End Of An Eviction Tour
Posted: February 02, 2008
DAYS 41-43: If you recall, Elaine met a guy on the plane from Houston named Steve, who was actually a friend of a friend of hers back in New York. Like Stephanie to Camillo in Bogota, Colombia, we had to use my cell phone to track him down. Even though Steve was in Nicaragua to take a Spanish class in Grenada, he was using all non-class time to see as much of the country as he could. Upon contacting him via email to his BlackBerry, I soon received a text message. We discovered that he was in fact, right there in San Juan del Sur too, at one of the restaurants on the beach, two blocks away from us.
Nicaraguan New Year’s
Posted: February 02, 2008
DAY 40: New Year’s. Every year, it’s the same question: Where do I want to be when one year ends and another begins? This question has troubled many people, with all the pressured expectations of the overly-hyped holiday. Everyone wants a good answer to the post question: “So what did you do for New Year’s?”
Faithful readers of this blog know that I’ve had many eventful New Year’s in my life as a traveler. On New Year’s 2002-2003, I stayed in and read Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist, which convinced me that I would follow my dream of going around the world for at least a year. On New Year’s 2003-2004, I reflected on this decision with no regrets, as I trekked down the world’s deepest canyon in Peru with a young Aussie girl named Heidi. The following year, as the calendar turned into 2005, I was with my Spider-man costumed cousin in Manila, Philippines, where he’d won a contest that night and ended up on national TV with Filipino supermodel Giselle Toengi. The two following New Year’s Days were spent back at my base camp in New York City: one at a rooftop party in the East Village with Elaine and her animator friends at Blue Sky Studios (a.k.a. “The Ice Age Guys"), the other running around the midnight fireworks in Central Park with 5,000 other runners—including my friend Adam (a.k.a. “Balls")—in a four-mile fun run/concert, where there were champagne stations next to the water stations.
But another year later, the questioned remained.
Agua In Nicaragua
Posted: January 28, 2008
DAY 39: If it is me who has an affinity for puns, it is Elaine who has an affinity for rhymes. One of her goals on this trip was to have ”Agua in Nicaragua,” a fitting sounding pair not only because she doesn’t drink alcohol, but because there was much ado about water in Nicaragua—particularly on the Isla Ometepe surrounded by the fresh water of Lago de Nicaragua.
The Same Old Thing
Posted: January 26, 2008
DAYS 37-38: If you’ve known me since my formative years in suburban New Jersey, or if you’ve paid attention to the comments on The Global Trip blog since its beginning in 2003 (wow, has it been five years already?), you are probably familiar with the name “Elaine,” who always ends her comments with the catch phrase, “I’m jealous!” This supposed jealousy towards my traveling isn’t really warranted because Elaine—who I’ve known for years and is practically my cousin—is quite well-traveled herself, having spent many extended weekends living it up somewhere else in the world, in South America, Europe, and Africa. She had been to Central America a few times before, but never to the country of Nicaragua—and it was her idea to be there for the turnover from 2007 into 2008.
Panamania
Posted: January 23, 2008
DAYS 36-37: “People who come here think Panama is going to be similar, like the other Central American countries,” said my Panamanian driver Benny (short for Benigno), who cited Costa Rica as an example of the general Central American vibe. “But it’s completely different.”
My time in Panama would be short—I’d only see Panama City for that matter—but any educated person without any amount of time there could tell you what the obvious difference was: unlike the other Central American countries, it harbored the big famous canal that cut through the country—cut through the Americas for that matter—so famous that it had its own famous palindrome: “A Man, A Plan, A Canal—Panama!” And it was this canal whose prosperity has made this Central American city ”the showcase city of Central America,” combining colonial legacy, ultra-modern architecture, international banking, shopping, and tropical climate—much like a Spanish-speaking Hong Kong of the West (without the abundance of Chinese people).
Ocean’s Three
Posted: January 17, 2008
DAY 35: I had one day left in Bogota between Christmas Day and my departure date for Panama, and it was slated to be a day to catch up, repack, and recompose myself from a week of settling down in one place—all before getting back on the road again, like Willie Nelson. That morning, instead of watching the TNT Latin America continuous loop of Spiderman 2 and Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (both dubbed in Spanish), I set off to run errands with Victor Hugo. He brought me to a laundromat for me to get my clothes cleaned, and after lunch with his parents, I was off to two malls with Hugo and Gloria—the first of which I went to a barber and got a much-needed haircut.
Other than the moment I watched a couple of guys try to play Guitar Hero III on a demonstration XBox 360 (they sucked), the mall, as always, was a sort of generic experience like anywhere in the world (not that I minded). However, this time it would soon involve a small caper.
Christmas In Colombia
Posted: January 16, 2008
DAYS 33-34: I was going to title this entry “Christmas in Bogota,” just like I had titled my 2003 Christmas entry, ”Christmas in Cusco” (Peru), but with my affinity for alliterations, I’ve chosen “Christmas in Colombia,” because it has a nice ring to it. Besides, I didn’t have Christmas in the city of Bogota anyway, but in its suburbs (the name of the town escapes me) where, at Monica’s relatives’ house, I spent the holidays with my Colombian hosts’ extended family.
I Got Shot In Colombia And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt
Posted: January 11, 2008
DAYS 28-32 (PART 5): I’d once used my press credentials to land an interview with the Maharaja of Jaipur, India, and this time, in Bogota, Colombia, they would come in handy again as I set forth to interview Miguel Caballero, a successful Colombian businessman whose eponymous clothing company has been featured in The New York Times, BusinessWeek, Wired, CNN, BBC, The Discovery Channel, and (where I discovered him), the travel show Globe Trekker. Why he receives so much attention from the press is obvious; he has made a name for himself around the world as the premier fashion designer of bulletproof clothing, so much that BusinessWeek has hailed him as “The Armani of Bulletproof Apparel.”
One Crazy Night
Posted: January 08, 2008
DAYS 28-32 (PART 4): Ask any Bogotan for a recommendation of where to go, and there’s no doubt that the phrase, “Andrés Carne de Res” will be mentioned with lots of encouragment and enthusiasm. “What is it?” I asked Monica once.
“I can’t really describe it,” she told me. “It’s an experience.”
Once I had gotten there, I knew exactly what she meant.
New Friends In The New Bogota
Posted: January 07, 2008
DAYS 28-32 (PART 3): Every Bogotan (or is it Bogotian?) that Steph and I knew had wondered why we had chosen to stay in the grimier neighborhood of La Candelaria for our initial stay in the Colombian capital. They didn’t know that it’s because it’s where most of the Lonely Planet guidebook-toting tourists were led to by “the book,” as its authors chose it as a place to be for its museums and colonial architecture. But just like you, the reader, seldomly going to touristy neighborhoods wherever you live, you wouldn’t really see the appeal.
“Most of the people live in the north,” Monica had told me, explaining how the northern part of town was the modernized residential and commericial area, the real heart and soul of the city—that was even perhaps a bit safer. (It was evident immediately on our first time driving through, when Steph and I marveled at families walking out on the streets at night.) The north was where her family and friends lived, and most people of the college-educated class, including Camillo, the Colombian animation producer from Vancouver that Steph had befriended on the flight from Houston.
Classic Colombia
Posted: January 05, 2008
DAYS 28-32 (PART 2): The Colombian capital city of Bogota is like two cities in one: the classic, colonial area to the south, and the modern, commercial and residential area to the north. It was in the former that Steph and I had decided to base ourselves, to do the tourist sightseeing thing before crashing at Monica’s brother’s apartment in the residential north to see what “real” Bogota life is like, outside of the tourism bubble.
Rendezvous In Bogota
Posted: December 29, 2007
DAYS 28-32 (PART 1): This trip has been dubbed “The Central American Eviction Tour,” but there really should be a starburst icon next to it saying, “NOW WITH JAUNT TO BOGOTA, COLOMBIA!” for that’s where my travels took me next. Originally I was to rendezvous with my Colombian-born friend/co-worker Monica, as she had planned to bring her new daughter Valentina home for the holidays so that her father, who couldn’t be there for the birth in the New York, could bask in the glory of grandfatherhood. We had been planning a Christmas rendezvous since the summer, and it was all set—I even booked my ticket before her. However, at the last minute, Monica regretfully backed out for financial reasons (but not without extending her family’s hospitality, which would come in time).
“That’s typical Monica,” her friend Claudia said in a later conversation. Monica’s college friend spoke of other examples of this predicament happening, like the time Monica had invited all her Colombian friends to come to New York—only to have to go away the week everyone planned to visit.
It’s Business Time
Posted: December 28, 2007
DAYS 26-27: Like I said previously, my trip to Costa Rica would be a different one from the regular tourist. While I had done the touristy thing of going to Monteverde for my fix of ziplining, the rest of my stay would be—surprise!—a business trip. Like San Salvador in El Salvador, San Jose, Costa Rica has become one of the new havens for outsourced tech business for American companies, including the interactive ad agency I work for in New York—a company that shall remain nameless. For legal reasons, I have been requested by my boss not to write about my business time in San Jose, but I assured her that if I did I wouldn’t use any company names. (Who knew that the secrets of multi-million dollar business deals hang in the balance of this stupid little travel blog?)
EXTREMO!!!
Posted: December 28, 2007
DAYS 24-25: The Monteverde region, high up in the moutains west of San Jose, is a popular draw for tourists as it’s one of nature’s playground for participants of every level of adventure—from the tame to the EXTREME!!! The most tame of the standard activities is hiking on hanging bridges linked together on marked hiking trails, to observe the plants, the toucans, the hummingbirds, and the dozens of other tourists on the way. My hike on the trails and bridges of the “100% Aventura” company was a casual, yet misty one, with ponchos they let us borrow.
Going Eco
Posted: December 18, 2007
DAY 23: The big buzz word in Costa Rican tourism is “eco-tourism,” tourism that is not only preceded by the prefix “eco,” but is also environmentally-conscious. According to Al Gore, it’s a pretty good thing, and you can trust that guy because he invented the internet.
From Jungle To Cloudforest
Posted: December 18, 2007
DAY 22: With Central America’s wacky flight patterns, it took three indirect flights to get from La Ceiba, on the coast near the Honduran jungle, to San Jose, the capital of Costa Rica. One after the other—with minimal layover times—a domestic flight took me to the regional hub of San Pedro Sula, a regional flight took me back to the international hub of Guatemala City, and one last flight got me into Costa Rica. “You’re crossing borders while I’m just sitting here in bed,” Steph told me with amazement on a chat session in Guate’s airport.
Rollin’ Down The River
Posted: December 15, 2007
DAY 22 (Part 2): I don’t know what it is about rafting, but riding in an inflatable (and therefore inherently puncturable) rubber raft, while floating atop fast moving water between big hard boulders is just plain fun. I have been on a few rafting trips in my day, from the Zambezi in Africa to the wild waters of the Gauley in West Virginia. To that list, I’d add the Honduran Rio Cangrejal, whose Class I-IV white waters have thrilled touring rafting enthusiasts since the early 90s.
Waiting With Horses While Looking For Snakes
Posted: December 14, 2007
DAY 21: One of the disadvantages to traveling alone (aside from the frequent loneliness) is that some tours or activities don’t come to be unless enough people are around to justify its departure. As my luck would have it, I was psyched and ready to raft the Rio Cangrejal—a trip only requiring two or more people—but arrived with bad timing; a group had come and gone the day before, with no new prospective rafters in sight just yet. And so, I had to spend a day waiting around for people to show up.
“Not much going on today,” Raoul the Dutch Boy said. “Guess it’s a relaxing day.” He and fellow Dutch Boy Jon were also moping around. They had come with their own sport kayaks to paddle the river, but without local guides spotting them, they were staying dry—none of the guides were on the river that day.
BFFN (Best Friend For Now)
Posted: December 14, 2007
DAY 20: I don’t know if I mentioned this on the Blog before, but you readers may have come to be familiar with what many solo travelers have come to experience, the situation in which you meet someone somewhere, travel with him/her for a day—all before he/she is out of your life forever. I used to refer to these one-day travel companions as the “best friend of the day,” but I will update it now for our acronym-obsessed, text-messaging culture: BFFN (Best Friend For Now).
“You want to go for a bike ride?” I asked the other girl at the eco-lodge in the Honduran jungle, looking quite bored.
“Okay,” she said. “There’s nothing else to do.” She took out a bike and a helmet that she didn’t use and then called out to her friend, unseen in a shady area up the stoned path. “Hey! I’m going out with that guy we met a breakfast!”
“Okaaay!” called back the motherly voice.
Made In El Salvador
Posted: December 13, 2007
DAY 19: Being in a familiar scene of a modern city was actually a nice change of pace from being on the go from site to site on the gringo trail to fill the day-to-day entries of this stupid blog. A brief reversion to “normalcy” has helped me recharge in the past, like it had staying with Shelle and the ex-pats in Lusaka, Zambia, hanging out, going out to restaurants, and sitting around watching TV and DVDs.
Brotherhood Of The Cock
Posted: December 13, 2007
DAY 18: Maybe it’s because I am a descendant of a Filipino farming family that I have this insomnia problem where I can’t sleep if it’s light out. Even with shades or curtains, there is always some hinting slit of daylight somewhere, and my body knows what’s really up. (It also knows when you are trying to cheat it if it feels a sleeping mask against its face.) This explains why I woke up at sunrise around seven in the morning after only sleeping about three hours after a late night out. “You’re a rooster!” Steph said to me on Gchat as I leeched off the area wi-fi in my hotel room that groggy morning. I told her, “my Chinese zodiac should be the cock”—and I hate being a cock. (I’m a tiger, really.)
Surf And Turf
Posted: December 09, 2007
DAY 17: Three years ago in Xi’an, China, I met a Mandarin-speaking Texan girl named Elisa, who was traveling for a short while to see the Terracotta Warriors away from her study-abroad base of Beijing, where she majored in philosophy. Our encounter was brief—only a few hours—but it was in that time that we easily hit it off, strolling around the Muslim Quarter, sampling local foods, and exchanging palm readings. Regrettably we parted ways sooner than we wanted, but we’ve casually kept in touch since then. I remember telling her that fateful day that “our meeting was not coincidental.”
Three years later, I’d discover that our brief encounter would lead me to another person in another part of the world. Behind the scenes, Elisa emailed me contact information so that I could look up her El Salvadorean cousin Juan Pablo (JP) in the capital of San Salvador, which I had done the day before. We had plans to meet up later in the evening back in the city.
Out Of Seclusion
Posted: December 08, 2007
DAY 16: As chilled out a place Surf Camp Horizonte was, I will admit that it had gotten me feeling a bit lonely; away from the more-frequented Playa Sunzal, it was on the secluded beach of Playa Zonte where locals hung out like beach bums—sometimes playing with new puppies named Mambo—when they weren’t off attending to some chores. There were only a handful of people around, with many other surf camps closed down for the low season, while others used the time to construct more buildings to their establishments, or decal their boards.
Surf’s Up
Posted: December 08, 2007
DAY 15: Amongst the top things that El Salvador is known for is the surfing scene. With fine black sand beaches caressing the white foam of crashing Pacific waves, it has been an international draw for surfing and world-class surf competitions. The base of surfing in El Salvador is in La Libertad (translation: “The Libertad") about forty minutes away from San Salvador by bus.
Logos
Posted: December 07, 2007
DAY 14: The minivan driver had just dropped Camilla off at the Guatemala City airport and rushed back into the city to drop off the rest of the passengers going to buses of varied destinations. My bus was to be a “luxury” bus run by Tica, a private bus company with their own stations, servicing the major cities of Central America, from Mexico to Panama. I would take it to the next major city on their route, from Guatemala City to San Salvador (translation: “Saint Salvador"), capital of the almost eponymous El Salvador ("The Salvador.")
I had paid for my ticket at the gRuta Maya tour agency in Antigua who gave me a not-so-official-looking bus ticket on their standard form with their logo on top. “[Is this the ticket?]” I asked.
“Si.”
Disbanded Until The Bay
Posted: December 06, 2007
DAY 13: When I started this trip the day before Thanksgiving, I anticipated traveling solo, not knowing exactly if that seemingly random person I’d been chatting with on-line would actually meet up with me. SBR Camilla did actually appear, and we got along fine, and so I had been traveling with her for twelve days since that afternoon we met at the basketball court on Caye Caulker in Belize. Together, we traveled for a few days until we encountered “the Berkeleys” Jim and Tilu, who were also worthy companions to travel with, all the way from Tikal and down through the jungle to Antigua, Guatemala.
But like all good things, it would all come to an end.
A Three-Hour Tour
Posted: December 05, 2007
DAY 12: I met a girl from Arizona at the Bagel Barn that morning who I struck up a conversation with. As we waited for the next brew to finish, I told her about my coming day trip to Lake Atitlan. “Have you been?” I asked her.
“Yeah,” she told me.
“How is it?”
“It’s nice. It’s different from here,” she told me. “It’s not like tourism here; it’s a lot more poor. People will keep coming to you. You’ll see.”
“Okay.”
Nocturnal Eruptions
Posted: December 05, 2007
DAY 11: “‘Camilla Versus The Volcano?’” Camilla suggested.
“I already have an ’Erik Versus The Volcano,’” I informed her. Knowing we were to be booked on a volcano hiking tour that evening, we were discussing possible blog entry titles at breakfast. I was telling her that I already used a nod to the Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan movie, Joe Vs. The Volcano, as well as a nod to Dr. Evil in Austin Powers with an entry titled, ”Liquid Hot Magma.”
“Nocturnal eruptions?” Camilla suggested.
“How about ‘Lookin’ For Some Hot Stuff?’” I said. She laughed.
A Coffee Story
Posted: December 05, 2007
DAY 10: “Oooh! Real coffee!” raved Camilla. “It’s so good to have a good cup of coffee.” As a former barista of a Seattle’s Best in Portland, OR, my traveling companion was a bit of a coffee snob—as many Americans have become in our contemporary coffee culture. So far in Central America (and in other developing nations I’d been), we consumed coffee as the locals did—with hot water and instant coffee granules that locals were accustomed to through their upbringings in regions dominated by instant coffee pushing cartels like Nestlé.
Karma
Posted: December 03, 2007
DAY 9: In the reality show The Amazing Race, competing teams of two sometimes form alliances to help each other out in times of need. For the past couple of days, I had already been helping out Jim of the Berkeley team by lending him my cell phone a couple of times to call his bank, Washington Mutual, back in California; the Berkeleys hadn’t declared that they were going to use their card overseas and were blocked from using it. So far, Jim had run up some long, expensive phone calls in attempts to get it active again, with no luck just yet.
“I can loan you money if you want,” I offered. I’d been in the situation many times before and knew what they were going through.
“I think we’ll be okay,” Jim said, optimistic in his next opportunity to try out another ATM machine.
Slick Shoes
Posted: December 03, 2007
DAY 8: I’ve titled this entry “Slick Shoes,” figuring that many of you readers out there of my generation will understand that it is a reference to the movie The Goonies, the immortal Spielburg/Columbus movie of the 80s where a bunch of Oregonian kids hike through watery underground passageways in search of the lost treasure of pirate One-Eyed Willy. Slick shoes are of course, shoes that squirt out an oil slick via a mechanism in the heel, so that chasing bad guys can slip and fall, providing an easier getaway. In the movie, they are invented by the Asian character named Data—and it’s already been established by a Frenchman on this trip (in Caye Caulker) that I “look like [him.]”
Pondering of Pig’s Milk
Posted: December 01, 2007
DAY 7: After a nice day of leisure in Flores, our traveler’s quartet was fully rested for the seven-hour southbound ride to Semuc Champey, a national park known for its waterfalls, caves, and pools in the middle of the jungle. We were all making headway to the Guatemalan sites in the south, and Semuc Champey served as the perfect stopping point in the middle to break up the trip. The Berkeleys, Camilla and I collectively opted to take a tourist minivan with a trustworthy travel agency who did our laundry for us.
Little Caesar’s Apocalypto
Posted: November 30, 2007
DAY 6: In Mel Gibson’s Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto (that’s not a typo; he egotistically augmented his director credit to the title), a lone Mayan runs for his life to avoid being sacrificed by his Mayan rulers, during the fall of the Mayan empire. The Oscar-nominated film of 2006 was Mel Gibson’s last directorial effort before he went on a drunken public anti-Semitic tirade, putting him in the ranks of other embarrassing tirades alongside Michael “Kramer” Richards against African-Americans, and Kanye West against U.S. presidents who “don’t like black people.”
I never actually saw Mel Gibson’s Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto, nor does it matter, for this blog entry is Little Caesar’s version of the Mayan civilization: Erik Trinidad’s Little Caesar’s Apocalypto.
Accentuate The Positive, Eliminate The Negative
Posted: November 30, 2007
DAY 5: “What is there to do here?” Camilla had asked Leon, the bartender at Lazy Lizards near the Split in Caye Caulker.
“Nothing,” the big bear of a bartender answered after giving it some thought. “Snorkel… This is the relaxation island.”
Camilla and I had heard similar answers from other travelers:
“There’s not much to do here but look for a snorkel tour or do nothing.”
“It’s nice, but I think you only need a couple of days here.”
With that said, Camilla and I packed up and hopped aboard the first water taxi back to the mainland.
Are You As Wishful As A Sixth Grader?
Posted: November 27, 2007
DAY 4: The monsoon-like rains continued through the night and straight on ‘til morning, leaving everyone on the island with a feeling of uncertainty. By eight in the morning, the rain had cleared up for a bit—revealing a magnificent rainbow—only to start dumping again for an unforeseeable amount of time. The flooding rains put uncertainty in Camilla’s and my respective plans for tours that day: Camilla was planning to see the Mayan ruins of Altun Ha on the mainland, while I’d go tour the manatee reserve. So far, nothing was set in stone and confirmations of going out to see things were unclear, mostly due to the number of tourists being skeptical of the weather clearing up and staying that way.
Last Night I Dreamt Of Some Bagel
Posted: November 26, 2007
DAY 3: For the longest time, perhaps thirteen years or so, I thought that the opening lyric to Madonna’s Spanish lullaby, “La Isla Bonita” was “Last night I dreamt of some bagel...” (as well as “I fell in love with some bagel...") If you Google search that misheard opening phrase, you’ll see that I’m not the only one that grew up with the mondegreen. Of course, Madonna Ciccione was not dreaming of bagels (at least not in the song) for the actual lyric is, “Last night I dreamt of San Pedro.” San Pedro is actually a town on the Belizean island of Ambergis Caye, dubbed by the tourism authority as “La Isla Bonita”—I’m not sure which came first, that or the song.
Before the day was over, I’d go to San Pedro with visions of sugar plum bagels dancing in my head.
Thanksdiving
Posted: November 25, 2007
DAY 2: Thanksgiving is the time of year in late November, at least in America (and in October in Canada), where we get together with loved ones over a big meal and pretend that our forefathers didn’t wipe out an entire race of indigenous people. It is also a time when we are to give thanks for the things we have in life. This year, 2007, I am thankful for two things:
1) Not being eaten by sharks
2) Canadians
Sisters
Posted: November 23, 2007
DAY 1: Perhaps it is fitting that this latest trip—which by popular demand is titled, “The Central American Eviction Tour”—starts not in New York City (where I got evicted from my apartment), but in Ann Arbor, Michigan, for Ann Arbor is actually the sister city to the destination I would land in after eight hours of airline transit: Belize City, Belize. How or why these two cities are related I do not know, but according to the Sister Cities International website that informed me of their sibling status, Ann and Belize were paired together to learn from each other, in terms of development, economics, and politics—although really, I think the reason is because who else will tease Ann over her crush on that cute new boy city in school?
Lemons Into Lemonade
Posted: November 06, 2007
So, I got evicted from my apartment in New York City. It was nothing of my own fault; my lease was up, and the new owners of the building—a fancy developer group who’s built most of the celebrities’ houses in the affluent Hamptons—have decided not to renew my lease so that they could kick me out and convert my humble studio bachelor pad into a “luxury apartment”—a standard increasingly becoming the imposed norm to so many residences in New York City. (Whether or not that is a good thing for the future of New York is a completely different debate, but let’s not lose focus here.)
Encores
Posted: August 08, 2007
PART 12: “You haven’t changed one bit,” said a familiar voice from a familiar face. Both belonged to Zoe, the British lass I’d met at random at a cafe in Uyuni, Bolivia during my big trip around the world. Little did I know during our initial encounter that she’d end up as a recurring character on “The Trinidad Show”: with her traveling buddy Sam, we were in the same jeep on our tour of the famed salt flats and surreal desert sands of Bolivia; we met up in Sucre for a kitschy dinosaur tour and makeshift puppet show; and now, 479 blog entries later, we were in Zoe’s hometown of London.
Ending On A High Note
Posted: August 01, 2007
PART 11: It’s not surprising that Interlaken, in the heart of German Switzerland, is a popular destination for all types of travelers on the tourism spectrum. From campers to luxury hotel jetsetters, backpackers to flashpackers, and even big busloads of Asian tour groups, this mountain town situated in the Bernese Oberland area of the Swiss Alps is a complete draw with its postcard picture perfect scenery. Interlaken means “between lakes,” for the town is at the junction of two beautiful lakes—Lake Brienz and Lake Thun—and if that’s not enough, the area is flanked by three majestic mountain peaks: Eiger, Moench, and in the center, the famous snowcapped Jungfrau, commercially dubbed as the “Top of Europe.”
The Backpacker/Flashpacker Part Of The Trip
Posted: July 24, 2007
PART 10: “I like this random backpacker thing,” Steph had said back when we had checked into the Hotel Garni, a surprising great accommodation deal that we spontaneously acquired in a willage [sic] just outside Zagreb airport in Croatia.
”Flashpacker thing,” I corrected her.
Alone Again
Posted: July 18, 2007
PART 9: The city of Zagreb originated in medieval times —the period in history, not the hokey dinner theater with jousting knights—back in the 11th century when the villages of Kaptol and Gradec grew and grew and eventually merged to band together to oppose Turkish invaders. (The two villages are now neighborhoods in the present day city.) As Lonely Planet puts it, this capital city of Croatia is “too often overlooked by tourists making a beeline for the coast… a fascinating destination on its own, combining the best of Eastern and Western Europe.”
With that in mind, Stephanie and I were excited to explore the other “half” of the Croatian cultural dichotomy—until Steph’s fateful words that morning:
“I’m not feeling very well.”
Feeling a little feverish, she figured it was just a little sunstroke, and needed the day to rest and rehydrate. “You go to Zagreb. I think I just need a day. Have fun for me.”
“I’ll have twice as much fun and give you half.” I kissed her on the forehead as she laid in our bed with her eyes closed.
And so, like many, many days before in my travels, I set out alone again, the lone vagabond traveler, to explore a new place with pen and pad in hand, and ripped out pages of my guidebook in my pocket.
Dalmatians 101
Posted: July 15, 2007
PART 8: “I have decided that for the rest of the day, I will only say things I know in Croatian,” I said, having had no practice or knowledge of any vocabulary of the eastern European language.
“I guess we’re not going to say a lot then,” Steph told me.
“No.”
Not surprisingly, my dumb little proposed verbal stunt didn’t last long when we started exploring our first and only day in Split, Croatia, where our ferry had docked before seven in the morning.
In Limbo
Posted: July 11, 2007
PART 7: “I’m really sorry we missed it,” Steph apologized as the only ferry to Croatia’s Hvar Island had already departed from Pescara, Italy. We had arrived only ten minutes late for the once-a-day 10:30 a.m. ferry across the Adriatic—the next was twenty-three hours and fifty minutes away. Up until we knew this, I wasn’t worried because I figured there was probably another ferry at some point leaving from Pescara, but I was wrong.
“It’s okay,” I told Stephanie, clueless as to how our day would turn out that morning. “This’ll be one of those unexpected detours I wrote about on my blog. It’ll be fun.”
The Mountain Town
Posted: July 10, 2007
PART 6: When I was on the island of Naxos in Greece, I was sent on a quest by my friend and former boss Tracy to find a nostalgic, almost mythical place from his past: a tiny hamlet where he’d spent many fun-filled and memorable summers in the company of friends and an old jovial man named Vasillis. Steph also knew of an old man, her jovial friend Franco from Vermont, who had grown up in a little Italian mountain town near the geographic center of the country, high up in the Apennine mountain range. And so, like I had done before her, Steph began a quest to find her curious, mythical town, a mere speck on our road map.
No Particular Place To Go
Posted: July 10, 2007
PART 5: “Wouldn’t it be great if I just turned on the radio and that song came on, Riding along in my automobile.... duh nanana nah na nuh naah… No particular place to go...?” I said to Steph, humming that middle part of the Chuck Berry song. It would have been the most appropriate song as we departed Pompeii and head south towards Sorrento and the Amalfi Coast. However, without the song, we just settled on what we could get on Italian radio and the Harry Belafonte CD.
“Here’s the map,” Steph told me, navigating from the passenger side. “We can go down this road that goes down the coast. See, it goes, ‘pretty pretty pretty pretty...’” she continued, tracing the road with her finger. “You have to say that when you drive along it. It’s the Amalfi Coast song.”
“Okay.”
The Most Swingingest Brothel In Pompeii
Posted: July 08, 2007
PART 4: The Isle of Capri was the last place that we’d set in stone in our pre-departure planning, and the unknown, spontaneous part of our trip was upon us. “Can we go to Pompeii?” Steph asked me.
“I was actually going to ask you that.” Pompeii, another place neither of us had visited before, was only a couple hours away by car—fortunately, we had one.
The Fake Honeymooners
Posted: July 07, 2007
PART 3: “Do you realize we’re going on what is most people’s honeymoons?” Steph said to me in Venice. “A [romantic] romp through Europe.”
True, our mere summer romantic getaway was very honeymoon-esque, particularly at our next destination, the Isle of Capri, Italy’s resorty island off the coast of Naples, a place that my friend Alan (a.k.a. LovePenny) called the highlight of his honeymoon. “I think Venice was his second highlight,” I told Steph. “And we just came from there.”
Capri wasn’t originally on our itinerary until Steph’s mom told Steph that she loved Capri so much, she’d pay for our hotel if we decided to go there.
“I think we should go to Capri then,” I said, prompting our travels to southern Italy.
Practice For The Amazing Race
Posted: July 06, 2007
PART 2: “Have you seen The Amazing Race?” I asked Steph as we jogged with our packs on our backs to the ACTV water bus stop at Venice’s Rialto Bridge. She wasn’t too familiar with it and I explained how it was the Emmy award-winning CBS reality show—called by some critics as the only reality show worth watching—in which eleven teams of two race around the world, following clues to markers and pitstops in faraway destinations. Each pair has a different relationship dynamic (i.e. father/daughter, married gay guys, boyfriend/girlfriend, etc.) that the drama of travel can make or break. In The Amazing Race, traveling in haste can really cause people to crack under pressure.
- End Of An Eviction Tour
- Nicaraguan New Year’s
- Agua In Nicaragua
- The Same Old Thing
- Panamania
- Ocean’s Three
- Christmas In Colombia
- I Got Shot In Colombia And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt
- One Crazy Night
- New Friends In The New Bogota
- Classic Colombia
- Rendezvous In Bogota
- It’s Business Time
- EXTREMO!!!
- Going Eco
- From Jungle To Cloudforest
- Rollin’ Down The River
- Waiting With Horses While Looking For Snakes
- BFFN (Best Friend For Now)
- Made In El Salvador
- Brotherhood Of The Cock
- Surf And Turf
- Out Of Seclusion
- Surf’s Up
- Logos
- Disbanded Until The Bay
- A Three-Hour Tour
- Nocturnal Eruptions
- A Coffee Story
- Karma
- Slick Shoes
- Pondering of Pig’s Milk
- Little Caesar’s Apocalypto
- Accentuate The Positive, Eliminate The Negative
- Are You As Wishful As A Sixth Grader?
- Last Night I Dreamt Of Some Bagel
- Thanksdiving
- Sisters
- Lemons Into Lemonade
- Encores
- Ending On A High Note
- The Backpacker/Flashpacker Part Of The Trip
- Alone Again
- Dalmatians 101
- In Limbo
- The Mountain Town
- No Particular Place To Go
- The Most Swingingest Brothel In Pompeii
- The Fake Honeymooners
- Practice For The Amazing Race
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