoker, to witness it.

When I was smoked, I considered myself a "conscientious smoker". This meant there were rules. You never smoked when there were kids around or held your breath if you had just inhaled and someone walked nearby. You always stepped away from the group or away from the entrance of a building where people may have to walk through. If in the company of strangers at an outside cafe, you always got permission from the other patrons and, if they said they did in fact mind if you smoked, you were courteous and accepted their request or moved to another table. You didn't smoke where you weren't supposed to. Which is why I defended the smoker's right to smoke in places that were deemed appropriate: bars, outside on patios away from non-smokers, and in designated areas. I used to hate the non-smokers who would stand in the smoking area and complain that people were smoking. That's why there was a "smoking area", you idiot! So you non-smokers know what you're getting into when you get there. I don't complain about your designated non-smoking area so don't complain about MY designated area. That's why it's designated, dumbass! I was happy to stand outside in the rain and smoke to make people more comfortable at the covered bus stop or the cafe. Fairness and equality for all people and their vices so long as they're legal. When all that became illegal, the issue became moot and when cigarettes started costing six dollars a pack and my health was in the toilet, it was time to quit. Some things are more important, y'know. Like breathing and not having your heart skip. My wife was happy I did and that's always nice, too.

When I quit smoking, I swore to the gods that I would not become one of those self-righteous ex-smokers who felt the need to point out all my new-found non-smoker-ness. I think that pretentious ex-smokers are the worst kind of people right after sexual predators, tax insurers, and people who think the "Please turn off your cell phone" warnings at movie theaters don't apply to them. (They DO, you asshole! Turn it off or get a 32 oz Coke cup thrown at your head, fucktard! You have been WARNED! That goes for texting too!) But Greece has been very hard.

We went to a reeeaaaaallly nice dinner on Valentine's night. It was at a place called "Horizons" on the tallest point in Athens. I mean swank and a half, y'know? Sure, there's some people smoking in the restaurant but it's not that bad. I'd just gotten used to the fact that people smoke everywhere here; inside and out. Then, this older couple sat next to us (I mean, RIGHT next to us... the table spacing was tiny) and began chain smoking. They sat down smoking. They lit up during drinks, before the appetizer, during the soup, between the appetizer and the main course, during the main course, right afterward, during the palate cleansing treat, while waiting for desert, during coffee, while they waited for the check, during the cognac, the whole. fucking. time. The two of them puffed through a pack a piece and didn't even blink an eye. Even as a heavy smoker, chain smoking (and especially during dinner when you WANT to use your taste buds) takes diligence and a level of self-destruction and nihilistic apathy that takes years to cultivate. My 70 Euro steak tasted like an ashtray by the time they brought it and I hadn't puffed a single drag. When we got back to the hotel, everything smelled like it had been in an ashtray for days. It was, for lack of a better and more suitable pair of words, fucking disgusting.

I will never give anyone a hard time for smoking. Go forward, you fine people; find pleasure in whatever form you can muster. If you're hooked, you have my utmost sympathy because I still miss it like a motherfucker. But I challenge even the most hardcore smoker I know to spend some time in Athens and not feel that the Grecian habit might be a little excessive.

The reason I tell you all this is because our hotel room has that smell like it used to be a smoking room but is now not. The smell lingers in the sheets and the pillows. But, like Thailand, I wonder if that's not just the way Greece smells in general and it's just a part of the air quality. I have been having the worst nicotine fits and even had to have a smoke one or two to get the headache out of my brain. A little hair-of the-dog cigarette style, if you will. I can control my shit though, so I remain a recovering addict; not a failed one.

Other than that, the hotel has been pretty great. Low key, close to the city, some nice amenities, and some really great food for room service. There's a taxi for the hotel that waits outside for fares and banks, food, pharmacy is all very close by.

I've really been enjoying Athens. Today we walked the Agora and sat in the same halls where Plato taught. We searched the grounds and found the prison where Socrates was poisoned in 399 BC and had a nice little moment there. Then we climbed Mars Hill where Paul the Apostle spoke to the people of Athens when he came here. After returning to our favorite cafe on the street down from the Acropolis, we trammed it to the mall where we replaced our very worn travel clothes. Try wearing the same pair of pants for two months. It does, in fact, suck ass. I thought my Spartan-esque habits would see me through but Daddy needs a new pair of shoes... fer realz.

On a sour note, there is a strike in the Customs import here in Greece and my phone, which was supposed to arrive two days ago, is stuck in some FedEx depot somewhere in this city. Wish me luck as I try to retrieve it tomorrow before I leave on Friday. sigh.

Time to eat.

-d@n

"Reason is God's greatest gift to man." -Sophocles

Starting this blog has been very difficult. Usually, it's not problem to make some snarky statements, or crack a joke or two, or play around a little with the honesty of what I'm trying to talk about. Sometimes I can get away with just geeking out about the really cool thing I saw today or some thoughts on this whole travel thing. But this particular entry has been started and deleted three times now and I'm struggling with the writing of it even now. I think that it's because of the importance this place has had for me for many years now. Being here is something that defies description.


When I was first introduced to philosophy in earnest (that is to say, when I finally caught on that philosophy was more than just having thoughts and thinking about them while pretending to know and understand everything... i.e. "adolescence"), I did a lot of research into the world of ancient Greece. I had a history professor who once claimed "Greece got [civilization] right the first time and we've been trying to replicate it ever since". I have a tendency to agree with that statement for two reasons. First, because that old man knew his shit (he held two Ph.D's in the subject of History) and had such a love for comparing events and their connections and importance throughout all of history it was hard not to take what he said as the fair and honest truth. The other reason was because, after looking into the validity of that statement on my own, I found it to be completely without question.

The Greeks got it right the first time around: Civilization, religion, reason, logic, farming, architecture, democracy, theater, art, rhetoric, language, the culture, the use of knowledge, the utilitarianism of workable skill, the home, the raising of children, the respect for nature, the humbleness of worship, the strength of protecting it's land, the humanizing aspects of their gods... I mean, give them a few more years to recognize their women as equals in the bureaucratic and military world (they were already equal contemporaries in the intellectual fields of mathematics and philosophy) and they would've been pretty darn perfect. Too bad the stupid Romans had to come along and fuck everything up.



That's just a joke really. Hadrian maintained the peace during a Golden Age that was unprecedented in Grecian history in which the city of Athens flourished in the bright light of civilization for nearly 50 years. When he died, his generals tore the country apart trying to gather all their own pieces for themselves.

The point I'm trying to make here is that I have wanted to come here for a pretty long time. Of course, I worried that the expectation would be the cause for disappointment once I arrived here. I knew that that ancient world that once stood as the stepping stone for all other western civilizations to stand upon was no more. Economic turmoil and the sheer degradation of time, political corruption, and lack of funding have taken their toll on this once great city. Any amount of time spent on its cobblestone streets, amongst its flea market, or in the constant presence of a plethora of graffiti will tell you that this city has its fair share of troubles. Last year, there were workers riots. In fact, before we arrived, there was another strike where all civil servants left for the day to protest new taxes placed on the working class to pay for the government's bail out of the national banks who owe monies to the European Union. Sounds familiar, doesn't it

Except, as I soon came to find out from talking to the driver and my travel agent about these sorts of things, this is just the way it is here in modern day Greece. The driver, in particular, said the one thing that changed my mind about the possible dangers of these riots and strikes. He said, "Yes, these things can sometimes be a little scary; maybe a hassle but... it's democracy, no?" That was when I realized that the struggle for democracy didn't end when we kicked the Brits to the curb. It's still being fought and argued over and struggled for every day in places like Greece. And, more importantly, that people don't fuck around when it comes to their democracy. They don't just sit at home watching American Idol hoping that other people with more of an agenda and less to lose fight the good fight. They don't just join a group on facebook and consider that their act of rebellion or political statement. They go out and they start some shit. They don't fear the cops' tasers or tear gas. They spray paint the walls with a big ol' circled "A" and say "fix this or else!"

That's democracy. And it's pretty fricking amazing in action.

Of course, Athens is sort of falling apart at the seams so... maybe it's just a matter of time before America's in that same boat. Maybe that's just the natural state of democracy: chaos and struggle.

Ah, hell. It beats apathy any day. Plus, it's pretty safe apparently. So, that's nice.

Yesterday, I sat on the stone steps of the Theatre of Dionysos and heard Sophocles' Oedipus whispered through the grass. I hummed tunes at the base of the Odeum and listened to the wind hum them back. I imagined the sounds of the crowd at the site of the very first Olympic games (where the contestants had to win in all 5 events to be considered an Olympic Champion rather than in one specialized sport). I stood at the top of the world right next to the Parthenon and touched the olive tree where Athena split the ground to win the contest to see who this land would be named after. I stood next to the columns where the Temple of Olympian Zeus sat as one of the 7 Ancient Wonders of the World for hundreds of years before war and fire and greed tore it apart. I looked down upon the ground where Socrates walked in the streets and smiled.

It was a pretty damn good day.



Rather than disappoint due to my long standing expectations of the ideal in my Platonic mind, Athens has done the exact and complete opposite. It has been everything I knew it could be: perfect.

-d@n


(As always, for more photos, please visit my facebook page where I have posted many. Thanks.)

Travel Weary

With all good things must come the bad. Or, in this case, the unexpected adventure.

We pulled an overnight in Bangkok before heading north to Munich. At about 1 a.m., we caught a news story explaining how airports in Greece were closed due to a strike over new taxes imposed on the working class. Civil servants were protesting the new taxes, which were in response to Greece's economic turmoil due to the government bailing out banks that had failed and owed monies to the EU (sounds familiar, eh?) Lupe and I watched the story and then looked at each other and asked, almost simultaneously, "Hey.... aren't we headed to Athens tomorrow?"

One frantic phone call to our travel agent in Dallas (where it was noon) and all was sorted. It was merely a 24 hour strike and everything should be back to normal by the time we flew in. He also assured us that this kinda stuff happens all the time in Greece. It's a very fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of place. So, yay! No worries! Athens, here we come! All we gotta do now is get to Munich for our connecting flight and we're home free!

We arrive at the terminal at 10 a.m. to find the flight to Munich has been delayed by two and a half hours. Okay, we're going to miss our connecting flight. No biggie, we'll catch the next one. We fly 12 very uncomfortable hours in economy class with these two girls who think it is their God-given Aryan right to kick our seats when they feel we're taking too much room (which is frequently). I get scoffed at by one of the hot German flight attendants (the one that doesn't speak much English) when there is a mix up in communication over what kind of water I would like to drink despite my attempts to be polite. Luckily, her compatriot was far more tolerant and helpful. It was a tough 12 hours, let me tell you. Made even more tough when, as we approach Munich, we are told that the airport is closed due to snow and that we do not have enough fuel to circle while they de-ice the runway. So, so long Munich... Hello, Nuremburg!

We land in Nuremburg to -7 degree C snow and wind where they put us on a bus. The jokes, of course, begin to fly between Lupe and I as we are ushered from one efficient part of the terminal to the other on our way to the bus. They bus us (luxury style, thank the Lord) back to Munich in the snow and traffic for about 2 hours or so where the exceptionally hot repressed alternative librarian check-in lady tells us we're in the wrong line because there are no more flights to Athens tonight (which we already kinda figured considering it was about 11 p.m. local time. That's 5 a.m. Bangkok time, mind you).

We book flights for 8:25 am the next morning, Air Berlin taxis us out to the Munich Westin (every bit as swank as the one in Sydney), and we crash for about 4 hours before we have to make it back to the airport. We are unable to contact the driver in Athens who was supposed to pick us up or the hotel to tell them we're running late or the tour guide to tell them to postpone our trip to the Acropolis. 3 hours later, we are in Athens.

And the weather here is AWESOME! About 16 degrees C (that's about 65 F or so), rain, gray, and wonderful. The driver is there with our documents. Mom says she mailed my phone just the other day. Room service has just arrived. Our tour of the city goes off tomorrow without a hitch.

It's the last day before Lent so everyone is on holiday. Valentine's Day is Sunday. A Carnivale-type celebration is going on this weekend too. Athens is big (4 million people or so), loud (the noise outside hasn't let up once), and the people have been friendly, despite their recent clashes over the economy.

There's a lot to talk about Athens and I'm sure I will get around to it soon enough. But, for now, I'm going to eat my cheeseburger, watch some crappy movie on the in-room tv, and pass the f out. It's times like this that I feel like all the training I did as a teenager to stay awake by sheer willpower alone finally pays off.

Gotta run.

-d@n

Cast out of Heaven

Some thoughts on Phuket.....

Well, to tell you the absolute truth, I have been trying to avoid this particular subject. I don't want to tell you all about my time here at the Indigo Pearl Resort in Phuket and the amazing things I saw and did and ate or how clear the water was or how warm the golden sandy beaches were. I don't want to tell you about cocktail night at the Rivet Bar where the girls from sales for the hotel came by and asked very polite, non-intrusive questions about our stay while we sipped on free drinks from the bar. Or about the day of snorkeling out off the coast at the shallow reefs or Lupe's first experience scuba diving. I don't want to tell you about the fire dancer or the massage at the spa or the blue drinks made with too much rum and pineapple juice or even about the buffet that I stuffed my face at. I don't want to tell you about the three pools or the Pulley bar right there in the pool or the kids pool with its kick ass mini waterfall or the women in bikinis at the beach with fake boobs and all-too-real tans (sunscreen, ladies.... c'mon now: a little SPF never hurt anyone). I don't want to tell you about the rich architecture or the unbelievable service or the ice cool towels that smell like jasmine that they offer you while you're waiting to get checked in. And I definitely don't want to tell you about how my five days here were the best five days in a row I can recall ever having.

I don't want to tell you all about this because that means I'm getting close to leaving here. And that reality is a hard one to bear.

I also don't want to make you jealous or anything. Because, y'know... I like you. Also, I have come to find that talking about things happening to me that are pretty darn awesome generally makes other people resentful and/or pissed off at me in that irritated, "I'm truly happy for you, (fucker)", passive/aggressive way that I thoroughly don't understand.

So... consider this 'me not talking about it'.

No, no.... nothing to see here, folks. Just move along now. I'm sure there will be much more mundane and boring things to talk about when I get to Greece in a few days. Please pay no mind to this particular entry as it is readily evident that the Indigo Pearl Incident (as we're calling it now) was really just an elaborately orchestrated engagement in an active party of misinformation and I Want to Believe [that] The Truth Is Out There [but I] Trust No One.

I mean NOTHING could be that great, right? Right.


-d@n
"Equo Ne Credite"

Apparently I died on the plane and woke up in heaven

Remember how, a little while back, I was saying how the Westin in Sydney was the nicest place I had stayed and how the resort at the Hamilton Island was paradise? Well, there's a new champion on the block, boys and girls. Her name is Phuket and she's a heavyweight.

We are at a resort compound called the Indigo Pearl. Do yourself a favor and click the link to get a full-on interactive tour that barely scratches the surface of how bad ass this place is. Take the 360 degree virtual tour and realize that this is where I am right now. I'm dead serious, go explore the website. I'll wait right here until you're done. Go ahead.

http://www.indigo-pearl.com/


See?


Right now, as I write this, Lupe is off taking scuba lessons while I rest from a morning of breakfast BLTs and fruity drinks that come in a rainbow of color. Yesterday, we left the bustling metropolis of Neo-Bangkok and it's grime, smells, heat, concrete and dirt, lost-in-translation run amok to fly a mere 50 minutes before landing in paradise. A short cab ride later out of the airport and we made our way down a dirt road to a steel barricade, guarded by a man with a gun, that led into the fortress of Eden.

We were ushered not to the front desk as per most hotels you check in to but to a large bed-like couch where we were instructed to sprawl and relax while someone brought us honey jasmine iced tea and jasmine scented cool towels to freshen up with. A personalized concierge then greeted us, took our information, and gave us a quick-start verbal tour of the resort before leading us to our room.

Our room is cooly air-conditioned, a double twin bed as the center piece of a industrial yet comfortably laid out room. There is an industrial theme to this whole place; a mixture of iron artistry complete with metal rivets holding everything in place, and marble, wood, and the natural surroundings of the Thai forest. Our view overlooks the first of three pools in the compound: complete with a water feature, a waterfall, and full poolside service with ice water, drinks, and even food.

After geeking the f out, we hit Pool #2 for some rest in the hot sun before swimming out to the Pulley Bar, seats and service right there in the warm pool water. A few Blue Hawaiians later and it was time to check out the beach. White sands and the clearest ocean water I have ever swam in met us. I was out far enough to not touch bottom and could still see through the water to the ocean floor and in every direction (good for shark detection). The resort has a private beach club which offers massage, drinks, and towel service. All this relaxing had us hungry for a meal so we headed to the Tin Mine restaurant back inside the resort for lunch: egg noodles and rice with chicken, green onions, bok choi, and peppers for me; linguini with a pesto sauce and veggies for Lupe. More drinks and then it was crash time. We slept for some odd number of hours before deciding it was time for dinner. We walked to the Rivet: a cozy dining hall where we sat in those over-sized chairs from the Mad Hatter's tea party while I ate steak and Lupe had King prawns in bournaisse sauce. Red wine and a chocolate fondant with raspberry gelato for dessert. More sleep.

That was yesterday.

This morning, we had a light breakfast of a BLT and a cafe latte for me; green salad with avocado and buffalo mozzerella and some fresh spring rolls for the girl. Lupe drank something out of a coconut shell that was so damn good, I wanted to take it behind the bleachers and get it pregnant. Then we sat by the first pool, read a book, and went swimming again. Lupe decided she wanted to go diving so she began beginner's courses in dive certification while I opted to not get my head dunked under water with a heavy metal tank strapped to my back and went exploring instead. I managed to get some photos around the resort before retiring to the room for some blogging and some rest before our scheduled attendance at the fire show and BBQ at the beach club tonight.

This is day two of my life in paradise and I want everyone I have ever known and liked to come here and share this. Holy crapsicles, Batman. This place defies any ability to describe it. We are already making plans to come here with friends and rent out one of the private plantation villas for a week, so start saving your pennies kids!



sigh. I'm here for 3 and a half more days. Dear God, I'm so happy right now I'm crapping rainbows... or maybe that's just all the multi-colored drinks I've been sucking down. Who knows.

-d@n

Some thoughts on Bangkok

It seems as if I have just gotten used to this city when I have to leave it. Coming to Thailand is not like stopping over to your aunt's place for family dinner and watch the kids play. It takes a while to get used to the smells (one part sewage, one part the best damn roasted chicken you've ever smelled), the city streets (there are names for them? Where?), the insane traffic (Rules? Where we're going, we don't need "rules"), and, most importantly, the language.

If you plan on coming to Thailand, be sure you take into consideration one very important piece of advice. Don't listen to the book guides or the friendly in-flight advice video who tell you that there are English speaking tourist spots that will be willing to help you along your misbegotten way... there aren't any. The tourist friendly storefronts you find littered all throughout the city cannot be distinguished from any other scammer out there trying to capitalize on your dumb American ass. They tell you not to take a taxi that doesn't turn on its meter when you get in or without negotiating a price first but, after sitting in a metered taxi for an hour while the legit cabbie tried to make a U-turn onto the main strip in after work traffic, the guy who quoted us a 100 baht and got us to the same destination in less than 15 minutes sure seemed like a pretty stand up guy.

It's very easy to be paranoid in this city. Busy streets crowded with people can thin into dark alleyways where stray dogs eat refuge from the gutters in a very quick step. No one speaks the English or, if they do, it's scary good English (which is usually a scammer). At the Grand Palace the other day, a woman wearing a very nice white cotton shirt with an emblem of the state on it insisted she was an "official" and was trying to get us to come back tomorrow for a guided tour. It was our own fault for stopping to listen to her spiel; ten minutes later, we were walking though the front doors with no need for a tour at all.

But that's how it is here. There's no conceivable way for any sort of authority to crack down on an entire country of people making a buck at the expense of uneducated tourists so the beat goes on. And there's no use being an uppity tourist in these situations; you just try and learn to roll with every punch that gets thrown your way. The truth is, when it comes to Bangkok, the only rules to keeping your shit together is to take only the kind of chances you are willing to take. Whether that means getting out of a taxi that refuses to put its meter down on the side of the road where there is no street lights or trusting that a complete stranger who doesn't understand you will get you where you need to be without taking you into some back alley where his very intimidating friends try to sit you down and sell you Armani patterned suits made to order, well... then so be it.

The biggest example I came to find in the way Bangkok is follows something I noticed today. Everywhere you go, there are pirated copies of DVDs. I mean EVERYWHERE. Thousands of titles, thousands of stores hawking them. There was a store we walked by today where the walls were lined with racks of photocopied slipcases. Yes, these things are "illegal". But who is going to stop them? The cops? They're legitimate business owners. And there are MILLIONS of stores like this. There's no international distributors to drive the illegal business out because they can't compete with the cost. And so, billions of DVDs sold on the streets of Thailand. And some jackass company in America wants you to think that stealing DVDs is like stealing a car so you won't do it. Trust me, no piddly amount of pirated movies in the US swapped between friends with a modem and a DVR can even come close to comparing to the sheer amount of revenue lost per year by those companies to the Asian black market. It's a joke to even think of it. Besides, at the exchange rate of $0.03 to 1 Baht, you are an idiot if you pass up a region 1 PSP at the prices they are offering.

Speaking of things that are weird: I've noticed that almost all of the skin products here come with whitener. So, whereas white folk in the States put an emphasis on cultivating the perfect tan, the tan folks in foreign countries put an emphasis on looking whiter. Odd, yes? Food for thought.

Oh, and another thing! There was a lot of fear on my part about the food and water when I came here. Everyone said "Don't drink anything with ice in it! Avoid fresh fruit! No raw fish!" Well, I gotta say... It's all bullshit. Don't get me wrong: I'm sure there are places in Thailand where it probably wouldn't be the smartest thing in the world to drink the water. The nicer restaurants provide water from the cooled bottles in the back and everyone sells bottled water. And the ice thing? As long as the ice isn't being shaved next to the same place where they gut the fish, you're probably okay. There are plenty of restaurants and popular spots to eat where the drinks are fine with ice. The food here is delicious; the fruit is the most flavorful thing you will ever taste; and the crab with caviar on bread is to die for. If you come to Thailand, do yourself a favor and eat the food. I could subsist on fried eggs over rice with chunks of chicken in brown gravy for the rest of my life and consider myself a happy man. Like all things Bangkok: just use your head... especially when it comes to your stomach.

What else, what else.... hmmm....

Oh yeah! The Grand Palace and the Emerald Buddha were exquisite. We spent the whole afternoon getting lost on the ferryboats trying to reach the Grand Palace and it was worth every adventurous second. To see something that big and that intricate can really put you in your place. (As always, I will post pics to my facebook account as soon as I can) Did you know that the Emerald Buddha stayed in Laos for a time period longer than the existence of the United States? Pretty cool.

We leave for Phuket tomorrow where things will be a little quieter, the water will be much clearer, and the people much tanner. It's a resort island so I plan to sit at the pool, maybe snorkel, and sweat a whole lot.

Oh, speaking of sweating I've realized that it's not actually sweat that I'm constantly covered in. It's just that our bodies are so much cooler than our surroundings that it's really just condensation forming on our skin and ruining the wood table beneath us so... do what Mom says and USE A COASTER!

Time for sleep.

-d@n

I meant to talk about this before...

I'm going to take a break from talking about traveling for just a minute or two and talk about something that happened a couple days ago. I beg your indulgence. The biggest problem with traveling is that you only get to see the world as it flits by you or when you have a second to catch it in the rear view mirror. It can be a very one-sided experience, which is why you simply MUST have a friend to nudge in the ribs and say "Oh my God, did you see that?"

The point I'm trying to make here is this: while I'm out here in the world, trying it on for size, stuff happens outside of my experience. Most people call this the "news" and get it in huge servings in America. And, like always, I am generally unaffected by what happens in the "news". People get hurt. Wars get fought. Governments argue. Sports teams play games. Some local lady or kid or group of kids does something neat and we all go "aww" and feel better about ourselves. Here's Tom with the weather. You know the drill.

Occasionally, something stands out. For me, it's usually the stuff that most people flit right past on their way to the comics section or the Sudoku page. Stuff like China suspending talks with the U.S. or that the Mexican government is allowing Russian nuclear subs to perform war games off their coast. The small stuff, really. The same stuff everyone reads and absorbs as "the way it is" and moves on with their lives. I obsess about these things. But it's rare when something major happens that is so important to me it actually takes me a while to process.

When George Carlin died, I was somewhere in the middle of nowhere, driving with my mom, my wife, and my best friend through the Yukon territory in the dead of night without another living soul around. The text message came through to my phone and I announced it to the people in the car. There was a weird feeling that swooped in on everyone in that car. It was palpable. I think it hit my mom hardest since she had known him longer than us and had the pride and privilege to have introduced me to the guy. We drove on for about 10 minutes in pure silence before someone suggested we stop and pull over for a second. It was a good idea: it gave us a chance to think about it, say some nice things about the guy, and have a laugh or two before continuing on.

I tell you this story because it's about the process of grieving that occurs when you don't really know someone personally yet have had them in your life for a long time. When Richard Pryor died; when Johnny Cash died; when Michael died, we all felt that same way: like we knew them well enough to grieve for them and remember the accomplishments that made us know those people in our own way. I think that this, more than any amount of paparazzi hounding or schadenfreude or celebrity worship is what makes bonds of our feelings to each other. We share these people and their work. That's what ties us together. We are thankful for what they've done for us and to us and we honor them in whatever way that we can.

Well...

You know that song "If a body catch a body comin' through the rye"? Anyways, I keep picturing these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean, except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy and all but that's the only thing I'd really like to be. I know it's crazy.

Speaking of crazy... I will probably get sued if I don't cite my sources on this page and I'm sure my wife will be reading this with a shake in her head that I had to stoop so low as to quote an entire passage to make my point rather than continue on with the heartfelt sympathetic originality I had going for me when I started this missive. But, to tell the truth, fewer things said in literature have ever meant more to me than what you just read. To this day, even now, this is the ultimate truth: whenever I find myself frustrated with the ongoing task of bashing my head into the brick wall of ignorance I think of poor Holden and his snide, callous, fearful disillusionment weighed and balanced only by his purest desire to do the most insane thing he can think of: the right thing.

Critics may think what they may. For my money, Salinger knew the kind of hopeless hope that I feel pretty much every day of my life. Admittedly, I think it's a pretty egotistical thing to relate to Holden in any way so I won't presume to know or understand what Salinger had in mind when his most notable character decided to say such a thing. And yet, in one paragraph, I can still tap into the angry, frustrated teenager I was when I first read those words: the skater punk fuck-off who knew too much and nothing at all and who wished the world could be better because it should be. The powerless wanting to do right. I truly believe we can do such great things together, you and I...

Hey, you may say I'm a dreamer but I've got it on good authority that I'm not the only one.

...
R.I.P.
J.D. Salinger
1919 - 2010


We now return to your regularly scheduling programming.


-d@n



P.S. ... to the Salinger estate: please don't sue me. Thank you.