Saturday, December 20, 2008

"You could spend every dollar you ever earned, and it would be totally worth it."

It was 8:15 in the morning and it was raining as I made my way down to the AJ Hackett bungy shop right in the center of Queenstown.  Justin had done the 134-meter Nevis high wire bungy 2 years ago last time in Queenstown, so if I was going to do it, it was going to have to be solo.  This is the second biggest bungy jump in the world and considering I have never done a bungy jump before it made me a little "uneasy." Of course Justin did his best to make the whole process seem as frightening as possible (as most of you could imagine) which only added to my fear.

Justin described the 45-minute 4x4 bus ride through the mountains to the Nevis canyon as, what he though, to be the least safe part of the journey.  I could easily see why, we were in this huge bus on a very narrow dirt road with 100-meter drop-offs on either side. When we made it to the top we got our first look at what we were be jumping out of.  In the center on this massive canyon was this cable car that looked like the size of a shoebox suspended from 3 wires that ran across the gap.  I didn't like the looks of it.

Before I could fully take in my surrounding, I was being fitted into a harness, of course with my back to what I was about to do.  Then, me and the other 10 individuals who thought it would be a good idea to do this thing found ourselves getting the "safety" talk.  I was expecting some 15-minute video warning us about the dangers and how the whole process worked.  I was not even close, this "safety" speech was simply "take everything out of your pockets and I need numbers 1-4 to follow me," I was number 4.

We followed this guy to a small open-air booth that was attached to the same cable as the jump station. He then strapped our harnesses to the bar and told us to hold on.  We started to move along the cable, I looked down and my heart started to pump very fast, we were way higher up then I though we would be.  When we got to the bigger, jumping station I realized I was only a few moments away from actually doing this. Techno music was pumping as we sat on the Plexiglas seats and waited to get a foot harnesses fitted.              Then you walked through a small gate which led to the metal chair that propped your feet up to be attached to the bungy.  Next it was stepping up to small piece of plywood to look down, then came the final words from the jumpmaster, "pick a spot on the mountain and jump towards it.” I held my breath and leaped forward.  I was in free fall for 9 seconds; it felt like forever with the ground getting closer and closer.  I remember about half way through thinking I wasn't attached properly and that I wasn't going to spring back up, that's how long the free fall was. It was amazing; it feels like you actually cheated death.

After bouncing up and down a couple of times I pulled the release cord that turned me right side up so all the blood didn't rush to my head as they winched me back to the cable car. The rest of the time was kind of like a blur, I was floating with excitement, I wanted to go again.  But of course it is way too much money to do it twice in one day so I soon found myself in the cable car back to the base station where I could look at my photos and video from the jump.  Obviously being a sucker for this kind of stuff I bought both and would be happy to show them to anyone.

            So that is how I kicked off my time in the adrenaline capital of the world.  Justin and I did heaps of ridiculous activities that would make both our mothers cringe.  Here is what we like to refer to as the extreme rundown:

We first went whitewater rafting in the shot over canyon.  There were class 3 and 4 rapids but unfortunately there was not enough water for the class 5s to be working.  Then we did the 43-meter ledge bungy jump that is on a mountain top 400 meters above Queenstown.  This was the “freestyle” bungy so I did a flip off it and Justin one upped me with a gainer. Next was the shot over canyon swing.  Basically we got attached to a cable, jumped off a ledge for a 60-meter free fall, and then did a 200-meter arc at 150 kph.  Additional jumps were only 20 dollars, we obviously did that one twice.   Between these activities in our "down time" we raced down the street luge course that overlooked Queenstown.  Finally our favorite activity that we saved for our last day was canyoning.  Canyoning is a relatively unknown activity to most people, even in Queenstown.  It involves hiking, zip lining, abseiling, rockslides, cliff jumps, and of course variations of these, all is 40 degree rushing rapids.  For instance one of the obstacles involved climbing up a hill, zip lining to the center of the canyon, abseiling ourselves down from 20 meters to about 3 meters over the rapids, then releasing ourselves into the freezing water.  It was extreme and we both are already looking for the next place where we can do it again.  Also the gear they put you in made for some price less photos.  The outfits consisted of 10mm of neoprene wetsuit, helmets with funny names on them (I was Rocky and Justin was Zorro), matching lifejackets, booties and harnesses.

We certainly got the most we could get out of the place.  Just last night while cooking dinner Justin pointed out that we did every activity that had a poster up on the wall of our hostel. Queenstown really is an amazing place; you could literally do a different extreme activity everyday for at least a month if your budget allowed you to.  Of course we needed to run away fast because as Justin puts it, "You could spend every dollar you ever earned, and it would be totally worth it."  Everyone should make it there at some point in his or her life.

Adventures with Brock and Cait

So my bag was lost.  For the few of you who have had the “opportunity” to witness me when I am, let’s just say “uncomfortable”, you know I can be quite a scene.  Whether in times of panic, desperation, or just plain old annoyed I always provide solid entertainment for Justin.  Needless to say as I exited customs, an hour after Justin decided to abandon me, bag-less, better yet without clean clothes, solo, I was obviously in rare form. Not the best mood to be in when I was about to meet Justin’s friend from Nantucket, Cait, and her Kiwi boyfriend Brock, whom we would be hanging out with for the next week.  Justin had told me a bunch of great stories about Brock, so I was pretty excited to finally meet him.  Sure enough Justin’s description of him was spot on, he played rugby, loved the water (especially spear fishing), talked really fast, and always had witty comments, this guy was Mr. New Zealand.   I knew Brock was classic from the minute we exited the terminal and he suggested we go to Wendy’s for a “pre dinner snack.” I had a small fry, Brock on the other hand, a large #2, and first dibs on what ever was not eaten. My mood went from the worst to the best, I love Wendy’s and I had a feeling I was soon going to love New Zealand.

            After our delicious Wendy’s we arrived at Brock’s house where we met his sister, Ashley and her boyfriend Corey.  This guy was huge, had a half sleeve tattoo of his Maori heritage, and scared the crap out of Justin and me. Much to our surprise, he was a really mellow guy who loved Playstation 3 and motorcycles.  So we all played Rock Band and the Beijing 2008 Olympic game and had plenty of laughs together.   I had never played the Beijing 2008 Olympic game, and when Corey told me to put a sock on my hand to achieve better times…I was confused but I did it and it worked. As Corey said. “It improves your sprinting speed mate." Corey claimed I was a natural, but Brock would have nothing of it.  

            The fun and games continued the next day when Justin discovered a mini chopper motorcycle in the garage that belonged to Corey. Brock thought this thing was a death trap and refused to ride.  Granted it probably was. It had a flat rear tire and spike in the center of the handlebars. Still, Corey insisted that we try it out, and since Justin and I have such an extensive background with motorbikes, we gave it a shot. It was pretty funny watching Justin and I on this mini bike, but watching Corey was just hilarious, he looked like he could have bent the handlebars with the slightest moment, we obviously got plenty of pictures.

            After a couple of days down in Raglan we met back up with Brock and Cait to venture up to Brock’s parent's house in the Bay of Islands.  We were originally going to drive up with them, but in the 2 days we were gone, Brock had come across an opportunity he could not pass up.  He explained to us that he had found the boat on trademe.com (New Zealand eBay, which he loved) and it was such a good deal that he couldn't pass it up. "The boat is in great condition mate and you can't sink it! Perfect for diving, dad said I can't pass up the deal." So plans changed and the new idea was that Brock was going to pickup the boat while we took a bus up to the Bay of Islands, then when he got up there the next day, he would pick us up and bring us to his house.

Justin and I spent the night in Paihia and the next morning we went for wonderful sail around the bay.  

            We decided to meet Brock and Cait at the visitor’s center in Paihia to then go to Brock's place in Kerikeri.  Normally this would not have been an issue considering it is a small town and there are not normally many people of the street.  However, right around when we were supposed to be picked up the streets started to get very crowded.  We had no idea what was going on but then out of nowhere a little kid yelled, "Look it’s Santa Claus" and sure enough there he was hovering overhead, but not in a sled, rather hanging out of a helicopter.  It was the town of Paihia's Christmas parade and Justin and I had prime seats to see Santa land in his helicopter, and start the show.  It was a very "green" parade and we got a couple of laughs, but it was not as funny when we finally met up with Cait and found out she had been stuck in traffic for the last hour waiting to get into town.

            When we finally arrived to Brocks house we found him doing underwater laps in the pool to train for spear fishing.  Slightly intense but this was nothing compared to the next day when we met his best mate Kirby, water man and spear fishing extraordinaire.  Kirby had a cameo wet suit that was sweet, and more spear guns then we had ever seen.  The best part was he had youtube videos of him using all his gear to catch some pretty big fish, but at the end, when they came up from under water he would cover the screen so neither us nor Brock could see the secret location. It was insane he could hold his breath for 2 minutes while in pursuit of 3-foot kingfish, very impressive.

            After a week of adventures with Brock in the North Island it was unfortunately time to leave.  We had an amazing time with Cait, Brock and all of their family and friends.  It was sad to have to say goodbye but we knew the next stop was the adventure capital of the world, Queenstown in the South Island. We were excited for Queenstown; we had 5 days of adrenaline pumping activity ahead of us.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

“Why is she crying, that movie is “epic” Leo is a stud, and sorry “babe” its real life. If you cant handle the heat, get out of the kitchen!”

We walked off the plane with a grin on our face. Unlike the majority of our trip, this leg, the New Zealand leg, actually began ahead of schedule. It was a bit of a fight, but some how, some way, the “tis the season” line worked in Brisbane. We avoided our 9-hour lay over and landed in Auckland 6 hours early. This was going to be a piece of cake. The sun was shining; it was warm, not skin melting off my body warm, but just ideal. To top it off, we were pretty sure Brock and Cait were going to be waiting for us once we picked up our bags and got through customs.
Picking up “our” bags turned out to be a little more of a process than we had planned. Waiting for our bags felt like an eternity. The thought of Brock possibly waiting all this time for us made me rather un easy. My bag came out first, and when I got it I told Derek I was going to go through so they new we had arrived. I’d meet him on the other side of the perforated glass. Soon after spotting Brock in his standard overly tight (he will argue other wise) v-neck shirt, boardies and thongs, I received a text from Derek. Like usual, it was rather charming and along the lines of “Hey asshole, thanks a lot for leaving me. My f&%king bag is lost and the baggage lady won’t help me because your not here.” Well… some how Derek managed to “woo” her, got through customs, met Brock and Cait, and our kiwi experience began.
I’ll let Derek go into more detail about Brock and Cait, but to say the least they did not disappoint us, not one bit.
Anyway, after a couple days with the Brock-Star, he rented us a car so we could trek down to Raglan and hopefully score some surf. We agreed to re unite in a couple of days and head up north together, but first, surf. It was summer, Raglan should be prefect. It was swell season and the weather should be on our side. Turned out it was swell season, top to bottom barrels, a million people in the water, truly an awesome day. Weather wise however, well, it was freaking freezing, and we had sent all of our warm cloths, and wetsuits home after South Africa.
We had to rent wetsuits. If you’ve never worn a wetsuit, they are a rather personal experience. They all fit different, and most importantly most people urinate in them. Derek was not thrilled to say the least. I did not care as much, as long as they kept us warm. Apparently Derek and I lost a few pounds, because the large wetsuits we rented were more like wizards gowns. We were not surfers entering the water but rather two new characters in a Harry Potter movie returning to Hogwartz. Loose and baggy, and when we paddled out, we each filled up like a balloon. I practically sank, and the water was “glacial”.
We were staying at Raglan backpackers. It was perfect, cheap and considered to be a surf hostel. We figured perfect, it will be just like Bali, just a new country. Wrong! Instead of being filled with surfers, it was filled with people “thinking” about surfing, a guy named Jake who enjoyed semi frozen red wine, and used the word “epic” in ever other sentence and a girl who could not handle the movie Blood Diamond. Rather than watching it, and the happy ending, she spent a half an hour crying in the courtyard while Jake comforted her. Well “Jake” I think you would agree with Derek when Derek said “Why is she crying, that movie is “epic” Leo is a stud, and sorry “babe” its real life. If you cant handle the heat, get out of the kitchen!”
NZ started out…well I guess perfect, we met up with Brock, scored some great surf, froze our butts off but surfed, and met some “epic” people. Two days later we headed back up north and to go to Brocks families place in the Keri Keri.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

"Can You Smell It?"

90% of my entire surfing career has taken place on Nantucket. The same break, at the end of the same dirt road, filled with the same friends, year after year. Needless to say, out in the water, it's more of a locker room than a surf line up. Everyone poking fun at each other, quoting stupid movies, trying to recap the previous night, but most importantly, looking to be the first to spot the next wave. This "style" of surfing has also developed its own kind of language, such as a "tasty nugget" for a good wave, "its going off" to describe an epic day, or my personal favorite "smelling" a good wave. Smelling a good wave happens when its flat for a while until someone claims they "smell" a good wave on the horizon. Its absolutely ridiculous but sometimes, when the stars align, that ridiculous statement is immediately followed by the wave of the day.
Well it was just one of those days, the water never felt so good, The sky so blue, but most importantly the waves were just epic. Pizza point, otherwise know as "secret spot" was going off, and there was just 6 of us in the water. Each of us not only from different countries, but from different continents, previously knowing each other for a mere 36 hours. However, to add to the quality of the day the previous 36 hours of knowing each other, felt more 36 years. Rambunctious, loud, and hilarious are the most appropriate adjectives to describe this "squad" of surfers. Joel the 14yr old fearless Aussie, would take off any wave even if he had no chance of making it and then, once he popped up from under the water, would yell "did you see that thrashing, it was insane." (Later that week he broke his board) Javier, from Spain, who was constantly fighting off last nights hangover, was grinning ear to ear with his "Vieno" stained teeth. Putu our local surf guide, who never gave us a straight answer, (when we first me him he told us he was still learning. False, he ripped) he even said he had never seen it this good. And finally, Derek and me, who took turns yelling at each other "can you believe were in Bali, this is amazing." Bruce Brown said it best, the most epic days are when its just you and your buddies in the water trading off on waves that were "gangbusters." This session was so fun and perfect, I found myself feeling as comfortable as I am surfing on Nantucket, and decided (during a long flat period) to "smell" a big wave." This line could have been received two ways. Either they thought I was nuts or they would love it. I mean smelling waves its kind of insane. Well lucky for me they remained my friends because, they absolutely loved it Putu was like, "What? You smell a big wave." I just looked at him and was like yea, and next thing we knew a monster rolled in and wiped out all of us.That session at Pizza Point was not our biggest session in Bali, but it was definitely the most fun. We all spent the rest of the day "smelling" the next wave.

Later that week, Saranghaung was pumping. An easy double overhead plus (12 to 14ft faces). It was huge, the line-up was packed, and everybody was rather intense, being that these massive waves were breaking over razor sharp reef in only 3ft of water. The object of this day was to pick the right wave, and make it, because if you didn't….well then you were going to spend a lot of time underwater. To say the least, there was a feeling of anxiety in everyone's faces, or so I thought. About 2 hours into our session it just went flat, but on a day like this "flat" is scary because all it means is that a massive set is looming in the water, waiting to have its hay day on all the surfers. Everyone was silent just staring out at the horizon. The only noise was of each surfer bobbing in and out of the water, waiting, trying to spot the outside bomb that was building in the deep water. Then from behind me I heard this paddling, which was followed by "Hey Justin, you smell that." In my head I was like "Putu, shut up everyone is gonna look at us like we're kooks, smelling the waves....not here not now" well this "riskay" line actually ignited the lineup with laughter, almost like a sigh of relief from the intense surf session. About 2 minutes later a huge wave came through, no one was prepared and it washed me and about 40 other people half way to shore. When we all finally made it back out, one indo guy asked Putu, "Why didn't you smell that one?" Putu shrugged, they laughed and obviously the rest of the day again was spent "smelling" waves. It was truly amazing how one phrase, can transform a scary day of surf, into a silly day in the water just with way bigger waves. Resembling what I love, or anyone loves most about there home wave, and finding it all the way in Bali. Just about every day!

Thursday, December 4, 2008

“Fictional, this Place is Fictional”

Justin has been talking about his love for Bali since the minute he returned from his abroad experience in Australia.  Obviously very enthusiastic to return, he did his best to describe this Surf Mecca, but, of course, being Justin, he didn’t want to build it up too much in fear that if for some reason it had changed it would lead us to be disappointed.  However, within the first hour of our plane landing, he realized nothing had changed and we were going to be in for quite possibly the best two weeks of our lives.

            On our way to the Padang Padang Surf Camp we were unsure what to expect in terms of accommodation.  Considered we were being driven around with a local surf guide, eating all our meals, and sleeping for just under $50 a day we didn’t expect much.  As we walked into the camp all we could do was laugh, this place was awesome, a walled in compound consisting of two large villas, some thatched roofed lounge areas complete with plenty of hammocks, and of course an infinity pool.  However the only thing that was missing were the people, the place was deserted, besides for a couple of staff members whom did not speak much English.  We sat around for about 10 minutes until our surf guide, whom quickly became our best friend, Putu showed up.  He explained to us that everyone was out surfing and asked if we wanted to go.  And that’s how it began, within that first hour, we had not only arrived at an amazing hotel but were on our way to the world famous surf break, Uluwatu.

            As we pulled up to the cliffs at Uluwatu, Putu was unimpressed saying that the surf was not good. We disagreed, the water was crystal clear, aqua blue, and head-high barreling waves were rolling in.  We quickly zigzagged our way down the cliff, weaving through the numerous warungs (small restaurants) and surf shops built into the cliffside. Then, we had to climb down a sketchy cement staircase, through a cave and paddle over a razor sharp reef in only a foot of water. The surf was amazing, it simply blew me away how perfect these waves were. They were unlike anything I had ever surfed before, and this was suppose to be a “not good” day.  Despite a minor run-in I had with a Brazilian surfer whom I was convinced was going to kill me (I am not going into details in fear he is still looking for me, if you really want to know I’ll tell you in person), we had a great surf session.  As we surfed until the sun went down I looked at Justin and he had a smile ear to ear, all he could say was, “Fictional, this place is fictional.”

            When we returned to the camp we met the Welsh owner, Andrew, his wife Ina, and the rest of the guests. From our first impressions everyone seemed pretty cool which would make the stay only that much better.  Ina explained to us how the place worked, which was pretty simple, you wake up when they tell you to (which was according to the tide), surf, eat your vegetables (yes I actually ate like a normal human for 2 weeks), surf again, eat dinner (and more vegetables), and then go to sleep.  The rules were simple, eat your veggies don’t slam any doors, and surf a minimum of 2 hours each day and of course you had to surf a minimum of 2 hours each day. Tough life.  After we got the run down, the whole camp was off to dinner like one big family to an appropriately name restaurant, Swell.  The restaurant had a huge projector screen that only showed surf movies, enough said.

            This set the tone for the next two weeks and is most of the reason we are so far behind in these blogs. They say Bali has a secret creed that only those who visit truly understand, it is never spoken about or told to you, figuring it out is up to you, but trust me once you’ve been there you will understand. Surf, Eat, Sleep. Learn it, do it, live it!  

Thursday, November 27, 2008

It never rains, it only pours.

Soggy, is the only adjective appropriate to describe it. Maybe that’s why it has taken two weeks to come up with this post, or maybe its because Bali has been SO GOOD, we haven’t had the time. Anyway, if you took the expression its raining cats and dogs, and replaced cats and dogs with, blasting water to the face, you would have our first six days in Thailand. Couple that with flooding streets, overlay aggressive “Bar Girls,” and way to many made for TV movies, and our time in Thailand would almost seem drowned. Yet some how, some way, we still managed to have a pretty good time. 

            For many, mopeds is not the first thing that comes to mind for a solid form of transportation, but for Derek and me…. well they equaled 6 US dollars, an excellent time, and seemed the most fitting. Obviously this was the authentic way to explore the Thai island of Ko Samui. Additionally, each moped came with a safety helmet that resembled a bowling ball on your head.  So as if driving one of theses things was not hard enough, every time Derek or I looked at one another we cracked up. The constant laughing and moist conditions led to a swerve or two, but nothing serious. After about 4 hours and vicious back pains we managed to circle the entire island.  The pictures speak for themselves, but may have already considered us a hip version of the Motorcycle Diaries.

            Being that we had now seen the entire island of Ko Samui from the ground, we figured why not see it from the sky.  50 to a 100ft to be exact and zip lining was the only way to do it. I considered myself to be a seasoned veteran, because I had done this type of thing in Costa Rica 2 years before. What I did not factor and in fact over looked with arrogance was the fact that in Costa Rica, it was very dry, and in Thailand, it was very wet. This led to slippery cables, and me needing to maneuver an emergency stop, in turn breaking my sunglasses. I guess I deserved it.

            There were many positive attributes to the tree top tour. For one I got to see Derek’s face go pale before the first zip line, but more importantly it was our first interaction with the outside world in almost a week. As much as Derek and I enjoy each others company, we were relieved to find out that the tour was filled with 5 other “young adults,” who inspired us to deal with the rain and attend the island of Ko Phagnag’s world renown, Full Moon Party.

            It was 10 pm and the only thing in our way from attending one of the top 5 biggest parties in the world was an overly stuffed speed boat, and, mandatory neon life jackets required to be worn at all times. Yet despite the sketchiness of our captain, the loudness of the engines, and peculiar cast of characters that filled this boat we made it and the rage began. It was most definitely a spectacle I will never forget, or remember. 4000 people filling the beach, blasting music, flaming jump ropes, tattoo’s, mushroom shakes, body paint etc. What Derek and I choose to participate in we will leave to your imagination, but it was a great time, until the next morning.

            Overall Thailand was kind of a bust, minus the few good days on Ko Samui. We did also have 2 days in Bangkok but ironically, the princess died while we were there so the entire city shut down, wore black, and mourned.  If I could do it again I would not change a thing, except for the weather, and the death, but…..as they say in India, I guess it just was our destiny. 

Friday, November 7, 2008

“Derek, you realize that ‘essentially’, we’re vacationing in New York City, and just taking a day trip to see the White House? This is nuts!”

When we told people in Goa our next stop in India was Delhi we seemed to get a universal response, a frown, a negative headshake, and the question “why?” We got a feel for what they were talking about as we exited the domestic terminal and into the smog, noise, and most notably the “scent” of Delhi. Then in the taxi ride to our hotel, which was only about 5km, but, took a solid hour, of the grid-lock traffic, where we saw cars literally turn around and go the wrong direction on the highway, we knew exactly why no one liked Delhi. We decided that in the morning we would go to a travel agency and let them arrange how we would spend our next 48 hours in this metropolitan nightmare.
Most people think the main attraction in Delhi in the Taj Mahal; this is a common misconception. The Taj is actually in the city of Agra, which is 220km south of Delhi. Since all the trains to Agra were already booked well in advance we were disappointed to find out that we would not be able to see this impressive monument.
But….our plans quickly changed as we sat down in the tiny, generic “Interesting India” travel office. We initially went in to arrange a city tour of Old Delhi. When our agent discovered we had not seen the Taj, and were not planning on it because of the train situation, he insisted otherwise. Shortly after, we were in a private car, and on our way. Although it was not too far of a distance, (136 miles) it would take at least four hours to drive to Agra do to traffic, and poor road conditions. While we both found this crazy, the 4 hour 130 mile trip made Justin’s head spin. About an hour into the trip he looked at me and said “Derek, you realize that ‘essentially’, were vacationing in New York City, and just taking a day trip to see the White House? This is nuts!” He continued to repeat this line to just about everybody we came in contact with, but to a certain degree, it was absolutely true.
We started our drive around 12:30 and were informed by our travel agent that it was more then enough time to get to the Taj before it closed. About two hours into the drive we were a little confused when our driver started asking us about our hotel accommodations in Delhi, and if we would be opposed to staying a night in Agra. Turns out the Taj Mahal stops letting people in at 5, and because of traffic he was not sure if we were going to make it in time. Obviously we were not going to stay in Agra because we had already paid for an expensive hotel room in Delhi, and we were “guaranteed” that we would be able to see it. Justin quickly reminded him of the “guarantee” and plenty of time we were assured of in Delhi, and our driver, for fear of his job, instantly turned in to Jeff Gordon.
For the last 115km of our journey it was petal to the metal, honking constantly and weaving in and out of traffic unlike anyone I had ever seen before. Justin somehow managed to stay calm and relaxed in the front seat while I was in the back closing my eyes and flinching. To add to my anxiety our driver started making some small talk and telling us about recent bombings in Delhi. We though the area we were staying in was safe and were amazed to find out that only a month ago there was a bombing just a couple of hundred yards from the front door of our hotel, not something that made the stressful drive, a battle against time, go by any faster.
We made it to Agra at exactly 4:55 and were flagged down on the side of the road by our tour guide. There was no time for introductions because he said we had to run to the ticket gate. The only problem was because of pollution the government does not let any cars within 2km of the Taj Mahal gates, so this would be a far run, and although Justin and I are actually in decent shape, our hefty India tour guide was not. So we hopped on a bicycle rickshaw.
This was quite the sight, Justin and I squeezed on the 2 and half foot bench in the back, while our overweight guide sat backwards on the bike seat. Powering us was possibly the smallest bicycle rickshaw driver in the fleet, no older then 9 years and weighting about 70lbs. Sure enough he was able to get us moving, and quite well to. As we got to the gate our guide sprinted to the ticket counter still unsure if we were going to be able to enter. Justin and I could only wait for him to emerge and when he did with a smile on his face we were relieved, the crazy day of travel had paid off. We got in, and with exactly 2 minutes to spare.
The Taj Mahal was simply stunning; I think more impressive then the pyramids, Justin still undecided. Our guide knew all the facts and was extremely resourceful. When it came time to go inside, because he knew the guards, we were able to cut the enormous line and see the interior with some remaining daylight. This is just another example of an important principle we learned while in India that all Hindu people live by, if it is your destiny, it will happen. That day it was our destiny to see the Taj Mahal, now we just hope it is our destiny to get out of India in one piece.

Just another day at the Spa

It’s fair to say that I have gotten my fair share of spa treatments. Justin is no stranger to them either. So when we arrived to Palolem Beach in the south of Goa we were very excited to partake in the numerous $5 massage, and $1 shave huts. Being experienced “backpackers,” we obviously just couldn’t go to just any place. We needed to find, what we though, would be the best masseuse for the best price. Justin, being the king of negotiation and research, set out to find just this. After an hour, he found just the place we were looking for. A hundred yards down the beach from where we were sitting, was a small hut next to a popular beach side restaurant with a deaf masseuse that Justin claimed to be the best out of the 5 or so that he had checked out. This is where I come in, as the guinea pig, for most of the “interesting” things Justin finds.
Being that I was a little more keen on getting a massage than Justin, we decided that I would test this guy out once the sun went down. In the mean time, I went to get a shave from another place Justin discovered, this place in his words was “amazing,” and judging from the job they did on his face it was.
On the way home from the beach I stopped in the barber shack to get my treatment. After fifteen minutes of prep work, which included various crèmes and pre shave oil, the barber took a straight razor to my scruff, and I knew this was a great idea. However, about half way through my shave the power went out, meaning the florescent lamp, the only form of light was gone, leaving me in this now pitch black shack. The situation left me half shaven, with a straight razor, centimeters from my atoms apple in absolute darkness. My mind was racing, “is this guy going to stop and weight for the power to come back on? Or is he going to Sweeney Todd me, and throw my body in the back with the rest of the dumb tourist looking for a cheap shave.” The answer was neither. Instead hit did not even seem effected and lit a single candle and finished the job with perfection. Me, thinking he was going to slip and slice me was relived and impressed when the job was done. Shortly after he finished the actual shave part, the power came back on and he went on with his routine which included a 20 minute facial and a 15 minute head massage. After an hour of pampering for 200 rupees (about $4), I agreed with Justin, this was the best shave I had ever gotten. Now for the massage...
The next night I ventured down to the massage hut to find the man Justin had previously described to me. Justin told me that he had a price listed but that I should negotiate it lower because he believes the masseuse would indeed lower the price. I found this impossible considering the masseuse was deaf and after about 20 seconds I abandoned the idea and decided to pay the 500 rupees (about $10) for the hour, full body massage. With no means of communication, and not knowing what to expect, I lay down on the bed and anxiously waited for him to begin. When he entered, his first actions came as a bit of surprise. The first thing he did was to take his shirt off. Now shirtless, he poured, splashed, and covered my entire body with no less then an entire bottle of massage oil. For the rest of my life I will remain bewildered on how he massaged so deep, when I was so slippery. Justin had been right; this guy was excellent. After he was finished he insisted that I come outside of his hut and sit in a chair for him to give me my head massage. Not exactly wanting to be seen in public with this amount of oil on me couldn’t be communicated, so I (red faced) sat in his chair as he poured more oil all over my head and finished the treatment. This was all in front of, the now full, and popular restaurant next door. To say the least, I can only imagine that my facial expressions acted as some solid entertainment for the groups of people enjoying their dinner.
As I walked home all I could do was laugh and couldn’t wait to get in the shower. Of course being India, nowhere had the best water pressure and it took me a good 30 minutes of scrubbing to get to the point where I felt “less” oily. About three days later my hair and skin were completely back to normal. Although I warned Justin, he insisted on getting the same massage, and somehow communicated with the mute masseuse to use less oil, I don’t know how he did it.

Saturday, November 1, 2008

“These guys even make ME feel like dancing”

The Lady Lynsey will forever have a place in my heart. Maybe, it’s because she christened me, by being the first of many “sunset cruises.” Or, perhaps the reason I remember the Lady Lynsey so well, was because she signifies the vacation where my father lost his suitcase and had to buy his entire wardrobe at K-mart. Either way, The Lady Lynsey acts as my memento to the beginning of sunset cruises, but more importantly the many “types” of sunset cruises one can embark on.

Saying goodbye to Rahul obviously was a tearjerker (seriously). Not only did he treat us like family, but also we really enjoyed hanging out with him and seeing the city from his eyes. But like all the goodbyes on this trip, Rahul’s too, was bitter sweet. With one goodbye came the next adventure, and for Derek and me, this adventure led us to the Indian state of Goa, aka the BEACH!

Much like any beach area, Goa has a coastline littered with small fishing villages all know for different things. We planned on spending 10 all over Goa and Rahul recommend we spend the first half in Anjuna beach. Anjuna was at least as our Lonely planet described, a quiet place known for its hippy atmosphere, beautiful beaches, and its Wednesday flea market. The lonely Planet stated that if you looking for more excitement you may want to try some of the other beach towns. Being the “laid back” people that we are we though Anjuna sounded perfect, we had had plenty of excitement and thought it would be nice to relax. So, when we found out that our Hotel gave us TWO free Sunset cruises, we were psyched, just another ingredient to the ultimate relaxation.

Pulling up to the wharf, was not exactly how my last sail took place. Rather, it had the honor of bringing me back to my senior year of high school graduation trip, specifically the “booze cruise”. While the boat was similar in the sense that it was a large steel mini tanker blasting techno music, the cliental couldn’t have been more different. Unlike the Bahama Mama from senior year that packed with underage Americans pouring cheep rum down there throats, the “Princess De Goa” was twice the size had three times the amount of people, and by people I mean middle class Indian families. From infants in strollers to Granny’s in wheel chairs, it seemed like the entire family made it to this epic event.

Finding a seat on this “vessel” was an entirely different story, as the engines started Derek and I looked at each other, (talking was not an option, the music was way to loud) realized we were in for an experience, and better find a seat among the maze of Indian families. The seating situation was similar to that of a sweet sixteen at a Vietnam Veterans hall, row after row, of plastic chairs all focused on one magical stage. But what happened on this stage? Curious? So were we. That is when out of his dressing room came the boat’s MC, a short, over weight Indian man in a floral button down, and his microphone. We later learned that he was responsible for fulfilling ever Indians dream and taking this cruise from epic to legendary. In actuality all he did was call up different groups of people to dance on the stage, in America no big deal, and since no body was drunk they probably wouldn’t even get a very good turn out, but….well, Indians just love to dance.

The first group to be summoned was the kids, and what a turn out. It was so funny to see 50 Indian kids just getting after it, to overly loud techno music. Derek and I were hysterical. Next came the couples, then the ladies, and finally and by far most entertaining the men. I swear to god you have never seen anything like this. From tank tops and swishy pants, to loafer wearing, tucked in polo’s every type of man flocked to the stage. (May I also add that by this time it was pitch black out, which aided greatly to the light show, forcefully focusing all of our attention to the stage) but who wouldn’t want to watch this, it was hysterical, from men jumping in the air, to swing dancing with each other, to the hoots and hollers that made there way through the blaring music, these men were having the best time, and so were we. They were spinning flaring their arms, some even took their shirts off and held flexed poses for the crowd. They did what they wanted; it was there 10 minutes on stage. While we did not muster up the courage to join them on stage, I will never forget when Derek looked at me and said “theses guys even make me feel like dancing.” Getting off the boat we felt like changed men and agreed that Indians are truly happy people. We couldn’t have been happier to add the Princess De Goa experience to our sunset cruise repetoire. Oh yeah, and a mere four days later, we got to do the whole thing again.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

“It’s not what you know, but who you know” and his name is Rahul.

My obsession with checking CNN world news, and reading every page of our Lonely Planet guide books, (preferably the safety sections) could have never prepared for what awaited us when we got off the plane in Mumbai. After we claimed our baggage and went thought customs Justin received an email from Rahul (our contact in Mumbai) saying to call him immediately once we landed. Rahul was the nephew of Yogesh, one of Justin’s Father’s Clients back in New York. We had contacted Rahul several days before our arrival hoping he would be of a little help. Not thinking much of his email, we decided we would get a taxi and check into a hotel, get situated, and then call Rahul.  Luckily just as we were about to depart for downtown Mumbai, Justin thought it would be a good idea to touch base with Rahul, mainly to make sure we did not get ripped off with the taxi fair. This phone call turned out to be much more important than just a simple hello.

Rahul informed us that because of a recent arrest of a corrupt political figure, there was rioting in downtown Mumbai and that it would defiantly not be a good idea, or safe for us to even leave the airport.  Luckily there was a Hyatt, Intercontinental, and Four Seasons within 2 miles of the hotel.  Obviously we had no problem checking into the spa at the Hyatt to wait out the riots, but more importantly await further instruction from Rahul, which ironically turned into a trend throughout our stay in Mumbai.  After a few hours of sitting poolside at this 5 star hotel we received a call from Rahul saying that he sent one of his employees to meet us in the lobby.  We were greeting by a small, well dressed Indian man, who spoke zero English but had a mobile phone for us with Rahul on it.  

This was something out of a James Bond movie with the timing and directions in place, because our next goal was to find the concierge named Vijay (yes, Justin’s maturity was at an all time high).  Sure enough Vijay was just a few steps away and he had a car waiting for us to meet Rahul at his home.

Since there was a serious language barrier between the driver, Rahul’s employee and us, we had no clue where we were going or the level of sketchiness we were about to encounter.  However, when the two Indians exchanged some quick words before entering a very congested area, which followed by quickly locking the doors and checking the surroundings, we started to sweat a little.  After a few minutes of worrying we were relieved to finally meet Rahul at his apartment. 

Rahul quickly became our Mumbai hero, being 6’2 and a solid 220, former state-wide boxing champ and fourth degree karate black belt, he had such control over everyone and everything around him we felt invincible (and to a certain extent we were).  He informed us that the rioting had left the city and the authorities had gained most of the control back in the area.  Shortly after this he found us a great hotel, and personally warned the staff to not take advantage of us or else.

The next 3 days in Mumbai were excellent.  Rahul took care of us like we were his long lost sons, arranging drivers, a great tour guide, and even taking us to the newest hot spot in Mumbai, The Hard Rock CafĂ©, where we had some awesome American food, and shared some great laughs over a few beers.  However, our most memorable experience with him was when he met us on the street after our first day of sight seeing.  He asked if we were hungry and offered us some pizza, we obviously accepted and he brought us up to his office.  We were not sure what type of business he was in but assumed it had to be something important because of the amount of cameras and security guards we witnessed just to get to the elevator.  When we reached his floor, he showed us to his office where we sat down in executive chairs.  It was a pretty standard bosses office except for the right wall which was essentially a huge glass window, what was on the other side, we could have never imagined. Peering through the glass we saw 30 Indian diamond sorters, counters, re counters, and re, re counters, neatly organized and looking extremely efficient. However, while we were staring at them in awe, they to were staring at us. Then we looked across the desk and saw why the workers were so puzzled to why the two of us were in the office.  Two trays of diamonds worth approximately $2 million were directly across from us. But diamonds can never disrupt an old fashion pizza party. With one press of Rahul’s “magic button” conveniently placed under his desk, we (and the diamonds) were feasting on thin crust pizza, sodas, bottled water, and cookies.  This was unbelievable and we soon found out that Rahul was in charge of Shaneel Services, a company that designed jewelry, manufactured it, and distributed it to companies like Zales and DFS worldwide.  It was a pretty cool experience. 

"We're going to sink"

All this Shark talk made us curious, well actually made Derek curious, I could not have cared less about sharks. I had no interest in seeing those behemoth creatures by accident, so, why would I want to pay to see them on purpose. To me it was just stoking the fire, teasing the world’s scariest animal. After about 30 seconds of convincing, I agreed to go, but swore if I ever got eaten by a shark while surfing, it was all Derek’s fault. Nine hundred and ninety five rand later ($100) we were up at 5:30am to ride the Shark Shuttle 3 hours to “the sharki-est” point in Africa, coincidently named, Shark Alley. This shuttle was brand new, had cool shark decals on the side, and a “Governator” looking and sounding driver, equipped with a headset, and microphone, which kept us up the entire ride. Still, while it looked and was brand new, it was the most uncomfortable thing we had ever ridden in. The seats were so small and uncomfortable, I would have rather sat on the floor, and our dive guide/driver/most annoying man in the world at 5:30 in the morning, would not shut up!

After a quick briefing, we had signed our life away, and were warned not to stick any of our limbs out of the dive cage. Soon after, we loaded the boat, put on our wetsuits, and began chumming for sharks. This adventure did not begin or end exactly as I pictured it, in fact I would go as far as calling Planet Earth a liar. Planet Earth made shark diving, look exciting yet peaceful.  Instead we were anchored 20 kilometers in the middle of the baron sea, howling winds and swells in the 6 to 8 ft range. Needless to say, when I received my first chunk of someone else’s breakfast on my wetsuit shoulder; I knew we were in for a long three hours. Well actually only about 1 and a half because this “barf” if you will, most certainly had the domino effect leading to roughly 8 of the 16 passengers flooding the ocean with that mornings breakfast. Then to put the icing on the cake, their was Miss Canada, or so we called her. She was a 50 yr old, over weight, loud, Canadian lady, with breasts so gigantic, they were noticeably flopping with the rolling of the huge swells. As if that picture is not enough, she was hysterically crying, praying, and yelling she “was to young to die,” convinced that the boat was going to sink. In Derek’s opinion her falling overboard would have been doing the world a major favor. I agree.  Three minutes later, and only two shark sightings the captain called an end to the trip because of safety reasons. Soon after, we were back on shore. All in all it was a let down, but on the bright side, or at least looking back on now, it was pretty hilarious, and we did see two HUGE great whites. How many have you seen?

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Sharks Eat Seals!

While Derek was pretty spot on with our strand of bad luck, may I add that we did have a  great hour with local shaper and surf legend Mikey Meyer. He personally showed us his entire factory, treated us like old friends, and showed us just about every board he had ever shaped. At the end of our tour he even invited us to surf with him when the wind switched (the next day) but our impatience ended up biting us in the ass, because by that time we had already moved on. We really screwed that one up. However, despite our poor decision of having what would have probably been an epic session with Mikey Meyer, we did catch about 2 hours of 3-foot surf at Seal Point in Cape St. Francis. But in Derek’s defense, it was very sketchy. I obviously oblivious to the fact that, we were the only ones in the water, at a place named after seals, and correct me if I’m wrong but SHARKS EAT SEALS! After our short surf session we rested up watched, My Super Ex-Girlfriend, and walked to the only pub in town, where we enjoyed a dinner and a beer with a very localized crowd, at least visually. In actuality they were awesome, hilarious and traded stories of traveling with us for hours. 

"You Should Have Been Here Yesterday"

Justin and I arrived in beautiful South Africa with only one thing in mind, surfing.  In my opinion the only reason for visiting South Africa is to do two things, surf, and see some Great White sharks, but hopefully, not both at the same time. We thought the surfing wouldn’t be much of a problem considering the world famous Jeffery’s Bay and breaks with names like Supertubes is just a “short” 11-hour bus ride up the coast. For the Great Whites; duh have you ever seen Planet Earth or the Discovery Channel, they fly out of the water here, if we were to go on a tour designated to seeing them, we shouldn’t have a problem.   However after our first day in Cape Town where the cable car to the top of Table Mountain shut down literally as we were about to get onto it because of inclement weather (it was 75 and sunny) we knew that South Africa was not going to be as easy as we had hoped.

After spending one day in Cape Town we were up at the crack of dawn to catch the 11-hour bus to J-Bay.  This route is suppose to be one of the most pleasant drives in the country, hence the name the Garden Route to the Sunshine Coast.  Well it was very picturesque but it rained the whole time and there was a lot of construction on the roads so we did not experience much of the “sunshine” or “garden”.  We had already booked a room at a well-recommended place and although we were killing a day in transit we figured we could get a good nights sleep and get out early the next morning for some grade A surf.  This all changed when we arrived at the Island Vibes hostel. 

The people at the front desk were perhaps a little too island vibe-ed out because they managed to not have a room available for Justin and me.   This means that would have to spend the night in the dorm with 12 other people in bunk beds.  On top of this it was the normal bartenders birthday so the place was a complete zoo and everyone was hammered when we walked into the bar at 7pm, not the most fun atmosphere to be in when all you want in a little rest to be able to surf the next day.  After talking to some of the local guys and finding out that the surf and the weather was decent that day but the outlook did not look good for the next few days, we were bummed. Since we could not go back and sleep in our room (because it did not exist and we were in a dorm) we took part in the festivities and prayed the locals would be wrong.

After a night of very little sleep because of the 10 other people in our room, we got out of bed to what we would compare to a northeast storm, howling wind, rain, and cold weather, so much for the sunshine coast.  Obviously surfing was out of the question so we spent the day exploring the surf factories and stores.  We found ourselves very bored very quickly.  Luckily we had managed to get ourselves into our own room at a guesthouse just down the road from Island Vibes.

The next day was the same story so we decided we had to make a move up the coast in hope to find some better waves.  We got a taxi and headed for Cape St. Francis, made famous by Bruce Brown for its endless right-hand waves.  There were some waves breaking at one of the spots that we ventured so we went in the water and were obviously very disappointed.  On top of the surf not being any better here then J-Bay, this place was a ghost town and I’m pretty sure Justin and I were the only ones in town that didn’t live there year round.  Weighing our options we decided that in the morning we would make the 11-hour bus ride back to Cape Town because the surfing part of the trip was dead, now we had to get to the top of Table Mountain and find some Great Whites.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

"Schaeff did you remember to close our door? This is Africa, we could come back and there be a Rhino in your bed."

I am not a gambling man, but I can bet on one thing for sure. Upon our arrival back to the States you can bet Montclair’s esteemed "Outdoor Store" will be paid an angry visit from Mr. Derek Serpe. For those of you who are not familiar with it, the Outdoor Store, formally the Patagonia store is know for its earthy staff, selling over priced wilderness gear, and its convenient location next to the delicious Raymond’s. Being that Derek and I both frequently visit the delicious Raymond’s, it only makes sense that we would acquire at least some of our travel gear from this purveyor of outdoor goods. In particular I am referring to the Patagonia safari shirt. This "safari blue" garment was the unstoppable. Long sleeve, yet crafted out of an extremely breathable lightweight fabric, water resistant, plenty of mesh vents, and most importantly "insect repellent."
As Derek so ingeniously described, our arrival to the Selous Game Reserve was nothing less than Dramatic. We stepped off the plane, both of us in our best Safari gear, Derek obviously better than mine, hence the "safari blue, safari shirt" got in the Land Rover and headed to the lodge. There were many awesome, yet peculiar traits about our lodge. In particular I am referring to the family style dinners, in which the entire lodge met at the bar at 7:30 to have a pre meal drink, then when Moody (the host, who matched his shirt to the table cloth each night) rang the dinner bell, the entire lodge, about 17 people would sit down at to two large tables and feast. The managers, Ricardo and Veronica eat with us, and generally at least half the people at the table did not speak English as there first language. Although initially, dinner was extremely awkward and uncomfortable, it turned out to be lots of fun. One night, Derek, Ricardo, and myself found it quite amusing how much this German guy looked and acted like Anthony Hopkins. Were very tempted to have him say "Hello Clarice".
We later found out the main reason for the family style dinner, was that when we had finished eating Ricardo and Veronica would discuss and arrange each group’s next day adventure. In these informal meetings they would tell us what we needed to bring, but more importantly what not to bring, or wear. This brings me back to Derek’s "safari blue, safari shirt", which made its way back to the hanger almost immediately after Ricardo announced, "Do not wear any dark colors especially blue, because, mosquito’s and flies are extremely attracted to them." While the "safari blue shirt" quickly became retired, Derek’s arsenal of safari gear was merely tested and by no means shut down. He obviously had the shirt in more than one color.
The next day we headed out on Safari, which was quite amazing. We got up close and personal with elephants, giraffes, lions, hippos, crocodiles, wildebeests, buffalo, monkeys, and our guides personal favorite impala. Over the next few days Derek and I learned a lot about the animals, and our surroundings. We conquered many obstacles and made an overly conscious effort to stay covered in bug spray at all times. To me this was the week of phenomenal Derek quotes. One night while we were both lying in our very comfortable mosquito netted beds Derek whispered over to me "Schaeff, you feel that wind? We got a major problem cause its blowing the mosquito nets". Before I could respond, this issue was solved, Derek had successfully tucked his mosquito net into the sides of his bed. At the time I found it a bit ridiculous but then again he wasn’t the guy with a bug bite the size of a golf ball on his wrist. However, my favorite quote of all was what became Derek’s signature line every time we left our bandana. "Schaeff did you remember to close our door? This is Africa, we could come back and there be a Rhino in your bed." End quote.
Before we knew it, it was time to go, and all that was left for us to conquer was trying to drive a 1971 stick, Land Rover Defender 109, and, survive a flight back to Dar as Salaam through a rainstorm. Both obstacles were a bit hairy, but ultimately successful. Tanzania was a huge success.
(PS. We have great pictures, its just very hard to find a strong enough connection to upload pictures on. We will when we can.)

Monday, October 13, 2008

"Gentlemen, we have reached our cruising altitude of 120ft"

Justin and I had both been on some small aircrafts before, mostly when going to and from Nantucket or skydiving. However, as we walked along the tarmac in Dar es Salaam to our connecting flight from Zanzibar to the Matambwe airstrip in the Selous Game Reserve, we agreed we had never even planned on flying on a plane of this size, ever.
The cabin of our 4 passenger “airplane” was no bigger then that of a twin bed. Justin and I were in the middle seats, a large Brazilian man was sitting co-pilot because the plane was most stable with him there, and a small Belgian man behind us with our bags to further “stabilize” the aircraft. Our pilot was a confident Canadian named Richard, who had been “flying in the bush his whole life” (he was no older then 27). To say the least we were sweating as we taxied to the runway.
We had a 50-minute flight to the first landing strip where we would drop off the other two passengers. As we made our descent to land we realized this landing strip was something out of a movie. The “airport,” had no lights, no control tower, and certainly no terminal. Just a dirt strip with a faded flag signaling the pilot the direction of the wind. Once on the ground and realizing that we could indeed take-off, fly, and land without any problems, Justin, obviously wanted a little more with the next flight. Being that the man at the check-in counter told us that these pilots enjoyed flying low so the passengers could view the wildlife from the air, Justin, no longer as nervous, intended to see if the ticket man gave us actual information. Without hesitation Justin not only asked to sit co-pilot, but hinted that it would be in the best interest of all of them for Richard to fly as low and fast as the plane would let him. Suddenly this young Canadian’s eyes lit up, and his response “absolutely eeehh” For the next 15 minutes we flew no higher then 120 feet off the ground at 125 mph, nearly skimming treetops and narrowly making ridges. This was certainly an adrenalin rush and a great kickoff to our safari. As we approached our landing strip, Richard made a fly-by to pick his spot to land. We touched down flawlessly and were greeted by the manager of the Sable Mountain Lodge, Ricardo.
Ricardo was a rugged looking Spaniard who informed us that he ran the lodge with his Czech wife Veronica. He was very nice and welcoming but seemed a little on edge upon our arrival. Later that night at dinner we found out why. Veronica informed us that Ricardo, normally mellow and easygoing guy had had his fair share of problems this week. Veronica explained that it had rained very hard the last few days which left the solar powered lodge very low on energy, destroyed the dirt roads (we saw two 4x4s stuck on our way to the Lodge from the landing strip) and many of the guests were unhappy do to the soggy weather. As she said “this is supposed to be the dry season.” On top of this she said that she would have never flown, or landed where we did today because it was far too muddy from the rain. (Thanks) Although our maverick pilot landed us safely, Ricardo did not have as much faith as we did in Richard. Ricardo even insisted on waiting for the plane to take off again just to make sure he did not have to call the ambulance in case of a issue. We were the only people at the landing strip. Being that our arrival day was so exciting, we could only imagine what the rest of the safari would have in store for us.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

The Lion King remains true, In Africa they actually say, "Hakuna Matata"

Generally speaking a "high speed" ferry is of high speed, right? Wrong, or at least the day Derek and I took it. After finally getting out of Egypt and landing in Tanzania we decided that since none of the Safari companies were open (it was Saturday), we should hop on the 1.5 hour fast ferry to Zanzibar and relax by the beach for the first half of our time in Tanzania.
At first, arriving to the Sea Bus, seemed no different than the train in Egypt. Getting out of the car everybody hassled you, and once on the dock, we found out that the boat was an hour and a half behind schedule. Being, that we now trusted know one, (thanks to Egypt), Derek and I sat down, tried to stay positive, and kept to ourselves. About 30 seconds later, my Attention Deficient Disorder kicked in and the mingling began. Of all the interesting people we met on dock, Louie, the 45 year old South African, left the biggest impression on us.
For starters Louie explained to us that you CAN trust theses people, that they are kind hearted and if they hassle you just mutter Toka Toka (go away), and they leave you alone. We also found out that five months ago he decided to leave Durban for good and get out of the city leading him to his current job on Mnemba Island, where as he explains "Its great, I get to have my feet in the sand every day."
Together the three of us boarded the fast boat and headed for Zanzibar. However, about 1.5 hours in, when we should have been arriving, the engines died. For about the next 5 minutes while they figured out what was happening we just rocked in the middle of the ocean. Additionally may I add, that despite Zanzibarians living on the water, the ferry ride was notoriously known for making them all sea sick. Moving on…..and about 45 minutes later we arrived in Stone Town on one engine instead of two, got in a car and headed to the furthest northern point of the island, Nungwi.
This place was insane. The water was a perfect aqua blue and the powder white, fictional to say the least. If you can imagine an entire town including hotels, bodegas, bars, restaurants, first aid centers, schools, etc all being along one beach you would have Nungwi. The beach was route 80, you had to use it to get from one part of town to the other. At high tide….well either you swam or just stayed put. To add to this amazing place were the people. Let's see, there was Captain TMK (Tanzian Marlin King) The Governor, FBI, Mr. BBQ, Jack Sparrow, Kobe Bryant, and many more. Those were there nick names they introduced themselves as, called each other, and all claimed to be the original.
These guys were great, all they were concerned with was good music, what time people were going to Cholo’s (the beach bar completely made out of boats with a dirt bike suspended in the trees) and whether or not we thought Obama was going to be our next president. Some of the most laid back people we had ever met. After a few evenings with theses guys we said our goodbyes headed to Stown Town for sightseeing and plan to fly out today for our Safari in Selous Game Reserve. Hakuna Matata.

Friday, October 3, 2008

When Cameron when to Egypt Land, let my Cameron GOOOOOO

After all of our experiences in Egypt, Justin and I found ourselves unusually excited to board our Ethiopian Air flight for the 10 hour trip to Tanzania. However, Egypt was not ready to let us go quite yet. After taking a quick flight from Luxor to Cairo we entered the international departure terminal. What we found out was that our fight was moved from the original time of 3:35am to 2:20am. Considering it was only 1:30am we figured if we were quick we could make it. Wrong. Unlike the United States or any other civilized nation, you needed to go through two security checkpoints just to get to the ticket counter. We got through the first but the guard at the second would not let us by. Not knowing what to do I went into panic attack mode, and Justin, business mode, demanding to talk the superior in charge. However, since the only people in Cairo that speak English are the scam artists, we did not get very far. Even with the plane still on the ground and the gate open we had no shot. So we did what we were trained to do, find the nearest Hilton, considering it was 3am by this time, it was definitely the rite choice.
After getting comfortable in our room, and talking to STA about what we should do, we fell asleep, assured we would be able to get on the same flight the following night. The next morning I woke up feeling terrible, with congestion, nausea, and a slight fever. Not a good sign since we had a busy day ahead of us where we had to find the STA travel office in Cairo, get our paper tickets changed, and get on the flight to Tanzania. Once at the travel office we were informed that we could not get on the flight we were promised, and needed to wait to the following night to get out. We realized later that this was not so bad, considering I was not feeling any better. When we arrived back at the hotel I saw the doctor and he informed me that in fact I did not have the west nile virus, which Justin secretly feared I somehow contracted.
This next morning, after ingesting half a pharmacy, I am feeling better and we are praying to leave Egypt. Hopefully we will not have any problems. In the great words of Cameron from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off “When Cameron when to Egypt Land, let my Cameron GOOOOOO.”

"The monuments and felucca ride were great but, GET US OUT OF HERE"

Thanks to our overly luxurious, 18 and a half hour train ride the day before, waking up at 2:30am the next day, seemed the most fitting way to begin day two in Aswan. At such an hour what awaited us was a 3 hour drive to the world renown Abu Simbel, and a boxed breakfast our hotel so conveniently put together for us.
Let's talk about the box breakfast first. This cardboard lunch box, consisted of a hard boiled egg, a warm Tang juice box, and three rolls so tightly saran wrapped that if something had happened to us on the three hour police convoy, it could have been used as a weapon. From first glance you would never be able to tell that this baseball of yeast was bread, let alone 3 separate rolls. The only reason I knew this was because, what else did I have to do. Sleep? Yea right! We were headed directly in the direction of the 15 person kidnapping that happened no more than 5 days earlier. Sleep was not an option, realizing my natural weapons, Bear Grylls style i.e. the “bread baseball” was.
Now for the van ride. This tin can was like the United Nations. Everyone spoke a different language, and only their native tongue, including the driver. This posed many issues, which will be explained later. To make matters stranger a French family was so unhappy with this arrangement that after boarding from their hotel, they demanded to be let off a block later. (To the best of my French translation) What can you expect, they aren't called the French for nothing. Finally after the three hour bus ride in which it went from night to day, leading to our van heating up like an oven, and the driver not understanding air con being yelled at him in 6 different languages, we made it to Abu Simbel.
This to me was one of the coolest monuments yet mainly because it was moved from being completely underwater, and also roughly 4500 years old. However, after we had our 30 minutes of Indian Jones time where I looked for secret passages, and Derek yelled at me to stop touching, we got back on the bus for the three hour ride back to Aswan.
That is where we met our felucca Captain, Ali and his first mate Muhammad, easily remembered because when put together it created..... Our Captain Ali was, 60 yrs old, about 6-3, 145lbs, and had roughly 3 teeth in his entire mouth. This dental fact was easily noticed, presumably because, he was always smiling. I mean if my job for the past twenty years was sailing up and down the Nile, I’d imagine I too would always be smiling, I'd just hope to have a few more teeth in my mouth. Anyway, we boarded and were off, just Derek, myself, and our two sailors on essentially a 25 ft. sail boat. To make matters even better they both spoke surprisingly good English. Once on the Nile we had the pleasure of listing to Ali’s favorite cheesy American music, had many laughs, and found it very funny how interested Ali was to talk to Derek about Scandinavia and the beautiful women who populate it. The Felucca ride truly saved the trip. No, hustlers, great company, and nothing to do but relax. Just enjoying the beautiful surroundings. If you wonder about the bathrooms....Nature was the answer, which was a HUGE step up from the train. The only down side was the "Egyptian meat". I thought it was for the stray dogs that sparsely lined the coast. Wrong!
After two days of real relaxation, we got off the boat, said our good byes, and got in another United Nations-esk van, where everyone spoke some dialect of English and felt the same way about Egypt. "The monuments and felucca ride were great but, GET US OUT OF HERE".

Planes, T-R-A-I-N, and Automobiles

Justin had never been on an extended train ride before.  I had been on a few in Europe and vowed that I would never take a long distance local train again. This is because after experiencing an 6 hour ride that was suppose to be 3 from Florence to Rome I was fuming. So, when Nabil, the owner of Hotel Osiris and the planner for the rest of our time in Egypt, told us he could not get us on the desired express sleeper train for the 12 hour overnight ride from Cairo to Aswan I was, to say the least, a little concerned.  Turns out because it was the end of Ramadan everyone is Egypt was traveling to their home away from Cairo and we were “lucky” to get our “first class” tickets on train 996.  We both asked many times about the quality of the train, how many times it stopped and if the service was normally on time.  Nabil assured us it was a quality train, we would arrive on time, and all we needed to do was “Relax”. We trusted him, big mistake.

            As the dirty, rusty wagons squeaked into the station we looked at ourselves and knew we were in for an interesting journey.  The doors opened the chaos began. Egyptians rushed the doors, all yelling at each other in their native tongue, loading bicycles, tied up cardboard boxes, piles of luggage, and entire families from infants to great grandparents being carried on from their wheelchairs (decathator and all, literally).  When the storm of people began to clear we boarded the train and found our seats.  Luckily, we were not in one of the 6 person cabins but rather in a smaller 3-person cabin, so no matter who else boarded the train, we had the 2-1 advantage on them.

            The “first class” was certainly anything but, before the train even departed we had sanitized our hands a half a dozen times because of how filthy it was, and the seats certainly did not allow for a pleasurable nights sleep.  Then there was the public bathroom, I am not even going to go there just use your imagination then double the filth, no joke.  Now we waited, waited for the other passenger to board and waited for the train to depart, we soon found that waiting was the theme of this journey.  The train scheduled to depart at 10pm did not start moving until 11:15, then it made a stop about every 15 minutes.  Around the third stop a young student joined us in our cabin.  We were relieved to have a “normal” person, so we dozed off with the help of the mini pharmacy from our packs.

            When we regained full consciousness around 8am, we expected to be at our stop in Luxor, thus having only 2 more hours on the train.  When we asked one of the “staff” how much longer, we found out that because of all the stops we were still a good 4 hours from Luxor and at least 7 from Aswan.  Of course this was all “Allah willing” (which seems to be the theme in Egypt, anything goes wrong they blame is on Allah, meaning god did not want them to be on time. We think its just a excuse for their incompetence).             Then the train “waiter” asked us for a tip after telling us the about the 7 hour delay. A tip after telling us our train was a good 7 hours delayed? Ha, might.  However, every couple of hours the “staff” would come by and demand a tip, for what we are unsure, but just to get them to leave us alone we would give them an Egyptian pound (25 cents) and tell them to get lost.  The hours came and went and for the last hour of the ride every member of the “staff” approach our cabin and say, “10 minute to Aswan, tip.”  We were almost ready to kill these people when we got off the train. Finally after 18 and a half hours, it was  4:30pm and we made it to Aswan.  We got in a cab, went to our hotel, which was pretty nice, and went straight for the pool trying to laugh off the experience. Well, we did but also agreed from now on, tourist trains, ONLY! 

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

A wise Egyptian once said, “Man fears time, but time fears the Pyramids”

If you took the largest Pyramid of Giza apart, block-by-block, you could build a ten-foot by one-foot wall around the entire country of France.  This of course was just one of the many fact’s told to us by Hamdee, our pyramid tour guide but more importantly, Egyptian history extraordinaire. From a far he was just another Egyptian, jeans, an old t-shirt, and a snazzy pair of dark sunglasses.  But once you got up close and realized the jumbo size binder he ALWAYS kept close full of Egyptian facts maps and I'm pretty sure mine and Derek’s entire personal history, you would realize he was the man. Appropriately, and to our pronunciation ease, we quickly nick named him “HD” because he was High Definition.  From the step pyramids to the sphinx HD new it all and since our tour began at 7:30am till 3pm he had plenty of time to pump us full of information. 

            The tree major pyramid sites are not very close together. In fact they are several kilometers apart. While it seemed that HD would have carried us on his back from pyramid to pyramid if we wanted, instead we had the pink flower coach as a form of transportation. As if the name wasn't enough it had gigantic flowers all over it and when Derek and I stepped out in our matching yellow Timbo shirts we certainly got some looks, but at the same time a force to reckon with.

            Our highlight of the day was the “small adventure” HD told us about in which he wisely opted to stay in the air-conditioned van. We pulled up to the Dahshur pyramid and HD said, “You guys are young and strong I think you will enjoy the adventure of climbing into the pyramid.” To us it was a no brainier, a chance to be Indiana Jones? I think yes. What were next our legs will never for give us.  Fully crouched and basically leapfrogging down the 60 meter tunnel into the center of the pyramid was truly amazing. I remember looking at Derek and yelling “Can you believe this were 60 meters below the ground and relying on the craftsmen ship of a 4,500 year old structure this thing could fall down on us any moment.” His response, “Ahhh yea Justin I know lets not think about that.” Then there was the climb back up. Holy Sh*T our legs were on fire, it was worse than Timmy Glens endless run, worse than Mr. G’s Greenbrook work out, and most importantly we had to then climb down 50 stairs carved out of sand, with our legs feeling like they could give out at any moment. When we got back to the van, dripping in sweat and gasping for air HD was hysterical and told us in the 10 years he had been doing these tours he has only done that “small adventure” a handful of times.  We certainly walked like an Egyptian.    

In Ancient Hieroglyphics, Cairo is spelt: S-C-A-M.

Justin and I had read that Egypt and particularly Cairo was notorious for its scams and street touts. We didn’t think much of this because we considered ourselves experienced travelers. However, from the moment we got off the plane, where we were unable to find a working ATM, which was needed to purchase our visas, to the fact that no one in customs really cared that we were aimlessly walking around customs, just barely off the tarmac, we realized we were in for a rough few days.
In our guide book there are a number of scams listed, the first one being the hotel scam and of course this was the first one that was thrown at us. Finally, after getting our passport stamped were immediately met by some fat guy with a ridiculous ID card (which looked like it could be made in Mrs. Dormers art class) waiting, and pretending to be some type of government official, asking us where we were staying. We told him “Hotel Osiris” where we had already spoken to the owners and arranged transportation from the airport, in hopes of evading this type of problem. After this he was quick to respond with “Which Osiris, there are two and one is closed, do you have a voucher.” This typical line is right out of our guide book and often used by these types of people because there is only one Osiris, and it is up and running just fine. This guy was trying to make us second-guess ourselves and go with him to a far less hotel where he could get a commission for bringing us to. We caught onto this right away and after about a five-minute argument we walked away and found our driver who was waiting with a sign with our names on it just like home.
We followed him to his cab that felt like a 70’s nightclub inside, complete with a furry dash board, all types of ordainments hanging from the ceiling, an array of red lights, black lights, and strobe lights, but our favorite, about 50 different mirrors where you could see every angle of the road perfectly. Driving from the airport we noticed a good amount of cars on the road, which we though was funny considering it was 1:30am on a Wednesday night. They were all driving like it was a NASCAR race, honking, and swerving lanes as if there were no lane lines at all. We arrived at our hotel shortly after 2am where the owner, Nabil, was waiting for us. He gave us a quick tour around the place and showed us to our room. The beds were comfortable and had great air conditioning. We got a good nights rest in preparation to tackle Cairo in the morning.
After waking up rather late and enjoying a wonderful breakfast high above the skyline, we found out we would not be able to see the pyramids our first day, do to our late start. So we decided to explore Cairo and the Egyptian Museum instead.
We were warned of the numerous street touts and scams by the young guy at the front desk and were told not to talk to anyone because all they would want was money. We had already again read this in our guidebook and were well aware of these scams that could cause us a great inconvenience. Cairo in daylight was unlike anything either of us has ever seen. Imagine the hottest day, mid August, midtown, New York City. Double the amount of people and cars, triple the smog, and add about 15 degrees to the temperature and you get downtown Cairo on a regular basis. We soon concluded that Cairo was the closest thing to hell you can get on earth.
As we sweltered in the sun and could literally see and feel the dirt collecting on our clothes and skin, we walked down the street to the museum were we were approached by the normal papyrus sellers and people asking to be our guides. We avoided all and made our way to the museum where we wondered until we met a man named “Moses” who offered to show us around the museum (for a price of course). One thing that we found particularly shocking was the fact that you had to bribe the museum guards in order to see certain exhibits. For instance, to get to King Tutankhamen’s room you had to walk up a set of stairs that was blocked by guards, and to get by the guards you had to give a few Egyptian pounds. Call me crazy but isn’t that suppose to be included in the entrance fee and shouldn’t any person in a uniform be fired for taking bribes? Nope, not in Egypt just another normal part of life that which we unfortunately got more accustomed to.
As we left the museum we looked for a place to eat. After wondering the streets for a solid half hour we found nothing. During this time a young man approached us with perfect English, greeting us to Egypt and asking if we were looking for anything particular. We said nothing particular and he pointed us to an area where there were more shops and things to look at because apparently we were walking into a bad area of town (as if the whole town wasn’t bad enough). This interaction introduced us to Cairo’s famous “art of scamming,” and the beginning of scam number 2.
After a short conversation that went relatively well this mystery man disappeared. We continued down the way he pointed us. No later then 3 minutes from his “vanishing act,” he reappeared in front of us and struck up conversation again, “My friends from New York we meet again, let me take you to the good shopping area,” it all became apparent now and we thought, oh great here we go scam number 2, but, lets go along with it, maybe we will get a laugh. On the way, this con man offered to show us his shop and car that was parked out front of it. He said,
“This is my shop, come in for some tea, no money, just “Egyptian hospitality.” Sure buddy, we enter and he shows us a ticket stub from New York “My brother lives in New York, here look I love it very much,” then comes a picture of Muhammad Ali “This is my father with Muhammad Ali, American yes? When he come to my shop, he sat right there, my father imports these fragrances to United States for Bath and Body Works, you hear?”
After this story and more meaningless conversation we had heard enough. We tried to leave but he didn’t let us and got hostile about us not accepting his tea. So we sat down, signed his visitor’s book and drank the tea as he began trying to sell us perfumes, which we refused and got up and leave. He then gets even more hostile and blocked the door, demanding we pay for our tea. We gave him a couple of pounds for the tea and got on our way cursing him as we left his shop. This was only the first of many similar schemes where people approached you and pretend to be your friend just to get you into their shop. We saw half a dozen similar scams that day and later that night a different guy gave us the exact same story, pointed to the exact same car, and to the exact same shop we laughed at him and told us how the rest of the scheme would work out and he didn’t know what to say. We felt accomplished that we got one back on these thieves.
Besides from the scams you could not find anything in Cairo, not even a place to eat, a decent internet café, or a nice enough place to sit and enjoy a sheesha (which Egypt is famous for) As we returned to our hotel completely exhausted with upset stomachs (because we were forced to eat KFC and Pizza Hut for our meals) we watched the dirt rinse off in the shower and got excited about seeing the pyramids the next morning.

Friday, September 26, 2008

"Don't worry they're friendly"

It was day 5 for Derek and I and we had just sat down for breakfast. The Germans who had come along for the trip from Marrakesh to Taghazout ( a small surf and fishing village), stayed back at the shady apartment we rented. Over a juice de orange, and a fresh loaf of bread we discussed what we thought of Morroco. Overall, we agreed that Morac was interesting, beautiful, and friendly, but our trip was missing something. That something was answered later that afternoon when went to check a surf spot called Devils rock. Pulling up to the spot, it was hard to see the surf, through the distractions of a "hash salesmen" who was without a shirt, in swishy gym teacher pants, and had on a weird baseball cap which read along the lines of # 1 Uncle. However, once we got out of the car our mood quickly changed because the surf was pumpin. 4 to 6ft, 6 guys in the water, and only 2 who could actually surf. That is where Imad came in. Imad was skinny Morocan man, with an extremly energetic voice, a white tank top (scattered with fishblood) and board shorts. Before we could say anything, he pointed to his tank top, then to the two fish hanging from the celing, smiled, and said dinner mate. A British accent on a Morrocan man? Can't be. Actually it can be, Imad learned his PERFECT english from working for a british surf camp years before. Immediatly we were fast freinds, and he treated us like we had know each other for years. He rented us his own private boards for cheap, and we arranged a full-day surf tour with him for the next day. Imad owned a small surf shack on the right hand side of the beach, right next to devils rock, where we could hang when we weren't in the water. The surf was perfect and the next day on our tour was just as good. Out in the water Imad, who also surfed great, would encourage us to surf well and tell us about the three meter hammerhead sharks that live right around where we were surfing. "Dont worry" Imad said, "they're friendly." Great waves, good friends, and no one in the water. Sounds straight out of the Endless Summer film, but it was just that good. Later that day we said good bye to Imad and the Germans, spent one more night in Agadir and headed off to Cairo. On the plane Derek and I offically decided Morocco "rocced". ( we are such losers)

Thursday, September 25, 2008

"No Reservations" try Marrakesh

Anthony Bordane would most certainly tip his hat to us. Shortly after 6, just as the sun was setting, but before the Moroccan people could break fast (Ramadan)  it seemed as if hell was breaking loose in the Marrakesh Medina.  The beginning of the day was by no means was quiet, however we could not believe what was happening before our eyes, more importantly in a span of about 15 minutes.  Marrakesh’s Djemaa el-Fna (roughly the size of five football fields) which mainly housed Moroccan snake charmers, tourists, and a few local groups of Moroccan kids playing foot ball by day, was being infiltrated. We had heard that there were no rules in the medina but never expected what was going on in front of us. Carts driven by donkeys, 1987 Mercedes, motor bikes with far to many people on them, and rusty Isuzu trucks, came from all angles. This was followed by a lot of smoke, yelling, car horns, and banging, but when the smog cleared, tent after tent , row upon rows remained, and as our Lonely Planet explains it, this is “one of the world greatest spectacles.”  Surrounding this labyrinth of tents offering food from traditional lamb skewers to goat tagine, were sideshows, storytellers and guys dressed ridiculously who asked you to take a picture of them for some money.

            As we approached this manifestation of craziness, men in white coats, which was a step up from white boxer briefs, began approaching us and trying to convince us to eat at their stand.  Eventually after we shopped around and sat at who we though was the best salesman, (mainly because of his Obama pin, “random”) we began our first real Moroccan feast. In actuality there was no reason for them to even bring us menus because no matter what you order they bring you what they want. For example Derek doesn’t eat salad nor did I want salad that evening, so when we did not order it, we were surprised to receive not only salad but olives and some strange dipping sauce. We thought, this must be a language mistake, but when the same thing continued with the rest of our meal, repeating itself the next night, we learned, this was the way it was. Your crazy waiter sizes you up and picks what you will eat. This would have been a big deal, but since it only cost about 5 to 7 dollars each, it was all good. From salad, to soup, to fish, to meat, to chicken to mint tea we feasted trying some and not touching others. No body left hungry.

             After two days in Marrakesh and zero surfing thus far, we decided to head back down the coast and hope for some better waves. The German’s obviously came with. 

Monday, September 22, 2008

Com'on take a Hammam

Similar to Americans, Moroccans too, enjoy a good day at the spa. Being that Derek and I are sporting gentlemen, who will at all costs do our best to immerse our selves into the native culture, felt it necessary to test out a traditional Turkish Bath, otherwise known as a Hamman. According to our guide books a Hamman was the Moroccan version of a full body treatment that rejuvenates, exfoliates and cleanses your skin. Since we were becoming such good friends with the Germans, we thought it would be fun to all go together. After deciding that the cleanliness factor of the local Hamman was a bit below our standards, we decided to upgrade to one of the nicer “touristic” Hammans in Essaouira.             

            At the end of a long skinny cobblestone alleyway stood a small illuminated green wooden door. Beside the door was one of the biggest Morrocans I had seen yet, waiting  to greet us and escort us to the locker room. Everything was going great. Having to be the first, as usual, I stripped down to my board shorts and ran into the gigantic tile sauna, soon followed by Michael, and Stefan. Derek, also sticking to his normal qualities spent a little more time carefully folding his clothes and locking them up meeting us in the sauna a few minutes later. However, the expression on his face, followed by his first words will forever remain in my mind. “Hey guys remember that huge guy who greeted us….well he’s stripping down….I think he might also be coming in. WRONG! He was the guy administering the treatment. The pretty Moroccan women in a crisp white dress I had envisioned had immediately been ripped from my imagination and replaced with a 6 foot 4, 300 pound, Moroccan man in nothing but white boxer briefs! His resemblance to the character of Big Black from Rob and Big was overwhelming, and the fact that he had a tiny assistant (also in boxer briefs) made the whole situation even more ironic. Lucky for Derek and I we got the tiny assistant. The Germans on the other hand….. However to this day (three days later) they still claim the big guy was more authentic and passionate at administering the Hamman

            Essentially the actual process of the Hamman  requires you to sweat for a while, then get lathered up by a special black soap, followed by a  scrubbing preformed by a special glove, that leaves your skin nearly bleeding. This, of coarse is all preformed by another man, preferably 6ft 4 in nothing but white boxer briefs. Because the whole process takes place in the sauna, we got to watch and laugh at each other. We looked at it as a “team building experience,” that may have been responsible for the Michael and Stefan deciding to join us on the rest of our Moroccan journey.   The next day, feeling clean and violated, we all got in our “ford fiesta” and headed to Marrakesh,  Stefan did the driving.