Encore in Amsterdam, Netherlands

MARCH 25, 2013

"I'm gonna write you a letter
I'm gonna write you a book
I wanna see your reaction
I wanna see how it looks
From way up on your cloud
You're never coming down
Are you getting somewhere?
Or did you get lost in Amsterdam?"
- Amsterdam, by Guster

All packed.  Ready to go.  On my way to The States.  Almost.

When you’re traveling for business or need to get to your destination, you look for the shortest flight with little or no layovers.  When you have absolutely nowhere to be and plenty of time to get there the strategy is bit different and I managed to score eight hours of layover in Amsterdam.  It has been five years since I’ve been here and I forgot how much I absolutely love the vibe of this city.  It’s all bicycles and kittens.  Seriously.  I have the photos to prove it. 

Lemme get this straight - I can live on a boat AND have a garden AND be a bike commuter?

While on the street staring dumbfounded at a map, I met an amazing traveler.  Actually it was woman who has managed to pull of the travelers dream by landing a job abroad.  She too was on a layover, which was good for me.  Good because her layover was shorter than mine and up until this point I had the thought that trying to explore Amsterdam in eight hours may have been a bit crazy.  But now that I found someone else with the same plan, my stop seemed totally normal. We walked together back to the train station and on to the airport.  It was time for my journey to come to an end and to board that flight to Detroit. 

Much like going to Venice without riding a gondola or Nepal without trekking, I leave Amsterdam without getting stoned.  Life is to short for bothering with others’ expectations and interests.  I am comfortable with my own path.

                                        -  End, Chapter 5 of my life -

Desert Silence in Dubai, U.A.E.

MARCH 24, 2013

Last day of real travel.  The common question folks have been asking me is, “Are you ready to go back?” to which I can definitively say, “No.”  Most everything about my travels have been wonderful, which I hope has been made clear by my writings. 

As you can tell by the shading I'm pretty much and expert photographer

The one thing I will miss the least about my travels is the constant, never ending stream of lies told by merchants in an attempt to get my business.  You perhaps read a while back about my papaya smoothie incident in Sri Lanka.  There could literally be a story like that every day.  Today I got screwed one last time before hitting the road.

I'm no civil engineer but that right turn from the center lane may have been a bad idea

I asked my hotel to arrange for a desert “safari” which is to say a four wheel drive trip in to the desert.  A traveler I met told me how the desert silence is unlike any silence I’ve ever heard.  Or not heard.  Or however I’m supposed to word that.

After all this time surrounded by skyscrapers and rich people I was ready for one final escape into nature.  I knew, and was indifferent to, the fact that the hotel would gouge me a bit on pricing.  The only thing I was adamant about was that I was not part of some large group circus-like off road expedition and that this would be a small group of two or three vehicle.  “No problem!  Very small.  Very small.” I was told.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Not until after I paid and was driven an hour out of town did I realized we were part of a convoy of 12 vehicles from the tour company I was with and part of a larger group with about 60 vehicles in total.  There would be no silence.  Only a desert baja expedition with four rowdy Saudi men in back who kept urging the driver to go faster, launch off of bigger dunes and be more and more reckless.  It would have been so cool if I were 16 years old.  I’m not.  I wanted it to end.

The dune jumping session was followed by a trip to some camp in the middle of the desert complete with buffet food, dancers, hookahs, open bar and really terrible faux-arab dance music.  It was hell, though a funny way to end my trip when you think about it.  Most people start with organized tours then maybe work out to venturing out in to some type of solo travel adventure.  Three months ago I landed in Sri Lanka and wandered the central highland mountains by myself. Today I sit eating prepared Western food as part of a tour package.  Of course it wasn’t all bad – I got to see cleavage for the first time in three months. 

And who doesn't love fake Russian cleavage, really?

Concrete in Dubai, U.A.E.

MARCH 24, 2013

The souk (market) in Buraymi.

My baller hotel room

After leaving Sohar I headed to the border town of Burami on the Oman side, just across from Al Ain on the Unite Arab Emirates side.  Hotels in Al Ain were about three times as much as the ones in Burami, so you can guess where I stayed.  It was still, without question, my nicest accommodations in the six months I’ve been traveling.  And you know what?  I didn’t enjoy it.  My room had three showers and I would have traded two of them for a decent meal. 

When this adventure began I was traveling dirtbag style because of budget.  Now I think I’ve grow to actually like it.  Burami, Al Ain and my present location of Dubai have a lot to offer the European traveler, though I’ve enjoyed very little of it.  There’s no culture here.  Or, arguably, there’s too much culture here if you count every little shop and restaurant that tries to serve the food from a dozen different regions of the world and fails at all of them.

Look, concrete!

It’s also clear to me that I don’t belong in a big city.  This place has “only” 2 million people spread over 30 miles of shoreline, and it still seems stuffy to me.  The highlights of my visit included a lazy day on the beach and finding a little gritty dive restaurant serving Bangladesh food.  The rest I could have done without.  Many travelers I’ve met along the way seem to zip from one country to the next as if to check a box and say they’ve been there.  This is how my time in the Middle East has panned out.  I can say I’ve been here.  That’s about it.   

I see sea shells by the sea shore.

Majilis in Sohar, Oman

MARCH 18, 2013

"We put in the hearts of those who followed him kindness and mercy."

- The Quran

The take their beach soccer and volleyball seriously in Oman.

After a pair of uneventful days in the capital city of Muscat, Oman, I feel a real need to get out of town.  Culture shock has hit me a bit.  Not the language.  Not the people.  Not the customs.  Just the fact that I’m in a relatively big city with big wide roads and supermarkets with florescent lights and everything that reminds me of my own country that I will soon be returning to.  I find a bus that gets me further down the coast and I arrive in Sohar, Oman knowing nothing more than it is smaller than Muscat and slightly closer to my final destination of Dubai. 

My bus drops me off just outside of city proper at a big travel station, with gas pumps and restaurants.  There isn’t a taxi in sight.  I’m sweaty.  Very, very, sweaty.  The heat here in Oman is stifling.  The day starts around Balls Hot with a bit of humidity and progresses mid-day to Just Stupid Hot with zero humidity.  Absolutely nothing takes place outside between the hours of 12 and 5.  It’s 4.  I’m outside.  

I head in to the gas station to see if they’ll call me a cab, not knowing where I’ll tell it to go.  In my mind, Sohar was a little more “quaint” and manageable and the solution would just present itself.  And it did.

The guy behind me in line asks me to wait outside and he will take me.  I am a bit unclear what is going on since he’s rocking a tshirt and shorts while every other taxi driver in Oman seemed to be dressed in the formal white Muslim gowns that the men wear.

The fish is wearing sunglasses.  That's how bright the sun is here.

He motions me into his car.  It is not a taxi.  At this point in my trip I have started to make two assumptions about most people.  First, they aren’t going to kill me.  Second, they will try to sell me something at three to ten times the actual price.  This guy has nothing to sell.  Nor does he strike me as a killer.  Yet.  

 I get in.

No sooner do we get out of the parking lot does he say that he has to make a quick stop to check on his business.  Great.  Who knows where this is going.  We turn down a dirt road where his buddies are waiting to sack me and…  Well.  And nothing.  He shows me his two new football (i.e. soccer) fields he’s building.  The full size natural grass one is already operational with pick up game going on now.  The second small field for 7-on-7 play is under construction.  He shows me the lighting rigs and how the artificial turf won’t do and how he’s got some fancy new stuff coming in from China.  It was not the stop I was expecting.

He asks if I like coffee.  I don’t.  But I say yes when I find out he also owns a couple coffee shops.  So we stop at his coffee shop and I’m expecting to get billed $10 for my 3 oz tea cup.  Nope.  His treat.

By now we’re 45 minutes in and the only hotel we check out is some fancy $300 per night deal on the sea that he laughs at knowing that my budget is a full decimal point removed from that. 

The shoreline by The Cornish in Sohar, Oman

In fairness, at some point in here he asks if I am in a hurry and I tell him I’m not since I’m having a blast with this guy like we’re buddies cruising around town and catching up on old times.  I teach him the word “entrepreneur” and he explains he has to work at the Honda dealership until these businesses take off. 

After the entrepreneur comment he is compelled to show me his latest business venture – one that inspires me to create some version of his theme back in the US.  It’s all dirt and concrete right now, but he wants to make a hangout where people can go for two our three hours after work and relax.  It’s brilliant.  Crammed in about two acres of space is a stable for two horses, a volleyball court, a covered TV room, a billiard room, a play space for kids and a kitchen.  It’s exactly the kind of space I plan to create …though mine will likely have less horses.  Here he is explaining the concept.

Our ride ends more than three hours after it starts when he finds the cheapest hotel about 10 km outside of town where he talks the desk guy down from 25 to 18 Omani Real ($50 USD) and gets me set up.  He insists that I call him the next day for a ride back to town.  When I call the next day and he is busy, he sends a porter from the Honda dealership to pick me up and drop me off at the beach.

When is the last time something like that happened to someone you know in America?  No, in America we’d call the police on the dark-skinned Muslim and turn him in for an alleged attempted abduction and miss out on the good tea and conversation.

Flight Layover in Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emrites

MARCH 15, 2013

Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates

A.M.

This is not the first time I’ve set myself up for failure.  It’s just the worst.

The shoreline of Abu Dhabi in the morning fog.

OMG! How did they know?!  Oh... its in a travel mag.

The Masdar City taxis

Like any city of the future, there was a Caribou Coffee

Many times on my journey, my poor planning has led to some sketchy situations.  Getting off track in an industrial area of Italy, I was tracked by a couple of questionable characters.  Wandering into a local bar in Sarajevo, I was out numbered and outsized by a hundred drunken Bosnian men who weren’t too happy to see me.  And today, my lack of planning has led me to the worst of all environments for a guy like me – an upscale shopping mall in Abu Dhabi. 

In plotting my route back to the U.S. from Nepal, I ran into several logistics issues.  First, India does not allow reentry, blocking all land routes to the south.  Second, China closed the border to Tibet, blocking all land and air routes to the north.  Third, one of my crisp U.S. dollar bills required for my Nepalese visa was ripped and declined at the border, giving me only enough cash for a 15 day visa and not the 30 day as originally intended.  With limited time, and limited flight options, I chose to visit the Middle East on my way home.  This too was tricky and many of the countries that have open borders, like Syria and Lebanon, are not the safest to visit, and others, like Israel had no cheap flight options.  In the end, I booked a flight from Kathmandu, Nepal to Muscat, Oman with a one day layover in Abu Dhabi, U.A.E.  From Oman I’ll drive to Dubai, U.A.E. and fly to the U.S.  Got it?  Great. 

It’s 10:00 am on a Friday.  Friday is a Muslim holiday.  90% of this city is closed to tourists, including, unironically, all the beautiful mosques I want to visit.  In my mind, this trip to the Middle East would be a continuation of the wonderful experience I had in Amman, Jordan this past December.  There would be lots street vendors, wonderful hummus and authentic Arab food.  Instead, stuck in the only place that’s open – a shopping mall.  I’ve got the droning beat of mall techno music and the smell of leather.  Outside is the most wealth I’ve ever seen.  Luxury SUVs are the norm and even my taxi was pimped out nicer than any car I’ll ever own.  This is hell. 

P.M.

The Grand Mosque

I rallied and saved this day.  After leaving the mall I caught a cab to Masdar City.  The futuristic city located inside Abu Dhabi.  It was futuristic alright.  In addition to every kind of alternative energy you’ve ever heard of, I got to ride in an electric taxi with no driver.  It was like The Jetsons.

From there I found a little corner of the city where everything wasn’t bright and shiny and rich.  It was a little café where I could once again hang with the locals and eat ethnic food with my hands.  It was nice to finally see “real” people too. 

After that I went to the Grand Mosque.  Pictures do not do this place justice.  It makes The Taj Mahal look impoverished.  Like everything else in this city, no expense was spared. 

Wow.  Not bad for layover, eh.  Beats Chicago O'Hare  I need sleep.

Shivaratri in Pokhara, Nepal

MARCH 10, 2013

 

One night we were leaving a restaurant and saw a big gathering in the street. There were lots of really loud explosions.  After my experience in Greece, and knowing that Pokhara was close due to a strike only days earlier, I was hesitant to investigate.  In the states, large groups of people accompanied by explosions are to be avoided.  Here?  We decided to investigate.

"Tractor left! Water buffalo right!"

As we drew closer we could see a big fire in the street and people waving canes, or something.  In East Lansing it would have been just another Saturday night.  Anywhere else it was cause to worry – but no one was.  Everyone on the street was smiling and in a good mood.

I meet some local kids (including a U of Michigan fan!) who explain the situation.  It was Maha Shivaratri.  Maha = big/the biggest; Shiva = Hindu God;  Ratri = night.  Every month the god Shiva is celebrated.  This night was the biggest of the year celebrating Shiva’s birthday.  

This and the pic below are from a bike ride we took 8 miles out of town.

Back in Kathmandu there was tons of pot smoking going on (I’m told – and believe it since you can’t walk 100 meters without getting offered weed or hash).  Here in Pokhara they were taking 6 foot lengths of sugar cane, heating them in the coals of the fire, then swinging and smashing them on the ground.  The heated sugar water in the cane violently explodes on impact leaving the sweet smell of carmalized sugar in the air.  It was so bizarre.  I’m totally brining loads of cane to the next bon fire party I go to in the states. 

Hike to Sarangut, Nepal

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MARCH 11, 2013

Today we ventured out.   A two-and-a-half hour hike got us to the top of Sarangut, the big hill (mountain?) that looms over Pokhara.  Here are the views.

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Maybe, possibly, a golden eagle.  Two landed close to us and their wings were easily 6 or 7 feet across

Full Yoko in Pokhara, Nepal

MARCH 9, 2013

This leg of my trip was pretty chill.  Theresa and I basically pulled a John and Yoko.  Except she isn’t ugly and didn’t break up my band.  And we wore clothing the whole time.  And we really never talked about World Peace.  Okay, maybe our experience was nothing like John and Yoko.  Maybe we were just a bit lazy.  This was partially to blame on both of us having pretty bad cases of the flu to start our journey and partly on account of our other travels.  Theresa left the US in September and has been globe trotting all over the place.  I left “home” in September and the US in December. 

By the time we got to Pokhara it was just nice to relax.  

We read.  We did yoga.  We jogged.  And we were perhaps the only westerners in the history of travel to go to Pokhara and not hike the Anapurna Circuit.  Oh, well.  Next time. 

Besides, Lennon could never grow a beard like this. 

This is the house cat at Bamboo, an Australian-owned cafe.  The rain was hammering the tin roof and the cat didn't know what to do.

Everyone together: "Awwwwwwwe"

If I had a view like this, I too would gladly live under a tarp.

Beat Up in Pokhara, Nepal

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MARCH 7, 2013

I got a massage today.  Or, more accurately, I paid for massage today.  I’m not sure what I got.  No, nothing sexual.  It was the opposite of sexual.  That is, unless you’re into torture in the bedroom. 

Pewa Lake, Pokara, Nepal.  There were more boats sunk than floating.

My new home office for the next week

From the start, it was awkward.  Like other massages I’ve gotten in Central Asia, a woman walks in the room point to me and says, “Take off.”  Clothing that is.  But how much?  Pertinent to this part of our story is that monkeys stole my boxers back in Rishikesh and I began my travel with only two pair – comfortable boxers and super tight brief that were to be used only for running.  I was wearing the briefs.  So I strip down to the briefs and pause waiting for my next instructions to get naked or get on the table.  “Face down,” with a drill instructor’s kindness. 

Pothead culture is alive and well in Pokhara

What followed next is hard to describe.  I mean, I’ve only spent about 500 hours of my life studying anatomy, physiology and kinesiology and I would need another 5,000 hours to properly describe the beating I took.

Let’s back up a second.  Its worth mentioning that I am no stranger to deep tissue massages.  Back in Mpls I used to massage therapists.  Kristi gave a solid deep tissue massage and took me to a level 8 on the pain scale, while Dana, also a friend, would actually taunt me sometimes and take it to a 10.  This bit*# in Pokhara took it to 11.  And in the weirdest of ways. 

By now I have received enough massages in the east to know that there are just some different thing they do – like pin your arm down by interlocking their fingers in yours.  There was also all the usual stuff that makes body work painful, like wrenching on my IT band and chronically over-worked calves.  But there was more to it than that. 

In the U.S. she would have been run out of the business for practicing medicine without a license as I received what might be called a chiropractic adjustment.  More like twenty chiropractic adjustments.  Some of them were legit adjustments I recognized from my time strapped on the rack with Doctor Burns.  Others…. well….  okay, how about this.  I’m lying there prone (face down) and she bends one knee, stabilizes that hip with her one arm, then lifts that femur (top half of the leg) with her other arm swooping it to the side then up to the sky until something – somewhere – snaps like a decent size tree branch.  Glad I did my dynamic warm ups before and restorative yoga after my run today.  Any normal hip flexor would have snapped.  Thankfully I’m hypermobile in some joints.

Here’s another one for you.  I’m again prone and she’s sitting on my ass working on my spine.  Go ahead, you can re-read that last sentence but I promise that you read it right the first time – she’s sitting on my ass.  Then, to stabilize my sacrum (that lowest part of your spine that connects to your pelvis) I swear to Allah that she rolled forward and planted her pubic bone square in my back and then proceeded to work her way up my thoracic (upper-middle) spine to my neck popping one or two vertebra at a time.  

Immediately after the body work I felt like hell.  Sure, that morning I had my long run of the week which beat me down a bit.  But it was still rough.  However, by the end of the night I felt like a champ again.  Maybe I’ll go back for another session tomorrow.  Or not.

Concrete outdoor ping pong table.  Brillant.

Post Script:   The benefit of posting an outdated blog is I get to have post-facto updates like this (today being March 12 now).  Tonight I ate dinner at a street cart.  It was the best food of the trip, though I’ll spare you the details.  Mid way through the meal it starts to pour rain and we are invited to finish the meal in the barber shop, naturally.  So we’re sitting there in the barber shop eating dinner (Theresa is literally in a barber’s chair and I’m standing off to the side) and we can’t help but watch the guy getting his hair cut.  The whole shop is only as wide as the one car garage door that covers the front and keeping the rain out and it can’t be more than 10 feet wide.  After hair cut and shave the barber starts doing bodywork on the guy.  It starts with a nice little head and neck rub then turns into a rather violent arm massage.  Then the barber puts the guy in basically a half nelson and cracks his neck.  Hard.  This whole process gets repeated on the other side.  It was the oddest thing I’ve ever seen.  Apparently everyone in town provides chiropractic adjustments as part of their service offering.  I got out of there with my beard intact, without risk of paralysis.