Never Fly Alitalia Airlines

Good grief...

The Z-List

I have a long list of places to visit. I break them down into smaller lists. There's an A-List; places that I want to go right now if possible (Spain, China, Italy), a B-List: places that are on my mind and would like to visit but it's not so urgent (India, Ireland, Morocco), and so on down the line.

I also have a Z-List, places where I'd rather not go. You can take a guess which countries those would be. Iraq? Check. Afghanistan? Check. Detroit? You betcha. (I kid you, Motown...)

Which is what makes this NY Times article all the more inspiring; A group of middle-aged and older tourists on a tour of Iraq. Yes, that place we invaded six years ago. Where that madman Saddam reigned for so long. And they survived!

The danger that comes with going to such a war-torn country intrigues me. Yet I'd rather not travel to a dangerous place for the sake of going to a dangerous place. I want to go somewhere to immerse myself, to soak in the people and culture. Could I do that if I'm constantly wondering, "Could I actually die today?" and ask that question without being dramatic? I don't think I can.

I'm being honest. I cannot see myself finding the will to book a flight to Baghdad International Airport on Kayak. That doesn't mean I don't have the curiosity. Turns out there aren't any flights going there at this time.

Maybe in a few years, when the violence has dissipated and the fears subsided, I'll move Iraq up from the Z-List to the S-List. It could happen.

For those reading, what's on your "Z-List"? Where wouldn't you go? And what would it take for you to think about going there?

Travels With Pandora

Pandora doesn't have a world music catalog (yet), but you can still create wonderful Latin-themed stations.

Thinking about a trip to Argentina? Fire up the Pandora and launch a Tango station. Feeling like laying on the beach in Rio? Plan your trip while listening to Jobim or Astrud Gilberto in the background. Or Samba, if you're in a dancing mood. Maybe you're in a Spanish mood. How about some Gipsy Kings flavor?

Pandora now carries Celtic, Zydeco and Hawaiian music. And soon (I hope) we'll have African, Indian and who knows what else?

If you have Pandora stations with a world music flair, please share. I'm always looking for more.

Wa-Wa

(This is second of four essays that I had been meaning to write about my Thailand/Malaysia trip. These were essays that were just too good to fire off quickly. And since I have a bit of free time, I thought I'd work on them. Hope you enjoy.)



I sink in a leather recliner with my feet up. Matilda is working on my toes. That's not her real name, but it helps me through the foot massage.

The recliner is in a massage parlor in Jalan Petaling. As this is my first full day in Malaysia, I have no idea what this area is like. I had spent a week all over Thailand prior to arriving; A week filled with foot massages. Glorious foot massages. My feet had never felt more alive. But this isn't Thailand, and Matilda is caressing my right heel. I close my eyes and sigh. This place isn't so bad. I get can used to another few days of this...

As I open my eyes, Matilda pauses to look up at me. She winks. That's odd. Is this Malaysian custom? Lonely Planet said nothing about the locals being this friendly. Matilda goes back to work. I steal a glance. To put it gently, she is not attractive. She should be pushing carts at dim sum. That doesn't matter. As long as she can make me feel at peace, I'm fine with this.

She stops working and stands. She spreads her arms wide open. "Full body!" She exclaims. She winks again. I'm concerned, but I'm too relaxed. Why give my feet all the pleasure? My back aches, my neck is stiff and my arms are tense. I nod my head. Full body, indeed.

Matilda leads me up a flight of stairs that creak with each step. She leads me into a dim room, separated by dividers. She gestures for me to take off my shirt. Really, my shirt? I don't remember doing this in Chiang Mai. Are you sure this is really necessary? Don't I just put on a robe or something? Matilda continues her gesturing, so off comes the shirt. She winks, and I start to crave shrimp dumplings.

After 15 minutes of rubbing my back, Matilda takes a step back and asks me to remove my shorts. Hold on. Now I KNOW this sort of thing didn't happenin Phuket. Matilda gestures some more. In the adjacent room, a man and a woman breathe heavily. My mind wanders. I feel a chill. Matilda has succeeded in removing my shorts. I don't even remember taking them off for her.

I feel a tug. Matilda is going for the briefs, but the money belt is preventing her. She laughs as she undos the belt. She kisses my ear and whispers, "Wa-wa?"

I snap out of my daze. Wa-wa? What the heck does that mean? Is she asking if I want a glass of water? Does she want an extra hour to massage me? Is she offering steamed buns? I freeze. I don't want to know what wa-wa is. Not now, not ever. I spill off the table as I pull up my briefs. "NO WA-WA! NO!"

Matilda stares back in horror. The heavy breathing next door has stopped. The entire parlor is silent. I fish for some ringgits in my money belt before fastening it back on. Matilda is confused. "No wa-wa?" She asks, as if nobody has ever refused her wa-wa. "No. I'm done." She shrugs and returns my sandals, along with a handful of grape chewy candies for my troubles.

I step out of the parlor, into the sunshine. I stop at an outdoor Chinese restaurant. I sit waiting for my fried rice, making a note to myself that if anyone should offer me wa-wa at some point, to run. Run like hell.

Twitters

To cleanse myself of my addiction, I have been refraining from Facebook for the past few weeks. In its place, I have been Twittering.

I didn't "get" Twitter for a while. What can't I do on Twitter than I can do when updating my Facebook status? Isn't it the same thing? I was so wrong.

While Facebook allows you to make friends, Twitter lets you follow people. You can follow anybody: athletes, musicians, Sith Lords...you name it. You can even stalk your favorite taco truck, have its updates sent to your mobile, and chase it like a great white whale.

But for Travel Junkies, Twitter is a gift from the heavens. You can find great deals, travel articles, ideas for you next trip. More importantly, you can build your network. You'll meet fellow Travel Junkies, read their tweets. You'll make new friends in far away places that will but you a beer when you visit.

I've only been on Twitter for a short while, but it's already paying off. For the first time in months, I'm moved to start writing in this blog, with regularity. It's a beautiful thing.

And since you're here, how about following me?

No Vegas and More

I'm staying home for March Madness for the first time in six years. The new job won't give me time off until April, and also? No money to play with.

I'm bummed, but not totally. I'll just save the money I would have spent this weekend on a better trip. NYC? Bay Area? Who knows.

As for the Next Big Trip, I've pretty much settled on a destination. Now I just need to start saving up...and brush up on my Greek.

The Cobra Has Two Pennies

(This is first of four essays that I had been meaning to write about my Thailand/Malaysia trip. These were essays that were just too good to fire off quickly. And since I have a bit of free time, I thought I'd work on them. Hope you enjoy.)



Cousin Pinky booked me a tour for my first day in Thailand. She tells me I'll see the Floating Market, an Elephant Farm and a Cobra Show. "Whatever," I think. "I haven't slept in 24 hours. I haven't eaten. I smell funny. I'll see anything. I just want to see the real Thailand."

It's 7am, and I'm in a minivan with two old Chinese men and an Indian family. We leave Bangkok, and head toward the rural outskirts of the city. We pass by immaculate portraits of His Royal Higness, Rama IX. With each picture, everyone in the van snaps their cameras. I am tempted to ask if this is necessary. One picture of the King should be enough. Unless you need a shot of him facing left AND right. I brush it aside and put my iPod on full blast.

The minivan stops at a dock with several motorboats. The boats take us down a winding canal, to the Floating Market. We are given a choice: Pay 150 Baht (Roughly $5 US) to board a canoe and have a villager paddle us around while we shop, or pay nothing and sit on a bench for 90 minutes. I pay the 150 Baht. What's five dollars to me right now? This is my first day in a new country. I want to experience Thailand!

After 30 minutes of having my guide lead me past other canoes filled with tourists and merchants, I ask him to take me back. As I sit on the bench, munching on sandwiches that Pinky prepared in the morning, I spot a canoe of tourists, all wearing straw hats purchased minutes before. I sigh. That could have been me in a funny hat. That could have been me purchasing a bushel of mangoes for 100 bucks. That could have been me buying a minature wooden elephant for 50 dollars. I'd be out of money on the first day, but at least I'd be happy...



It's 11 am, and we head to the Elephant Farm. We, again, are given a choice; Pay 600 Baht to ride an elephant through the jungle, pay an extra 150 baht to feed the beast of bunch of bananas, or pay nothing and stand around and have the employees walk up to you and attempt to solicit a 200 Baht donation. I shell out 750 Baht. To ride and feed. What's 25 dollars to me? I want the real Thailand!



The ride takes 30 minutes. The trail is a loop around a paved road, through a mud pit and some trees. Two-thirds of the way, the guide, perched on the elephants neck, reaches behind him and grabs the bananas. He feeds the elephant MY bananas. The bananas that I purchased. MY bananas. I want to yell at the guide, but his back is to me. "Why didn't you let me feed them?" I quietly scream at the back of his head. "I'M supposed to feed him. I didn't come halfway around the world to have somebody deny me the joy having an elephant swipe bananas from my hands. Give me back my bananas, damnit!!"

The guide turns back. "Oh crap, he must have heard me," I think. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a plastic baggie. Inside the baggie are two metallic elephants. I have no idea what they are supposed to be. They look like earrings. They could be cuff links. "200 Baht," The guide says. I stare at him. "I don't know what these are." "150 Baht." He replies. I've had enough. "No, I don't want." The guide makes a motion with his hands. He mimics eating a bowl of rice. I'm guessing this is the universal sign for "I need to eat." I'm tempted to ask, "Why didn't you just take my bananas?" I bite my tongue. I just want off this elephant...

It's 2pm and we pull into the Cobra show. We're tired. The Indian family has put away their cameras and look like they're about to pass out. The minivan driver turns to us. "This show is REALLY good! Cobras! Very scary! 200 Baht!" The Chinese men throw up their hands in disgust.

We're led to an amphitheater, enclosing a large pit. Behind the pit is the stage, where the emcee stands behind a podium. He holds up a faded picture of a man. "A few years ago, this man died." The crowd is silent. An uneasiness fills the air. We are scared out of our wits.



In the middle of the pit stands the cobra handler. He's a scary Thai with a bushy mustache and a snake in his hands. He kisses the cobra. He catches the cobra with his bare hands. He throws the cobra in a cage with a mongoose. He holds the cobra in place and moves into the crowd. He holds it out for us to pet. I pass.

"The cobra has two pennies!" The emcees shouts out of nowhere. I look around. Did anyone else get that? The rest of the crowd can't understand him either. "The cobra has two pennies!" His voice increases. We're confused. A gasp escapes the crowd. The handler has reached for the cobra and unfolded a layer of skin, exposing two bulbous sex organs. A wave of flash bulbs cover the amphitheater.The emcee is not talking about loose change. "The cobra is very, very lucky!" The emcee winks. "The cobra has twice as much fun!" The crowd giggles.

I stare at the two pennies. This is what I wanted to see; Something new. Something exciting. Something that says, "You're in Thailand, damnit. Love it!" I fumble with my camera to get a good shot. By the time I'm ready to shoot, the pennies are gone. I'm sad, but the image has burned itself into memory forever...

It's 6pm, and the minivan has returned to downtown Bangkok. Pinky waits me for me. "How was the tour?? Did you see a lot of things?"

"Yeah...Hey, did you know the cobra has two pennies?"

"What?!"

"Never mind." I sigh. "Man, I'm hungry."

"We'll go out. Maybe we'll find snakes! Hahaha!"

"That would be awesome."