There are no apostrophes on Spanish keyboards. Therefore, I cannot use contractions. It is very inconvenient, and it got me thinking ... is English the only language that uses contractions? Apparently Spanish does not. I suppose if you do not use contractions you do not need an apostrophe on your keyboard, unless it is for the tourists.
George Bernard Shaw thought using apostrophes in contractions was stupid and he refused to do so in his writing, so it is full of words like cant and dont, but I have trouble doing that because I am a copy editor at heart. You can get away with a bit more if you happen to be George Bernard Shaw.
I am in Madrid right now and it is still raining. It has been raining my entire visit to Spain. Thankfully I spend a lot of time indoors -- primarily in bars...I mean museums. Yes, museums. There are a lot of museums in Madrid, many of them containing art. I enjoy looking at art until my feet start to hurt, and then I do not really enjoy looking at art any more. Drinking red wine, happily, does not make my feet hurt. So I have options.
Friday, April 6, 2007
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
The Rain in Spain
It was pouring when I landed in Barcelona but I passed up the line of taxis at the airport because, dammit, I was going to use the Metro to get to my hotel. Only tourists use cabs. Of course, the fact that I was hauling a 65-pound suitcase and had no umbrella made no difference. Nor did I care it was midnight. I was a devil-may-care world traveler.
Of course, the train wasn't running because of renovations on the tracks. But that was ok because they had a bus. The friendly man in the information booth who spoke very little English told me to get off the bus at Sants train station and catch the Metro from there.
I should have been immediately suspicious when the bus stopped at Sants train station and nobody but me got off. And only after the bus pulled away did I notice the entrance to the station was closed for the night. So much for the man in the information booth.
Did I mention it was raining? Because it was raining a lot.
So there I stood, in a quiet part of town, completely lost, at 1 am, in the rain. I wasn't feeling quiet as devil-may-care at that point. "Well," I thought to myself, "I'll just hail a cab." Even though only tourists take cabs, I was willing at that point to make an exception.
Well, it turns out, strangely enough, that not a lot of cabs come by a closed train station. Did I mention it was raining?
As I stood there I noticed a group of presumably Spanish youths congregated in front of a closed store. As I watched, they proceeded to set the store's awning on fire and run away. So now, I was not only standing in the rain with a 65 pound suitcase, but I looked like I had just committed arson. If a cab didn't come by, at least I'd get picked up by the cops.
But then, like an answered prayer, came a taxi. I waved my arm frantically as it drove past and splashed me. Ah, it was full. Then another. Also full. Then another. You get the picture.
At last, I saw an empty cab. I waved my arm and he pulled up. "Hotel Adagio," I said. He looked me up and down and saw immediately I was a man in need of help. Lost in a strange part of town, in the rain, hauling a huge suitcase, he was ready to assist.
"Fifty Euros," he said.
Well, apparently we weren't going to be using the meter that evening.
"Yes, fine, yes," I said. I knew I was getting cheated but I was so wet I didn't care.
Of course, the next day I found out that cab ride should have cost me 5 Euros. It was a true-life demonstration of the law of supply and demand.
Of course, the train wasn't running because of renovations on the tracks. But that was ok because they had a bus. The friendly man in the information booth who spoke very little English told me to get off the bus at Sants train station and catch the Metro from there.
I should have been immediately suspicious when the bus stopped at Sants train station and nobody but me got off. And only after the bus pulled away did I notice the entrance to the station was closed for the night. So much for the man in the information booth.
Did I mention it was raining? Because it was raining a lot.
So there I stood, in a quiet part of town, completely lost, at 1 am, in the rain. I wasn't feeling quiet as devil-may-care at that point. "Well," I thought to myself, "I'll just hail a cab." Even though only tourists take cabs, I was willing at that point to make an exception.
Well, it turns out, strangely enough, that not a lot of cabs come by a closed train station. Did I mention it was raining?
As I stood there I noticed a group of presumably Spanish youths congregated in front of a closed store. As I watched, they proceeded to set the store's awning on fire and run away. So now, I was not only standing in the rain with a 65 pound suitcase, but I looked like I had just committed arson. If a cab didn't come by, at least I'd get picked up by the cops.
But then, like an answered prayer, came a taxi. I waved my arm frantically as it drove past and splashed me. Ah, it was full. Then another. Also full. Then another. You get the picture.
At last, I saw an empty cab. I waved my arm and he pulled up. "Hotel Adagio," I said. He looked me up and down and saw immediately I was a man in need of help. Lost in a strange part of town, in the rain, hauling a huge suitcase, he was ready to assist.
"Fifty Euros," he said.
Well, apparently we weren't going to be using the meter that evening.
"Yes, fine, yes," I said. I knew I was getting cheated but I was so wet I didn't care.
Of course, the next day I found out that cab ride should have cost me 5 Euros. It was a true-life demonstration of the law of supply and demand.
Monday, April 2, 2007
Ugly American
My friend Chris asked me how, as an American, I was being treated abroad. It's a valid question given the current political climate. I expected to encounter a fair amount of anti-American sentiment but I really haven't. I think that, unlike some Americans (think "Freedom Fries"), most people in other countries are able to separate U.S. citizens from U.S. foreign policy. Yes, I've seen more than one anti-Bush t-shirt, but I have yet to hear "Yankee, go home!"
Now, I'm not so naive as to think that this has NOTHING to do with the fact that I'm essentially a walking cash dispenser. Business owners in popular tourist destinations would probably happily serve lunch to someone with bubonic plague as long as he had money to spend. However, even the people I've met that aren't trying to sell me something have been, almost invariably, helpful and welcoming.
Cab drivers are another story. Cab drivers are angry, angry people. I suppose I can understand that. Imagine what kind of mood you'd be in if you spent every day commuting to work, but never got there.
Of course, while those I've met have been nice, I have certainly encountered some cultural misunderstandings. Probably the most memorable happened when I was passing through a metal detector to get into my hotel in Cairo. (There are metal detectors everywhere in Cairo.) It beeped and the guard gestured toward my belt, which I started to remove so I could try again. He said, "no, no" and waved me through (I suspect because I was obviously a tourist I didn't merit a lot of scrutiny).
I apologized and said, "sorry, at airports in the States we have to remove our belts." He looked at me and asked, with no hint of irony in his voice, "everyone, or just the Arabs?" From his facial expression I could tell it was a legitimate question. He really wanted to know. It was a little sad.
As a comforting side note, the stereotype of the Ugly American is, I think, exaggerated. I am sure there is no lack of rude American tourists in the world, but all the Americans I've met on my trip have been respectful of other cultures, well-behaved and genuinely seem curious to learn about their host country. I think when Americans travel now, they are aware both of our general lack of popularity with the rest of the planet, and that our reputation precedes us. I think as a result we try a little harder.
This is in stark contrast to tourists from other nations who seem to particularly enjoy standing in large, dense groups at the bottoms of escalators, entrances and exits to museums and will not move until you start using elbows and, often, knees. I think the worst behavior I've seen recently was the couple making out at the Holocaust Memorial in Prague.
I was just happy they weren't Americans.
Now, I'm not so naive as to think that this has NOTHING to do with the fact that I'm essentially a walking cash dispenser. Business owners in popular tourist destinations would probably happily serve lunch to someone with bubonic plague as long as he had money to spend. However, even the people I've met that aren't trying to sell me something have been, almost invariably, helpful and welcoming.
Cab drivers are another story. Cab drivers are angry, angry people. I suppose I can understand that. Imagine what kind of mood you'd be in if you spent every day commuting to work, but never got there.
Of course, while those I've met have been nice, I have certainly encountered some cultural misunderstandings. Probably the most memorable happened when I was passing through a metal detector to get into my hotel in Cairo. (There are metal detectors everywhere in Cairo.) It beeped and the guard gestured toward my belt, which I started to remove so I could try again. He said, "no, no" and waved me through (I suspect because I was obviously a tourist I didn't merit a lot of scrutiny).
I apologized and said, "sorry, at airports in the States we have to remove our belts." He looked at me and asked, with no hint of irony in his voice, "everyone, or just the Arabs?" From his facial expression I could tell it was a legitimate question. He really wanted to know. It was a little sad.
As a comforting side note, the stereotype of the Ugly American is, I think, exaggerated. I am sure there is no lack of rude American tourists in the world, but all the Americans I've met on my trip have been respectful of other cultures, well-behaved and genuinely seem curious to learn about their host country. I think when Americans travel now, they are aware both of our general lack of popularity with the rest of the planet, and that our reputation precedes us. I think as a result we try a little harder.
This is in stark contrast to tourists from other nations who seem to particularly enjoy standing in large, dense groups at the bottoms of escalators, entrances and exits to museums and will not move until you start using elbows and, often, knees. I think the worst behavior I've seen recently was the couple making out at the Holocaust Memorial in Prague.
I was just happy they weren't Americans.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Drive Like an Egyptian
There seem to be only two rules for driving in Cairo: 1. Every square inch of available road must be occupied at all times. 2. You must be able to prove you have a functioning horn -- every 15 seconds.
There seems to be an intricate code here expressed by honking. One honk means, "don't get in my way." Two honks means, "get OUT of my way." And three honks means "I owe you a new cat."
There's also some code involving flashing the headlights but I can't figure that one out yet.
As much as I hate to say it, I think during this entire trip so far, above everything else - the amazing sights, the interesting people and the incredibly strange food - the one thing I've gained more than anything else is a real appreciation for traffic laws. Really, it's one of those things a person doesn't appreciate until it's gone. At this point, if I had to pick the three things that define a civilization, it would be possessing a written language, a legal system, and crosswalks.
Crosswalks are wonderful. If you haven't appreciated a crosswalk lately, take a moment the next time you are crossing the street to say thanks for the little green man.
There seems to be an intricate code here expressed by honking. One honk means, "don't get in my way." Two honks means, "get OUT of my way." And three honks means "I owe you a new cat."
There's also some code involving flashing the headlights but I can't figure that one out yet.
As much as I hate to say it, I think during this entire trip so far, above everything else - the amazing sights, the interesting people and the incredibly strange food - the one thing I've gained more than anything else is a real appreciation for traffic laws. Really, it's one of those things a person doesn't appreciate until it's gone. At this point, if I had to pick the three things that define a civilization, it would be possessing a written language, a legal system, and crosswalks.
Crosswalks are wonderful. If you haven't appreciated a crosswalk lately, take a moment the next time you are crossing the street to say thanks for the little green man.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
One Night (Plus Two Other Nights) In Bangkok
The song says that one night in Bangkok makes a tough man humble. What the song doesn't mention is that's because it's so damn hot. Thailand has three seasons - cool, monsoon, and hot. In a choice demonstrating a certain lack of planning on my part, I chose to visit during the hot season. The "cool" season here averages around 80 degrees, so that gives you an idea of what the hot season is like.
It's hot.
If you can get past the constant sweating, however, it really is a fascinating city. It's fascinating because of the sites (temples, Buddhas, rivers choked with ferry boats), but more so because it's so completely foreign. It's really the first non-Western city I've visited and however Westernized Bangkok actually is (and I have no illusions because today I saw a Buddhist monk wearing an iPod), it seems to me like another planet.
Case in point - I almost walked into an elephant yesterday. Literally. I was walking down the street, and I looked over my shoulder (trying to figure out what sort of food was on the cart I had just passed, and honestly it looked like a fried rat) and when I looked frontwards again, I was staring at an elephant, standing in the middle of the sidewalk.
Admittedly, I think he was there for tourist photos (for a small gratuity), and he was a small elephant (as they go) but it's still not something that's going to happen to a person in San Jose. No matter how much you want your picture taken with an elephant in San Jose, you're probably out of luck. Not so in Bangkok. Elephant photo opportunities, apparently, abound.
I felt sort of bad for the elephant. He obviously didn't enjoy standing there in the crowd, and he gave me a look that said, "You think YOU'RE out of place here, buddy? Try being an elephant on the sidewalk."
I could identify with him. I feel like an elephant on the sidewalk here, myself. I spend a lot of time either lost or getting lost; large, out-of-place, graceless and slow-moving. Throngs of Thai people flow around me like a fat, guidebook-toting island as I stare at the map, again, in confusion.
Bangkok, for all it's wonderful, humid, thronging, elephanty-ness, must be the least pedestrian-friendly city on the planet. Or if there's worse, I don't think I want to visit. First of all, there's no street signs. Second, there are no crosswalks. Crossing the street here involves eyeing oncoming traffic and leaping in front of vehicles that are the least-likely to do serious harm if they hit you. The best are the three-wheeled taxis (tuk-tuks) because not only are the easily maneuverable and can probably swerve around you, but also because if they run you down, they will probably do a lot less damage than, say, a bus. Still, I often stand at a corner and wait for some Thai people to show up and cross with them. I figure a) they probably know what they are doing, and b) drivers may be less-likely to run down a local. But largely, it seems to be a crap shoot.
It's hot.
If you can get past the constant sweating, however, it really is a fascinating city. It's fascinating because of the sites (temples, Buddhas, rivers choked with ferry boats), but more so because it's so completely foreign. It's really the first non-Western city I've visited and however Westernized Bangkok actually is (and I have no illusions because today I saw a Buddhist monk wearing an iPod), it seems to me like another planet.
Case in point - I almost walked into an elephant yesterday. Literally. I was walking down the street, and I looked over my shoulder (trying to figure out what sort of food was on the cart I had just passed, and honestly it looked like a fried rat) and when I looked frontwards again, I was staring at an elephant, standing in the middle of the sidewalk.
Admittedly, I think he was there for tourist photos (for a small gratuity), and he was a small elephant (as they go) but it's still not something that's going to happen to a person in San Jose. No matter how much you want your picture taken with an elephant in San Jose, you're probably out of luck. Not so in Bangkok. Elephant photo opportunities, apparently, abound.
I felt sort of bad for the elephant. He obviously didn't enjoy standing there in the crowd, and he gave me a look that said, "You think YOU'RE out of place here, buddy? Try being an elephant on the sidewalk."
I could identify with him. I feel like an elephant on the sidewalk here, myself. I spend a lot of time either lost or getting lost; large, out-of-place, graceless and slow-moving. Throngs of Thai people flow around me like a fat, guidebook-toting island as I stare at the map, again, in confusion.
Bangkok, for all it's wonderful, humid, thronging, elephanty-ness, must be the least pedestrian-friendly city on the planet. Or if there's worse, I don't think I want to visit. First of all, there's no street signs. Second, there are no crosswalks. Crossing the street here involves eyeing oncoming traffic and leaping in front of vehicles that are the least-likely to do serious harm if they hit you. The best are the three-wheeled taxis (tuk-tuks) because not only are the easily maneuverable and can probably swerve around you, but also because if they run you down, they will probably do a lot less damage than, say, a bus. Still, I often stand at a corner and wait for some Thai people to show up and cross with them. I figure a) they probably know what they are doing, and b) drivers may be less-likely to run down a local. But largely, it seems to be a crap shoot.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Getting over the Land Down Under
I'm writing this from the airport in Seoul and everything on this computer is in Korean except the keyboard. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to post this or if I'll end up accidentally launching missles at North Korea.
I'm on my way to Bangkok now. I left Melbourne this morning (at 4:30 am) and I will get to Thailand after midnight (which is 4 am Melbourne time). So I'm looking at 24 straight hours of travel today. What's even worse is that yesterday was St. Patrick's Day and the bar in the hostel where I was staying in Melbourne had a band. A very loud band. I suppose they were playing Irish music but I decided that all music sounds the same through the wall when you're trying to sleep.
I suppose total, numbing exhaustion is all part of the adventure of travel.
Yesterday I took a tour down the Great Ocean Road, which is the Australian equivalent of the Pacific Coast Highway. It was spectacular, and it was the first time I've seen kangaroo roadkill. I tried to take a picture out of the window of the bus but we were going too fast. My conclusion, however, was that they aren't as cute when they are flat.
I also saw a koala. It was presumably alive because it was still in a tree, but they sleep 22 hours a day so it's hard to be sure if it wasn't stuffed and put there by the tour company.
The most famous natural wonder along the Great Ocean Road is the Twelve Apostles, which are rock formations along the coast. The name is a little misleading, though, because thanks to erosion there are only nine left. But I suppose it would be too expensive to change the signs every time one fell over. Even though there were only nine left, however, it was one of the most spectacular things I've ever seen. I wore out the batteries in my camera taking pictures, but they'll never do it justice. I was sorry to leave Australia so soon.
I'm on my way to Bangkok now. I left Melbourne this morning (at 4:30 am) and I will get to Thailand after midnight (which is 4 am Melbourne time). So I'm looking at 24 straight hours of travel today. What's even worse is that yesterday was St. Patrick's Day and the bar in the hostel where I was staying in Melbourne had a band. A very loud band. I suppose they were playing Irish music but I decided that all music sounds the same through the wall when you're trying to sleep.
I suppose total, numbing exhaustion is all part of the adventure of travel.
Yesterday I took a tour down the Great Ocean Road, which is the Australian equivalent of the Pacific Coast Highway. It was spectacular, and it was the first time I've seen kangaroo roadkill. I tried to take a picture out of the window of the bus but we were going too fast. My conclusion, however, was that they aren't as cute when they are flat.
I also saw a koala. It was presumably alive because it was still in a tree, but they sleep 22 hours a day so it's hard to be sure if it wasn't stuffed and put there by the tour company.
The most famous natural wonder along the Great Ocean Road is the Twelve Apostles, which are rock formations along the coast. The name is a little misleading, though, because thanks to erosion there are only nine left. But I suppose it would be too expensive to change the signs every time one fell over. Even though there were only nine left, however, it was one of the most spectacular things I've ever seen. I wore out the batteries in my camera taking pictures, but they'll never do it justice. I was sorry to leave Australia so soon.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Didgeri do's and don'ts
If you ever decide to take a trip around the world, my first bit of advice to you is to buy one of those little electric carts you see fat people driving at the mall. My feet are reaching levels of truly exquisite pain. I don't know why anyone would bother with bamboo under the fingernails. Just send your prisoners on three walking tours of Sydney in two days and throw in a musuem on Aboriginal history. Right now, I would admit anything just for a chance to sit on a bench.
"Yes, I have blueprints for nuclear weapons stuffed in my pants. I admit to everything. Please, just don't make me look at the exhibit on didgeridoos."
I keep telling myself that whatever doesn't kill me can only make me stronger. My feet can't hurt this much for five straight weeks. They will either get used to it, go numb completely, or fall off. In any case, they will stop hurting, and if they fall off, I can justify getting a little cart.
Last night I took a "ghost tour" of the oldest part of Sydney, called The Rocks. It's where the first convict settlers lived, and is obviously the site of many ghastly stories involved murder, mayhem and overall bad manners. It's a natural place for a ghost tour, and it was interesting hearing the sordid past history of the city and all its supposed spirit inhabitants. However, I came to the conclusion during the tour that, try as they might, Australians cannot be scary. It's something about that accent. They always sound so jovial. So my poor tour guide, bless him he was trying so hard - flashlight under his chin and the Shakesperian English and everything - and it was just impossible to take him seriously. It was sort of like watching Paul Hogan hosting Masterpiece Theater.
Well, tonight I leave on a flight for Melbourne. I'm looking forward to being able to sit down for at least 90 minutes. I'm hoping for one of those nine-hour delays where the plane is stuck on the tarmac. That would be great.
"Yes, I have blueprints for nuclear weapons stuffed in my pants. I admit to everything. Please, just don't make me look at the exhibit on didgeridoos."
I keep telling myself that whatever doesn't kill me can only make me stronger. My feet can't hurt this much for five straight weeks. They will either get used to it, go numb completely, or fall off. In any case, they will stop hurting, and if they fall off, I can justify getting a little cart.
Last night I took a "ghost tour" of the oldest part of Sydney, called The Rocks. It's where the first convict settlers lived, and is obviously the site of many ghastly stories involved murder, mayhem and overall bad manners. It's a natural place for a ghost tour, and it was interesting hearing the sordid past history of the city and all its supposed spirit inhabitants. However, I came to the conclusion during the tour that, try as they might, Australians cannot be scary. It's something about that accent. They always sound so jovial. So my poor tour guide, bless him he was trying so hard - flashlight under his chin and the Shakesperian English and everything - and it was just impossible to take him seriously. It was sort of like watching Paul Hogan hosting Masterpiece Theater.
Well, tonight I leave on a flight for Melbourne. I'm looking forward to being able to sit down for at least 90 minutes. I'm hoping for one of those nine-hour delays where the plane is stuck on the tarmac. That would be great.
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