Monday, June 23, 2008

Unplugging in lovely London

I began this trip with a visit to Hong Kong, where I hadn't seen many of my friends for over 16 years. Turns out, (thank you, Facebook) another HKIS'er, Tiffany Bissey, was out there working for Dell. I also met up with another friend of mine, Adrian, from a previous trip to New Zealand (on his RTW trip) but who is now back in the UK working away his travel debts.

I decided against doing the touristy bit in London, since I had already visited quite a few times and it was nice to just relax, hang out, and unwind a bit (yes, travelling CAN get tiring folks!) So my first day, I went to a coffee shop, Pret, which is a chain that serves fresh sandwiches daily and donates leftovers to local food shelters. I decided for once that I would not listen to my iPod that day and read my book instead. Unfortunately, an American woman and a British man sitting very close to me were discussing their wedding plans and from the sound of it, just made me question why there were even getting married in the first place. They could not agree on anything-- wedding dates, location (beach or church?) etc. The guy didn't even want to let his fiance use his cell phone to call the US to settle an issue! I just thought to myself, "What is this couple doing???" Already arguing about something as simple as cell phone charges? Wait till the credit card bills, mortgage, etc. etc. start coming....

Anyway, stopped by Green Park after lunch on a perfectly sunny London (really?) day. I did absolutely nothing but just lie there and stare up into the sky. Made me realize how sometimes doing absolutely nothing can mean everything. It reminded me of a girl who asked me what there was to see and do in Edinburgh. When I told her it was a beautiful place and that there really wasn't any one thing she had to see, she responded that it didn't sound very interesting! Truth is, my travels often do involve hopping on and off tour buses but for me, the unplanned route, the surprise find like strolling into Green Park that day can be invigorating to your psyche.



Or running into Norman's Coach and Horses. Let me tell you about this place. I was walking around the theater district and walked into this pub simply because it advertised free wi-fi. Hopped in, asked the seemingly 70ish bartender, "Can I have a Guinness and some chips?" To which he responded rather pugnaciously, "Yes, you can." The guy next to me, Nathan, a singer under DJ Aoki's label Din Mak, mentioned under his breath that the bartender was annoyed and suggested I say something more proper, like, "I'd like to have a Guinness with some chips, please." I was, after all, in Norman's Coach and Horses. To which I asked, what's the big deal about this place? Apparently, the owner (not the bartender) was infamously known as the rudest pub owner in all of London! Apparently, at Norman's retirement party, when his most loyal patrons started singing "For He's A Jolly Good Fellow," he shut everybody up and yelled at everybody to "just spend more fackin money!" I sat there with my Guinness, and ate my chips with a small dessert fork, of course, lest I be kicked out of the place for poor manners. I was glad to just stumble into this joint, rather than having a tour guide tell me everything and not actually experience the whole thing myself. And to think, I just went inside for free wi-fi!

That evening, I checked into Hotel Tiffany and was just glad to finally stay in a real home. It was nice to be able to sleep in, do some laundry, and cook a real meal with a real kitchen. Thanks again, Tiffany, for letting me stay at your place. We hung out with some of her friends at a pub, to celebrate one of her colleagues' birthdays. This colleague of hers, I forget his name, told me about how he broke both of his arms one time with just two fingers available. I asked him what he did about, you know, wiping his bung and he said he didn't! Thoroughly disgusted, but laughing like crazy, asked him who washed his ass. He said he had to have his sister spray him spread eagle! I had not laughed like that in a long freakin time!

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Bubblin in Dublin!

One of my favorite beers, as many of you know, is the "black stuff" aka as Guinness. And it's always been a goal of mine to have a pint in Dublin and happy to announce that I was finally able to cross that off my list of things to do before I buy the farm.

The Guinness Store was certainly worth the trip out-- especially since I was able to go with another chap, Brendon (Australia) who also wanted to go just as badly as me. Met Brendon in Edinburgh, and over the past few days in Edinburgh/Dublin I picked up quite a bit of the Aussie lingo: (tell me if any of this actually makes any sense cause I'm still having a hard time figuring the logic out behind some of these)

Cut someone's grass/cut your lunch = homewreck a relationship

Stuffed = polite way of saying "fucked"

flogged = stolen

two stroke = lawnmower fuel

avo = afternoon

chunder = puke

bogan = hick

Anyway, met another Aussie, Vanessa, who also decided to join us for our pilgrimage to the Guinness Store. On our way there, every other block Brendon and I would hear somebody in the background (probably Vanessa) say something to the effect of, "Oh this cathedral was built in 1250.....this place looks interesting.... hmm... I wonder what this place is like inside...." Needless to say Brendon and I were on a mission, and there was no cathedral, church, historical point of reference that was going to stop us on our way to our lovely pint. I think I did grumble to Vanessa that we could check out the cathedral AFTER. Felt a little bad about the whole thing....ok, not really. But Vanessa, you do realize you were with two crazy Guinness fans, right?

I took a day out of Dublin to hang out in the countryside after a few too many pub crawls. Decided to check out Wicklow, about an hours train ride south of Dublin. Booked a hostel, hopped on a train, map in hand-- life's good, right? Got off the train, hopped on the bus where I was told to get off at the last stop (red flag) then walked. And walked. And walked some more. The directions said, go down the main street and it will be on the right hand side. 20 minutes into it I was getting a little worried thinking maybe I took the wrong main street. So I asked a sheepherder (no joke) where the hostel was and he said, another 30 minute walk. And this wasn't just a regular walk-- it was a hilly up and down trek. I thought to myself that I was probably going to end up in the news the next day: "In other news, an American tourist was trampled to death by 30 sheep, apparently lost on his way to the Knockree Hostel." Well finally I arrive, famished. Check in, ask the guy if there's a grocery store around and he said no-- the only thing they had was a can of minestrone soup for, get this, $4.50. A 49 cent can of soup, marked up 5000000 million gajillion percent as my reward for trekking 6 kilometers to this damn hostel.

So I'm in the kitchen hanging out, heating up my minestrone and I run into 3 French students cooking away. I thought to myself, ok, this is the part where I don't tell them I'm American lest they go on and on about how much they hate Americans. I usually wouldn't assume such negative thoughts about people in general but mind you, I was not in the best of spirits. I casually introduced myself and told them I was travelling around the world and disclosed that I was from LA. One of them gets excited about this (about me being from LA, not about my RTW trip, to which I was quite surprised.) He (Remy) proceeds to tell me that one day, he will go to Texas, eat a 40 ounce porterhouse steak with a cowboy hat on while drinking a Budweiser. Another (Mamu) proceeds to tell me that although American football was difficult to follow at first, he now understands all the rules and really enjoys watching it whenever he can. Not only that, there was no mention of politics at all that night. At that point, I thought to myself, where the hell am I, the Twilight Zone??! We commiserated about the 50 minute hike out there over a bottle of vodka, and turns out they were heading back to Dublin the following day. We promptly made plans to meet up the next night in Dublin. Good times....

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Scotland-- and the daily wrestle to stay on budget, aye

If I come back earlier than anticipated, I will blame it all on the British Pound, that bastard of a currency which is forcing me to eat $1.20 pasta from the supermarket for dinner, and forgoing the $.60 fee to pee at public toilets! Don't get me wrong, it's a beautiful place to visit, but it ain't cheap.

I arrived into Glasgow late at night, and figured I'd just hop into the center of town and find a hostel right out of the bus station. Walked around for a good hour before giving up, checking into a hotel for about $180-- a real budget buster. I'd like to think I got my money's worth though, in the form of shampoo bottles, soap, and countless bags of instant coffee! Lesson learned: from now on, I'm booking my accommodations ahead of time.

Had dinner at a Chinese restaurant the first night and the owner of the restaurant came by to chat a bit and wondered where I was from. We spoke for a bit in Cantonese, and it turns out he's originally from Hong Kong and that one day, he plans on returning back to Hong Kong after he retires. I updated him on all the changes there since I was just there, and he, in turn, gave me a free glass of wine! Membership has its privileges!

The next day, I met a few guys in my hostel from Budapest, Hungary and they were on their way to Inverness (area famous for the Loch Ness lore) for Rock Ness 2008, a concert featuring Fat Boy Slim as well as a few other notable acts. They invited me to stay at their place, which I certainly appreciated-- but couldn't make it due to cost and time constraints. But it certainly made me wonder aloud how cool it was to be invited to somebody's place after only a couple of beers. That's another thing I'm quickly learning to appreciate on my travels so far: the backpackers' mentality of exploring the world on a budget encourages you to open your humble abode to others. Though I did not really get to know these guys very well, relatively speaking, if they ever show up in LA, I will certainly reciprocate the courtesy.

Glasgow, wasn't all that interesting so after two nights I took a bus to Edinburgh (or is it Edinborough, I don't know how they say it but it all sounds funny to me) and checked into St. Christopher's Inn, a pretty cool hostel in the center of everything. Met some interesting people, a couple of whom I'll be meeting in Dublin. Noteworthy to mention is Pedro, my Spanish roommate, who has a tendency to smoke quite a bit of weed. When I asked him how long he'd been in Scotland, he said, "Too long..." so then I asked him where he's going next. His deadpanned response: "Missouri....by boat." I started cracking up because first of all, who in their right mind (oh yes, I forgot) decides to go to landlocked Missouri from beautiful Scotland (no offense to any of you Missourians out there but really, you should see this place) And by boat? What IS this guy smoking??!! The funny thing is, I actually somehow believe him, easily picturing him on a boat heading upstream on the Mississippi River one day, dressed in a kilt and playing a bagpipe the whole way there.

The next day, I did the tourist thing, checked out Edinburgh Castle, which I thought was pretty cool-- but it cost $24 to get in so not exactly what I'd call a bargain. But, it's just one of those things you just have to do I guess. I also took a tour up to the Highlands the following day and stopped by the Blair Athol scotch distillery. Our tour guide at the distillery asked me where I was from, I told him, Los Angeles. To which he responded, "Ahh, hopefully after November, you'll be welcome to travel outside of the US again..." I told him, "I can travel anytime, anywhere I want, thank you very much." If there's one thing I can't stand so far about all my travels is the overwhelmingly negative (and ignorant, I might add) perception of Americans due to President Bush. Ummmm... last time I checked, there are over 300 million people living in America, each (I hope) with their own opinions about the war. Interestingly enough, I did meet one person so far, who supported Bush and he was from (wait for it)..... Kenya. I asked him why, and he said that you can't just let these terrorists try and instill fear for their specific, extremist agenda. And he's right-- whether by chance or not, America has not been attacked since 9/11. Anyway, enough politics. But I can't seem to get past all the questions and comments everywhere I go about being an American.

Maybe I should just start telling people I'm from Australia because I'll just mix in with all the other backpackers I meet. Seriously, everywhere I go, you can meet an Australian backpacker. I mean, who lives in Australia if they're all out there travelling???? Two interesting things Brendon (an Australian I met in Edinburgh) told me one night about Australians: 1) He, nor any self-respecting Australian, would ever drink Fosters, as it apparently "tastes like cat piss" and 2) He, nor my other Australian roommate Reece, has never had a shrimp on the barbie!

Anyway, I'm off to Dublin tomorrow to pay homage to my beloved Guinness! Stay tuned for some pics from Scotland as I forgot to bring my camera cable with me to upload.



Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Pais Vasco (Basque Country) May 25th through June 3rd

Sigh.... Where do I begin here? It's a good thing I brought my diary wherever I went to jot down notes because otherwise I would have forgotten everything that happened (no thanks to Unai!)

When I mentioned to my friends in Madrid that I was heading up north to visit my friend Unai near San Sebastian, they all jokingly cautioned me not to get blown up by ETA, a group that has a tendency to, well, blow things up. Not everything, of course-- just things that have anything to do with the Spanish government, including the occasional civil servant or judge. I won't go into the whole history of this that and the other but only mentioning this as a point of reference for a few of the experiences I'm about to tell later. They speak a totally different language not related to Spanish, (or Latin for that matter) have a distinct culture separate from Spain, and look quite different as well (more on that later.) In a nutshell, many of the Basque feel that their "country" should be separate from Spain, and ETA is the extremist group fighting for that cause. Sorta like the NRA and the UK.

Anyway, met up with Unai and the first night we went to a few bars, and noticed right away that the beer bottles they served were much smaller-- they call them "ratitos," so that you can down one fairly quickly and move on to the next bar. Interesting concept. "Let them drink faster, so they can leave faster, and come back faster later on in the night, when they'll be really drunk!" Well, since it was my first night in, I didn't let Unai test that concept out on me, just yet.

The second day we went up to San Sebastian, a small coastal city that is normally packed during the summer. But it was still early on (and raining like mad) and the beaches were empty. So we hiked up a small hill and on our way up, Unai told me to check out this plant off the trail. I looked at it, nothing really interesting, but he told me to break off a branch. I did, like the naive idiot I was, and right after began to feel a burning sensation on my finger! That cabron! Right after that happened, it started raining like crazy. Apparently, the gods were not happy with this little joke he played on me. We ran down the hill in the rain, just in time for beer o'clock!

Before we walked into this bar, I want to show you a picture I took of a sign that gently reminded us where we were:


So we walk into this bar, and there's nothing Spanish about it all. Pictures of ETA members who were in prison were prominently displayed, headlining the bar. In the back of my head, I was thinking, I probably shouldn't be here. But, Unai brought me, so I figured I'm good. We joked that if I stayed any longer than a week, I'll probably end up with a picture up on the bar one of these days-- perhaps as the first Chinese member of ETA! We met a Columbian dude in this bar (or was it a different one?) who told us he originally planned on being in San Sebastian for two months. When I asked him how long he'd actually been here, he said, "ten years." (Greg, I'm sure you'll appreciate that one!) Anyway, we started talking a bit here and there, and I asked him what he misses most about Columbia. I was expecting him to say something like, the food, the weather, the people, his machine gun (he IS Columbian right???!!) Nope, none of that. He answered, "Mi madre." At that point, I kind of laughed a little, but not too much because I didn't want to piss him off or anything. Your never know, he could have been Pablo Escobar's brother or something. Anyway, out of all my travels throughout my life, I think that's the first time I ever heard anybody ever say that!

After that bar, we went to Unai's favorite tapas joint, where they served fresh mussels in various sauces. Some good stuff and really hit the spot after a long day of hiking and beering. Tried to finish a gigantor stein of beer...


...but couldn't quite make it. I had to wave the white flag because after five plates of mussels, two plates of potatoes, and a plate of calamari, I just couldn't do it. So what did we do? We went to another bar!



Three American girls were speaking English and I overheard a few words here and there and quickly determined they were from California. I politely told them that speaking English in this area is illegal, and could be a risk to their safety, of course. Anyway, we had a couple more drinks with the three of them-- Alison from Orange County, Kristina from LA, and another Christina from Cali as well. Beer o'clock rolls around and all of a sudden Unai and I realized we had about 5 minutes to catch the last train out of San Sebastian back to his hometown of Beasain. We did our best to run (ok, fine, stumble) over but sure enough, we missed the train. Fortunately, we did not have to spend the night at the train station in spoon formation, as there was one other train heading towards Barcelona that made a stop in his town. When we got on the train, I told Unai to make sure we didn't miss the stop, lest we end up in Barcelona. I passed out right away on the train (those of you who know me well should not have been surprised) and woke up three seconds later (or at least, that's how it felt like) in Beasain. Ladies, thanks for making us miss our train. At least Unai got a good workout-- he complained about his sore "piernas" for the next three days.




The next day, we spent hanging out in his friends bar in the morning (it's happy hour somewhere in the world, right?) Unai and I were just hanging out when the telephone at the bar rings. Typically, when somebody calls the bar and asks for a patron, the bartender will call out, "Anybody by the name of so and so here?" But at this bar, the bartender brought the phone directly to Unai and said, "It's for you, your mom wants to speak with you."

We ran into a friend of his at the bar, Olano, who didn't really seem like he was playing with a full deck of cards. We started chatting for a bit, and I accidentally said something to the effect of, "I've been here in Spain for about a day...." To which he responded quite sternly, "You mean, Pais Vasco...." Point taken. Anyway, an African comes into the bar and is peddling a package of ten pairs of socks to Olano at a cost of 16 euros-- which roughly equals to about $24-- expensive, right? Olano and the African go back and forth for awhile and finally agree on a price-- 6 euros, which is about $9. Not bad, right? But these socks were the cheapest looking things I've ever seen come out of China that will probably disintegrate after one wash. Olano, however, thinks it's such a great deal after having negotiated down from 16 euros, he buys the guy a drink in the bar! Not five minutes later, a couple of his friends come into the bar to tell Olano that they must go and settle some "issue" at the police office. He immediately runs out of the bar and leaves his treasured socks behind. I imagine that in about a year, his picture will be headlining some bar in Beasain.

*************************************************************************************

The next day, we head to his sister and brother-in-law's place with Unai's parents for the weekend. Laida is Unai's older sister, and reminds me very much of my sister Vanessa, who is also the same age as Laida. Laida also has three kids, Ibai, 5, Nile, 2, and an 11 month old baby (can't remember her name!) Ruben, Unai's brother-in-law, is a huge sports fan and knows more about all the foreign players in the NBA than I do. "Luis Scola, ah yes, the backup center playing in Houston behind Yao Ming..... Fabricio Oberto, ah yes, he plays for San Antonio....." The next time he shows up in LA, I'm definitely taking him to a Lakers game. Ibai reminds me very much of my nephew, Payton, who is also 5. He loves to play sports and we spent most of the weekend throwing stuff, kicking stuff, and just having a blast. Unai's mother is a riot as well-- very outspoken about many things and is convinced that you can catch cavities from kissing somebody else. Unai's dad and is a character-- a couple of times he would point out something on my shirt and quickly thumb his finger on my nose once I looked down. I thought that stuff was what you did at, I don't know, my age. But he's keepin it real.

Over the week I was in Beasain, it rained every freakin day. In fact, it was the worst rainstorm in over 25 years, complete with flooded houses and roads. So, what did I decide to do? As a token of appreciation for the family's generous hospitality, I decided that I would cook a good ole' fashioned bbq for them on Sunday. Finding certain ingredients was a bit difficult to find, but eventually settled on picking up some Hunt's BBQ sauce and chicken wings and drumsticks. It was a crowd pleaser, and I was happy to have given them little bit of a taste of America.

We went out one night, and met a few ladies and had a blast talking about the cultural differences between America and Spain. One of the girls asked me if I ate dog, and I said, no, only my grandparents did when they were stricken with poverty and had no other choice when they were in China. I was not offended by this question, because it wasn't out of racism, nor malicious intent, it was just that she did not know any better. There aren't many Chinese (or minorities for that matter) in this country. Anyway, another girl, Maria, had pretty white teeth-- which is not the standard here (or anywhere outside of America, for that matter) She kept refusing to smoke a cigarette from Unai, for fear that it would stain her teeth. So I gave her a stick of my Extra Polar Ice gum that I brought from the US and told her that it's good to chew gum after eating or drinking. She liked it so much I decided to give her my whole pack. Good times overall-- the women here don't get all antsy and uppity when approached by men (as they often do in the US) They're very open to conversation, and also, to my surprise, do not expect you to buy them drinks, either!